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The Old Medoctec Fort.

Twelve miles below the town of Woodstock there enters the River St. John, from the westward, a good sized tributary known as Eel River. It is a variable stream, flowing in the upper reaches with feeble current, over sandy shallows, with here and there deep pools, and at certain seasons almost lake-like expansions over adjoining swamps, but in the last twelve miles of its course it is transformed into a turbulent stream, broken by rapids and falls to such an extent that only at the freshet season is it possible to descend in canoes. The Indian name of Eel River is “Madawamkeetook,” signifying “rocky at its mouth.”

Plan of Old Medoctec Village

The Medoctec Fort stood on the west bank of the St. John four miles above the mouth of Eel River. It guarded the eastern extremity of the famous portage, five miles in length, by which canoes were carried in order to avoid the rapids that obstruct the lower part of Eel River. The rivers were nature’s highway for the aboriginal inhabitants and a glance at the map will show that Madawamkeetook, or Eel River, formed a very important link in the chain of communication with the western portion of ancient Acadie by means of the inland waters.

In early days the three principal villages of the Maliseets were Medoctec on the St. John, Panagamsde on the Penobscot and Narantsouak on the Kennebec. In travelling from Medoctec to the westward the Indians passed from the lakes at the head of Eel River, by a short portage, to the chain of lakes at the head of the St. Croix from which there was communication by another short portage with the Mattawamkeag, an eastern branch of the Penobscot. In the course of the stirring events of the war-period in Acadia the Indian braves and their French allies made constant use of this route, and the Medoctec village became a natural rendezvous whenever anything of a warlike nature was afoot on the St. John. But Medoctec possessed many local advantages; the hunting in the vicinity was excellent, the rivers abounded in salmon, sturgeon, bass, trout and other fish, and the intervals were admirably adapted to the growth of Indian corn—which seems to have been raised there from time immemorial.

The reader by examining the accompanying plan will have a better idea of the situation of the old fort.

The site of this ancient Maliseet town is a fine plateau extending back from the river about fifty rods, then descending to a lower interval, twenty rods wide, and again rising quite abruptly sixty or seventy feet to the upland. The spring freshet usually covers the lower interval and the elevated plateau then becomes an island. The spot is an exceedingly interesting one, but, unfortunately for the investigator, the soil has been so well cultivated by the hands of thrifty farmers that little remains to indicate the outlines of the old fortifications. It is impossible to determine with absolute certainty the position of the stockade, or of the large wigwam, or council chamber, and other features commonly found in Indian towns of that period. The only place where the old breast-work is visible is along the south and east sides of the burial ground, where it is about two feet high. The burial ground has never been disturbed with the plough, the owners of the property having shown a proper regard for the spot as the resting place of the dead. It is, however, so thickly overgrown with hawthorn as to be a perfect jungle difficult to penetrate. Many holes have been dug there by relic hunters and seekers of buried treasure.

At the spot marked A* on the plan, between the grave-yard and the river, there is a mass of ashes and cinders with numberless bones scattered about. This is believed to be the site of the old council fire. Here the visitor will find himself in touch with the events of savage life of centuries ago. Here it was Governor Villebon harangued his dusky allies; here the horrible dog feast was held and the hatchet brandished by the warriors on the eve of their departure to deluge with blood the homes of New England; here at the stake the luckless captive yielded up his life and chanted his death-song; here the Sieur de Clignancourt bargained with the Indians, receiving their furs and peltry and giving in exchange French goods and trinkets, rum and brandy; here good Father Simon taught the savages the elements of the Christian faith and tamed as best he could the fierceness of their manners; here too when weary of fighting the hatchet was buried and the council fire glowed its brightest as the chiefs smoked their calumet of peace.

