Читать книгу Old Province Tales - Archibald McKellar MacMechan - Страница 5

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n the 9th of December, 1725, the monotony of garrison life at Annapolis Royal was broken by an unusual event. Early that morning a shivering sentry in his watch-coat on the snowy ramparts of Fort Anne had observed a black speck far down the Basin creeping along the northern shore. When it could be clearly made out as a canoe with three figures in it coming up with the tide, he reported the occurrence to his sergeant. The canoe made for the Queen’s wharf, directly under the guns of the fort, and the sergeant carried the news to the Hon. John Doucett, the lieutenant-governor, major of Philips’s Regiment of Foot. It was soon ascertained that the strangers could speak only French, that they were not Acadians, and that by their own account they had travelled all the way from Quebec. Other rumors flew about, that they had killed Indians and were flying from savage vengeance. All the circumstances were so suspicious that the governor ordered Sergeant Danielson to take a file of men, arrest the strangers, and lodge them in the guardroom of Fort Anne. The three ragged, famished scarecrows offered no objection to their arrest. They even seemed to welcome it. They were stiff with paddling, pinched with cold, and weak with hunger. They were barely able to walk, and could have made no effectual resistance even had they desired to use the arms they carried.

As soon as possible, the governor convened a meeting of the Council in his house within the walls near the old Bastion de Bourgogne. Only Mr. Adams, the senior member, Mr. Skene, the surgeon, and Mr. Shirreff, the secretary, were available. Major Armstrong was in England on his private affairs, and Captain Mascarene was also absent on leave, arranging a treaty with the Indians at Boston. As soon as the members had taken their places round the board in the order of precedence, Mr. Adams at the right hand of the governor, Mr. Skene at his left, he told them of his suspicions.

These Frenchmen were plainly not Acadians, nor traders, nor trappers. By their own story they had come from Quebec, but they had no passports from the governor of Canada. The only papers found on them were certificates from Bishop Saint Vallier of Quebec, to the effect that they had duly received the sacrament. As far as could be made out, they pretended to have escaped from Quebec, but they really belonged to Old France, and they had killed two Indians on their way to this place. It was a strange tale with which his Honour acquainted the Council.

‘It is my belief,’ he ended, ‘that they are spies sent out to discover the state of the town and garrison, or else to entice our troops to desert. What is your advice in regard to them, gentlemen?’

‘With submission, your Honour,’ replied Mr. Adams, ‘in my view, they should be immediately put in ward and examined separately as to the truth of their allegations.’

‘They are already in custody,’ replied the governor. ‘Is it your pleasure that they should be interrogated?’

A murmur of assent ran round the board. The governor rang a small hand-bell. Sergeant Danielson appeared in the doorway.

‘Bring in the prisoner who seems the oldest, the tall man with the black hair.’

It was only a step from the governor’s house to the guardroom. The door had hardly closed before it opened again to admit the sergeant and file with their prisoner. He was a tall, thin man with a military carriage; his head nearly touched the low ceiling; his face, tanned by sun and wind, was lined with want of sleep and purple with cold; a four days’ beard covered his cheeks; his long hair, undressed and not even tied, fell to his shoulder. His air was haggard, as of a man pursued. His dress was a medley of the European and the savage. Over what remained of a long-skirted coat of fine cloth he wore a fringed buckskin hunting-shirt. His velvet breeches were in tatters. His legs were bare, but he had moccasins on his feet. Wrapped about him was a red-bordered Indian blanket as protection from the cold; and he edged as near as possible to the crackling birch logs in the great open fireplace. The two soldiers in full uniform who stood at either side with fixed bayonets in their firelocks looked sleek and neat by comparison, although neither rations nor clothing were ever plentiful at Fort Anne.

The governor frowned.

‘Who and what are you?’ he demanded, ‘and what is the reason of your coming to this place?’ As the governor said this, he stared hard at the man.

