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Title: Young Lion of the Woods
A Story of Early Colonial Days
Author: Thomas Barlow Smith
Release Date: July 2, 2005 [EBook #16181]
Language: English
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YOUNG LION OF THE WOODS;
OR
A Story of Early Colonial Days.
BY
THOMAS B. SMITH.
Here in Canadian hearth, and home, and name;--
This name which yet shall grow
Till all the nations know
Us for a patriot people, heart and hand
Loyal to our native earth, our own Canadian land!
--Chas. G.D. Roberts.
HALIFAX, N.S.:
NOVA SCOTIA PRINTING COMPANY.
1889.
_Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 1889,
by_ THOMAS B. SMITH, _at the Department of Agriculture_.
Dedication.
TO MY WIFE
I DEDICATE THIS, MY FIRST WORK,
WITH MY LOVE.
PREFACE.
The only merit that the writer claims for the following pages is, that
they contain a record of facts, setting forth the sacred sentiments of
duty, religious trust, and the spirit of liberty, amid sufferings-and
hardships of persons, whose loyalty was put to the severest test.
It has been beautifully said, "that he who sets a colony on foot designs
a great work." "He designs all the good, and all the glory, of which, in
the series of ages, it might be the means; and he shall be judged more
by the lofty, ultimate aim and result, than by the actual instant
motive. You may well admire, therefore, the solemn and adorned
plausibilities of the colonizing of Rome from Troy, in the Eneid! Though
the leader had been burned out of house and home, and could not choose
but go. You may find in the flight of the female founder of the gloomy
greatness of Carthage a certain epic interest; yet was she running from
the madness of her husband to save her life. Emigration from our stocked
communities of undeified men and women, emigration for conquest, for
gold, for very restlessness of spirit, if they grow toward an imperial
issue, have all thus a prescriptive and recognized ingredient of
heroism. But when the immediate motive is as grand as the ultimate hope
was lofty, and the ultimate success splendid, then, to use an expression
of Bacon's," "the music is fuller."
In the hope that the privations and heroic conduct of those who are the
subjects of the story, in the following chapters, may prove as
interesting to the public as they did to the writer, when he first
learned the history of such heroism, the writer submits them to the
reader.
_JANUARY_, 1889.
CONTENTS Page
YOUNG LION OF THE WOODS;
A Story of Early Colonial Days. i
PREFACE. 1
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER I.
FIRST EXPERIENCE OF COLONIAL LIFE, 1769-70. 10
CHAPTER II.
TRADING,--TROUBLE,--RETREAT. 25
CHAPTER III.
ARRIVES OFF FORT FREDERICK--PAUL GUIDON. 36
CHAPTER IV.
TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE AT SEA. 52
CHAPTER V.
CAPT. GODFREY AND LORD WM. CAMPBELL.
--YOUNG LION OF THE WOODS. 67
CHAPTER VI.
IN ENGLAND.--THE CAPTAIN AND THE LORDS. 76
CHAPTER VII.
ARRIVAL AND RETREAT. 80
CHAPTER VIII.
REBEL PLANS--PRAYING THE LORDS. 95
CHAPTER IX.
PAUL GUIDON. 100
CHAPTER X.
MARGARET GODFREY ARRIVES IN NOVA SCOTIA.
--DEATH OF THE YOUNG LION OF THE WOODS. 104
CHAPTER XI.
MARGARET GODFREY'S FAREWELL. 120
CHAPTER XII.
MARRIAGE OF LITTLE MAG.
--SOCIETY AT HALIFAX. 133
A CONCLUDING CHAPTER.
THEN, NOW, AND TO BE. 141
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER
The records of the lives and actions of those who have preceded us in
the procession of the generations, are full of instruction and interest.
In many instances they hold up to our emulation great models of
patriotism, patience, endurance, activity and pluck. It is to be
regretted that many documents of past ages have been destroyed through
lack of knowledge of their real value, and of the light they would have
thrown upon the early history of the country. Some few, regarded merely
as the relics of departed ancestors, have been so secretly kept and
treasured, that dust, must and rust have all but completely defaced
them.
If our ancestors had been wise in preserving the papers of their
fathers, long ago there might have been collected from such documents,
and displayed, many particulars of positive information concerning the
very early history of the English in Acadia.
We might have possessed a much fuller history of the times when great
difficulties and dangers opposed the settlers. When rushing rivers had
to be crossed without boat or bridge; when men and women often found it
necessary to contend single handed with Indians; and when, for meeting
the many obstacles that placed themselves in their path, our ancestors
were often but poorly equipped.
Whilst we take pride in the hardships cheerfully borne by our
forefathers in the early colonial days, may we not be sometimes inclined
to forget those fleet-footed, clever, dusky sons of the forest, to whose
generous aid they were not infrequently indebted for protection from
hostile men and savage beasts, and even sometimes for sustenance?
When we have secured positive information that now and again there have
appeared among the brawny men of the forest noble specimens of all that
is true and kind, let us not fail to record their deeds of faithfulness
and heroism. The least we can do for such is to bring to light their
actions and preserve their history. When beneath the shade of the
forest, on the trackless desert, on the rushing river, in tempest and
thunder, or when watching in the vicinity of an old fort or near the log
cabin of the early colonists, the Red man has been found a faithful
friend and guide; should not his deeds of kindness, faithfulness and
bravery be recorded side by side with those of the noblest of the human
race?
The story related in the following chapters has been gathered from facts
stated in time-worn documents, which have been lying for generations
concealed in a wooden box. The only regret of the writer is, that it was
impossible for him to gain access to all the old musty and defaced
papers in the box. The old gentleman, in whose possession they were
found, is very old and eccentric, and by no effort or persuasion could
the writer induce him to part company with the documents, but for a
short time. But although the task of procuring them was extremely
difficult, and that of deciphering them afterwards was both difficult
and tedious, still the satisfaction of having rescued from decay and
destruction, what seems so interesting, is satisfaction sufficient for
the writer.
That portion of the documents relating the events in connection with the
first and second settlement of an English officer and his family, during
the last century, in a district which is now said to be one of the most
beautiful portions of Canada, is most instructive and interesting,
although at times, while deciphering it, the writer felt his blood
quicken in its pulsations, and tears forcing their way to the surface.
A few years previous to this English officers first attempt at
settlement in Nova Scotia, he came out to Quebec with his regiment. The
remaining portion of this introductory chapter will narrate some events
in connection with the early life of the officer, his coming to Quebec
with his regiment, his short stay there, and his return to his native
country:--
On board the transport _Pitt_, in the year 1765, at Cork, embarked
Captain Godfrey with his regiment, the 52nd foot, for Quebec, North
America.
On the passage the _Pitt_ was wrecked in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, where
Captain Godfrey with his regiment suffered many hardships.
The ship ran ashore in a dense fog, which had prevailed for several
days. The Captain remaining by the wreck for eleven days, assisted in
saving the lives of the soldiers wives and children, and in landing the
King's stores. The transport struck well up the gulf on the Nova Scotian
coast (now New Brunswick). The exact locality is not stated. The night
of the disaster was densely dark, and soon after striking the ship
began to pound and leak badly. Had the wind sprung up during the hours
of darkness not a soul on board would have lived to record the tale.
Very early the next morning, as Captain Godfrey was standing on the
quarter deck, conversing with the officer in charge of the ship, the
rain began suddenly to descend in torrents and the wind to freshen. The
mist that had enshrouded the ship for so many days, began to lift, and
the sun shone through by instalments. Soon it was seen that the _Pitt_
was hemmed in by rocks, almost wedged in among them. Fortunately the
storm soon abated, and the situation of the vessel kept her in an
upright position. The fog settled down again, and for the next ten days
all on board were kept busy in saving their effects and the King's
stores.
At the end of ten days all on board were taken off. General Murray,
commanding at Quebec, by some means not recorded, having heard of the
disaster, sent a man-of-war schooner to the relief of the sufferers, and
they were safely conveyed to Quebec.
Captain Godfrey, through exposure and fatigue, contracted a severe cold,
and at last, his life being despaired of, the surgeon of the regiment
advised his return to England. He applied to General Clavering for leave
of absence, or to grant him permission to sell out of the army. The
permission being granted, he soon set about preparing to leave Quebec,
and rejoin his wife and five children in England. Captain Godfrey notes
in a memorandum his great sorrow in parting from his regiment, and that
his zeal for serving his King and country was so great that nothing but
extreme weakness would have induced him to part from his regiment and
King George the Third's service.
Before leaving Quebec to return home to his native land, Captain Godfrey
visited the spot where, six years before, the gallant Wolfe had poured
out his life's blood in the service of his King and country. Here the
Captain knelt and offered up to Him who guides the stars in their
courses, thanksgiving for the brilliant and decisive victory gained by
the British arms.
The following is from one of his memoranda:--"As I stood, and as I knelt
where Wolfe fell, I more than ever realized what it is to be a brave
soldier and a good man. As I rose from the spot I whispered to myself,
if I am, through the providence of the Almighty, allowed to once again
visit my native land, I will go to the widowed mother of General Wolfe
and tell her where I have been and what I have seen. That I have stood
on the very spot where victory and death gave the crowning lustre to the
name of her great son."
Charles Godfrey was born at St Ann's, England, in the year 1730. The
following, copied from an old document, gives a brief sketch of his
early career:--"Was put on board His Majesty's ship _Bedford_, Capt.
Cornwall master, in the year 1741, and in 1742 went out to the
Mediterranean. In 1743 was at the siege of Villa Franca, where with a
large party of seamen was ordered on shore, and quartered at a six gun
battery, under the command of Capt. Gugger, of the Royal Artillery. Was
at the battle of Toulon, with Admirals Matthews and Lostock, on board
said ship _Bedford_, then commanded by George Townsend. Was at the
taking of several rich ships off the Island of Malta, which ships and
their cargoes were afterward restored to the Genoese. Continued in the
navy till the peace of Utretch, and for sometime subsequently.
Afterward, a warrant being procured, attended the Royal Academy at
Woolwich as a gentleman cadet, in which station was allowed to remain
till 1755. Received a commission, and was appointed to the 52nd foot, by
the recommendation of His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, who was
afterwards pleased to recommend me for a Lieutenancy, and a few years
later my friends procured for me a Captaincy."
[1]Captain Godfrey returned to England on board a transport from Quebec.
This young officer appears to have been highly respected by the
different Generals and Field Officers under whom he had served. He was
presented, shortly after his arrival in England, with a certificate of
character, signed by Lieut.-Genl. John Clavering, Colonel of the 52nd
Regt., Lieut.-Genl. Edward Sandford, Lieut.-Genl. Sir John Seabright,
Major-Genl. Guy Carleton, Major-Genl. John Alex. McKay, Lieut.-Col.
Valentine Jones, Lieut.-Genl. Burgoyue, and Major Philip Skene.
[Footnote 1: The full name of this British officer is not given in any
part of this work.]
The above has been copied principally for the purpose of showing that
the following story has for its characters those who once lived and
moved in the early English colonial life of Acadia. If the districts and
places where the events related in this book occurred could speak, they
would tell nearly the same thrilling and extraordinary story. In many
of these localities great and important changes have taken place through
a century and a quarter of time, but the records of the past remain
unchanged.
Our barns may be built over the graves of the Indians, and our houses on
the sites of their wigwams; our cattle may graze upon the hillsides and
valleys of their hunting grounds, and our churches may be erected on
positions where the Red men of the forest gathered together to invoke
the blessing of the Great Chief of the everlasting hunting ground, yet
what is truly written of the past must remain unalterable.
* * * * *
NOTE.--The wrecked transport _Pitt_ was named, it is said, in honour of
the Earl of Chatham; and tradition states that one of the boats of the
ship drifted from the wreck and went ashore at a point of land near
where the town of Chatham now stands, the ship's name being painted on
the boat; and from this circumstance Chatham, on the Miramichi River,
received its name.
CHAPTER I.
FIRST EXPERIENCE OF COLONIAL LIFE, 1769-70.
Captain Godfrey's health gradually improved after his return to his
native country. When he thought himself sufficiently recovered he felt
anxious to embark in some branch of business, and not feeling inclined
to do so in England, he purchased a grant of land from Lynge Tottenham,
Esq., this land was situated on the bank of the River St. John, Nova
Scotia.
In the early part of the year 1769, after three years of rest, Captain
Godfrey purchased various kinds of merchandize, which he was advised
were best adapted to the colonial trade. He freighted a vessel in
London, and embarked with his wife and family for Halifax, in the month
of June, 1769.
On the passage out the weather was usually fine, but the progress was
slow, and nothing remarkable occurred on board during the sixty-two days
they were in crossing the Atlantic.
Soon after landing at Halifax, Captain Godfrey heard that the Governor
of Nova Scotia, (Lord William Campbell,) required some person of
experience to enter into possession of Fort Frederick, situated at the
mouth of the River St. John, and take charge of the arms, ammunition,
and all other of His Majesty King George the Third's stores. He had an
interview with the Governor and was appointed to take charge of the
fort.
After having secured the appointment at Fort Frederick, he concluded to
commence trading operations at that post, and gave bonds to the governor
in the sum of one thousand pounds for the privilege of carrying on a
legitimate business with the settlers and Indians.[2]
[Footnote 2:
PROVINCE OF NOVA SCOTIA.
Know all men by these presents, that we, Charles * * * Godfrey * * * and
Charles Morris, Esqs., both of Halifax, do acknowledge ourselves justly
indebted unto our Sovereign Lord King George the Third, his heirs and
successors, in the just and full sum of one thousand pounds currency of
the Province of Nova Scotia, to which payment well and truly to be made
and done, we bind ourselves, our heirs, executors and administrators
jointly by these presents. Witness our hand and seals, this thirtieth
day of April, one thousand seven hundred and seventy, in the tenth year
of His Majesty's reign.
CHARLES * * * GODFREY * * *
CHARLES MORRIS, JR.
Signed and sealed in the presence of
NATHL. SHIPTON
_Secretary's Office, Halifax, April 30th, 1770._
Captain * * * Godfrey * * * has the Governor's permission to occupy the
Fort and barracks of Frederick on the St. John River, &c., &c.
RICHARD BULKELY.]
After spending the winter at Halifax, he chartered a brig in the month
of May, 1770, and then putting on board his goods and stores sailed for
Fort Frederick with his wife and family. On his arrival at the fort he
carefully surveyed the situation and concluded that he would abandon the
idea of trading there.
He found no one at the fort to assist him in protecting it, and a few
days after his arrival the Indians became so troublesome and threatening
that he found it would be impossible to remain there, protect the fort
single-handed, and carry on trading operations successfully.
One afternoon the Indians appeared before the fort in numbers,
threatening that if the place was not vacated at once they would murder
the occupants. They then made a rush and got within the enclosure, and
soon after retired.
Captain Godfrey had fortunately purchased from the master of the vessel
in which he brought his merchandize to the fort, a small boat. The boat
had been securely moored at the island below the fort.
The day following the assembling at the fort the savages again appeared
and attempted to steal the boat, and would have done so had not Mrs.
Godfrey succeeded in reaching the shore in time to discharge a musket at
the thieves. The Redskins pulled the boat to the spot where she stood,
but Mrs. Godfrey never moved from the position she had taken. When the
Indians were in the act of jumping on shore she ordered them to take the
boat back to the place from whence they had loosed it. One of the
Redskins, a tall, muscular fellow, who could speak some English, asked
her if she would get into the boat and go with them. If so, the boat
would be taken back and made fast. She replied, "I have no doubt you are
an honest man and would do no injury to a weak, pale-faced woman, I will
go with you." And as she said these words, she sprang into the boat and
sat down, resting the musket upon her knees.
The Indians paddled the boat back to the place whence they had loosed
it, and not one of them uttered a word. After the boat had been made
fast Mrs. Godfrey was assisted ashore by the tall, muscular savage, his
four companions walking away without saying a word. They were soon
joined by their tall, muscular friend, and a few minutes later all were
lost to view among the trees on the shore.
Mrs. Godfrey retired to the fort, where she was warmly congratulated by
her husband for the tact and courage she had displayed in presence of
the savages. She replied, "the Indians seemed completely taken aback
when I jumped into the boat and had not recovered from their surprise
when they parted from me, and while I was sitting in the boat, the deep,
black eyes of the tall, muscular fellow looked straight and steady at
me, and at times I felt as though they were piercing me through and
through."
The evening was a solemn one at Fort Frederick. The Captain and his wife
talked over their situation, and the children were restless, the
slightest noise about the place making the little ones tremble like
aspen leaves. The Captain and his wife agreed that it would be useless,
while the Indians were so troublesome, to remain at the Fort and attempt
to transact business with the settlers, who were few indeed.
As they sat together that night in the Fort by the dim light of a
flickering candle, expecting every moment to be disturbed by the
war-whoop of the savages, Captain Godfrey said to Margaret, (for such
was the name of his wife,) "our situation is serious." She replied, "I
believe it to be most dangerous." "What move would you propose," asked
the Captain. Margaret answered, "I would propose to return to Halifax,
if it be possible to get there." The Captain then said to his wife,
"What do you think about going to Grimross Neck where our grant of land
is?" Margaret replied, "I am your wife, whatever you think best to do,
do it, and I will follow and support you to the best of my ability." She
then, together with her husband and children, knelt in the lonely Fort
and asked Him who had guided and protected them thus far not to forsake
them in their present situation, but to guide, instruct and lead them in
the future. She rose on her feet, walked across the small, dingy
apartment, kissed each of the children, then taking her husband by the
hand, said to him, in a clear and decided voice, "Whither thou goest I
will follow, where thou resteth I will rest, and where thou settlest
there will I be found with thee." And in presence of the children God
had given them, they bound their hearts to suffering and death.