Some have supposed the old Medoctec fort to have been quite an elaborate structure, with bastions, etc., but it was more probably only a rude Indian fortification with ditch and parapet surmounted by a stockade, within which was a strongly built cabin, in size about thirty by forty feet. Parkman in his “Jesuits in North America,” gives a good description of similar forts built by the Hurons and other tribes of Canada. The labor originally involved in the erection of the palisade must have been very great, and nothing but stern necessity is likely to have driven so naturally improvident a people to undertake it. The stout stakes were cut, pointed and firmly planted with no better implement than the stone axe of prehistoric times.

In the lower right hand corner of the plan will be found the spring referred to in the opening chapter[15] as the scene of the ludicrous Mohawk scare. Its distance from the old fort is about half a mile, and the situation and surroundings correspond so exactly with Gyles’ description that there is not the slightest doubt as to its identity. The water that flows from it never fails and is very clear and cool.

At the back of the lower interval is a curious gully, something like a broad natural roadway, which affords an easy ascent to the upland. This no doubt was the commencement of the famous portage by which bands of savages in ancient days took their way westward to devastate the settlements of eastern New England.

The small stream which enters the St. John a little above the old village site is known as Hay’s Creek, but in some of the early maps and land grants is called “Meductic river.” About a mile from its mouth there is a very beautiful cascade; the volume of water is not large but the height of the fall, 95 feet perpendicular, is remarkable, surpassing by at least ten feet the Grand Falls of the River St. John.

Our knowledge of the village Medoctec, and the ways of its people two centuries ago, is derived mainly from the narrative of John Gyles, the English lad who was captured at Pemaquid in 1689 and brought by his Indian master to the River St. John. At the time of his capture Gyles was a boy of about twelve years of age. He seems to have met with kindly treatment from his master though not from all the Indians. His first rude experience was at Penobscot fort where upon the arrival of the captives, some fifty in number, the squaws got together in a circle dancing and yelling, as was their custom on such occasions. Gyles says, “An old grimace squaw took me by the hand and leading me into the ring, some seized me by my hair and others by my feet, like so many furies; but, my master laying down a pledge, they released me. A captive among the Indians is exposed to all manner of abuses and to the extremest tortures, unless their master, or some of their master’s relatives lay down a ransom, such as a bag of corn, a blanket, or the like, which redeems them from their cruelty for that dance.”

After a long and wearisome journey the little captive at length neared his destination, the canoes were paddling down the Madawamkeetook (or Eel) river. When they reached the rapids they landed, and we shall let Gyles tell in his own words the story of the last stage of his journey and of his reception at Medoctec. He says: “We carried over a long carrying place to Medoctock Fort, which stands on a bank of St. John’s river. My Indian master went before and left me with an old Indian 69 and three squaws. The old man often said (which was all the English he could speak), ‘By and by come to a great Town and Fort.’ So I comforted myself in thinking how finely I should be refreshed when I came to this great town.

“After some miles travel we came in sight of a large Corn-field and soon after of the Fort, to my great surprise; for two or three squaws met us, took off my pack, and led me to a large hut or wigwam, where thirty or forty Indians were dancing and yelling round five or six poor captives. * * I was whirled in among them and we looked at each other with a sorrowful countenance; and presently one of them was seized by each hand and foot by four Indians, who swung him up and let his back with force fall on the hard ground, till they had danced (as they call it) round the whole wigwam, which was thirty or forty feet in length. * *

“The Indians looked on me with a fierce countenance, as much as to say it will be your turn next. They champed cornstalks, which they threw into my hat as I held it in my hand. I smiled on them though my heart ached. I looked on one and another, but could not perceive that any eye pitied me. Presently came a squaw and a little girl and laid down a bag of corn in the ring. The little girl took me by the hand, making signs for me to come out of the circle with them. Not knowing their custom, I supposed they designed to kill me and refused to go. Then a grave Indian came and gave me a pipe and said in English, ‘Smoke it,’ then he took me by the hand and led me out. My heart ached, thinking myself near my end. But he carried me to a French hut about a mile from the Indian Fort. The Frenchman was not at home, but his wife, who was a squaw, had some discourse with my Indian friend, which I did not understand. We tarried there about two hours, then returned to the Indian village, where they gave me some victuals. Not long after I saw one of my fellow-captives who gave me a melancholy account of their sufferings after I left them.