Mr. Adams translated the question into French. Mr. Shirreff, at the foot of the table with standish, sand-box, quills, and various documents spread out before him, entered the governor’s words in the very vellum-bound minute book to be seen still in the Province House at Halifax. This was the procedure throughout the examination.

There was a pause. Before answering, the prisoner considered with himself. Then, throwing back his head, he spoke with great deliberation.

‘My name is Paul François Dupont de Veillein, as it appears in the paper before M. le Sécrétaire. I come of a family of good report in France’—he smiled faintly and spread out his hands in a graceful gesture—‘well known in the ancient city of Blois. I was educated at Saint Omer, for my parents designed me for the Church, but when I arrived at the age of seventeen, I exchanged the soutane for the King’s uniform, and entered the Regiment Salis-Samade as gentleman cadet. In a few months, my family became reconciled to the change and procured me a commission. I served for three years in Flanders, on the eastern frontier, and in Italy, not, I may say, without distinction. During the month of September, 1722, I was on furlough in Paris, devoting myself to the pleasures of the capital.’

He smiled again, and then sighed.

‘On the first day of October towards dusk, as I was sitting in a café near the Palais Royal, I received a billet from, as I thought, a lady of my acquaintance, making an immediate appointment at our usual rendezvous. When I reached her door, I noticed a hackney coach before it, waiting in the street. As I turned to knock, I felt my arms clutched from behind by two pairs of hands, and, in spite of my resistance, I was dragged into the coach by two men who appeared to be lackeys of some great house. I still strove to tear myself loose while the carriage was rattling over the cobblestones, as fast as the horses could go, but I could not draw my sword. That night I dined in the Bastille.’

‘The Bastille!’ echoed the governor, and his face grew harsh. ‘You are a criminal then. What was your offence?’

Veillein’s black brows gathered.

‘I do not know. I was never told. Your Excellency understands what is a lettre de cachet? You become obnoxious to some great person who has the ear of the King’s minister, or the King’s mistress. Perhaps some lady finds your society more agreeable than that of a more powerful admirer. Perhaps you have made an epigram or have scribbled some verses about a person of influence which are taken amiss. Perhaps, in your cups, you have mentioned names too freely. Pouf! a little piece of parchment with the sign-manual, and La Bastille closes her jaws upon you. Men grow gray there, men die, and never a hint of accusation or accuser. But I am resolved’—he raised his voice—‘to know the reason of my arrest. I will sue for justice at the foot of the throne.’

‘How long were you confined in the Bastille?’

‘From October, 1722, to August, 1724, two years all but two months. Two years out of my life! When I was twenty! Picture to yourself, M. le Gouverneur! Two years of an innocent man’s life spent in prison! True, the imprisonment was not equally rigorous for all. Some of us were allowed to exercise ourselves in the square. It was there, at tennis, I met my friend, M. Alexandre Poupart de Babour, whom I found again at Quebec and who has accompanied me on this adventure.’

‘How were you released?’

‘One night I was awakened from my sleep by M. Bellamis, commissaire ordonnateur, who showed me an order for my instant removal. As soon as I could dress, I was again placed in a coach, with two soldiers for guard, and driven to the western gate of Paris. There I was met by four mounted men with a led horse. Under this escort I travelled day and night until we reached Havre. I was at once taken on board the Notre Dame de Rouen, supply ship, in the stream, and ready to sail for New France. Although we had to wait three days for a favourable wind, I was so closely watched that I had no opportunity of communicating with the shore, or of making my escape. After a voyage of five weeks, we reached the River of Canada—a truly magnificent river—and in four days more we anchored at Quebec. That is one of the strongest places in the world. In all my experience as a soldier, I never saw a town of such natural strength. Posted on a cliff, up which a goat could hardly find its way, with an impassable river on the left flank, it has a complete enceinte and a cavalier mounted on the highest point—Quebec can never be taken. But pardon me!’ he bowed to the governor and the Council, ‘I forget I am talking to English officers.’