Fatigue and fear had overcome the little ones, and in a short time they
were sleeping soundly upon the floor.
After some further conversation between the Captain and his wife, it was
agreed that he should attempt to proceed before dawn in the little boat
to Annapolis Royal, and there, if possible, purchase a small vessel
suitable to convey his goods and family up the river to his grant of
land.
At four o'clock he secretly and alone left the fort, waving with his
hand an adieu to his wife, as he stepped out of the door. He carried
with him to the boat a camp blanket which he intended to hoist as a
sail. At four o'clock, thirty minutes, he was on his way. As the little
boat passed the island at the mouth of the harbour a breeze sprang up.
He hoisted the sail, making it fast to one of the oars, which was used
as a mast; the other oar being brought into play for steering purposes.
Captain Godfrey had been fortunate in bringing with him from England
several small compasses and two larger ones, one of the latter he took
with him.
A gentle but fair breeze followed the little ship from land to land. The
Captain found great difficulty in sighting the entrance to Digby Bay,
where he arrived safe and sound at eleven o'clock the following morning.
The next day he proceeded to Annapolis Royal arriving there at noon,
where he purchased a large sloop, and without delay got his boat on
board and next day at the turn of tide sailed for Digby. Here he took on
board some water, and after waiting several hours for a fair wind sailed
for the mouth of the St. John. At ten o'clock, a.m., June 30th, he set
sail to recross the Bay of Fundy and rejoin his wife and family at Fort
Frederick. He arrived off the harbour the following morning quite early,
but was unable to anchor off Fort Frederick, till the evening on account
of fog. On arriving at the Fort he was greatly relieved of apprehensions
that would obtrude themselves upon him during his lonely trip by finding
his wife and children all well.
The following day he commenced to get his merchandize on board the
sloop. His wife and eldest son assisting. It took fully ten days to
accomplish the task, which proved to be a tedious and toilsome one
indeed. At last, everything being ready, he vacated Fort Frederick and
sailed for his possessions up the river, intending there to settle and
trade.
Not many hours after they had left the Fort the report of a musket was
heard from the shore. Soon a canoe was seen approaching the sloop. As it
came near the vessel, an Indian was seen as its only occupant. He
paddled his canoe alongside the sloop. Captain Godfrey attentively
watched his every movement while Mrs. Godfrey seemed quite indifferent
at the presence of the stranger. She threw him a small line and made
signs to him to make fast his canoe, which he appeared quickly to
understand. Mrs. Godfrey then motioned to the Indian to come on board,
and he at once bounded over the rail. As he stood on deck, his comely
Indian features were lit up by a good humoured smile. He looked a giant,
brave and active. He was teeming all over with youthful vigour. His eyes
were black like polished jet, sparkling and deep set. His mouth large,
square and firm; and his hair like threads of coarse, black silk,
brushed back from a low, narrow forehead, hung loosely down over his
broad, square shoulders.
His whole frame seemed stirred with a strong nervous action, and a quick
but expressive motion of his small brown hand appeared as a signal for
conversation. He at once spoke, "May be if go to Grimross be scalped,"
and every word brought with it increased action of both hand and body.
He continued, "Indians say war coming, must have pale face blood and
scalp."
Capt. Godfrey said not a word, but looked serious and pale; while deep
anxiety was pictured on every feature of his face. He felt that it was
no use to retreat, and situated as they were, where could they retreat
in safety. Fort Frederick at the mouth of the river had been surrounded
by blood-thirsty savages, who had threatened them with fire and murder
if they did not abandon the place. In this distracting situation Captain
Godfrey held a council of war within himself, and finally decided, come
what might, evil or good, he would push on to his destination.
He wondered how the Indian knew he was bound for Grimross. It occurred
to him that perhaps the savage was trying to find out where he intended
to land, and there be on hand to murder all on board and seize the sloop
and cargo. He thought, "if the Indian is sincere in warning us, what
interest has he in doing so? What could he expect in return for his kind
act?" These and many similar thoughts rushed quickly through the
agitated brain of the Captain. The Indian stood silent and motionless
for a moment, then returned to his canoe and paddled toward the shore.
The eyes of Captain Godfrey followed the Red man to the shore and
watched him until he disappeared among the trees on the river bank. The
sloop was kept on her course up the river. Just after the sun had sunk
beneath the horizon, Captain Godfrey, by the persuasion of his wife,
anchored the sloop in a small recess in the shore. From the time the
Indian had reached the bank the Captain's wife scarcely ever lifted her
eyes from gazing on the right bank of the river. Was she watching for a
place to safely anchor at night? Or was she watching for the Indian's
return? These questions were agitating the Captain's thoughts.
Captain Godfrey had never fully recovered from a weakness to his nervous
system, caused by the severe hardships he had endured in the Gulf of St
Lawrence. He was strongly opposed to anchoring the sloop so near the
shore. He felt fearful that during the long watches of the night all on
board might be murdered. The armament of the vessel consisted of two
muskets, two pistols, and a sword. Her cargo was valued at over two
thousand pounds sterling. She was deeply laden, and it was with great
difficulty that all the goods and chattels had been stowed on board;
several boxes and bundles being closely packed and lashed on deck.
After everything had been made snug on board, sails furled, &c., the
Captain and his wife asked the blessing of the all-seeing One during the
hours of the night. The Captain was very tired, and the events of the
day had not added to his comfort. His wife persuaded him to go into the
small cabin and rest. She promised to call him if the least danger
appeared. She said that she was only too willing to stand as sentinel
until the sun-rise. It was only through a knowledge of the determined
spirit, good judgment, quick eye, and self possession of his wife that
he was induced to retire to rest.
The children unconscious of the dangers surrounding them, were nestled
together in the small cabin like young birds in a nest. During four long
hours nothing unusual occurred to break the stillness of the night. The
rustling of the leaves on the trees not many yards distant, and the
rippling of the water were all that could be heard, a dense darkness, a
blackness doubly deep appeared to settle over and around the little
vessel. The sentinel placed her soft white hand close to her face but
could not even distinguish its outlines.
At this moment there flashed through her mind the words, "Watchman,
what of the night." The words were accompanied by a hand gently laid
upon her shoulder. She remained as motionless as a statue in the gloom.
A gentle breath whispered in her ear, "me Paul;" "come tell you Indians
on other bank river;" adding strength to the expression by taking her
hand and pointing it to the opposite bank. He then again whispered,
"Fire gun next setting sun, where stop," and then suddenly left her
side, and she saw nothing more that night of Paul Guidon, for such was
the Indian's name.
Captain Godfrey, after his many days of toil and anxiety, slept so
soundly that he did not wake till the sun had risen. As soon as
breakfast was over, and a chapter had been read from an old family
Bible, which had accompanied four generations of the Landers through
this vale of tears, sorrows and joys, and a short prayer read from an
old service book, presented to Captain Godfrey by General Murray at
Quebec, the sloop was got under way and proceeded on her voyage, the
wind being fair and light. The prospect was not one to gladden the
hearts of the voyagers, though the day was fine and sky clear. The
progress was slow. Captain Godfrey was in better spirits than on the
previous day, the quiet night and refreshing sleep had somewhat braced
him up. The children sat on deck during the day, chatting, playing and
singing, while their mother, dauntless and buoyant in spirit, retired to
rest in the little smoke-box of a cabin. She knew that very much
depended upon her behaviour and courage in safely reaching Grimross
Neck. She closed her eyes with the whispered words upon her lips, "I
will follow what I believe to be the path of safety, and I will tread it
with a firm and unfaltering footstep, praise to the Great King who sent
us Paul Guidon in the thick darkness to watch over us from the river's
bank. It brings to my remembrance what I have read in the Book of books,
of Pharaoh's daughter standing at the river's brink and rescuing the
babe, and seeing that no harm befell it."
Little progress was made during the day. An hour or two before the
shadows of evening had begun to fling their leaden mantle around the
sloop, Mrs. Godfrey appeared on deck. Perfect stillness seemed to reign
on every hand; even the little craft appeared to be half asleep, so
lazily did she move along. All above and about stretched the wondrous
beauty of the sky; the deep blue clouds, as the day wore away, becoming
tinged with gold, contrasted in loveliness with the green of earth. Not
a sound was there to stir the perfect stillness except the rippling of
the water against the vessel.
As Margaret sat beside her husband on that lovely evening of July, the
deep feelings that were stirred within her soul seemed to find their
natural outlet, as she turned to her husband and said, "this seems like
a glimpse of some better world." He replied, "it appears as though we
are sailing through a land of perfect rest." "I trust we are, though we
sail through a country peopled with savages." She replied, "To-day we
beheld the sun in his glory, and strong in his power, now he is
departing, but I trust as we continue to sail o'er the ocean of time,
guided by the King of Pilots toward a land where glory never fades, and
where the True Light never grows dim, our passage may continually be lit
up by the reflecting rays of the Sun of Righteousness." As she finished
speaking a bright light flashed on the starboard shore, quickly followed
by the report of a musket. The Captain, starting at the report,
remarked, "perhaps that Indian (Paul) has been watching and following."
Here the Captain's words were cut short by a loud cry from one of the
children and the sound of a splash. Little Jack, the fourth child, had
tripped against the forward rail and gone overboard. His mother, almost
as quickly as the flash of a gun, threw herself overboard at the stern
of the sloop, holding on to the rail with her hands and calling to the
little fellow to catch hold of her dress, as the tide carried him toward
her. He was too far out to reach her skirt, and the running water
carried him by her. She immediately let go both hands and floated from
the vessel, and made a desperate effort to reach her boy. The Captain,
almost beside himself, put the helm hard down, and was in the act of
plunging in. Meantime his wife and son were drifting farther away. Just
then, making a second desperate effort, she succeeded in grasping her
child. At this moment a canoe shot like an arrow past the sloop, in it
was Paul Guidon, paddling with might and main, making straight for the
drowning mother and her boy. In another minute he had the child grasped
firmly in his long sinewy arms, and laying his breast and head over the
stern of the canoe, he called to the mother to grasp at once his long
hair as its ends fell into the water. He managed to get the child safely
into his canoe, but he experienced great difficulty in saving its
mother. She drifted fully one hundred yards, but all the distance
holding stoutly to the Indian's locks. With all the strength of Paul
Guidon he was not able to get Mrs. Godfrey into the canoe. Once he
nearly succeeded, but almost upset his little bark. He told her to cling
tightly to his hair, as he shoved the paddle over her head, and at last
he got the canoe to move slowly ahead, and in a few minutes time he was
at the side of the sloop, and the mother and child were rescued from a
watery grave. The Indian would not go on board, and as soon as he saw
that the mother and child were likely to recover, he pulled away to the
shore.
The child soon recovered, but the mother lay upon the deck for some time
in a half unconscious state. At times a quiet happiness seemed singing
in her soul, that often broke into words of praise as the vessel drifted
along in the stillness. On the right and left slept the country with its
wooded hills and dales. As Margaret Godfrey recovered she said,
"Charles, we appear to be sleeping on to our destination." "Yes," he
said; "but perhaps that Indian has been watching and following us,
hiding among the trees along the shore; and as we have been going slowly
all day, he could with ease keep way with us. He may now consider us far
enough away from the fort to decoy and murder us, seize our vessel and
goods, and no suspicion rest upon him as the murderer and robber."
"It may be that he has accomplices on our track; a band of savages to
quietly dispose of us and seize our possessions." As he spoke these
words he appeared much more agitated than on the previous evening.
Margaret replied, "God's will be done! We must anchor at some point
to-night--Why not anchor here? At the earnest solicitation of his wife,
Captain Godfrey consented to run the sloop toward the shore and anchor.
After a lengthened discussion between the Captain and his wife upon the
question of keeping watch during the night, Margaret carried her point,
and soon after stood alone on the deck.
The reader, doubtless, will wonder why Margaret expressed so strong a
desire to keep watch through the long, lonely hours of darkness. Before
the conclusion of the story is reached, he will have found out the
reason.
Soon all was hushed, gross darkness had gathered over the face of
nature, and the eyes of the beloved on board were closed in sleep. At
about midnight Margaret was slightly startled at hearing a footstep on
deck. "Paul," she whispered, "is that you." "Me," he answered in a low,
soft tone. "Most Indians away, far up country after game, and not come
back few days."
Paul Guidon was a sub-chief, and one of the bravest of the tribe over
which he exercised some authority. He was feared and respected by all
the tribes of the St. John. He had used all his cunning and power to
pilot the sloop safely to her destination. He had for several days
spread the report that large herds of caribou and moose had appeared in
a part of the country forty miles west of the St. John River. The
Indians took the bait and had suddenly left in pursuit of the game.
Before leaving the deck Paul advised Margaret to get the vessel under
way at daylight next morning, in order that the journey might be
completed before the next setting of the sun. He then took Mrs. Godfrey
by the hand and raising it to his broad breast passed it firmly over his
quickly throbbing heart, and almost instantly turned and shot from her
presence like an arrow in the darkness. Very early in the morning the
sloop was made ready to proceed on her voyage. The wind was blowing
stiffly and fair, the little vessel reached along and arrived at her
destination at five o'clock in the afternoon. The anchor was let go
between an island and the river's bank. Thanksgiving and praise were
offered on board for past mercies and supplication for continued
guidance. Neither was Paul Guidon forgotten, for Margaret breathed a
silent supplication to Him who can soften and subdue the savage breast,
to guide, control and direct the life and steps of her benefactor.
CHAPTER II.
TRADING,--TROUBLE,--RETREAT.
After landing at Grimross, Captain Godfrey looked about to find his lot
of land. Lot No. 14 he found belonged to a Captain Spry, lot No. 15 to a
Reverend Smith, and his own lot he found to be No. 16. These lots were
all facing the St. John river, and extending back parallel with each
other. In looking over the plan of the lots, it appears that Captain
Godfrey settled on No. 14, Spry's lot, and on this lot he commenced
trading operations in an old house situated not far from a stream
leading from a lake on his own lot to the St. John. On Captain Godfrey's
lot were two small log houses, one occupied by a person named Sayhon,
and the other by a man named Crabtree. It may be, that the Captain
settled on Spry's lot because he could trade here to the best advantage.
Here he commenced business after expending forty pounds, sterling money,
in repairing the log house and adding a store room, made of solid logs.
About the middle of September, 1770, he opened out his wares and began
business. A few days later several Redskins came to his shop and warned
him to move away from the place, threatening, if he did not do so, to
burn his buildings and goods.
The Indians did not trouble him further until the middle of November,
when about thirty of them came to his place of business with beaver,
otter, raccoon, mink and other skins. These he took in exchange for
blankets, powder and other goods, the Indians appearing well satisfied
with the exchange. About a fortnight later the Indians again returned in
numbers, accompanied by a white man who acted as spokesman. The white
man, a peculiar looking character, with one eye looking due north and
the other due east, from beneath a forehead very much resembling that of
a monkey, stuttered out to Captain G.: "We-e-e-e co-co-mé t-t-to
war-war-warn you t-to g-g-g-git ou-out. Th-the la-lan-lands ar-are Free
n-sh le-le-lands, an-and th-the In-in-d-dans we-we-will dri-dri-drive
aw-all de-de-damd E-e-en-glis way, an-an gi-gi-give the-the-em
b-b-b-back to Fre-e-e-nsh." The Indians and their low-browed, cross-eyed
spokesman then left the Captain's place of business without uttering
another word. On Christmas day, 1770, or about one month after their
last visit, eight of the Indians, accompanied by two squaws, returned to
the store at Grimross Neck and whooped out in tones of fury, "Fire,
blood, scalps."
Captain Godfrey immediately barred his shop door, and also the door of
his house, seeing that the savages were bent on mischief. The children
were inside the store and house, and were terrified and trembling. At
length the Redskins became so excited and noisy and so wild in their
movements, that the place seemed like a pandemonium. They were-armed,
each one having a knife about ten inches in length stuck in his belt.
Captain Godfrey consulted with his wife as to the wisest course to be
pursued, but no definite line of action was arranged. The two old
muskets were in the bedroom, loaded, not having been discharged since
they were fired off on leaving Fort Frederick. The Captain's wife ran to
the room and brought out both guns into the kitchen. She handed one to
her husband remarking, "if the brutes attempt to force their way into
the house shoot the first one that puts his moccasin over the door
sill." At this time the howling, yelling and cursing of the
blood-thirsty fiends would strike terror into the stoutest heart.
Finally they took up a large stick of wood that was lying near the
kitchen door and made a desperate attempt to smash it in. Mrs. Godfrey,
who had stood near the door for sometime, appeared calm and decided amid
all the murderous clamour. She stepped back a pace, and placing the butt
of the musket against her hip, with the muzzle slanting upwards, stood
firm as a statue.