“After some weeks had passed,” Gyles continues, “we left this village and went up St. John’s river about ten miles to a branch called Medockscenecasis, where there was one wigwam. At our arrival an old squaw saluted me with a yell, taking me by the hair and one hand, but I was so rude as to break her hold and free myself. She gave me a filthy grin, and the Indians set up a laugh and so it passed over. Here we lived on fish, wild grapes, roots, etc., which was hard living for me.”

Where the one wigwam stood in 1689, there stands today a town of 4,000 people. The stream which Gyles calls Medockscenecasis is the Meduxnakik and the town is Woodstock. On the islands and intervals there, wild grapes and lily roots, butter-nuts and cherries are still to be found, and many generations of boys have wandered with light hearts in quest of them without a thought of the first of white boys, who in loneliness and friendlessness trod those intervals more than two hundred years ago.

It seems to have been the custom of the Indians at the beginning of the winter to break up into small parties for the purpose of hunting, and Gyles’ description of his first winter’s experience will serve to illustrate the hardships commonly endured by the savages.

“When the winter came on,” he says, “we went up the river, till the ice came down running thick in the river, when, according to the Indian custom, we laid up our canoes till spring. Then we traveled, sometimes on the ice and sometimes on land, till we came to a river that was open but not fordable, where we made a raft and passed over, bag and baggage. I met with no abuse from them in this winter’s hunting, though I was put to great hardships in carrying burdens and for want of food. But they underwent the same difficulty, and would often encourage me by saying in broken English, ‘By and by great deal moose!’ Yet they could not answer any question I asked them; and knowing very little of their customs and ways of life, I thought it tedious to be constantly moving from place to place, yet it might be in some respects an advantage, for it ran still in my mind that we were traveling to some settlement; and when my burden was over heavy, and the Indians left me behind, and the still evening came on, I fancied I could see thro’ the bushes and hear the people of some great town; which hope might be some support to me in the day, though I found not the town at night.

“Thus we were hunting three hundred miles from the sea and knew no man within fifty or sixty miles of us. We were eight or ten in number, and had but two guns on which we wholly depended for food. If any disaster had happened we must all have perished. Sometimes we had no manner of sustenance for three or four days; but God wonderfully provides for all creatures. * * *

“We moved still farther up the country after the moose when our store gave out; so that by the spring we had got to the northward of the Lady Mountains [near the St. Lawrence]. When the spring came and the rivers broke up we moved back to the head of St. John’s river and there made canoes of moose hides, sewing three or four together and pitching the seams with balsam mixed with charcoal. Then we went down the river to a place called Madawescok. There an old man lived and kept a sort of a trading house, where we tarried several days; then we went further down the river till we came to the greatest falls in these parts, called Checanekepeag[16], where we carried a little way over land, and putting off our canoes we went down stream still, and as we passed the mouths of any large branches we saw Indians, but when any dance was proposed I was bought off.

“At length we arrived at the place where we left our canoes in the fall and, putting our baggage into them, went down to the fort. There we planted corn, and after planting went a fishing and to look for and dig roots till the corn was fit to weed. After weeding we took a second tour on foot on the same errand, then returned to hill up our corn. After hilling we went some distance from the fort and field up the river to take salmon and other fish, which we dried for food, where we continued till the corn was filled with milk; some of it we dried then, the other as it ripened.”

The statement has been made by the author in the opening chapter that exaggerated ideas have prevailed concerning the number of Indians who formerly inhabited this country. The natives of Acadia were not a prolific race and the life they led was so full of danger and exposure, particularly in the winter season, as 71 not to be conducive to longevity. An instance of the dangers to which the Indians were exposed in their winter hunting is related by Gyles which very nearly proved fatal to him.