‘How long did you remain in Quebec, M. de Veillein?’

‘About a twelvemonth! I was entertained like a gentleman for that time by the governor himself, M. de Vaudreuil. Why, I do not know. That also is to be explained, but I suppose it was upon private advice from some one who had known me in Old France. I have no certainty.’

At this point the governor, Mr. Adams, and Mr. Skene put their heads together and whispered. The prisoner warmed his hands at the fire.

‘This is very strange, M. de Veillein, or whatever your name is,’ said the governor in a grating voice. ‘You were well entertained, you say, by the governor himself, and yet you left the place without his passport. You stole away like a vagabond, like a thief in the night.’

The prisoner bit his lip.

‘M. de Vaudreuil is a very old man, near eighty, I should say, and hard to deal with. I tried more than once to obtain a passport, but he always refused it. At the same time he would say: “You may go if you choose, M. de Veillein, whenever you please. I will not stop you;” and his wrinkles would pucker into a smile. I then had recourse to the bishop, M. de Saint Vallier. He could not give me a passport, but you have seen his assurance that I and my two friends were good Catholics and have been regular in our duties.’

Again the three men at the board head consulted in whispers.

‘This is also very strange,’ said the governor. ‘Why did you not sail to Old France or to the government of Cape Breton?’

‘It was not for want of effort,’ said the Frenchman. ‘I approached the master of every vessel in the port of Quebec. I offered them gold and one or two jewels of some value which I still retained. It was in vain. Not one would receive me on board. You perceive, M. le Gouverneur, the plot of which I am the victim. I was to be banished to the wilderness for ever. It must have been some Great One who could command the governor of Canada, for the governor plainly had his orders, and he controlled every shipmaster in the colony. That Great One having taken a dislike to me was resolved that I should never see France again.’

‘But why,’ said the governor, still suspicious, ‘did you presume to come to this or any English settlement without a passport?’

A faint tinge of answering blood rose in the prisoner’s thin cheeks, but his voice was unshaken.

‘As I have said, M. le Gouverneur, I come of a family in good repute in France. My father is of the noblesse, a chevalier of Blois. It is not for a man of my blood to submit tamely to such wrongs—to be imprisoned like a malefactor, to be banished from my country; and I was resolved to run all risks in order to reach France again and sue for justice. When I found that it was impossible to leave Quebec with the governor’s permission, I cast about for means to escape without it. One day, at the Château Saint Louis, a baptized savage came to pay his respects to the governor. He had been educated in a mission and spoke French well. Some priest, remembering his Virgil, had christened him Aeneas. “Multum ille et terris jactatus et alto,” as we say at Saint Omer. He was an old, experienced warrior, who had often been on raids against the English. After the audience was ended, I sought him out. He was in a camp outside the lower town, by the riverside. I sounded him cautiously to find whether he would aid me to escape. He told me of a long way to other French plantations, a long way up and down various rivers, and through forests inhabited only by wild beasts and wild men. I then sought out the other two gentlemen, who have been arrested with me—M. Poupart de Babour and M. Saint Joli de Pardeithan—and they agreed eagerly to escape if possible. Among us we made up the sum Aeneas demanded for acting as guide. There was some delay after the bargain was completed, for Aeneas had to make a canoe large enough to carry five persons. He had to take his nephew, a young brave, along to aid him; he could not manage the canoe by himself.

‘On the night of the 28th of August, there being no moon, we met Aeneas when the tide served at his camp outside the lower town. I had got pistols and a musket; M. de Pardeithan had his hanger only, while M. de Babour brought a fowling-piece. We took with us also three blankets, some pork and biscuits, and a small case-bottle of brandy. Our powder-horns and shot-pouches were filled before starting, and we carried a small reserve of powder in a water-tight canister. Before embarking, Aeneas insisted on payment of the thirty pistoles agreed upon, and I told them into his hand. He bit each piece and then put it into a belt round his middle. The ebb aiding us, we paddled down the river about ten leagues to the mouth of a river on the south bank, called the rivière du Sud, which we reached before daylight. We lay in the woods all that day, rested, ate, and slept. The following night we travelled up this stream for perhaps ten leagues more. Here we carried the canoe and our belongings three leagues through the woods over a well-worn Indian trail, and launched on a river called by Aeneas, Woolstock, but a priest we met in a village called it rivière Saint Jean.