The door was soon forced and the fiends came tumbling in. Mrs. Godfrey
fired, the charge going over the heads of the savages and entering the
ceiling above the door. The Indians in the rear seeing their comrades
fall, and thinking they were killed by the shot, at once retreated
uttering terrible threats of vengeance. One of the squaws, a short,
stout old creature, was so terrified by the report of the musket and the
falling to the floor of the three Indians, that in her bewildered
retreat she tumbled headlong down a steep, stony bank and laid as if
dead on the ice below. She was left by her companions, who travelled as
fast as their legs would carry them. The old squaw was found and taken
prisoner by Mrs. Godfrey. Her nose and one rib were broken, her left arm
dislocated at the elbow, and both her eyes completely closed with heavy
shutters. She presented a pitiable appearance, as she staggered along
toward the house supported by her captor. The Indians were so completely
surprised and cowed by the courage of Mrs. Godfrey that they never came
back to look after the wounded squaw, or sent to inquire whether she was
living or dead.
As soon as the old squaw began to recover, Mrs. Godfrey found out that
the old woman could speak some English. She said she was a widow about
sixty years old. That her husband had been killed at Fort Pitt in 1763.
Her only son had been taken prisoner by the English at Fort Pitt, and
had afterwards remained nine moons with an English officer in New York.
The officer went away to England and wanted her son to go with him, but
on the eve of the officer's departure he ran away, soon got on the trail
of his mother, and at last found her at Detroit living with a band of
Iroquois. Not long afterward she and her boy wandered from post to post
and camp to camp until they at last got over among the tribe on the St.
John, where they had made their home among a strange tribe for the past
two years. Her son did not respect the tribe with whom they lived. He
had often told her that these Indians were not pure bloods. Her son was
sixteen years old when taken prisoner at Fort Pitt. She had always been
called Mag, but when any of the tribe addressed her, it was by the not
very respectful addition of "Old Mag." Her boy had gone toward the
setting sun to be with a party of English officers on a hunting
excursion, he had left her in September and would not return for some
moons.
Captain Godfrey and his family rested in comparative peace for some
weeks, and Mrs. Godfrey drew from Old Mag many stories respecting the
manner of life among the various tribes of American Indians.
About one month after the old squaw had been captured, she began to
appear exceedingly dull and dispirited. The Captain's wife said to her
one morning, "Mag, are you ill," "No! no!" she replied, "me no sick
to-day," "bad dream some nights ago. Saw all Indians outside house, and
big black devil's spirit come into them, black spirits come out woods,
and fire on their heads, all went into Indians and made them dance war,
yell and whoop and burn house."
All went fairly well until the 26th February, 1771, when the red men
again appeared at the premises of the Captain. They were armed, and
their actions seemed to be in keeping with Old Mag's dream.
Their shrieks, yells and war-whoops were terrible, they acted like
demons. The children hid under the beds and held on to the garments of
their parents. The terrified little ones trembled like leaves in an
autumn breeze. Spirits let loose from the regions of the damned could
hardly present a more devilish appearance than did the savages. They
were armed with muskets. Old Mag, who was crouching in a corner of the
kitchen, shook with fear, her teeth were chattering, and she appeared
like a person badly affected with fever and ague.
The Redskins, about twenty in number, ran round and round the house
roaring like wild beasts thirsting for gore. Charlie, the Captain's
eldest boy, came rushing into the kitchen screaming out that two of the
Indians were making a fire at the store door. Captain Godfrey ran to the
shop, looked out of the window and was horrified to find the side of the
building in flames. A minute after he had left the kitchen two of the
red devils broke in the door, Mrs. Godfrey, with Charlie holding on to
her skirt, had taken up a position in front of Old Mag, as the charging
enemy came toward her, she fired. There was a yell, as of death. Captain
Godfrey had placed the other musket in Old Mag's lap, Mrs. Godfrey
instantly seized it and quick as a flash again fired and the door way
was cleared.
In a few moments the smoke had cleared away. Two human forms lay across
the door sill and one within the kitchen. These were the bodies of one
dead and two dying Indians. The dead man was completely scalped, the
whole top of his head being torn off. The other two were so terribly
mutilated about their faces and necks that they lived but a few minutes.
Forty minutes after Mrs. Godfrey had fired the first shot scarcely a
vestige of anything remained on the spot where the house had stood. As
soon as the savages were aware that three of their comrades had fallen
in the assault, they beat a hasty retreat.
Let the reader pause for a few moments to consider the situation of
Captain Godfrey, his wife and their five children. There they were alone
in the wilderness, thousands of miles from friends and home. Out in the
cold, amid the frost and snow of an Acadian winter, without a house to
shelter them, a friend to cheer them, or a fire to warm them; surrounded
by demons of the forest, panting and thirsting for their blood. There
was no possible escape by water, the St. John was covered by a thick
winding sheet of ice, and the sloop was lying some miles away in an icy
bed of a lake. The history of early colonial life does not and cannot
present a more affecting scene than that of the Godfrey family, as they
stood alone on the banks of the river St. John in the midnight of a Nova
Scotian winter.
All that was saved from the flames were several pieces of half-burnt
pork, the two old muskets, a few half-burnt blankets, one hundred and
forty pounds of beaver skin, between two and three hundred weight of
gunpowder, the old family Bible and service book, and a trunk containing
some papers and old clothes. The above articles Captain Godfrey and his
son, at the risk of their lives, saved from complete destruction. In an
hour the little band of early settlers was reduced from comfortable
circumstances to a misery beyond the power of words to express. Darkness
would soon cover the spot of desolation. But five hours of daylight were
left in which escape could be made. They knew not in which direction to
flee for shelter. The Captain consulted with his brave partner, but all
seemed dark; no way of escape presented itself. To remain where they
were during the coming night meant death. There were only two log houses
in the district and they were miles away. Finally Mrs. Godfrey
assembled her shivering children about her and read aloud the
twenty-third psalm, and closing the old service book she said to her
husband, let us no longer tarry here, let us make haste towards the
sloop. As they were about to start, it suddenly occurred to Mrs Godfrey
that Old Mag was missing. The Captain had not seen her since he placed
the musket in her lap. The children had not seen her since the burning
of the house, and Mrs. Godfrey had not seen her after she had taken the
musket off her lap. The old squaw's absence caused a delay in setting
out for the sloop. As no trace of Old Mag could be found, it was the
opinion of both the Captain and his wife, that she had either perished
in the flames or had slipped out of the kitchen before the smoke had
cleared away and followed the Indians in their retreat.
Neither the Captain nor his wife would leave the locality without making
a search for Old Mag. During the search, Captain Godfrey, whose strength
had been severely tested since his arrival at Grimross in July, sank to
the ground in a swoon. At this crisis his wife displayed the greatness
of her character. As troubles thickened about her she seemed to develop
qualities that only woman cast in an heroic mould are capable of
exhibiting. She whispered to her husband, "We cannot find Mag, I must
save you." These words appeared to have a magic effect on the Captain.
He rose to his feet, supported by his wife, and soon after they were
staggering on towards the river leading to the lake, followed by their
five children, the eldest, who was but twelve, carrying with him his
youngest brother, only two years old.
At length they reached the lake, and at this point of the journey Mrs.
Godfrey was compelled to order a halt. She was heavily handicapped,
having a large shawl tied across her shoulders filled with the burnt
pork and some blankets. After a few minutes rest they were again tugging
along towards their little ark. As the light of the sun gradually faded
away, the little band of colonists tried to quicken their pace, but they
tried in vain. They were so exhausted that it was with great difficulty
they kept on their feet.
The children were more dead than alive, and the approaching darkness
filled them with terror. Their mother would say to them, "Keep along,
follow closely, the moon is rising, we shall soon have plenty of light."
In this manner they toiled on till midnight, when they reached the
sloop. Fortunately for the little band of wanderers, Captain Godfrey had
left on board the vessel a small Dutch stove and a number of broken
boxes. A fire was soon made, some of the burnt pork was sliced and put
in a pan and fried for the night's meal. But the children sank to rest
soon after getting on board, and lay huddled together on the cabin
floor. After the Captain and his wife had partaken of the meal and
before retiring to rest on the hard boards of the floor, Mrs. Godfrey
read, by the dim light of a candle, the fifty-fourth psalm.
Nothing can better prove the genuineness of a life, the soundness of a
profession, the real character of a man or woman, than those extreme
trials and difficulties of earth, when no friends are near to help and
where no way of escape seems possible. In trials, such as those related
above, the noblest traits of character or the hollowness and rottenness
of a profession are often plainly seen. Five cold winter days and nights
came and passed, yet no relief came to the imprisoned family. They dare
not move out, fearing the Indians would see them and come at night and
murder them. The sixth day Crabtree, who lived some miles distant from
where the Godfreys had resided, having heard of the attack of the
savages and the destruction they had caused, made his way to the scene
of the ruins. He could find no trace of the Godfreys and was returning
by the border of the lake to his log cabin, when he saw the sloop far in
the distance like a speck on the frozen surface of the lake. He hastened
out to where she lay. To his surprise and joy he found out, when nearing
the little craft, signs of life on board. Sparks were issuing from the
cabin. Very soon he was on board. He was met at the companion-way by the
Captain who gave him a thousand welcomes. Crabtree, after a few minutes
rest and conversation, started for his home, eleven miles distant,
promising to return early the next morning with a sledge to assist in
taking the children to his cabin. In the morning he returned, and
Captain Godfrey, his wife, and little ones, left the sloop and went to
Crabtree's. Captain and Mrs. Godfrey and Charlie had to walk the entire
distance over the lake and through the forest to Crabtree's log house.
The man who had rescued them attended to their wants as well as his
circumstances would allow. He kept the distressed family until the month
of May, when the ice in the river broke up. Captain Godfrey then set to
work to fit out the sloop, being determined to leave the place as soon
as possible. The sails and part of the rigging were consumed in the fire
at Grimross. He had fortunately saved two of the compasses from the
flames. After days of toil he managed to get the vessel in fair working
order. The old half-burnt blankets were patched together and a mainsail
and jib were completed. On the 30th of May, 1771, he set sail for Fort
Frederick.
On the passage down the river several Indians were seen on the banks of
the stream, but none of them made any trouble. After eleven months
absence the Captain found himself at Fort Frederick once again. Captain
Godfrey said to his wife, "Margaret, what changes are often wrought in a
few months." "Yes! true!" she replied, "we have lost our property, but
we have escaped with our lives and those of our children. Our
reputations are not dimmed, neither has the Lord forsaken us. The best
of our fortune remains with us. An honourable foundation remains on
which we can re-erect our future structure. Let us thank a wise,
over-ruling providence that a fortune still remains to us, though we
have passed through great misfortune."
CHAPTER III.
ARRIVES OFF FORT FREDERICK--PAUL GUIDON.
After the arrival of the sloop at the mouth of the St. John, the Captain
was compelled to leave his wife and family. There was not a morsel of
food of any description in the locker. The necessaries that had been
supplied by Crabtree for the voyage were entirely consumed.
The day following the arrival off Fort Frederick, Captain Godfrey set
sail in his small boat for Passmaquaddy, eighteen leagues distant. The
boat was the same one in which he accomplished his successful journey to
Annapolis Royal. His intention in setting out for Passmaquaddy was to
visit a settlement belonging to a Lieutenant of the Royal Navy, and
there procure some supplies for his family, and sails and rigging for
the sloop.
He left his family in a most destitute condition, they having neither
shoes nor stockings to their feet, and every other article of their
clothing being in rags and tatters. While the Captain was absent, his
wife and family were obliged to traverse the shore seeking for small
fish, which they were sometimes fortunate in securing. The second
evening after Captain Godfrey had left for Lieut. Owen's settlement,
being a clear, moonlight one in June, Mrs. Godfrey thought she saw an
object floating leisurely down the river in the direction of the sloop.
She went below and brought on deck one of the old muskets which did such
valuable service at Grimross. Charlie, her twelve-year old son, said to
his mother: "Do you see Indians?" The little fellow was so agitated he
could scarcely speak. She cautioned her son to remain perfectly quiet,
and not to utter another word. Brave, calm, unmoved, she stood over her
boy at the bow of the sloop. On the nearer approach of the object she
discovered it was a canoe, with someone leisurely paddling it along. It
had almost drifted by the vessel when, to her surprise, it suddenly
turned, and ran straight as an arrow for the side of the sloop.
Mrs Godfrey, in a loud, firm tone, sang out:
"Pull away, or I'll shoot you!"
The canoe was turned about in an instant, and as quick came floating
over the water the words:
"Me, Paul: Me, Paul Guidon!"
She threw him a small line and then invited him to come on board,
immediately resuming her former position with the musket by her side.
The Indian came on board, fastened his frail bark and stood for a moment
watching the retreating tide. Mrs. Godfrey asked him to come forward,
while little Charlie was shaking as though he would fall in pieces. He
obeyed her, and stepped forward. She took him by the hand and said:
"Paul! Paul! You have again come to see me. I have thought of you,
prayed for you, and shall never forget you. You have saved my life and
the lives of my husband and dear children. I am in great trouble; God
has sent you again."
Paul Guidon stood speechless and motionless with his sparkling black
eyes fixed on her thin, pale hand. The mild effulgence of the lunar
light shone full upon his face, bringing out every feature in perfect
outline. Presently his whole frame shook as though it had received an
electric shock. Mrs. Godfrey looked straight at him with her piercing
black eyes from the moment he had stood before her. Her power over him
seemed like that of a charmer. Her magic nature had completely overcome
him. Never did a naval hero appear on deck after a victory more
transcendently grand than did Margaret Godfrey at that moment of her
life. She pressed his hand more closely and said: "Paul, are you ill?"
He replied by placing her soft, white hand upon his throbbing breast,
and then moved toward the canoe. He spoke not a word. He pointed towards
his canoe, and made a sign with his right hand from the eastern horizon
up the semicircle of the sky. She understood it to mean that he would
return in the morning, at the rising of the sun. He at once got into his
canoe, and in a minute or two was paddling up the stream against the
rushing tide.
Very early the following morning, Margaret was on deck preparing to go
on shore while the tide was low, and, if possible, catch some fish for
breakfast. She had not been long on deck before she saw a canoe
approaching. As it neared the sloop she saw that Paul Guidon was its
only occupant. In a few minutes Paul was on board, looking as bright as
the morning star. Margaret bade him good morning and then related to him
the distressed condition of herself and children. He replied, with a
cheerful smile: "Suppose big boy and little ones go with Paul and catch
'em some fish?" She felt that the Indian had a kind heart and at once
consented to accompany him with her children. All got into the canoe,
and Paul at once began to paddle down the river. Although the morning
was without rain the sky was leaden, and the atmosphere heavy and damp.
As the Indian paddled the canoe along for a couple of miles, all on
board were joyous and seemed refreshed as they drank in the breeze from
off the breast of the bay.
They landed at a point of land, or rather of rocks, where Paul succeeded
in catching several fish, which he placed in the bottom of the canoe. He
then proposed to leave the place and proceed further down the shore.
Margaret replied that occasionally drops of rain fell upon her face, and
she feared a storm might suddenly spring up and bar their way back to
the vessel. She rather urged the Indian to return, but she saw by his
manner that he was inclined to demur to her solicitation. He said there
was a brook a short distance further down the shore, where there was
always plenty of good fish. Mrs. Godfrey finally consented to follow
Paul. He took in his arms the two smallest children, and pressing them
closely to his broad chest with his long sinewy arms, was soon skipping
from rock to rock like a mountain goat. The mother and the three other
children followed as closely as possible in Paul's tracks.
After the Indian had gone about a hundred yards, he looked over his left
shoulder and appeared satisfied that all was well. He redoubled his
speed and bounded along as a deer, and suddenly turning to the right he
made his way up a slope of ground and was out of sight among the trees.
Margaret now began to feel anxious, fearing that after all the trust she
had reposed in Paul, he might yet prove unfaithful. She called to the
Indian, but he heeded not her cry. She again called, but he had
completely disappeared.
Under such circumstances a less brave woman would have sunk on the spot
in utter despair. She kept on, following as nearly as she could the
track that Paul had taken. She toiled on and on for three quarters of an
hour, but never sighted the Indian. At last she completely lost the
trail. The rocks and uneven ground impeded her progress, and the trees
confused her in the line of march. All traces of a pathway were lost.
She sat down on a large boulder--the children wanted rest, they were
completely fatigued. She judged that they must be nearly two miles from
the canoe. In her distressed situation she contemplated returning to the
shore. To proceed further in the direction she had been going seemed
hopeless. Without a guide she and her children would certainly get lost,
and likely all would perish. Whilst she was thus debating in her mind
what course to pursue, a peel of thunder passed over her head, and large
drops of rain began to fall. The wind suddenly sprang up, and all around
her was growing dark. Her blood quickened in its pulsations, as the
elements were increasing the difficulties of her position. Alone, on a
rocky, stormy shore, with three small children and two others far away
in the arms of an almost unknown savage, what could she do? Where could
she go? She said to herself: "evil seems to follow me closely, and heavy
trouble is continually weighing me down. I am in a strange land, among a
strange race; where will the end be? It may be here." As the above
thoughts were running through her brain, a brilliant flash of lightning
streamed close by her pale face, and for an instant lit up the earth and
sea around. A tree, a few feet distant, was shattered by the flash. Her
children trembled as the thunder shook the solid ground. She delayed no
longer, but determined at once to start back in the direction of the
canoe, and taking each of the smaller children by the hand, with Charlie
following, she pointed for the shore.