“One winter,” he says, “as we were moving from place to place our hunters killed some moose. One lying some miles from our wigwams, a young Indian and myself were ordered to fetch part of it. We set out in the morning when the weather was promising, but it proved a very cold cloudy day.

“It was late in the evening before we arrived at the place where the moose lay, so that we had no time to provide materials for a fire or shelter. At the same time came on a storm of snow very thick which continued until the next morning. We made a small fire with what little rubbish we could find around us. The fire with the warmth of our bodies melted the snow upon us as fast as it fell and so our clothes were filled with water. However, early in the morning we took our loads of moose flesh, and set out to return to our wigwams. We had not travelled far before my moose-skin coat (which was the only garment I had on my back, and the hair chiefly worn off) was frozen stiff round my knees, like a hoop, as were my snow-shoes and shoe clouts to my feet. Thus I marched the whole day without fire or food. At first I was in great pain, then my flesh became numb, and at times I felt extremely sick and thought I could not travel one foot farther; but I wonderfully revived again. After long travelling I felt very drowsy, and had thoughts of sitting down, which had I done, without doubt I had fallen on my final sleep. My Indian companion, being better clothed, had left me long before. Again my spirits revived as much as if I had received the richest cordial.

“Some hours after sunset I reached the wigwam, and crawling in with my snow-shoes on, the Indians cried out, ‘The captive is frozen to death!’ They took off my pack and the place where that lay against my back was the only one that was not frozen. They cut off my snow-shoes and stripped off the clouts from my feet, which were as void of feeling as any frozen flesh could be.

“I had not sat long by the fire before the blood began to circulate and my feet to my ankles turned black and swelled with bloody blisters and were inexpressibly painful. The Indians said one to another: ‘His feet will rot, and he will die;’ yet I slept well at night. Soon after the skin came off my feet from my ankles whole, like a shoe, leaving my toes without a nail and the ends of my great toe bones bare.... The Indians gave me rags to bind up my feet and advised me to apply fir balsam, but withal added that they believed it was not worth while to use means for I should certainly die. But by the use of my elbows and a stick in each hand I shoved myself along as I sat upon the ground over the snow from one tree to another till I got some balsam. This I burned in a clam shell till it was of a consistence like salve, which I applied to my feet and ankles and, by the divine blessing, within a week I could go about upon my heels with my staff; and through God’s goodness we had provisions enough, so that we did not remove under ten or fifteen days. Then the Indians made two little hoops, something in the form of a snow-shoe, and sewing them to my feet I was able to follow them in their tracks on my heels from place to place, though sometimes half leg deep in snow and water, which gave me the most acute pain imaginable; but I must walk or die. 72 Yet within a year my feet were entirely well, and the nails came on my great toes so that a very critical eye could scarcely perceive any part missing, or that they had been frozen at all.”

We turn now to the consideration of the state of affairs on the St. John after the removal of the seat of government from Fort Nachouac to Menagoueche and subsequently to Port Royal.

After the retirement of the French from the river, at the close of the seventeenth century, our knowledge of that region for the next thirty years is small. We know, however, that the Maliseets continued hostile to the English. War parties from the St. John united with the neighboring tribes, roaming over the country like hungry wolves, prowling around the towns and settlements of New England, carrying terror and destruction wherever they went. The resentment inspired by their deeds was such that the legislatures of Massachusetts and New Hampshire offered a bounty of £40 for the scalp of every adult male Indian.

For sixty years Indian wars followed in rapid succession. They are known in history as King William’s war, Queen Anne’s war, Lovewell’s or Dummer’s war and King George’s war. In nearly every instance the Indian raids were instigated or encouraged by their French allies, who feared that otherwise the English would win them and thereby gain the country.