‘At first all went well. The weather was divine. There were no midges or noxious insects. Our progress was ever downstream. There were few rapids and, consequently, few portages. Aeneas and his nephew caught eels and sea trout and shot partridges and ducks for the pot-à-feu. They knew where to halt for the night at the good camping places, near springs of water. Monsieur has seen the rivière Saint Jean?’

The governor shook his head.

‘In my campaigns,’ the prisoner continued. ‘I have seen the rivers of France and I have seen the Rhine, but I have never beheld the equal of this stream. I have talked with M. de Pardeithan, who has traversed the Mississippi, the Ohio, and the River of Canada, also in canoe. He had never seen anything so beautiful, though in the River of Canada there is a great lake with many islands—a thousand, he said—which is enchanting. Figure to yourself, monsieur, long smooth reaches broadening into placid lakes, now flat terraces near the mouths of the tributary streams, some twenty-five toises in height. The river banks and the distant hills on either hand were like fires of yellow and crimson, for, as you know, autumn in this country turns the leaves to marvelous hues. And the skies—of such height! such blueness! Only the nights were cold and grew ever colder.

‘The Indians talked much of a great village and fort on this river, called Meductec, which we were continually approaching. We had reached a camping ground about fifty leagues above this settlement on the 10th of September. For some days, we had noticed a change in the demeanour of the two Indians; they were growing careless and insolent, slow to answer if one of us spoke to them, and always consulting together in their own tongue. From some words M. de Pardeithan overheard, it appeared that they had formed the design of stealing away in the canoe and abandoning us in the wilderness, where, without such guides, we must have perished with hunger. They were weary of convoying us and acting as our servants; and they had received their payment. That afternoon, when we halted to camp and the Indians were fishing, we became convinced of their treachery, and we resolved to seize the canoe at dawn.

‘That night we slept little. Each of us watched in turn while pretending to sleep, and waked the others so quietly that the Indians did not observe our stratagem. Just as the first light broke in the east, I roused my two comrades cautiously. We had scarcely risen to our feet when the Indians sprang up also, perceiving our design. There was a scuffle. The young brave, being the most nimble, leaped on M. de Pardeithan and bore him to the ground. Aeneas dropped on one knee and levelled his piece. I fired my pistol at him as he pulled the trigger. I felt his bullet whistle past my ear, but he fell face downward. M. de Babour, seeing the other Indian about to stab our friend, clapped the fowling-piece to his ear and shot him dead.

‘It was all over in a few moments of time. Aeneas lay groaning on the ground, but beyond seeing or feeling. The young brave’s head was a blackened mass of blood and brains and smouldering hair. M. de Pardeithan rose to his feet slowly, and we three stood there, speechless, breathing heavily, in the dim morning light beside the dead camp-fire, with the bodies of our enemies at our feet.

‘That, M. le Gouverneur, is the truth concerning this slaying, on the faith of a Christian.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘In a few minutes the groans of Aeneas ceased, but we remained where we stood, without moving, in the midst of a great silence. Then some one laughed loud and long, like an overwrought woman, who will presently weep and shriek. It was M. de Babour, who is a mere boy. He was staring like a madman at the young brave’s head—one eye had been blown out of its socket, and lay by itself on the grass—and he was laughing, laughing. It was an hour before we could quiet him.