The rain descended in torrents; the thunder roared, and the lightning
flashed. Through the terrible storm Mrs. Godfrey pressed on, buoyant
with a hope that all might turn out well. As she was staggering from
rock to rock with the little ones pitching and stumbling along at her
sides, now and again almost blinded and bewildered by the lurid
lightning, she felt as one amid the crash of worlds.
Just as she sighted the canoe, which Paul had hauled upon the shore, a
sharp, rattling clap of thunder peeled above her head. This was preceded
an instant before by a dazzling blue and golden flash that all but
blinded the band of wanderers. Another and another flash, followed by
their thunderbolts, in quick succession shattered a solid rock over
which they had just passed. The whole shore appeared to tremble and
crash, and away far out over the surface of the bay the waters seemed as
if in a blaze. The sight was grand and terrible. Every rock along the
shore appeared to sink into an abyss as the lightning passed by, and
many of them were riven. At length Mrs. Godfrey and her children reached
the side of the canoe. There calm and unmoved amid the storm, she knelt,
she wept, she prayed. The waters of Fundy were heaped into angry
billows, and dashed their spray over the mother and children assembled
round the altar on the shore. Darkness began to throw its sable mantle
over land, rocks and bay. Margaret was suddenly started, she thought she
heard the sound of a voice coming through the gloom. She turned her head
in the direction of the sound, and at that moment a flash of lightning
revealed a human form coming toward her. In an instant it was lost to
view, shut out in the darkness. "Me come!" "Me come!" fell upon her
waiting ears. Margaret, with a heart overflowing with gratitude and
swelling with praise, quietly exclaimed "God is love." Paul stood before
her, panting like a stricken deer, with but one of the children in his
arms. As Margaret looked at him her pale face turned ashen white, her
lips quivered and she fell into the arms of Paul Guidon as if dead. He
sat down upon a rock, and by the lightning's flash bathed her temples
with water from the sea shore. The Indian continued to pour salt water
out of his brawny hands upon her head and neck. In about ten minutes
Margaret was restored to consciousness. When she opened her eyes her
missing child was at her side. Paul Guidon had placed the little fellow
in charge of an Indian he had found fishing on the bank of the stream,
and he asked him to take the child in his arms and follow on to the
shore.
After Paul had been fishing along the stream for some time, seeing that
Mrs. Godfrey and her children had not come up with him, he decided to
return and look them up.
As they rested together on the shore beside their birchen boat, the
thunder gradually died away, and there was also a truce to the lightning
and rain. In two hours from the time of the happy reunion of the loved
and lost the water became quite calm. Paul Guidon then launched the
canoe and the little ships' company were soon heading toward the mouth
of the St. John. In another hour and a half Paul and his companion had
safely paddled Margaret Godfrey and her children to the sloop.
Margaret's first act, after reaching her small floating home, was to
place each child upon its knees, doing likewise herself. As her clear
voice rang out over the water, conveying words of thankfulness to Him
whom winds and seas obey, the two Indians sank slowly on their knees.
Plenty of fish had been secured by Paul to last the family some days
Margaret cooked the supper, Paul and his companion ate heartily, then
left the sloop and proceeded in the canoe to their homes, Paul promising
to return the next day with a load of wood to replenish the stock of
fuel which was well nigh exhausted.
At seven o'clock next morning Paul again was seen sailing along toward
the sloop, his little bark skimming over the river like a petrel on the
ocean's breast. He appeared anxious and excited as he approached the
side of the vessel. He had but a few pieces of wood in his canoe.
Margaret at first sight noticed a change in his features; he looked worn
and weary. His bright black eye had lost much of its fire, and as he
stepped on board Mrs. Godfrey thought she noticed a tear on his cheek.
As usual she saluted him and asked him on board, and as he stepped over
the rail she took his hand in her own. This act of kindness on the part
of Margaret seemed to electrify his whole frame. She said to him, "And
how is Paul this morning." Without answering her he placed his hand on
his left breast and sighed deeply. "Is my Paul ill this morning," she
again asked, thinking that the strain from carrying the children the day
previous, and the worry and excitement, had been too severe a task even
upon the hardy and wiry frame of the Iroquois. "No! No!" he replied,
"but," "but," and here he stopped being too full to utter another word.
He pointed to his canoe, and then pointed up the river past the fort.
She guessed his meaning. It was to return to his home at once.
Margaret said to him, "Paul do you want me and the children to go with
you?"
He bowed an assent.
All hands were soon on board the canoe and in a few strokes of the
paddle the homeless emigrants were sailing toward the rapids. The tide
was running up and the long sinewy arms of Paul, as he plied the paddle,
made the little bark fairly leap along. The rippling of the water was
all that broke in upon the stillness of the morning.
The steep, rugged country on either side the mouth of the St. John was
dressed in deepest green, tall and noble trees lined both banks. The
clear bright sky and the brighter sun made the river appear like a
winding stream of silver with borders of emerald. Her admiration of
natural beauty, she had herself confessed more than once during the
voyage to Grimross.
While Mrs. Godfrey was drinking in the beauties of the scenery, and
meditating on the loneliness that reigned supreme among the hills, the
canoe touched the shore. As Margaret stepped from the little bark to the
shore, a large grey snake passed athwart her pathway and disappeared
into a hole at the roots of a tree. She felt much concerned at this
circumstance, as in Ireland, her native land, it was a common belief
among the people that if a snake passed across a persons track without
being killed by the traveller, some evil was close upon his or her
track.
After the Indian had pulled the canoe out of the water, he led the way
up a slight incline, followed by Margaret and her children. They had
walked some two hundred yards over uneven ground and among trees, when
Paul suddenly stopped and then stepped off to the right, and beckoned to
those in his rear to follow him. A few steps brought the visitors in
sight of a wigwam. It was situated in a small open space, surrounded by
a dense forest of large, tall trees. In a minute or two all stood at the
opening in the camp.
Paul seemed to hesitate as he led the way inside. He removed an old
blanket which was hanging over the aperture. Opposite the entrance on
the further side of the camp lay a human form stretched on some old grey
blankets, that were spread over branches of spruce trees. The Indian
approached the bed and then stooped down and kissed its occupant, and
then beckoned to Margaret Godfrey to step forward. She at once obeyed.
To her astonishment there lay an old squaw with sunken cheeks and eyes.
Over her form was stretched a time-worn grey blanket, and on it laid a
wampum belt, and a string of wampum beads, an old plaid shawl supported
her head.
Margaret thought that she recognized the shawl as one she had brought
with her from Ireland, and wondered how it came there. She knelt down,
and placing her arm under the old squaw's neck, gently raised her head a
few inches. The poor old squaw tried to speak but was too weak to do so.
Margaret took the withered hand of the Indian woman and placed it in her
own. On one of the bony fingers of the squaw was a ring which fell off
into Margaret's hand. Margaret recognized it as a ring she had often
seen. She asked Paul who the sick woman was. "She is my poor old
mother," he replied, "she has been sick long time, since last winter,
got bad fall and almost stiffened with cold." "She fast going away from
her Paul." Margaret noticed the old woman's lips moving, she put her ear
close to the squaw's mouth and heard her say in a whisper, "Me Mag!"
Mrs. Godfrey, completely surprised, laid her head upon the dying woman's
bed. The shawl, a red and black plaid, she had given old Mag at
Grimross. Now it was used for her dying pillow. The old Indian woman
fairly worshipped it in her days of health and strength. And the ring
was also presented to old Mag while a prisoner at Grimross. The
afternoon that old Mag was given the ring was one never to be forgotten
by Mrs. Godfrey. The old Iroquois squaw on that occasion danced the war
dance on the kitchen floor, so great was her joy in receiving the
precious gem.
Margaret asked Paul where he had found his mother on his return from the
setting sun. He then related to her in broken English the following
story:--
He had returned from his hunting expedition on the evening of the day
the house at Grimross had been consumed by the flames. He had been
detained with the officers one month longer than he expected to be when
he left home. On his arrival home he found that his mother was missing.
He made inquiries as to her whereabouts, and was told that she had gone
off with three Indians named Nick Thoma, Pete Paul, and Christopher
Cope, to trade furs for some pork, blankets and powder at Grimross. That
white woman had killed the three Indians; that white man's house was
burnt, and white woman had put his mother into the flames and burnt her
up. Early in the morning after his arrival home he set out for Grimross
Neck, crossing the lake where the sloop lay. When he arrived at Grimross
he saw nothing but blackened ruins, and was convinced the Indian's story
was true. He saw also the dead bodies of the three Indians, he could not
recognize them, they were so cooked by the fire. He walked about the
ruins, almost bewildered, and swearing vengeance. Not many steps from
where the house had stood were dense woods. He wandered in among the
trees scarcely knowing where he was going, when to his surprise he saw
his mother sitting down on the snow with her back resting against a
large tree, her feet and knees covered with blankets. He pulled off one
blanket, then another, and yet another, but his mother never moved. She
sat as motionless as the tree itself. Her face was covered with frozen
blood. He took hold of her shoulders and shook her when she appeared to
breathe. After rubbing her hands and beating her feet on the frozen snow
for a long time she began to move her limbs. And finally he got her to
stand on her feet. Her eyes were swollen and completely closed. He was
at a loss to know how he was to get her to the camp twelve miles
distant. Part of the journey was comparatively easy; they could go by
way of the lake. At four o'clock he started with his mother for the
camp, she could only walk slowly and with great difficulty. They made
many stops on the way and reached the camp long after midnight. About
noon the next day the old woman had gained sufficient strength to tell
her story. She said "she went first time with Indians to trade furs at
Grimross. Indians were very savage and blood-thirsty. Broke in door of
house, white woman fired gun, they all ran away. She was captured after
falling down bank. She was taken to house of English people and
afterwards treated like one of the family. A lot of Indians came back
second time about last of winter, few days ago broke into the house of
English people and set it on fire. The English woman fired two guns and
killed three Indians. The rest of Indians ran away. When gun was fired
and house burning, was afraid English woman would kill her. As soon as
could get over dead Indians in door, ran away among trees, and was
frightened to come out again till all pale faces went away. Felt very
cold when pale faces went away, wandered back to burnt house, found the
blankets, returned with them to woods, got down against tree, put
blankets over feet and legs, and remember no more till my Paul woke me
next day."
As Paul Guidon related his mother's story his face was bathed in tears.
Mrs. Godfrey attentively listened, and at the same time carefully
watched every feature of old Mag's face. When Paul had finished his
mother's story, Margaret Godfrey gently raised old Mag's head, and
bending over it said, "Poor old Mag this is indeed you." The dying
Indian woman tried in vain to move her lips, while her body seemed
convulsed. She then stretched herself out at full length and a slight
tremor passed over her frame, her chin dropped.
Mrs. Godfrey looked up at Paul, who was standing at the foot of the bed,
and remarked, "Paul your dear old mother is gone, forever gone." The
Indian without replying then threw himself upon the bed and lay
motionless beside the body of his mother. In a short time he began to
weep and moan, which he continued to do so long and piteously, that
Margaret thought his sorrowing heart would burst. At last completely
exhausted with grief he remained quiet and passive as though his spirit
too had passed over to the green fields and still waters of the
everlasting hunting grounds.
Margaret gazed upon the quiet features and still form of the handsome
young Iroquois, he was in the vigour of his manhood, being scarcely
twenty-four years old; and said, as she admired his manly look, "Paul,
your mother is happier now;" "she is in that land where trials, trouble
and death are unknown. You must live to meet her there. Your mother is
now sailing on silvery water; breathing an atmosphere perfumed with
celestial spices; and sitting in a canoe made from the bark of trees
growing on the shores of Canaan's stream. Her wigwam will be made of the
same kind of bark and ornamented with pearls and precious stones. She
will wear a neck-lace of jewels and on her head will be a crown of
glory."
Paul, weary and sad, went to his canoe, launched it and sailed down the
river to catch some fish for supper, and Mrs. Godfrey proceeded to
prepare the body of old Mag for burial, while the children played around
the wigwam. When the Indian had returned he found all that remained of
his mother neatly prepared for the grave.
The black and red plaid shawl was wound round and round the body from
head to feet, no part being visible but the face. Margaret had fastened
the shawl at the throat with a silver brooch. Old Mag, as she lay upon
the camp bed, resembled a dead Highlander. Arrangements were made for
the funeral, and Paul paddled Mrs. Godfrey and children to the sloop and
then returned to dig his mother's grave. Next morning Paul came down to
the sloop looking very sad. He said that he had not closed his eyes
during the night. He sat watching through the long night at the side of
his dead parent.
Many of us have heard and read accounts of lonely scenes and lonely
spots, but what place could be more lonely and what scene more solemn
than that of a lone Indian sitting beside the corpse of his mother in a
Nova Scotian forest a hundred and twenty years ago, through the dread
hours of a whole night?
What thoughts passed through the brain of Paul Guidon during the weird
hours of that night, it may be, will be revealed in eternity.
Mrs. Godfrey and her children again went with Paul to the abode of
death. After landing, Margaret accompanied the Indian to inspect the
place of burial. It was situated on the bank of a small stream running
down to the river, and about two hundred yards from the camp. The grave
looked like the newly made nest of some huge bird. It was cleanly dug
and neatly lined with evergreens. In this grave the body of old Mag was
placed as the sun was sinking below the horizon. It was conveyed to its
last resting place by Paul, Margaret and her son Charlie; the four
younger children forming the procession.
None of the Indians of the tribes of the St. John were present at the
burial, as Paul had not circulated the news of his mother's death.
Mrs. Godfrey read, from the old service book, the Church of England
burial service, the most beautiful of all burial services, that of the
Masonic brethren perhaps excepted.
Mrs. Godfrey and Charlie filled in the grave. When they returned to the
wigwam all within was darkness and gloom. Margaret and her children were
paddled to the sloop by Paul. He was invited to spend the night on board
the little vessel, but declined to do so. Margaret then took him by the
hand, and, as she drew him toward her, he placed his hand upon her
shoulders and cried aloud, "Mother!" "Mother!" She led him to the canoe,
he got into his little bark and was soon sailing away towards his lonely
dwelling-place, where it may have been the spirit of old Mag kept watch
that night over the wigwam and her boy.
CHAPTER IV.
TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE AT SEA.
Captain Godfrey arrived safely at Passmaquaddy and was warmly welcomed.
He was supplied with sails, rigging and a general outfit for his family,
and he was sent back to the mouth of the St. John in a much larger and
more convenient boat, bringing the smaller boat in tow. He was absent
twelve days.
The day previous to the Captain's return Paul Guidon had visited the
sloop, but Margaret could only prevail upon him to remain for a few
minutes. He said something wanted him back at the wigwam. He appeared to
be impressed by some invisible and irresistible power to return at once
to the sad camping ground.
"Me: Paul!" he said to Margaret, "cannot stay long away from camp and my
mother's grave." "Happy mother must be in the woods near wigwam."
As far as Mrs. Godfrey could learn from the lone Indian his thoughts
were something like the following:--
All the birds that used to sing so sweetly around the little birchen
home and gaily fluttered from branch to branch, seemed to sit quietly
and pour out their songs in mornful strains, and all about the spot the
wind appeared to whistle a requiem for the departed squaw. And in the
long and quiet hours of the darkness, he felt certain that old Mag's
spirit left the woods, and in never ceasing motion kept watch about the
camp, and at regular intervals would pass within and kiss him when
asleep.
The Indian from his habits of life, skimming in his canoe over the
lonely and wooded river, or skipping from rock to rock on the lonely
mountain side; in tracing the border of the roaring cataract, in
pitching his tent along the edge of the flowing river or the sleeping
lake; out on the prairie or in the midst of the dense forest; among the
trees on the ocean shore, is most deeply impressed with the belief that
the Great Chief is watching his actions from behind trees, out of the
surface of the waters, from the tops of the mountains, and out of the
bosom of the prairie. He thinks that the lightning is His spear, and the
thunder His voice. He feels that a terrible something is all around him,
and when death calls any of his tribe away supreme superstition takes
firm hold of his very existence.
"Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind."
The poet, and the highly imaginative person, the wise and the good, seek
the hills and the valleys, the dashing cataract, the forest and stream,
the mountain range, the rocky coast and roaring ocean, and there drink
in the grandeur of creation in those sublime scenes. In such places they
feel a nearness to the Creator, and view His power and handiwork in a
measure not always attainable in the ordinary scenes of everyday life.
Such persons admire with reverential awe the greatness of God and feel
His love.
The Indian, in superstitious dread, lives in ignorance of His greatness,
His ways and His love.
Paul Guidon visited the sloop the next morning, and Captain Godfrey
welcomed him on board and invited him to remain during the day and
assist in refitting the vessel. The Indian did not refuse in words to do
so, but his looks and movements plainly indicated his disinclination to
remain.
Margaret approached him and said, "Paul, you will stay with me and help
us get the vessel all ready to sail away, won't you?" He took her hand,
pressed it tightly, and then let it fall at her side. She knew she had
won him, and was well aware that she could lead him as a child.
He remained, and all were soon at work. The children picked over the
oakum, the Captain fitted the rigging, and the Indian and Mrs. Godfrey
tried their hands at making a mainsail.
At the setting of the sun Paul returned to his lonely home. The next
morning, before the sun had risen, he was once more on board the sloop.
The day was a lovely one, and similar work to that of the previous day
occupied the attention of all The following day the vessel was hauled to
high water mark on the island, there to be overhauled and caulked.