Civil and ecclesiastical authority in France were at this time very closely united. The missionaries of New France were appointed and removed by the authorities at Quebec and received an annual stipend from the crown, and however diligent the missionary might be in his calling, or however pure his life, he was liable to be removed unless he used his influence to keep the savages in a state of hostility to the English. The Maliseet villages on the St. John, the Penobscot and the Kennebec rivers were regarded as buttresses against English encroachments in the direction of Canada, and the authorities at Quebec relied much upon the influence of the missionaries to keep the savages loyal to France.

The first missionary at the Medoctec village, of whom we have any accurate information, was Father Simon, who has already been frequently mentioned in the extracts from John Gyles’ narrative. He belonged to the order of the Recollets, founded early in the 13th century by St. Francis of Assissi. The missionaries of that order began their labors on the St. John as early as 1620; they came to Acadia from Aquitane. Father Simon was a man of activity and enterprise as well as of religious zeal. He did all that lay in his power to promote the ascendency of his country-men in the land they loved to call “New France,” but his influence with the Indians was always exercised on the side of humanity. On this point Gyles’ testimony is conclusive. He says: “The priest of this river was of the order of St. Francis, a gentleman of a humane generous disposition. In his sermons he most severely reprehended the Indians for their barbarities to captives. He would often tell them that excepting their errors in religion the English were a better people than themselves.”

We have no exact information as to the number of years Father Simon labored at Medoctec, but he died near the close of the century. Governor Villebon in December, 1698, wrote, “Father Simon is sick at Jemseg,” and as his name does not 73 again appear in the annals of that time it is probable that his sickness proved mortal. He was succeeded in his mission by one of the Jesuit fathers, Joseph Aubery, who came to Medoctec about 1701, remaining there seven years. He then took charge of the Abenaki mission of St. Francis, where he continued for 46 years and died at the age of 82. Chateaubriand drew from his character and career materials for one of the characters in his well known romance “Atala.”

The next missionary on the River St. John was Jean Baptiste Loyard, who was born at Pau in France in 1678, and came out to Canada in 1706. He remained almost constantly at his post, except that in the year 1722 he went to France to obtain aid for his mission. His position was a difficult one, for the letters of the Marquis de Vaudreuil show that in addition to his spiritual functions he was regarded as the political agent of the French on the St. John.

By the treaty of Utrecht, in the days of Queen Anne (A. D. 1713), “all Nova Scotia, or Acadia, comprehended within its ancient boundaries,” was ceded to the Queen of Great Britain. But the question immediately arose, what were the ancient boundaries? The British were disposed to claim, as indeed the French had formerly done, that Acadia included the territory north of the Bay of Fundy as far west as the Kennebec river; but the French would not now admit that it included anything more than the peninsula of Nova Scotia.

In 1715, Governor Caulfield endeavored to have a good understanding with Loyard, assuring him that he would not be molested, and begging him to say to the Indians of his mission that they would receive good treatment at the hands of the English and that a vessel full of everything they needed would be sent up the river to them.

But other and more potent influences were at work. On June 15, 1716, the French minister wrote the Marquis de Vaudreuil that the King, in order to cement more firmly the alliance with the savages of Acadia, had granted the sum of 1,200 livres, agreeably to the proposal of the intendant Begon, to be expended in building a church for the Indians on the River St. John, and another for those on the Kennebec. The Indians were wonderfully pleased and offered to furnish a quantity of beaver as their contribution towards the erection of the churches. In the years that followed the king made two additional grants of 1,200 livres each, and in 1720 the Marquis de Vaudreuil had the satisfaction of reporting that the churches were finished; that they were well built and would prove a great inducement to the savages to be loyal to France.

The probable site of the Indian chapel on the banks of the St. John is shown in the plan of the Medoctec Fort and village near the north west corner of the burial ground. A small stone tablet was discovered here by Mr. A. R. Hay, of Lower Woodstock, in June, 1890. The tablet is of black slate, similar to that found in the vicinity, and is in length fourteen inches by seven in width and about an inch in thickness.

It was found quite near the surface, just as it might naturally have fallen amid the ruins of an old building, covered merely by the fallen leaves; the inscription is in an excellent state of preservation and, without abbreviation, reads as follows:

SLATE-STONE TABLET.