‘As soon as we recovered our wits, we put all the gear of the dead Indians in the canoe and stripped them mother-naked. This shirt belonged to Aeneas; this hole was made by my bullet. Then we carried the bodies into the forest about two hundred yards, and scraped a shallow trench with our knives and our hands. I made a little cross of twigs to lay on the breast of each, for, though savages, they were christened men. Then we covered them over with earth and concealed the grave with leaves and brushwood as well as we could. It would not, we knew, mislead any Indian who might follow in our track, but we could not leave the corpses where they fell. The sun was at noon before we had finished our task and had left, I hope for ever, that accursed spot.

‘Picture to yourself, M. le Gouverneur, our plight: without a guide in the heart of the wild, not daring to retrace our steps to Quebec, knowing nothing of what lay before us, our food and ammunition low. Besides, we feared the vengeance of the tribe, for the two men that we had slain. M. de Pardeithan had told us how Indians treated captives. He had witnessed scenes the account of which made our blood run cold.’

‘But did you meet with no Indians on your journey down the river?’ asked the governor.

‘No. God is good. Not till we reached St. John.’

‘Did you not see Indians at Meductec?’

‘No, your Excellency, and for this reason: Aeneas had spoken so often of this great village of his people that we were very wary. Late one afternoon we saw smoke in the sky far downstream. So we landed, laid the canoe up in the bushes, and waited till night. When it was quite dark we set out again, keeping very close to the eastern bank, and so passed undetected in the darkness.’

‘But you met with Indians at St. John, you say. Did they not recognize the canoe and question you about the owner?’

‘Your Excellency will remember that it was a new canoe, made for the journey, and only finished just before we left Quebec. None but ourselves had seen it.’

‘When did you reach St. John?’

‘About three weeks ago. We are unskilful with the paddle and unversed in the craft of the hunter and the woodman. Our progress was slow. We went in continual dread of the Indians. M. de Pardeithan, having great experience in America, was our mainstay. He shot the game and caught the fish and cooked the meals. At last we reached St. John.

‘Here we found Père Gaulin of the Missions Etrangères. To him we made our confession and received absolution. At the first opportunity we heard mass. He assisted us in every way and instructed us how to reach the French settlements farther on, for we dared not remain at St. John. A party of Indians was going to Beaubassin; he recommended us to their care. So they piloted us to the river of Beaubassin, where there is a prodigious tide. Here we dared not stay, for fear the tribe of Aeneas would discover his death and hunt us down. We learned that there was another French settlement, called Mines, about twenty-five leagues farther on, which could be reached by water. After a rest of two days, we set out again along the coast. We were much buffeted by the strong tides and currents which run like a mill-race. We reached a great meadow overlooked by a mighty cape. Here were many houses amid orchards and cultivated fields, from which the harvest had been gathered. The watercourses were diked against the sea. So fair a prospect I had not looked on since I quitted France.

‘Here at last, I thought, we had found a safe haven, but our hopes were dashed. No sooner had we disclosed the dreadful story to the elders of the village, than they manifested the greatest terror and ordered us to depart immediately. They would not suffer us to remain there another night. They assured us that the Indians would track us down and destroy us with all the torments of hell. To afford us food or shelter might bring the savages to cut their throats. The only place of safety was with you, M. le Gouverneur, under your protection, here in your strong fort. So the elders assured us, but they would not harbour us another hour if they could help it. Nor would any villager dare to act as our guide. So once more, we set forth along an unknown coast in this cold and snow. All our previous sufferings were nothing to what we have endured these last five days. We could make no headway against the adverse tides, but were forced to land and await the ebb. We slept on the bare ground under the canoe. Our last morsel of bread we shared yesterday at noon. We are men in the last extremity. Another twenty-four hours and we must have died of cold and hunger.

‘We throw ourselves upon your Excellency’s mercy. If you turn us away, we must perish miserably from cold and hunger, or fall victims to the cruelty of the savages.’

There was a pause. The governor asked to see the minutes the secretary had taken down; and the big book was passed up to him. While he consulted the entries, there was silence in the room, except for the crackling of the fire. The prisoner never took his eyes off the governor’s face. The book was handed back to the secretary.