Captain Godfrey had brought a supply of necessary tools for the work
from Passmaquaddy. The Indian came down each morning from his wigwam and
assisted until the sloop was ready for sea, (The repairing of the little
vessel _La Tour_ was probably the pioneer work of refitting and
repairing which a century later assumed such gigantic proportions on
both sides of the mouth of the St. John.) Mrs. Godfrey named the vessel
_La Tour_, because, she said, that was the original name of the fort
that sheltered herself and her children during Captain Godfrey's absence
at Annapolis Royal.
At length everything was ready, and the morning to weigh anchor came. A
stiff breeze blowing up the harbour caused a delay in sailing. The
morning was so wet, and the wind blew so hard, that Paul Guidon did not
venture out in his canoe, but he came down by land, and quite early in
the day stood upon the shore opposite where the sloop lay.
Margaret was first to notice him. She thought that she never saw him
look so handsome as when he stood on the right bank of the harbour that
morning. She called her husband, and pointing toward the shore said:
"Look at that noble form at the water's edge. It looks like a statue
standing on a line between the water and the woods!"
Captain Godfrey rowed to the shore and took Paul off to the sloop. He
remained on board but an hour, promising as he left to return in the
morning if the storm abated.
Captain Godfrey had decided to sail for Halifax via Passmaquaddy. The
morning was fine and the wind fair. Paul was on hand bright and early.
Margaret said to him, "Paul, in an hour we shall sail away from here,
and perhaps I shall never see you again on earth." These words seemed to
almost paralyze the Indian, and for a while he appeared unconscious of
everything that passed. His canoe was tied alongside the sloop. Captain
Godfrey hauled up the anchor. Margaret asked the Indian if he would go
with them as far as Passmaquaddy. He made no reply. He sat down on the
deck and covered his face with his hands. Captain Godfrey said to him
rather sternly, "Paul, we are now on our passage, if you are going to
leave take your canoe and go." He made no reply to the Captain. The
sloop was slipping down the harbour and had passed the lower island
before the Indian seemed to recognize his situation. He looked wildly
first at the shore, then on the other side at the great waters, and
burst into a flood of tears.
Margaret stepped to his side and said, "Paul, do you feel ill?"
He shook his head, and with his hand pointed at the vast waters of the
bay.
Margaret proceeded to get dinner, and the red man was left alone. Paul
was asked to the lunch, but replied not.
The sloop ran leisurely along the shore all day, the wind being light
and the water quite smooth. All were compelled to rest on deck during
the night, which was bright, and the moon made it almost like day,--the
little cabin was besieged with mosquitoes. About midnight the Indian,
who had not spoken since leaving the St. John, suddenly sprang to his
feet and peered over the moon-lit water in the direction of the shore.
Captain Godfrey, who was at the helm, seeing him, thought he was about
to make a plunge overboard, and called to his wife who was asleep. She
sprang up, asking what was the matter. At this moment Paul sang out,
"Indians coming." Margaret went to the cabin, got the musket and pointed
toward the canoes, three in number, and fired. The canoes soon after
disappeared in the direction of the shore. Paul sank back into his
former position, and in a short time all were asleep except the Captain
and the Indian. Nothing unusual occurred during the remainder of the
night, and in the morning, the wind growing stronger, the little ship
made greater headway. The day was a beautiful one, and Paul was as quiet
as usual. He ate nothing. Night again came on, and the breeze holding
through the moon-lit hours, the Captain ran the sloop into Passmaquaddy
early in the morning.
As the sun was rising in all his splendour, throwing his brightening
rays over land and water, the little vessel was headed into her port of
destination. As she was running in, Paul, quick as a flash, jumped up,
as though some attendant spirit had suddenly opened to him a vision of
the future. He fixed his eyes intently on the shore. In an instant he
crouched down on the deck with his head and shoulders partly over the
rail. His attitude and manner were those of a wild beast about to spring
upon its prey. The Captain thought Paul saw something strange on the
shore. In a few minutes the Indian sat down again, and for sometime
remained perfectly quiet. The anchor was let go, and the little craft
rested in Passmaquaddy harbour. The Captain ran in for the purpose of
getting some one to pilot the sloop to Halifax, but to his great
disappointment could find no one willing to go. He had neither money nor
goods to offer in payment for the service of a pilot.
The day following he set sail for Machias, ten leagues distant, in the
hope of securing some person at that place willing to assist him in the
passage to Halifax. Paul Guidon had consented to go as far as Machias,
and there land and make his way back to the St. John.
After leaving Passmaquaddy, Captain Godfrey concluded to put into Head
harbour and try his luck at that place in securing a pilot, but being
unacquainted with the locality he ran the sloop on a ledge of rocks.
However, the tide coming in she floated off unharmed.
"Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam, to sail
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail."
The wind suddenly veered round and blew off shore quite fresh. The
vessel stood well off during the night, and the Captain hoped to make
the harbour sometime the next morning, but toward daylight a fog began
to settle down fast and thick. Captain Godfrey fully realized the
perilous position of all on board, but having been early trained in
seamanship, he had full confidence in his ability to manage the sloop.
In the morning land could not be seen. The fog continued for three days,
during which time (to use the Captain's words) "the situation was dismal
enough, and every moment I was expecting to see the craft drawn on the
rocks and all on board perish." The fourth day the fog was less dense,
and those on board could see for some distance, but the sun was
invisible, and the war of the elements was raging with increasing fury.
In the afternoon the wind had shifted to north-west and increased to a
partial gale. The sloop was running under a bit of mainsail; it seemed
at times as if the following seas would founder the little vessel as
they towered over the low rail. Nothing was to be seen but the wide
expanse of water. Not even a solitary gull. The Captain remarked to his
wife, "It is a curious fact that, excepting the petrels, sea birds keep
near to the land in bad weather." Captain Godfrey feared the night, and
as it came on the wind grew in strength. A terrible sea was running, and
all were fastened below excepting Paul and the Captain. The Indian would
not leave the deck, although more than once he was nearly washed
overboard. At length darkness covered the face of the ocean, and the
wind howled in all its fury. The seas were like mountains, tossing the
sloop about like a cork. Mrs. Godfrey would remain below no longer. She
told her children, who were tumbling like nine-pins about the cabin
floor, not to cry, as she would soon return to them. As she put her head
out of the companion way, the Captain ordered her back. She said, "Where
is Paul?" Her husband answered, "I have called to him time and time
again to get below." She called to Paul, who was holding fast to the
anchor chain with his legs stuck under the windlass. He did not answer.
She started to creep forward. Her husband could not see her. At this
moment the sloop took a dreadful plunge. A heavy sea swept over her from
stern to bow, completely submerging her. The Captain, who had taken the
precaution to lash himself to the deck, in a half-drowned state, held
steadily to the tiller. As soon as possible he called to his wife, but
no answer came back. He called to Paul, and he too was silent. Was she
lost? Had she, in whom all his hopes were placed, been carried into the
sea and for ever lost to him on earth? These thoughts bewildered him
while he was trying to steer his vessel. He dare not leave the helm to
look after his wife and children. He hoped the sea had not broken into
the cabin and drowned all that were left to him on earth. He had often
been called to drink the cup of bitterness, had he been called to drink
it to its dregs? Had his sorrow at last reached its destined depths. He
burst into tears, almost stupified, and calling upon Him who is able to
guide the storm in its course and hush it to a calm; to Him whose
charities have distilled like the dews of Heaven; who had fed the hungry
and clothed the naked; who had opened a way of escape in the wilderness;
to Him he cried for succor. And at last in utter despair he earnestly
prayed for morning or death. Now and again a huge sea would break over
the little ship, but she rode the waves as beautifully as an ocean
liner. Terribly the night wore away. With the dawn of the morning the
gale began to abate. The Captain lashed the tiller and crept to the
companion way. He opened it, went down, found his children, bruised,
bleeding and terrified. He kissed them, feeling they were now dearer
than ever to him. They asked him where their mother was. He came on deck
and shut them in the cabin without replying. As Captain Godfrey crawled
to his position at the helm, he said to himself, my dear children have
escaped the arrow and tomahawk, the flames at Grimross, the thunder,
lightning and tempest, and even yet they are safe. If it were not for my
children I would prefer to sleep here in death rather than live
elsewhere. I would be near my wife to share a part with her in the
resurrection.
While the Captain was thus mournfully musing, a faint light began to
creep around the eastern horizon. He was so absorbed in thought and in
watching every movement of the sloop that he did not notice the
increasing light. There were rifts in the dark clouds, and the air was
growing moist. The morning light brought with it rain. The sea gradually
grew less and less troubled, and the little vessel rolled and pitched
more easily. The Captain was suddenly startled from his reverie by the
increasing rays of the rising sun, who was now beginning to show his
golden circle above the horizon. He made fast the tiller and went
forward to see what damage had been done through the night. The jib had
been snugly furled before darkness set in. As he stepped forward of the
mainsail, to his great surprise he saw two human forms wedged in under
the windlass and locked in each other's arms. They were tightly wedged
to their knees, between the windlass and the deck. Mrs. Godfrey's
clothes were torn in shreds. She lay with her head across the Indian's
shoulders, her arms were tightly locked around his neck and flowing
black hair.
The Captain had on board the sloop an old axe, which he at once got and
commenced to cut the windlass from its fastenings. A piece of the wood
flew and struck his wife on the leg, he thought he the saw the limb,
which was partially bare, tremble. He then threw his whole strength into
his work, and in a few minutes had the satisfaction of seeing one end of
the windlass loosened. He took hold of the unfastened end and with a
sudden jerk wrenched the other end from its socket. He then rubbed his
wife's limb with his open palm, and soon felt it growing warm. In a few
minutes she breathed quickly, and appeared to grasp her swarthy
companion more tightly. She moaned, and then opened her eyes and stared
vacantly at her husband, who almost fainted with joy. He turned his wife
over, and pulled the shreds of clothing towards her feet. He then went
to the cabin and got a bottle containing brandy, presented to him during
his first visit to Passmaquaddy. He poured out a spoonful, and forced it
down his wife's throat. Soon after she spoke, and asked her husband to
raise her up. As he did so she said, "give some brandy to Paul, he
cannot be dead, if I am alive." Paul all this time had never stirred. He
lay like a fallen statue, brown and stiff. Margaret brushed the coarse
black hair from off his face. Captain Godfrey opened the Indian's jaws
and put a spoonful of brandy into his mouth. His muscles began to
quiver, he trembled, he breathed, he moaned, and again relapsed into
perfect quietness. Margaret sat beside Paul while the Captain went to
jibe the mainsail and port the helm. She thrust her hand beneath his
torn shirt and laid it over his heart. She felt its weak pulsations. She
then ran her hand around and over his swarthy skin; she felt it growing
warm. He moaned and moved. She continued the application of her hand,
his eyelids opened, he trembled all over, and looked up at Margaret in a
sort of amazed stare. At length the Indian completely recovered his
senses, and by this time Margaret Godfrey again became exhausted. She
was carried to the dingy little cabin by her husband and her son
Charlie. Paul was so weak that he could not raise himself from the
deck. The Captain moved him a few feet and lashed him to the mast.
Neither Margaret nor the Indian were able to move from their resting
places till late in the afternoon.
Captain Godfrey judged the sloop to be well across the Bay of Fundy, and
he determined to make all speed possible for the town of Halifax. The
wind was fair, and all the reefs in the sails were shaken out. For the
next two days the weather was fine and the wind fair, and Margaret and
Paul were regaining their strength. Nothing of an unusual character
occurred on board. Since the jam under the windlass, Paul Guidon
appeared more lively and conversed more freely. About four o'clock in
the afternoon of the second day after the storm, while the Indian was
sitting at the bow of the sloop, a school of porpoises was seen
approaching in as regular order as a company of British soldiers to a
charge. When the fish had approached to within a hundred yard's of the
sloop, the Indian threw up his hands and uttered a most mournful wail,
and staggered backward. Captain Godfrey rushed forward and caught Paul
as he was falling overboard. Both fell athwart the rail and all but into
the sea.
The Indian, who had not recovered sufficient strength to endure much
excitement or hardship, was in a high state of feverish bewilderment.
The Captain said: "Paul, what gave you such a fright?" He replied, "that
when he first saw the fish approaching, he thought that they were a lot
of canoes paddled by evil spirits from the dark, dismal hunting grounds
of thieving and murderous Indians, and that they were after him to carry
him away over the great waters to live in misery among them, because he
had left the wigwam and forsaken his mother's grave before two moons
were gone."
Early next morning Mrs. Godfrey relieved her husband at the helm;
Charlie assisting her. The Captain went below to rest, asking to be
called if anything out of the ordinary occurred. He had hardly closed
his eyes during the voyage, but fell asleep at his post during the
previous night, when the weather fortunately was fine and the sea quite
peaceful.
At about ten o'clock, a.m., Paul sighted something in the distance. He
called to Mrs. Godfrey to look in the direction of his hand, which he
was pointing over the port bow. She could see nothing, but she headed
the sloop in the direction that Paul gave, and in an hour's time had the
satisfaction of seeing what she supposed to be the outline of rocks or
land. She kept the vessel headed in toward what she supposed to be land,
and at three o'clock called her husband on deck. The Captain judged his
vessel to be on the east coast of Nova Scotia.
Margaret called her children around her, and asked Paul to sit down with
them. She opened the old service book and read a portion of scripture.
The deck was made an altar of the living God. From the deck fervent
prayer mingled with the voice of the ocean and with the sighing wind
ascended on high. Margaret said to Paul: "You and I were rescued at the
gate of death. When our frail bark was tossing and labouring hard for
life in her lone path over the surging billows and through the blackness
of the night, a kind hand overshadowed us and kept us, and now not one
of the ship's company is lost."
Full of bright hope, she turned to her husband and said: "I now am
satisfied we shall safely reach port, and once again we and our dear
ones shall see our native lands. English civilization and English
justice will do rightly by us in our misfortunes. We, who have lost all
our possessions,--in an hour stripped of all that we owned,--and have
been compelled to endure hardships and face death itself in an English
colony, may in confidence look to the old land for succor."
The next two days the wind continued favourable, and the little vessel
ran along in sight of the coast.
The following day an adverse wind blew and a storm seemed brewing, but
the wind only freshened a bit, and all day the vessel beat about in
sight of land. Paul, who had now sufficiently recovered, appeared to
take a great interest in everything about the sloop; the sun shone
brightly and the clouds were lifted high in the heavens. All around was
perfect peace.
The Indian remarked to Captain Godfrey: "This not so good as canoe on
stream, or roaming hunting ground. Wide, big, great sea, would make
splendid hunting ground if only covered with grass and trees."
Early the next morning a King's schooner was sighted. The wind shifting,
Captain Godfrey ran the sloop into Petite Passage and anchored. The
King's schooner came to an anchor about the same time--a league distant.
Captain Spry, (Captain and pilot) of the King's schooner, sent a
messenger on board the sloop, who inquired where they had come from and
whither they were bound. After the messenger had returned to the King's
schooner, Lieutenant Knight of the Royal Navy, commander of the
schooner, sent a boat to the sloop with three men to assist Captain
Godfrey to Halifax, also some tea, chocolate, coffee, sugar, wine and
rum, bread, pork and flour. Captain Spry took the sloop under convoy.
The vessels put into several harbours; and the night before they arrived
at Halifax Captain Spry's schooner was lost sight of in a thick fog. The
fog lifted during the night, when they were able to see Halifax lights,
but on entering the harbour the sloop ran foul of a ledge of rocks
called "Two Sisters." The sea was running very high. Destruction seemed
on every hand. Fortunately a passage was perceived between the rocks. At
last they succeeded in getting through the passage, and came to anchor
before morning opposite the town of Halifax. Captain Godfrey and his
wife, after a long and eventful passage from Fort Frederick, found
themselves once again at Halifax, worn out and almost disheartened. The
new men on board the sloop appeared to admire Paul Guidon, and Paul took
kindly to them.
Shortly after their arrival at Halifax Captain Godfrey admitted to
Lieutenant Knight, that during the terrible storm in the mouth of the
Bay of Fundy, he expected every moment to see the sloop founder and all
on board perish in the ocean.
CHAPTER V.
CAPT. GODFREY AND LORD WM. CAMPBELL.--YOUNG LION OF THE WOODS.
Shortly after the arrival of the sloop at Halifax, Capt. Godfrey waited
on Lord William Campbell, at that time (the summer of 1771) Governor of
the Provinces.
His Lordship received him in the most cordial and gentlemanly manner,
and remarked that he would be pleased to order an investigation into his
case and have the Indians who committed the outrage ordered down from
the St. John river.
On September 2nd, 1771, a council met and an investigation took place.
Letters and affidavits were produced, sworn to before Plato Denny and
William Isherwood, Justices of the Peace for Campo Bello, where Lewis
LeBlond, a Canadian, made oath, that he was told by Lewis Neptune, an
Indian, that Captain Godfrey was to be burned out by Chief Pére Thomas'
orders, and that other Indians of the St. John tribe were to perform the
deed.
An affidavit was made by Gervase Say, an inhabitant of Gage township,
sworn to before Francis Peabody, Justice of the Peace, in which it was
stated that John Baptiste Caltpate, an Indian of the St. John tribe, had
declared to him that Francis DeFalt, an Indian belonging to Pére
Thomas' tribe, set fire to Captain Godfrey's house and store at
Grimross.