A relic of the Indian Chapel of Saint Jean Baptiste. Found at Medoctec, June, 1890.

DEO

Optimo Maximo

In honorem Divi Ioannis Baptistae

Hoc Templum posuerunt Anno Domin

(MDCCXVII).

Malecitae

Missionis Procurator Ioanne Loyard Societatis Iesu

Sacerdote.

The translation reads:—“To God, most excellent, most high, in honor of Saint John Baptist, the Maliseets erected this church A. D. 1717, while Jean Loyard, a priest of the Society of Jesus, was superintendent of the mission.”

The inscription is clearly cut, but not with sufficient skill to suggest the hand of a practised stone engraver. It was in all probability the hand of Loyard himself that executed it. The name of Danielou, his successor, faintly scratched in the lower left-hand corner, is evidently of later date; but its presence there is of historic interest.

The Indian church of St. John Baptist at Medoctec, erected in 1717, was the first on the River St. John—probably the first in New Brunswick. It received among other royal gifts a small bell which now hangs in the belfry of the Indian chapel at Central Kingsclear, a few miles above Fredericton. The church seems to have been such as would impress by its beauty and adornments the little flock over which Loyard exercised his kindly ministry. It is mentioned by one of the Jesuit fathers as a beautiful church (belle eglise), suitably adorned and furnished abundantly with holy vessels and ornaments of sufficient richness.

The chapel stood for fifty years and its clear toned bell rang out the call to prayer in the depths of the forest; but by and by priest and people passed away till, in 1767, the missionary Bailly records in his register that the Indians having abandoned the Medoctec village he had caused the ornaments and furnishings of the chapel, together with the bell, to be transported to Aukpaque, and had caused the chapel itself to be demolished since it served merely as a refuge for travellers and was put to the most profane uses.

The Marquis de Vaudreuil in 1718 wrote to the English authorities at Port Royal protesting against English vessels entering the River St. John, which he claimed to be entirely within the French dominion. He encouraged the French to withdraw from the peninsula of Nova Scotia, promising them lands on the St. John river on application to the missionary Loyard, who was empowered to grant them and in the course of time a number of families resorted thither.

When Loyard went to France in 1722 he represented to the home government that the English were making encroachments on the “rivers of the savages”—meaning the St. John, Penobscot and Kennebec. “Why is this?” he asks, “if not for the purpose of continually advancing on Canada?” He points out that France has not cared for the savages except when she has had need of them. The English will not fail to remind them of this fact, and will perhaps by presents more valuable than the missionaries can offer soon succeed in winning them. Loyard recommends the court 76 to increase the annual gratuity and to provide for each village a royal medal to serve as a reminder of the king’s favor and protection. His advice seems to have been followed, and for some years an annual appropriation of 4,000 livres was made to provide presents for the savages, the distribution being left to the missionaries.

BELL OF OLD INDIAN CHAPEL. (A. D. 1717.)

Port Royal, under its new name of Annapolis, was now become the headquarters of British authority and efforts were made to establish friendly relations with the Indians of the St. John river. In July, 1720, nine chiefs were brought over to Annapolis in a vessel sent by Governor Philipps for the purpose; they were entertained and addressed and presents were made to them and they went home apparently well pleased. However the English governor did not count much upon their fidelity. He states that he was beset with Indian delegations from various quarters; that he received them all and never dismissed them without presents, which they always looked for and for which he was out of pocket about a hundred and fifty 77 pounds; he adds, “but I am convinced that a hundred thousand will not buy them from the French interest while the priests are among them.”

