Читать книгу Phantom Ships - Susan Ouriou - Страница 20

That which is called Carraquet is an island in front of which lies a very large bay three leagues deep; there is a river in the interior (Rivière du Sud)… I have visited the bay from both sides of the north coast (Maisonnette and Anse Bleue)… Next is Chipagan, which is nothing but a large recess that goes from one sea to the other by way of breaks that form islands; only small ships can pass by rounding a point, rowboats go through a small pass (between Ile de Pokesudie and terra firma) to enter the bay called Chipagan; it forms another island that comes to a point that runs alongside the bay deep into the sea; this is called Miscou Point…

– Excerpted from the document on the

Chaleurs Abbey south of the St. Lawrence River.

Written in Louisbourg on the 19th day of August 1724

by Sieur L’Hermmitte, king’s engineer

…a very tall rock, high on both sides…

– Champlain, within sight of Percé Rock

In late September, the Phantom Ship was ready to travel to Quebec. Angélique brought down jars of pumpkin jam in a small crate. Jean-Baptiste loaded the hold with dried cod. Joseph piled up crates of oysters that had been gathered on the Pointe-de-Roche sand bar.

Angélique took advantage of a small break from the task at hand to open a few oysters, which she ate with Joseph. “They’re an aphrodisiac,” she said softly. Joseph didn’t need to be told twice, and her words were borne out…

When the sun was at its highest point, the ship skimmed past Miscou and its Breton, Basque, and Norman fishermen’s huts. Across the way, on Ile Chipagan, traces could still be seen of Nicolas Denys’ installations from the time the king had bestowed on him, by letter patent bearing a great green wax seal, the title of lieutenant-general and governor of coastal Acadia, and had entrusted him with setting up trading posts for fish and furs, the two income sources which motivated France to look after its colonies. Denys had criss-crossed the huge territory for close to fifty years, at a time when France’s dreams for the continent were equal to its size.

“Denys was an important man,” Joseph began thoughtfully.

“Who’s that?” Membertou asked.

“He came over with the founders, Razilly and D’Aulnay. In your grandfather’s library, you may have noticed the two books Denys wrote, both vigorous pleas for the development of our country. For more than fifty years, he fought in the king’s interest; he even went to Versailles and offered the king the finest silver fox furs. To little avail, however.”

Joseph’s comment sparked Membertou’s imagination. He had never understood why the French left their distant and wonderful country for Canada’s snow and fog.

* * *

On the second evening, the Phantom Ship dropped anchor not far from Percé Rock. At dawn, Membertou began rowing his dory toward this marvel of nature, which stood like a sphinx pierced with two huge holes carved out by the sea. At high tide, small boats could pass through it, which Membertou did. Afterwards, at the risk of breaking his neck, he climbed the rock, knocking down fossils that were several thousand years old. Joseph forgave him his escapade because he brought back a delicious supply of eggs. Nearby, on Ile Bonaventure, Northern Gannet wove overhead as though making a roof to shelter him. There were so many of them – like snowflakes blocking the sun – that it felt like an actual snowstorm.

The next day, Joseph and his crew stopped at Gaspeg, known as the key to Canada because of its command of the river on the way to Quebec and its reputation as one of the safest harbours on the Atlantic coast.

“It was here in 1534 that Jacques Cartier claimed possession of the country,’ Joseph said. “With a cross measuring three toises¹ that bore a crest showing three fleurs-de-lys and the inscription VIVE LE ROY DE FRANCE, Long Live the King of France.

“Can we see it?” Membertou asked.

“It crumbled… in as sorry a state as New France is. If the king doesn’t look after his spoils better than this, there will be nothing left,” Joseph grumbled.

Saint-Jean had asked Joseph to give a certain Françoise a few bags of fine flour on his behalf. Françoise was the daughter of Madeleine, the widowed native woman who had married Saint-Jean after her husband died. Françoise never accepted her second family, and Saint-Jean never understood why. So the ties between Saint-Jean and his adopted daughter were those of business, nothing more. Françoise was responsible for the Gaspeg fur-trading post. She was self-disciplined and had a hermit’s temperament, which one had to admire. In order to protect her privacy, she rarely confided in anyone, but that day she spoke to Joseph about her husband Pierre Le Vicaire, who was off fishing, and about her two youngest daughters, Anne and Marie, and about her desire to visit Quebec. Jean-Baptiste, who had never heard his stepsister express a personal longing, could not believe his ears.

“You’re welcome to join us… we have enough room,” Jean-Baptiste offered.

“Maybe some other time…”

Just when her guests were leaving, she even asked for news of Saint-Jean, leading Jean-Baptiste to believe she was finally having a change of heart!