A schedule of the Captain's losses, attested before one of His Majesty's
Justices of the Peace at Halifax, was also laid before the council. The
reader will not be troubled with the items, suffice it to say the
losses, including lands, amounted to seven thousand four hundred and
sixty-two pounds.
His Excellency, finding that Captain Godfrey had acted conformably to
the rules and regulations of the Province, returned to him his bond that
he had given the government for carrying on a legitimate trade with the
Indians.
He was also satisfied that the Captain's losses were on account of the
action of the savages, and being fully convinced of the great hardships
and privations the Captain and his distressed wife and family had
undergone, he was pleased to give him an honourable clearance out of the
province, according to the regulations of said province, and also to
recommend him to the protection of the Right Honourable the Earl of
Hillsborough, at that time first Lord of Trade and Plantations for
public relief. The Governor had it not in his power to grant Captain
Godfrey any suitable gratuity for the great loss he had sustained.
COPY OF LORD CAMPBELL'S LETTER TO LORD HILLSBOROUGH.
HALIFAX, October 9th, 1771.
_My Lord_:
The gentleman who will deliver this to you was lately a Captain in the
52nd Regiment of foot, and came out to this province in August, 1769,
with his wife and a large family, to settle on some lands on river St.
John, which he had purchased before he left Europe, with a view of
carrying on trade with the Indians. I have frequent complaints of those
Indians since Fort Frederick, situate on the entrance of the St. John
river, has been dismantled, and the garrison, which consisted of an
officer's command, reduced to a corporal and four.
The Fort, when properly garrisoned, kept the Indians of that district in
pretty good order, but not so effectively by situation as it would if it
had been constructed higher up the river, and as now the fort is
entirely dismantled, I beg leave to offer to your Lordship's
consideration whether a strong Block House, properly garrisoned, might
not prove a proper check upon the insolence of the savages, at the same
time it would afford a secure protection to a very increasing settlement
on the banks of the river St. John, a situation abounding with most
excellent soil, which produces the most valuable timber of all sorts in
the province.
These are considerations which I beg your Lordship will please to submit
to His Majesty's advisers. The unhappy state of _Mr. Godfrey's_
misfortunes will, I am persuaded, speak everything in his favour with
your Lordship, which his past services or present suffering can entitle
him to.
I have the honour to be,
Yours, &c., &c.,
WM. CAMPBELL.
_The Earl of Hillsborough_.
After remaining at Halifax for five months, an opportunity offered for
Captain Godfrey to leave for England. He sailed with his wife and family
in the brigantine "Adamante," William Macniel, master, on the twentieth
day of December, 1771. Paul Guidon remained at Halifax about six weeks
after he had arrived with the Godfreys. While at Halifax he was much
admired by the officers of the army, and those of the navy paid him
even greater attentions. Margaret had circulated the report that the
Indian was of the Iroquois tribe, and as brave a man as ever drew a bow.
He wanted for nothing. He was dined and wined by the citizens generally.
The Governor took a deep interest in him, and secured a vast amount of
information from him respecting the character and movements of the
Indians on the St. John. One of the officers of the navy presented him
with a complete suit of navy-blue clothes, and an officer of the
garrison fitted him out with a second-hand undress military suit.
In his blue suit his appearance was most commanding. It suited his
complexion to a charm. He was straight as an arrow, and looked as
graceful as an elm. His frame was wiry; his limbs long and straight. He
would bound over the rails of the ships like a deer. His step was long,
quick and elastic, and he would run like a greyhound. His long black
hair, reaching down to his slender waist, seemed to make his broad
square shoulders doubly broad as it hung over his blue coat. But the
Indian, while he appeared to enjoy his new mode of life, was not always
happy or at ease. A sudden expression of sadness would often flit across
his features. He would roam for hours all alone in the woods. He often
longed for his canoe, which was washed overboard in the mouth of the Bay
of Fundy. He would often inquire of Captain Godfrey when he would get
back to his home on the St. John.
The time at last arrived when Paul Guidon was to depart. The King's
schooner was soon to sail for Passmaquaddy. Captain Godfrey, his wife
and children went on board the schooner to bid Paul farewell. They found
it hard to do so, especially Mrs. Godfrey. Paul Guidon had no idea that
he was to be separated from the family he loved. He thought they were
going to return to the St. John soon again.
As the Godfreys left the side of the King's schooner to return to the
shore, the "Young Lion of the Woods," (for such was the name given to
the Iroquois by the naval officers at Halifax) would not let go of Mrs.
Godfrey's hand. He gently pulled her back and said, "I may never see you
again, I want to speak to you alone." They went into the cabin, and
there the Indian poured out the agonies of his soul. He spoke to
Margaret as follows (the words are given as he spoke them): "You 'member
evening Fort Frederick when pale face man 'way, me, Paul, saved your
life and children too? when Indians threw tomahawk, and fired arrows at
you? when you come out Fort, and one arrow struck you in arm?" Mrs.
Godfrey replied: "Paul, the mark of that arrow I shall carry with me to
the grave." The Indian continued: "You and children been all dead now
and buried near old Fort if Paul not been there; when you come out Fort,
after Indians threat to burn Fort and all up, me saw you like spirit
from some other land; you looked pale, and stood brave; you mind me put
hand up and told Indians stand back. Pale face and looked so brave,
saved life and in boat too. All squaws in woods none like you." Paul
then relapsed into silence, and his head dropped forward. He firmly held
Margaret Godfrey's hand all the time he was repeating the event at the
Fort, and her small white hand was frequently wet with tears as they
rolled off the swarthy face of the Indian.
At last she said: "Paul, I can stay here no longer, they are waiting to
take me to the shore. You have been a good friend to us all; without
your assistance I might never have been here to bid you good-bye. May
the great good Spirit bless and help you on the big, broad waters and in
the lonely woods. You, Paul, ask him to guide you. I shall always ask
the Great Spirit to look after you, and, if it be the Great Chief's
will, I may come back to see you again." A smile played over his face as
she uttered the last words, and he brushed the tears from her pale hand
with his long flowing hair. She asked him for a lock of his hair; he cut
off a piece and handed it to her. She then went to the boat, but the
Indian did not leave the cabin.
Margaret was so completely overcome with emotion that she laid her head
on her husband's shoulder and quietly wept, as they were being rowed to
the shore.
Captain Godfrey knew that his wife admired the Indian for his courage
and honour, but was entirely ignorant of those warmer feelings that Paul
expressed for Mrs. Godfrey during his leave-taking.
The Godfreys remained at Halifax four months after Paul Guidon had
sailed, and Margaret never ceased to praise the actions of the noble red
man. Yet, it may be after all, that the husband and children owed their
lives, as much to the good sense, brave spirit, firmness and steadiness
in the face of danger, of the wife and mother, as to the action of the
noble Iroquois. Yet again had not Paul appeared on the scene at [3]Fort
Frederick and at the taking of the boat, all the splendid traits of
character possessed by Margaret might have availed little in defeating
the purposes of the other Indians.
[Footnote 3: It will be remembered that during the voyage from the mouth
of the St John to Grimross Neck, the Captain's wife was most anxious to
be on deck alone during the hours of darkness. The Iroquois and several
braves appeared before Fort Frederick on the afternoon of the day that
Captain Godfrey left for Annapolis Royal. They ran round and round the
place, calling upon the occupants of the Fort to come out, or they would
break in and murder them. The Captain's wife determined to go outside
and face the savages, but found it difficult to leave her terrified
children, who were afraid to follow her. She knew her only course was to
appear bold and fearless in presence of the red men. At length she got
the little ones pacified, as she stepped toward the opening, her
children were huddled together in a corner. She did not hesitate a
moment, but went out and advanced down the slope and stood face to face
with the savages. Paul Guidon advanced a few steps toward her. She said,
"I believe you to be an honest man, and you will not see a defenceless
woman injured and her children murdered, if you can help it." At this
moment a couple of tomahawks and several arrows passed in close
proximity to Mrs. Godfrey, and a moment after a single arrow struck her
in the arm, causing the blood to flow freely. Paul Guidon turned
suddenly and spoke firmly and decidedly to his comrades, they retired a
short distance. Margaret continued, "Why do those Indians wish to injure
me? My husband is away, and when he comes back we will leave this place
and go up the river to Grimross Neck and live there." The red man stood
silent all the time Mrs. Godfrey was speaking. He now spoke as follows,
"You no 'fraid Injuns, stand fore them like rock," at the same time
pointing down to a big boulder on which he was standing, "Brave Pale
Face." She said in reply: "I shall never be afraid while you are with
the Indians, but some of the red men I would not trust. If my King, the
Great Pale Faced Father of this country, knew of your kindness to me he
would love you. I feel that my life and the lives of my children are
safe in your hands." Margaret then asked him into the Fort. In doing
this she appears to have obeyed the cool dictates of judgment rather
than the impulses of the heart. He at first hesitated and then slowly
followed her cautiously up the rising ground. She turned around and said
to him rather sharply: "Do you fear to trust me? There are no pale faced
men inside. Did I not trust you when I went out single, alone and
unarmed, to meet you?" He quickened his pace, but glanced restlessly all
around. Arriving near the entrance of the Fort, he said: "Me stop here."
Margaret called to her children, but they would not come. Paul said:
"Children frightened with Injun." After much difficulty she persuaded
Paul to step inside. He stopped as he entered and looked wildly about,
appearing inclined to draw back. Margaret Godfrey looked straight into
his restless eyes and said: "You are my friend now. When my husband
comes back you can help us up this unknown stream to our new home."
"Yea," he replied; "me will watch on river bank and in canoe; fire gun
and point where stay night. Don't tell pale face man me be in Fort.
White man sometime kill Injun. Won't tell pale face man, say?" Here he
hesitated for a reply. Margaret took his hand, led him out, and promised
she would not. And she kept her word.]
Noble bearing and grand courage in the case of Mrs. Godfrey, it would
appear, touched the tenderest chords of the Iroquois' heart, and brought
to the surface his better nature. Naturally, some human beings are
better than others. Such seem born to exert a power and cast a healthy
influence all about them. Doubtless Margaret was one of this class. Her
early training, her immortal hope, her strong belief in the spread of
everlasting truth, and in prayer and God, had much to do in steadying
and solidifying her character.
We may all profit by her example, if we seek to incorporate the
principles of the Christian religion into our every day actions and
life, in the full conviction that it is the happiest life, the soundest
life, the bravest life, that partakes of the mild and peaceful spirit of
Christianity. Something more than ordinary courage in the presence of
yelling savages and flights of arrows is necessary to support a delicate
woman single handed and alone; this something Margaret Godfrey
possessed, and, possibly, the penetrating eye of the Iroquois detected
it in her every feature and movement.
The King's schooner arrived at Passmaquaddy in due time, and Paul took
his departure for his native woods. He sent word hack by the captain of
the schooner to Margaret Godfrey that he would watch for her spirit some
evening when he sat by his mother's grave. He felt sure he would see
her there.
In the next chapter Captain Godfrey and family will be followed across
the ocean, and Paul Guidon will be allowed to remain in his native
woods, to fish, to shoot, and occasionally to sit beside Old Mag's grave
and commune with her immortal spirit.
CHAPTER VI.
IN ENGLAND.--THE CAPTAIN AND THE LORDS.
The "Adamante" arrived in England after a rough and stormy passage of
forty-eight days. Captain Godfrey and family suffered severe hardships
on the run over the Western Ocean. Owing to his exhausted funds, Captain
G. was unable to provide his family the conveniences and comforts which
would have rendered the voyage home more agreeable than under the
circumstances it proved itself to be. As it was they suffered severely.
They had no bedding, and found their beaver skins a great luxury to
sleep on. The few pounds that the sale of the sloop brought him were all
expended during his long stay at Halifax while he was waiting for an
opportunity to sail for England.
Margaret Godfrey was as high spirited as she was brave, and would not
condescend to seek assistance from their friends in Halifax. If
assistance was not gratuitously bestowed, she was the last woman in the
world to beg. The family were well cared for while in the capital of the
province (or to put it in Mrs. Godfrey's words) "as well as people
generally are who have honestly lost their all. Our real wants were not
known to the middle and lower classes, and that other class was not
heartily concerned about our future. Governor Campbell, all honor to his
name, secured and paid our passages."
The cabin of the "Adamante" was below deck, it was dark, dingy and
dirty. The bows of the vessel resembled the side of a tub, and the stern
the end of a puncheon cut through the centre lengthways. A passage
across the stormy ocean in the "Adamante" in the winter of 1771-2, in
comparison to one in an ocean greyhound of 1889, would be much the same
as the difference between a ride in an ox-cart and one in a palace car,
both for comfort and speed.
A terrific storm was experienced off the west coast of Ireland, in which
the foretopgallant mast and jibboom were carried away. The water-casks
and caboose were washed overboard, and the cook carried into the forward
shrouds feet foremost, where he hung like a fish in a net. With this
exception, no accident occurred during the passage.
Shortly after Captain Godfrey arrived in London, he called on the Earl
of Hillsborough and made known to that gentleman his great misfortune,
and also delivered to His Lordship the letter of recommendation which
Lord William Campbell had been pleased to give him. After the Earl of
Hillsborough had carefully perused the letter and examined into Captain
Godfrey's affairs, His Lordship was most generously pleased to present
him with twenty guineas out of his private purse for present relief,
until His Lordship could more essentially serve him.
Not long afterward Captain Godfrey's case was laid before the Right
Honourable the Lords of Trade. The Earl of Hillsborough was again
pleased to grant him fifty guineas from his private purse for a
temporary support, with the assurance of providing for his further
support till his case was settled.
Upon Lord Hillsborough's resignation as first Lord of Trade and
Plantations, his Lordship was pleased to recommend Captain Godfrey's
case to the Earl of Dartmouth, who succeeded His Lordship in office.
The case, with all the original papers and certificates, was laid before
the Earl of Dartmouth and the Right Honorable the Lords of Trade and
Plantations. A commission was appointed by Parliament and several Lords
sat on it, but nothing definite was arranged. Captain Godfrey remained
for the greater part of the time in England and sometimes in Ireland,
all the time seeking relief from Lords many until the year 1773. All
this time he was in great difficulty and distress through his losses in
the Colony. Fortunately for himself and his family, he was left a legacy
in 1773 amounting to a considerable sum, which enabled him a second time
to try his luck in Nova Scotia. He expended a large sum of money in
purchasing goods suitable for the colonial trade, and embarked with the
goods and his wife and family in 1774, and once again settled on his
estate at Grimross.
His former misfortune did not discourage him; he was full of hope for
the future. He left his case in the hands of his fellow-countrymen. What
a pity he did not induce some of these English Lords to accompany him
and spend a winter with him in the wilds of Nova Scotia. It is quite
possible had he been able to prevail upon them to do so, that they would
have returned home in the early spring and strongly advised the Lords of
Trade and Plantations to at once settle the case of Captain Godfrey by
reimbursing him for his losses.
The boast of England is her colonies, yet the statesmen of Britain at
that time knew little, and, in all probability, cared less, about the
hardships, dangers and perils which their countrymen were enduring while
laying the foundations of a Greater Britain.
The great bulk of the early colonists were thoroughly British, and
Captain Godfrey was no exception. They suffered what most early
colonists suffer, but they suffered without murmuring, because they were
Englishmen in an English colony. They possessed a sort of blind loyalty
and a sincere patriotism toward their King and old England. Their spirit
is ours, and a century or more has been forming and moulding it into a
purely Canadian patriotism, while the wisdom displayed for fifty years
by the best ruler that ever sat upon the British throne, has
strengthened the attachment British North Americans have had for English
institutions and induced them to cling strongly to them, though the
circumstances of a new country have required a modification in the forms
of those institutions.
Queen Victoria's good sense, excellent judgment, and consequently wise
rule, have made the people of every portion of the Colonial Empire feel
that they have an interest in the Mother land.
Long may she reign; and God grant that the American Republic may never
be allowed to extend its institutions to our Dominion, and overthrow the
foundations laid by our ancestry and on which we are building.
CHAPTER VII.
ARRIVAL AND RETREAT.
In the month of September, 1774, Captain Godfrey, after an absence of
three years, arrived and settled for the second time on the estate at
Grimross Neck. He lost no time in preparing to once again try his luck
in trading with the Indians and settlers. He erected and finished a
house and store, and before winter set in everything was made ready to
receive his wife and family, who arrived in the latter part of November.
He commenced trading again buoyant with the hope of retrieving his
losses, and for a short time he carried on a profitable business. The
Indians were comparatively quiet, and he and his family enjoyed a season
of peace. Uprightness stamped all the Captain's dealings. He remarked to
a friend, that he had again attempted to do business in the colony, and
said he: "with the spirit of a true British soldier, I mean to do or die
in the attempt, and my dealings with both the white and red man shall be
guided by the dictates of an honest conscience. I hope I shall succeed."
He felt almost certain that the dark plots and devilish crimes of the
Indians would never have occurred had Paul Guidon been near him. He
would often say to his wife: "I wonder where Paul has gone?" Since his
arrival at Grimross he often made enquiries as to Paul's whereabouts,
but none of the tribe on the St. John appeared to know where he was. Six
months had elapsed since his arrival and yet he had received no tidings
of the brave Iroquois.