Governor Philipps’ lack of confidence in Indian promises of friendship and alliance was soon justified, for in Lovewell’s war, which broke out in 1722 and lasted three years, the Indians surprized and captured a large number of trading vessels in the Bay of Fundy and along the coast, and a party of 30 Maliseets and 26 Micmacs attacked the Fort at Annapolis, killing two of the garrison and dangerously wounding an officer and three men. In retaliation for the loss of Sergt McNeal, who was shot and scalped, the English shot and scalped an Indian prisoner on the spot where McNeal had fallen, an action which, however great the provocation, is to be lamented as unworthy of a Christian people.

Lovewell’s war was terminated by a notable treaty made at Boston in 1725 with four eminent sagamores representing the tribes of Kennebec, Penobscot, St. John and Cape Sable; Francois Xavier appearing on behalf of the Maliseets of the St. John. The conference lasted over a month, for the Indians were very deliberate in their negotiations and too well satisfied with their entertainment to be in a hurry. The treaty was solemnly ratified at Falmouth in the presence of the Lieutenant-Governors of Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Nova Scotia, and about forty chiefs. The formal assent of the St. John Indians does not appear to have been given until May, 1728, when three or four sachems, accompanied by twenty-six warriors, came from Medoctec to Annapolis Royal to ratify the peace and make submission to the British government. Governor Armstrong with the advice of his officers made them presents, entertained them several days and sent them away well satisfied.

The ministry of Loyard was now drawing to a close. He seems to have been a man of talents and rare virtues, esteemed and beloved by both French and Indians, and in his death universally lamented. He devoted nearly twenty-four of the best years of his life to the conversion of the Indians, and when summoned to Quebec for the benefit of his health, which had become impared by toil and exposure, he had hardly recovered from the fatigue of the journey when he requested to be allowed to return to his mission, where his presence was needed. It was while in the active discharge of his duty among the sick that he contracted the disease of which he died in the midst of his people, who were well nigh inconsolable for their loss. The obituary letter announcing his death to the other Jesuit missionaries contains a glowing eulogy of the man and his work. His disposition had nothing of sternness, yet he was equally beloved and revered by his flock; to untiring zeal he joined exemplary modesty, sweetness of disposition, never failing charity and an evenness of temper which made him superior to all annoyances; busy as he was he had the art of economising the moments, and he gave all the prescribed time to his own spiritual exercises; over his flock he watched incessantly as a good shepherd with the happy consolation of gathering abundant fruit of his care and toil; he was fitted for everything and ready for everything, and his superiors could dispose of him as they would. The date of his death, June 24, 1731, suggests some remarkable coincidences. The 24th of June is St. John Baptist’s day; Loyard’s name was Jean Baptiste; the church he built was 78 called St. Jean Baptiste; it was the first church on the banks of a river named in honor of St. Jean Baptiste (because discovered on 24th June, 1604, by Champlain); and it was fitting that the missionary who designed it, who watched over its construction and who probably was laid to rest beneath its shade, should pass from the scene of his labors on the day that honors the memory of St. Jean Baptiste. By a pure coincidence the author finds himself penning these words on St. John Baptist’s day, 1903.

Jean Loyard Fac-simile, A. D. 1708.

Loyard’s successor was Jean Pierre Danielou, whose presence at Medoctec is indicated by the occurrence of his name on the memorial tablet. After his arrival at Quebec in 1715 he was employed for some years as a teacher, but took holy orders about 1725. Danielou had been but a short time in charge of his mission when he received a sharply worded letter from the governor of Nova Scotia, ordering the Acadians settled on the River St. John to repair to the port of Annapolis Royal and take the oath of allegiance. The governor says that their settling on the river without leave was an act of great presumption. A number of the settlers accordingly presented themselves at Annapolis, where they took the required oaths and agreed to take out grants.

The little French colony were settled at or near St. Anns (now Fredericton) for a census made in 1733, for the government of France, gives the number of Acadians on the river as 111, divided into twenty families, and fifteen of these families, numbering eighty-two persons, were living below the village of Ecoupay (or Aukpaque). Two families lived at Freneuse and three at the mouth of the river.

The story of the old Medoctec village in later times will be told incidentally in the chapters that are to follow.

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