The Phantom Ship set sail up the St. Lawrence River, and a favourable wind soon brought it within sight of the Tadoussac coasts at the mouth of the Saguenay.

“Sieur de Roberval tried in vain to establish settlers in this region,” Joseph reflected. “That was in 1541, during Cartier’s last voyage in search of the fabulous kingdom of the Saguenay, where, it was said, gold grew everywhere.”

Fascinated by the show the whales were putting on, Membertou was only half-listening. He exclaimed, “Look over there at the whale pods!”

Some ten white belugas performed, twirling and pirouetting like children as they swam closer to the schooner in a breathtaking display. Some expelled water from their lungs in a geyser, while others leapt out of the river and flopped onto their backs beside the ship, spraying the passengers with the cascade of water and foam their tails sent flying. The rose hue of dusk was reflected in the ballet of tapered bodies racing through and vaulting over the waves. The dolphins joined in as well, weaving backwards in a zigzag as they nonchalantly brushed against the hull starboard then dove and reappeared to portside. Farther on, a few marbled blue finback whales slept, drifting on the waves, snoring loudly, while the seagulls took great pleasure in scratching their sundried backs. For some it was mealtime; they gulped down huge quantities of krill and water. Membertou admired the show at length, then turned his attention to the Northern Gannet soaring overhead, on the lookout for herring and capelin.

That night, Membertou dreamt he arrived at Ile Caraquet on a belugas back. Straddling the gentle animal and guiding it with braided ropes of seaweed, he made his appearance in a spray of foam to the general acclamation of the tribe.

Jean-Baptiste had a nightmare: his father had shut him up in a large chest of gold with nothing to live on but dry bread and water to punish him for his greed. He woke up bathed in sweat, trying to convince himself he just wanted to show the white man what good merchants his people could be.

As for Joseph, who manned the tiller, he sifted through memories of his childhood and the hours spent along the docks, where large foreign ships came to load up on furs, and barrels of sugar, molasses, and rum from the West Indies. Sometimes with his friends, he went to watch the shipbuilding by Rue Culde-Sac. The smell of tar there made him dream of the spice road followed by his hero, Sinbad. There were wood scents, too: oak, beech, elm, and the tall white pine used for ships’ masts. And other more discreet perfumes: those of the clandestine rendezvous. In fact, it was in among the cords of wood that he met Emilie, whose parents were building a new home, a large three-storey house close to Rue Sous-le-Fort by Cul-de-Sac. Joseph and Emilie went through a period of secret lovers’ rendezvous, crossing over to Lévis on the ice as they invented another universe to the rhythm of the swaying carriage.

Joseph was abruptly awakened from his daydream by Jean-Baptiste, come to take over the watch. Tired from his sleepless night and his impossible daydreams, he fell asleep quickly, but his sleep was disturbed by a strange dream he had often had as a child. In a stone castle next to a river, a pack of hounds bayed, while people on horseback set off on a wild boar hunt. He was never able to make out the people’s faces. When he awoke, he wondered whether the faces were those of his unknown parents.

The Saint-Jean-Port-Joli seigneurie came into view. Joseph headed for shore, delighted to think he’d be meeting the great oyster lover Seigneur Jean Aubert de Gaspé in person. Inside the manor, a long table was set in a large room with high wainscotting. Other than the treasure on Ile Caraquet, Membertou had never seen anything quite as beautiful: the silver cutlery laid out on a delicate starched tablecloth, the crystal chandeliers and the light from their thousands of candles, the servants in livery, the women parading their rich finery. But Joseph was in a hurry. He couldn’t wait to see Quebec, his mother, and his friends again. Without admitting as much, he hoped for news of Emilie as well.

A few hours later, Quebec hove into sight. Joseph was overcome by emotion at the sight of Ile d’Orléans, then Cap Diamant, topped by the Château St. Louis. His gaze lingered on the animated docks where, next to the Royal Battery, some thirty ships from France, Louisbourg, and the West Indies rocked; one was preparing to sail to France with its cargo of fur.

“I bet they have furs from our region,” Membertou said.

“At ten times the price,” Jean-Baptiste added.

Another ship was full to the brim with white pine to be used for masts for the royal navy. Jean-Baptiste was already busy imagining the trade he could do in Miramichi’s great white pines. A ship from the West Indies attracted his attention. Men rolled barrels of rum onto carts; just the thought of the warm liquid coursing down his throat made Jean-Baptiste thirsty. For Joseph, it was the thought of Emilie that came to haunt him like a wound reopened. Memories were awakened by the seagulls playing overhead, just as they had when he and Emilie were young lovers. Why can’t I forget her? he asked himself. She was my first love, I know, but that”s not reason enough. What is it about her that has burrowed so deeply into my heart?