Mrs. Godfrey, true to the promise she had made to Paul on board the
King's schooner in Halifax harbour, never revealed to her husband the
Indian's feelings of regard toward her. Like a wise woman, she
considered it better to let the matter forever rest.
Captain Godfrey presented Paul with the two muskets previous to the
Indian leaving Halifax for Passmaquaddy. Paul named one "Old Mag" and
the other "Chief Mag," cutting as he did so an arrow mark in the butt of
the latter, and saying "this one my Chief." The Captain told his wife of
the circumstance, and she laughingly remarked that it was a custom among
the Indians to name trinkets and presents after the persons who had
given them. She believed as Paul had seen her first at Fort Frederick,
her name was probably first in his thoughts when accepting the muskets.
One night, in the month of March, 1775, Captain Godfrey and his wife
were aroused from their slumbers by a loud and continued knocking at the
house door. The night was very dark. The Captain got up, dressed
himself, and called his eldest son, (Charlie) a lad of sixteen. They
together went to the door, asked who was there, and what was wanted. The
answer came ringing back, Paul Guidon. The Captain called his wife, as
he did not recognize the voice as that of Paul. She came and said, "Is
that you, Paul?" "Me, real Paul, and got Chief Mag with me," was the
answer. Margaret could not recognize the voice as that of Paul. She said
to her husband, "it sounds more like the voice of a British officer than
that of an Indian." She lit a candle, and said, "Paul, do you know me?"
"Yes, yes," he replied; "arrow mark on arm, and almost dead with you
under windlass in sloop, great storm, lost canoe." She opened the door,
and in stepped Paul Guidon, dressed in the military uniform presented to
him at Halifax, or a similar one, and in his hand a musket. A fire was
made, and Paul was so pleased to once again see his old friends that he
could not sit quiet. He walked up and down the kitchen with a quick
nervous tread, looking like a hero from some field of victory. Margaret
burst out in exclamation, "So it is really you, Paul; you who
accompanied us in our trials, and watched over us in our dangers, and
who, side by side with me, lay on the verge of eternity, while the
roaring of the ocean and the howling of the storm passed along unheeded
by us both." There before them was the brave Chief, (the "Young Lion of
the Woods,") who a few years before, at Fort Frederick, was subdued by
the presence of Margaret Godfrey, where her exhibition of unexampled
fortitude took a deep hold of the very being of the Iroquois and turned
him from an enemy to a friend.
The Indian remained with the Godfreys for a few days, amusing himself
with shooting and assisting in a general the premises. Trouble occurring
among the tribe of which Paul was a sub-chief, he was sent for to
return to the tribe, and at a great war council he was elected Chief in
Thomas' place.
About this time the colonists in New England were beginning to show
signs of dissatisfaction with the Mother land, and some Americans living
along the St. John river were showing signs of discontent, and becoming
agitated over matters in New England. The American sympathisers did all
they could to stir the Indians along the river to revolt.
Paul Guidon did all in his power to soothe their savage breasts, and
soon after returned to Grimross Neck. In a short time the rebellion
broke out, and affairs in New England were fast assuming a most serious
aspect. The rebels in the vicinity of Grimross were fully aware of
Captain Godfrey's firm attachment to the cause of King George the Third.
At length they approached him and tried hard to persuade him to enter
the service of the dissatisfied colonists. The cross-eyed, monkey-faced
character alluded to in a former chapter, was their chief spokesman on
this occasion, and instead of stuttering, as on a former visit, his
words flowed forth as freely and as fast as the waters of a mill-race.
It may be that similar specimens of humanity exist in every age, whose
folly and wickedness seem to be perpetual. Will such characters ever
learn to live and be content under the old flag of their fathers, or
will they be content to live on despised by their countrymen? Should
such seditious spirits ever receive mention from the historian, it must
be anything but a flattering one, and must cause the blush to mantle
upon the cheek of any worthy descendant.
Captain Godfrey was offered by the rebels the command of a party of men
to march forward and attack Fort Cumberland, besides which further
inducements of preferment and advancement were held out to him. But
nothing the rebels could offer was able to shake his allegiance to King
George the Third. His former losses, his present situation, the safety
of his wife and family, his treatment by the Board of Trade and
Plantations, were all to him of less importance than his duty to his
sovereign. Unshaken and unmoved he replied to the traitors, "I am as
zealous as ever I was in my life for the cause of my King and my
country."
The rebels finding the Captain firm in his determination not to forsake
his King, approached Margaret Godfrey. She was protected not only by her
good sense and thorough good judgment, her sterling honour and decided
character, but also by the highest convictions of duty. In answer to
them she replied, "My husband has given you his answer and in it he has
also given you mine. You will oblige by at once leaving the premises."
They made a hasty exit from her presence, and did not return for some
weeks.
A day or two after the rebels had left Grimross, Paul Guidon related to
Mrs. Godfrey his life and wanderings after his arrival at Passmaquaddy
from Halifax in 1771. "He found his way from Passmaquaddy to Grimross
Neck, carrying the two muskets with him, and also a knapsack filled with
powder, shot and bullets, given to him by the Captain of the King's
schooner."
"He then went to where the tribe was living and remained some weeks,
being very tired and weary. Pére Thoma, taking a great fancy to his red
jacket, offered to canoe him down the river to his old camping ground if
he would give him the coveted garment on their return. Paul consented to
do so. One fine morning they started from Grimross Neck and paddled all
day down the river, occasionally resting on the banks of the stream. It
came into his (Paul's) head, on the way down that Pére Thoma was the
cause of the Godfreys' misfortunes, and he suddenly felt that the spirit
of "Old Mag" (his mother) called upon him to kill Thoma. The burning of
the house, the escape of his mother from the flames, the driving away of
the English people, the great storm on the bay, his first sight of the
pale-faced woman at Fort Frederick, the parting with her at Halifax, all
these events recurred to his mind in an instant and went like a flash
through his brain. His head seemed to dance like the canoe on the water,
then the canoe appeared to whirl round and round. He got so dizzy he
could scarcely see, and was afraid that he would fall overboard. He felt
something touch him on the shoulder like a dip from the wing of a bird.
He had his musket in the canoe, it was loaded. He suddenly pulled in the
paddle and then grasped the musket. It was "Chief Mag," and he pointed
it at Thoma who was sitting in the stern of the canoe. He fired and
Thoma rolled overboard and sank. Paddling on he arrived at his old
camping ground near the mouth of the river. The wigwam was still
standing but very much out of order, he sat in it till daylight and then
visited his mother's grave. After returning to the camp as he felt sad
and faint, he took his musket and wandered off in search of game. He
spent the remainder of the day near the resting place of "Old Mag," at
night he went to the camp and there slept. In the morning he got into
the canoe and paddled off up the river, arriving at Grimross he went on
shore and started at once by trail for Quebec, where after two moons he
arrived carrying Chief Mag with him. Here he was much in request by the
military, who detained him for three winters accompanying them on their
hunting excursions. During the latter part of the last winter, while
shooting with some officers on the borders of Acadia and Quebec, he met
an old Indian by the name of Joe Paul moving West with his family. From
him he learned that the pale-faced people were again living and trading
at Grimross. Paul told the officers that he must go back to the St.
John. They were not inclined to release him, until he had accompanied
them back to Quebec. Yielding to their entreaties he returned with them,
remaining a few days. Just before he left Quebec, there was a great stir
among the military. It was rumoured that war was impending, and the
officers tried hard to persuade him to remain and share with them the
fortunes of war, if they should be ordered to take part in the fighting.
He said he could not stay, but promised the officers, as he put on a new
red jacket they had given him, that he would never fight against the
British soldiers. As Paul came to this part of his narration he looked
straight at Margaret Godfrey and continued, (it is given in his own
words) "all Paul want to make him British soldier be pale face and
little hair."
In a few days the Iroquois went out again to visit his tribe. Desiring
to revisit his mother's grave he required some one to assist him down
the river. He selected as his companion Francis DeFalt who appeared
willing to accompany him. On the way down he found out from DeFalt, that
he was one of the Indians who by Thoma's commands set fire to the
Englishman's house and store. DeFalt bragged about what he had done and
said his only sorrow was, that all the white devils were not burned up
with the house.
As DeFalt was speaking, the Iroquois blood began to stir quickly. As
soon as darkness was closing down over the face of the river Paul
meditated on revenge. He seized Chief Mag, which he always took with
him, and fired it at DeFalt, who turning a complete somerset over the
bow of the canoe into the river, was seen no more. Paul drifted down
stream a few miles, paddled to the shore, hauled the canoe upon dry
land, turned it over and slept under it during the night, feeling
satisfied that he had avenged the insult to the pale-faces. Paul
remained about the old camping ground for three weeks, when he again
returned to Grimross. The Iroquois was never suspected as the cause of
Thoma's disappearance, the canoe was afterwards found, bottom up, in the
river, and he was supposed to have been drowned.
On Paul's return to his tribe, he told the Indians that DeFalt had
become acquainted with a pretty young squaw named Charlotte Toney, and
had gone over to Fort Cumberland to spend a few months with the Toney
family, who were moving over there to settle during the coming winter,
and that DeFalt would likely be married before his return. The Iroquois
shortly after this returned to Grimross to spend a few days with his
pale-faced friends. He told Margaret that some of the tribe were greatly
agitated. The American sympathisers had seduced them by making great
promises and by holding up to them a grand future. Paul said to Captain
Godfrey, "you may all be murdered if you stay at Grimross; some bad
white men now among Indians." Margaret did not care to advise her
husband to leave, although she had learnt enough from Paul to convince
her that great danger was all about them.
The Iroquois had proposed to Margaret to escape with her children to
Fort Frederick, saying that he would take them down the river in
DeFalt's canoe, which he had kept at Grimross. He said to her, "I will
never leave you in times of trouble and will lose my life to save
yours." She would not consent to leave her husband, although he strongly
advised her to go, if she thought their lives in danger.
At length the Rebels and Red men grew furious. They arrived at Grimross
early one morning, while Paul was out among the tribe trying to keep
them quiet, and surrounding the house and store of Captain Godfrey they
demanded his surrender. The yells and whoops of the Indians were
terrific, demons from the depths of perdition could not have made a more
frightful noise. The children were terrified; the youngest fainted with
fright. At this crisis Margaret Godfrey calmly walked to the door while
her husband and son Charlie stood a few paces in her rear. She opened
the door, and as she did so in rushed the demons, led by the cross-eyed,
monkey-faced rebel. One of the Indians by name Pete Gomez, took hold of
Margaret and forced her to the floor, Charlie took up a stick of wood
and knocked Gomez senseless. At this moment Paul Guidon returned,
Horatio Keys, one of the rebels, had seized Captain Godfrey by the
throat and was holding him tightly against the wall, Margaret clinched
the rolling-pin and in an instant sent Keys staggering to the floor. The
squinting monkey-faced rebel's name was Will, and Will by force pushed
Margaret to the floor, and was dragging her by the hand toward the door,
as Paul stepped in. Paul struck him with his fist, and like lightning
placed both his feet against the rebel's breast, almost knocking the
life out of him. Jim Wade, Sam Scarp, and Mark Paul, three Indians,
rushed in after Paul, who turned and struck Wade a terrific blow on the
neck, knocking him out. The Captain, Charlie, Paul and Margaret went for
the other two in lively style and soon laid them low. The remaining
rebels and Indians beat a hasty retreat to the woods. The insolent
invaders who had got so deservedly well punished at the hands of the
Godfrey household were pitched out of the house, and when they had
sufficiently recovered they also made for the woods. During the tumult
the four smaller children were fastened in the bedroom and their screams
were terrible. The night after the assault was a dismal and anxious one
at Grimross. The children trembled and sobbed during the entire hours of
darkness. The morning at length dawned, and with its dawning Margaret
Godfrey's soul went out for counsel and guidance to Him, who in all
their perils, in the darkest moments of their lives, had never forsaken
them.
She said to Paul Guidon, "the rebels may kill my husband, my children
and myself, but from this hour their threats shall not intimidate me
from acting as a British subject should act in a British Colony. I shall
do my duty, for under God I am determined whenever and however we
attempt to make our escape, if I have to die I shall die free and not as
a slave or traitor." The Indian who had attentively listened to
Margaret's words promised to stand by her.
"Paul Guidon," she continued, "there remains to us a great duty to be
performed. I am fully convinced there will be a way of escape opened to
us, but we must seek it first. Cannot we escape to Fort Frederick? Is
the canoe safe to convey the whole of us and what stuff we may require?"
To which the Iroquois replied, "If water smooth no trouble, trouble may
be Indians 'long river bank, I go up Neck and bring down canoe." This
latter he quickly did, hauling it on shore and hiding it among some
bushes.
In a few days three of the rebels, armed with pistols, again came to the
shop of Captain Godfrey, and sternly demanded of him all his goods and
chattels, to be held by them in trust, and to be restored to him at the
close of the American rebellion, on condition that he joined General
Washington. His refusal of these conditions was, by the decree of the
war committee, to be punished with death. This committee had a number of
armed men as the instruments by which they enforced their decrees. The
three envoys gave the Captain one hour to consider their proposal.
At the expiration of the hour Margaret Godfrey and her husband came into
the room where the rebels were seated. Margaret asked them how her
husband and family should be able to join General Washington; "Would
they not be arrested as spies or enemies of the New England colonists if
they attempted to pass over among them?"
One of the rebels answered her, "If you will go and join General
Washington, we will give you a pass into New England, and as soon as we
can consult with the war committee we will bring or send you the
passport."
Margaret trembled lest her husband would suddenly object to the
proceeding, as nothing definite had been arranged during their hour of
debating the situation, only that they must escape if possible. She was
well aware of her husband's sterling loyalty. She caught his eye and
nodded to him to assent to the proposition of the rebels.
He did so. The rebels left, promising the pass the next day, and that in
twenty-four hours after receiving it, a guard would be ready to escort
them on their way to New England. It being late in the afternoon the
rebels then left. At noon the following day a messenger arrived with the
passport, and also an order to be ready to proceed toward New England on
the following day. The permit or passport read as follows:
Permit the bearer, Charles * * * Godfrey, * * * Esqr.,
to pass from river St John in Nova Scotia with his family
to any part of New England.
Maugerville, } By order of the Committee,
ye 8 July, 1776. } JACOB BARKERLY, _Chairman_.
After a few words of conversation with the Captain and his wife, the
messenger took his departure. No time was lost in preparing to escape.
Mrs. Godfrey was determined to have everything in the canoe before
daylight next morning. The night fortunately was fine, and if all went
well they would be well on their way to Fort Frederick before Jacob
Barkerly or any of the rebels were aware of their departure. Accordingly
the night was a busy one getting ready and transferring bundles of stuff
to the canoe, which was some distance off. At early dawn all were in
readiness, and the last to leave the homestead at Grimross were Margaret
and Paul, who had returned from the shore for a box containing the
Captain's private papers, which had been overlooked in the hurry. A few
minutes before four o'clock the Indian and Mrs. Godfrey arrived at the
canoe with the box.[4]
[Footnote 4: Many of the events related in this story are founded on
facts gathered from papers contained in the box.]
The morning was a lovely one, and Margaret Godfrey was the most hopeful
and cheerful of the little band of fugitives who were preparing to step
into the canoe. Her every act and word seemed void of fear. Defeat and
disaster with her were but spurs to further effort. She possessed that
fortitude of soul that bears the severest trials without complaint. A
few minutes after four o'clock they pushed off from the shore, the water
was quite calm, but the progress was slow as the canoe was deeply laden,
and Paul Guidon had to be very cautious in its management. Not an Indian
was seen on the shore. The next day they arrived at Paul's old camping
ground, and after resting there a few hours they started for Fort
Frederick, a short distance below. Here fortune seemed to smile upon
them. A small schooner lay at anchor immediately below the fort.
Margaret and her husband lost no time in going on board. The Captain of
the schooner said that his vessel would sail for Port Royal, if there
were sufficient wind, early the next day. He agreed to take the whole
Godfrey family over with them. Paul seemed bound to accompany them, and
it pleased Margaret, when she found out that he was anxious to go with
them, as she feared he would be murdered if caught by the rebels. Toward
evening they all embarked on board the schooner, Paul having got
permission from the Captain of the vessel to take his canoe on board,
he, assisted by Charlie, embarked it also.
In the morning there being a fair wind sail was set, and next day all on
board were safely landed at Annapolis. Fortune once more favoured the
Godfrey family, at Annapolis Royal there they found a British sloop of
war. Margaret got Paul to take her and her husband in his canoe to the
ship. They were received on board by the Captain in the most cordial
manner, who said they had arrived in good time, as he intended to sail
in a day or two. In a short time Captain Godfrey and his wife returned
to the shore, having completed arrangements with the Captain of the ship
for a passage to Halifax.
In a day or two the Godfrey family, accompanied by the Indian, sailed in
the British sloop-of-war _Viper_, commanded by Captain Greaves.
Four days later the _Viper_ arrived in Halifax harbour, and previous to
the Godfreys disembarking, Mrs. Godfrey requested permission of Captain
Greaves to address a few words of farewell to the ship's company. Her
request being granted and all hands ordered on deck, Mrs. G., in
appropriate terms and in a modest, yet dignified manner, spoke words of
counsel to the company, concluding her short exhortation in these words:
"And to the Captain of my salvation I commend you all."
CHAPTER VIII.
REBEL PLANS--PRAYING THE LORDS.