‘Answer me one more question,’ said the governor. ‘Are not you and your two friends deserters from the troops at Quebec?’

‘On the faith of a Christian, your Excellency’—the prisoner laid his hand on his heart—‘we are not. I scorn to deny that I myself hold the King’s commission in the Regiment Salis-Samade. I have already informed your Excellency that I have served in Old France. But my friends were never in the army. I have greater acquaintance with M. de Babour than with M. de Pardeithan, for we were both prisoners in the Bastille together, and little better than prisoners again at Quebec. M. de Pardeithan I have known only some four months, since he came to Canada from the Mississippi. I—we—the heat—’

The tall Frenchman swayed where he stood, and would have fallen forward with his face against the table, if Sergeant Danielson and one of the soldiers had not caught him in time and laid him on the floor. He was in a dead faint. The Council started from their seats. Mr. Skene ran to the Frenchman’s side and put a hand over his heart.

‘Brandy!’ he cried. ‘At once!’

Mr. Doucett opened a locker and produced a glass and a square bottle. The surgeon forced some of the liquor through the clenched teeth of the prostrate man.

‘Far gone,’ Mr. Skene muttered, as he felt in his pocket for his lancet; ‘ill nourished—vital forces weak.’ He opened a vein in the Frenchman’s arm and administered more brandy. Presently the prisoner revived sufficiently to open his eyes, but he could not sit up, though he tried hard to do so. The soldiers propped him on his feet and half carried him back to the guardroom. At Mr. Skene’s suggestion, the governor ordered food for him.

The investigation was not abandoned on account of this occurrence. The guard next brought M. de Pardeithan before the Council. He proved to be a thick-set, sad-eyed Breton. His thin, delicate hands were calloused and chilblained, but on one grimy finger was a seal ring with his arms engraved upon it. This he showed to the governor in proof of his gentle blood. His evidence confirmed the story of M. de Veillein in every particular. Of himself, he said that he had been transported to New Spain, for his share in a fatal duel in which he had seconded a friend. From New Spain, he had escaped to the French plantations at the mouth of the Mississippi, where he had obtained employment as secretary. After remaining in this post for three years, he had made his way up the great river to its affluent, the Ohio, and so by the lakes and the River of Canada to Quebec. He had traversed the continent from south to north. All he knew of the other prisoners was the account they gave of themselves, and that they were respected in Quebec as gentlemen.

The third prisoner, M. Alexandre Poupart de Babour, a famished blond Cupidon of twenty, in dirty rags, agreed in every respect with the other two. He did not know the real cause of his confinement in the Bastille, nor of his transportation to Canada, but he believed that it had been so ordered by some of his family, on account of amours, for he had been a very wild youth.

The prayer of the three adventurers was not refused. They were detained within the walls of Fort Anne for six months as prisoners on parole. The officers supplied them with clothing and welcomed them to their table. During the dull winter days and long winter evenings, the strangers learned to speak English. In a hundred agreeable ways, they helped to pass the time, at cards or chess, or with stories, over the wine, of Old France—campaigns, travels, duels, love affairs—of the wild countries of New Spain and Louisiana. The place had known no such winter since the Sieur de Champlain instituted the Order of Good Cheer in 1606, as related in the pages of Master Marc Lescarbot.

In the spring, Mr. William Winniett, trading up the bay, made inquiries at Mines, learned that the Frenchmen’s tale was true, and wrote to the Hon. John Doucett to tell him so. He and the Council then agreed that their guests were not spies, but gentlemen who had met with misfortunes and ill usage. They further agreed that to detain them at Annapolis Royal until the Indians began to gather there would be mere cruelty. So by the very earliest opportunity, they were shipped off to Boston, and the annals of Nova Scotia know them no more.

What happened after their arrival in Boston—whether they ever saw France again and obtained that justice from Louis le Bien-aimé which de Veillein was determined to sue for—remains a mystery.