Before Captain Godfrey sailed with his family from Halifax for England,
he waited on Governor Arbuthnot and General Massie[5] and informed them
of the rebels intentions, and gave them a history of his sad experience
on the St. John.
[Footnote 5: Fort Massie at Halifax, part of which is now held as a
military burial ground, was named after this officer.]
He told them that he had been offered by the rebels the command of a
party of men to march forward and attack Fort Cumberland, and if they
(the rebels) should be successful, they were to be reinforced, and at
once proceed to Halifax, set fire to the town, and sack it.
In their proceedings the rebels, who were in constant communication with
the New Englanders, and who were instructed by them, were talking of
forming this plan in order if possible to keep General Howe's army from
being largely reinforced.
Captain Godfrey, though very weak and ill, offered his service to
General Massie, if the latter would arm two schooners and put on board
of each of them one hundred regulars besides a crew of twenty-five men.
He proposed to proceed to Fort Cumberland and secure the place in case
an attack was made. His offer was declined. He then bid adieu to Halifax
and sailed for England, where he and his family arrived on January the
8th, 1777.
He lost no time in applying to Lords North and Germain, who after proper
examination found his claims for losses in the colony well founded; and
were generously pleased to order him the annual sum of one hundred and
fifty pounds for the temporary support of his family. This sum was
afterward reduced to one hundred and twenty pounds, and finally
altogether withdrawn.
He then put his distressed condition before the government, and his case
was again tossed about from Lord to Lord, and from board to board, and
finally brought up again before the Lords of Parliament, and from it was
sent back to the Lords of Plantations and Trade. From thence to the
Lords of commission for services and losses in America, and the Lord
only knows where else it was sent, until it was sent out to Nova Scotia
in 1784.
Thirteen years had elapsed since the Captain experienced his first
misfortune in Nova Scotia, and more than seven years had elapsed since
his second loss, then his case was sent out to Nova Scotia.
During all this long time he had exercised the greatest patience, and
his loyalty to his King (George the Third) was never for a moment
shaken.
He had lost in lands and goods about twelve thousand pounds sterling by
settling in a British Colony where Indians and rebels destroyed his
prospects, and yet he had received no redress for the hardships he and
his family had endured, and the great wrongs inflicted upon them. His
wife and children were allowed to remain in an almost destitute
condition by the King and his advisers. Financially, Captain Godfrey
could have been in no worse condition had he joined General Washington.
But there was no power on earth that could induce the Captain to turn
his back upon his King and his country.
He, with the assistance of his heroic wife, had done all in their power
to rouse the whole mind and heart of their fellow countrymen in office
to a satisfactory settlement of their just claims, but all they had done
seemed useless, and they knew not what more to do.
After the close of the American war Captain Godfrey once more thought of
crossing the ocean to settle in the colony where he had experienced so
much misfortune. But after he had made all the arrangements for leaving
England, he found out that he was too weak in body to stand the wear and
tear of a passage across the Atlantic Ocean. In those days it usually
took two months to cross from Great Britain to Nova Scotia.
The Captain's case had been tossed from one official to another, and
from one commission to another, until it had probably travelled through
the completely developed rounds of _Red Tapeism_. After this it appears
to have been allowed to slumber till the close of the American
Revolutionary War.
Captain Godfrey's health, since his last arrival in England from the
colony, was anything but good, and his means of support being gone, he
was largely depending on friends and relatives for the means of
supporting his family. His eldest son, (Charlie) through the never
failing energy of his mother, had received an Ensign's commission in the
British Army.[6]
[Footnote 6: In 1805, Charlie, who had received a Captain's commission,
was appointed Captain in the Nova Scotia Fencible Infantry, commanded by
Colonel Fred. Wetherall. In the above year Captain Charlie Godfrey
married in Nova Scotia.]
The last effort Captain Godfrey appears to have made in trying to secure
something in return for his services to his country, and for the great
losses sustained by him in the colony, was after the conclusion of the
war between England and America.
He got his case before the "Lords of the Commission" for services and
losses in America, and there it seems to have met its doom, it was
granted a sort of Ticket of Leave for transportation to Nova Scotia,
where it died in exile.
Their Lordships referred Captain Godfrey in the following manner to the
Governor of Nova Scotia:--
WHITEHALL, _May 24th, 1784_.
SIR,--
You will receive herewith a memorial, which has been presented to me by
Captain Charles * * * Godfrey, * * * praying that proper orders may be
given for the immediate recovery of his lands upon the St. John, River,
in the Province of Nova Scotia. As I understand, upon inquiry, that Mr.
Godfrey was dis-possessed of his property previous to the Independence
of America, on account of his loyalty and the active part he took for
the support of His Majesty King George the Third's Government. I am
induced to recommend the prayer of the petition to your favourable
consideration.
I am, Sir, your most
Obedient Humble Servant,
SYDNEY.
TO JOHN PARR,
_Captain-General and Governor-in-Chief
of the Province of Nova Scotia_.
In the year 1776 the New England Colonists appear to have had their
emissaries in Nova Scotia. There is no missing link, the chain of
evidence is completed by the passport to Captain Godfrey from the Rebel
Committee at Maugerville, in July, 1776. After the lapse of one hundred
and twelve years, the fact is revealed that there were persons in Nova
Scotia who were employed by the New England colonists, and paid by them
to incite the Indians to revolt, and hold out bribes to honest and loyal
settlers to forsake their King and country.
It may be that in the near or distant future facts will be brought to
light which will prove beyond a doubt that the United States had
emissaries in Nova Scotia in 1888 who were paid for their services in
Yankee gold.
CHAPTER IX.
PAUL GUIDON.
It will be remembered that the Godfreys, accompanied by their faithful
friend Paul Guidon, arrived at Halifax in the "Viper." Paul remained
twelve days with his friend, and then a vessel being about to sail for
Quebec, Commander Greaves secured him a passage in her.
But the farewell almost broke the heart of the noble Iroquois, and he
wept many bitter tears. Margaret Godfrey was aware of Paul's desire to
gain possession of the old service book, she knew he had longed for it
since the day of his mother's burial, and on bidding him adieu she
presented him with the book, saying as she did so, "Paul keep this book,
it is from your friend, no doubt you will sometimes be able to get some
one to read to you useful lessons from its pages."
Paul Guidon had frequently told Mrs. Godfrey that he felt a sort of
charm come over him whenever his eyes rested on the book, and when he
touched it with his hand he imagined he could hear his mother whisper
the words, "Paul be good man, and bye and by you will come to me on the
sunny plains of the happy hunting ground."
At Quebec a British officer, becoming greatly attached to Paul, engaged
him as a sort of confidential servant, and noticing the Iroquois
admiration for the military dress, he had a suit made for him. Indeed,
Paul became an especial favorite with all the soldiers of the garrison.
Colonel MacLean, with whom the Indian had engaged, had great confidence
in him, and frequently trusted him to carry important messages. The
Colonel found him to be a most trusty fellow, and occasionally sent him
alone to observe the enemy's movements. Paul was as straight as an
athlete and had an eye keen as an eagle's. He scarcely ever failed in
reporting to the Colonel something worth knowing.
On the night of December 31st, 1776, the Iroquois advanced in a creeping
position so close to the enemy's lines, that on his return he was able
to state to the Colonel what the enemy were doing, and he told what he
had observed in such an intelligent way that the British were prepared
to meet and repulse every attack of Arnold and Montgomery on that night.
In the attack Montgomery was killed and Arnold wounded.
One night, an exceptionally dark and stormy one, the Indian was sent out
to reconnoitre. He lost his way, and getting inside the enemy's lines,
came near being captured. In the dense darkness he crept right up
against one of the enemy's pickets. The sentry fired, and Paul fell flat
on the snow quite near the sentry's feet, the shot passing over the
Indian's head. In another instant Paul had regained his feet, and while
the sentry was attempting to reload his musket the Iroquois grasped at
him, and in doing so caught him by his hands, which were clasped
tightly around the weapon. The sentry gave a most determined backward
jerk, but Paul held him firmly and then wrenched the musket out of his
hands, bringing with it a ring off the sentry's finger. The Iroquois put
the ring on his own finger and made off at once for the British lines.
In his haste, when nearing the British outposts, he stumbled and fell,
and with such force that he was knocked senseless and lost the ring. He
lay there for some time, and when he had somewhat recovered he found
himself so benumbed with the cold that he could scarcely move his limbs.
It was snowing when he fell, and when he became conscious of his
situation, he found himself covered with an inch or more of snow, and
his head and face badly cut and bruised. On all four he crept to the
British outposts with the blood streaming from a cut in his leg and one
on his face. At last he reached the lines, more dead than alive. Paul
received a cold from which he never recovered.
In the morning he crawled out in search of the ring, thinking it might
be of some value. He was enabled to find the place where he had fallen
by retracing his steps and seeing the blood on the snow in spots here
and there. It had stopped snowing soon after he recovered consciousness,
consequently it was not difficult next morning to find out the spot
where he had received his injuries. The sun was shining brightly, and as
he kicked away the snow after hunting about for an hour or so, his eye
caught something shining brilliantly. He picked it up. It was a ring. He
put it into his pocket and returned. He knew he had seen the ring
before. He put it in an inside pocket of his coat and sewed it in,
fearing he might otherwise loose it.
The Indian for a long time was unfitted for active duty. He made his
home sometimes at the garrison and sometimes with the tribes of Indians
in the neighborhood.
When General Burgoyne, in June, 1777, advanced from Canada into the New
England States, Paul Guidon attached himself to one of the officers of
the expedition. This officer was afterward killed and Paul was captured
by the Americans and sent a prisoner to Boston, and at that place
detained for some months.
At length he managed to make his escape. He wandered for weeks in the
woods and along the paths, and at last struck the Nova Scotia boundary
and continued on until he reached the vicinity of Fort Frederick. There
he remained for a short time visiting the scenes and places of other
days. He then set out once more for Quebec, and arrived there in
September, 1778, where he remained till the close of the war. In
September, 1780, he was united in marriage with a handsome young
Chipewayan squaw. Paul Guidon was loved and admired by most of the
Indians of the Quebec district, and never wanted for a home amongst
them.
His wife was of medium height, her face was handsome, and her features
clean-cut, as they are seen in Greek statuary. She was as brown as some
statues are. Her eyes were of the deepest and brightest black, they were
quick and piercing as arrows sent to their mark.
CHAPTER X.
MARGARET GODFREY ARRIVES IN NOVA SCOTIA.--DEATH OF THE YOUNG LION OF THE
WOODS.
In the month of August, 1784, Margaret Godfrey once again arrived in
Nova Scotia. This time she came alone, her husband being too ill to
accompany her. She left her English home and came out to Nova Scotia to
secure a personal interview with Governor Parr, and do all in her power
to get back the property on the St. John River; or if not, then she
would endeavor to secure some compensation for it, through the
instrumentality of the governor. She remained at Halifax a few weeks,
and then left for the St. John River. She did not appear satisfied with
her visit to the governor. She could get no promise from him that the
estate at Grimross Neck would be restored to her husband, or that any
compensation would be granted in its stead. Nothing seems to have been
done in her interest, and she left Halifax deeply disappointed in her
mission.
Trouble had recently arisen between the people settled at the mouth of
the St. John and the authorities at Halifax. Instead of one Province she
was informed that there were now two Provinces. She determined to cross
over to Parrtown, and see what she could accomplish by visiting the
estate personally. With the letter from Sydney to Governor Parr, she
took a certificate of survey, which read as follows:
This may certify, that by the desire of Captain ----, I have laid nine
hundred acres of land on the Peninsular or place called Grimross Neck,
in the Township of Gage, on the River St. John, beginning at the Portage
and running down the river about two miles and a quarter to a maple tree
marked, thence running S.W. till it meets Grimross Creek, thence up the
said Creek to the Portage, thence crossing the Portage to the first
mentioned bounds.
ISRAEL PERLEY,
_Dept. Surveyor.
Gagetown, Jany. 31st, 1771._
Mrs. Godfrey finding that nothing could be accomplished by her visit up
the river, returned to the settlement at its mouth. The place of
settlement had undergone a great change since the year 1770, when she
first came to Fort Frederick with her husband.
She remained at Parrtown a few weeks, in order if possible to gather
further information respecting the property at Grimross Neck, and to
consult with some of the leading inhabitants, as to what course they
would advise her to pursue. She was most kindly entertained by the
people of the place.
One fine morning, while walking about the settlement, she accidently met
a fine looking young Indian girl. The young squaw, whose black eyes
shone in the bright sunshine as polished jet, put out her small brown
hand and said in quite good English, "Please mam, won't you give me
something for sick husband?"
Margaret thought the dusky beauty looked rather young to be married, but
she said to her, "And where does your husband live?"
She pointed her hand up the river and replied, "Not far that way."
"Have you been living here long?" asked Margaret.
"Not very long," replied the young squaw.
"What is the matter with your husband?" said Margaret.
The little squaw answered, "My husband be very sick with consumption,
most dead."
"Where did you get that pretty ring on your finger?" said Mrs. Godfrey
to the Indian woman.
Margaret Godfrey had noticed the ring on the squaw's finger, sparkling
in the sunlight, as she pointed her small brown hand up the river in the
direction of her home.
The swarthy beauty, with an innocent smile, as she hung her head on one
side, said, "My husband give it me after we get married." The Indian
lass then began to run her fingers over a string of red and white beads,
that encircled her round plump neck and hung loosely down over a well
proportioned bosom. At the same time she kept scraping the ground with
the toe of her moccasin, and now and again crossing one foot over the
other and resting the tip of her toe for an instant on the earth. Then
she would swing one of her feet about a foot from the ground over the
other. Her dark blue dress being quite short, and the wind blowing
stiffly, she would occasionally display a small prettily formed foot,
and an ankle that looked as though it had been formed in nature's most
perfect mould.
Mrs. Godfrey broke the silence by asking the young woman if she would
like her to go to the wigwam and see her sick husband? The Indian woman
answered, "May be dead now, and long rough walk, no canoe here."
Margaret said to her, "Suppose you come down here to-morrow morning in a
canoe and take me up to your wigwam?" She answered, "Have no canoe, but
might get Jim Newall's, who lives mile more up river, he has canoe and
sometime bring me down here."
Margaret agreed to accompany her to her wigwam early the next morning,
if Newall and she came to the settlement in a canoe.
She said she would go and see Newall, and if he could not come, she
would walk down and let her (Margaret) know how her husband was.
Mrs. Godfrey told the squaw where she would find her at ten o'clock the
next morning, and then taking the hand of the Indian woman into that of
her own, looked carefully at the ring, as she bid her good day.
Margaret recognized the ring as the one she had lost during the assault
of the rebels at Grimross, in 1776. She missed it from off her finger
soon after the cross-eyed, monkey-faced rebel "Will," had pulled her
about the floor by the hand, and never saw or heard of it after. Paul
Guidon often said to Mrs. Godfrey, that he believed the rebel "Will" had
stolen her ring.
It was a very valuable one, set with a choice emerald, surrounded by
precious stones. It was presented to Margaret by her father, on the day
he was elected Mayor of Cork, and cost forty-live guineas. It had never
occurred to Margaret, during her conversation with the squaw, to ask her
name.
Mrs. Godfrey said to herself, "This Indian girl may be a daughter of one
of the savages who attacked us at Grimross. Perhaps she has lied to me
and I may never again see her or the ring. I may possibly get some
information to-morrow that will satisfy me. I must wait."
At ten o'clock the next morning a strapping big Indian knocked at the
door of the house where Mrs. Godfrey was lodging, and inquired if "woman
lived there who wanted go in canoe and see sick Injun up river?"
He was informed that there was a lady inside, ready and waiting for a
man named Jim Newall, to take her up the river. "Me Jim," he replied.
Margaret came to the door. She said, "Are you Jim Newall?" "Yes, me Jim
Newall," he answered gruffly.
Margaret asked Jim how far it was to where he had left his canoe. "Just
few steps," he replied. "Down among stumps at water edge." Margaret
accompanied the Indian, and finding out where the canoe was, told Jim to
remain there until she returned, as she wanted to get a few things for
the sick man.
Half an hour later Mrs. Godfrey and a Mrs. Fowler were making their way
by stumps of trees and over branches, with their arms loaded with things
for the sick Indian. They were soon on board, and then Jim Newall
paddled away up stream.
As the canoe slipped along, every spot on the shores seemed familiar to
Margaret's eyes, and many sad thoughts flashed across her mind; memories
of days never to be forgotten rose in her soul. She remarked to Mrs.
Fowler, "How little everything has changed since I was here last, eight
years ago, except at the settlement."
The morning was a charming one, the river was running, fairly rushing
up, otherwise all nature seemed to sleep. The splash of the paddle, the
ripple of the water along the sides of the canoe, and the gentle rolling
of the little bark, were the only things that disturbed the quiet that
reigned supreme all about. The Indian never spoke, and Margaret and her
companion, as they sat one ahead of the other in the bottom of the
canoe, seldom exchanged a word.
Mrs. Godfrey saw at a glance that the canoe was nearing the place where
Paul Guidon and his mother had once lived. As she looked toward the
shore her eyes rested upon a form standing at the water's edge, and as
the canoe approached nearer and nearer the shore, she recognized the
form as that of the pretty squaw she had met at the settlement the
previous day. Margaret Godfrey remarked to Mrs. Fowler, "There stands
the pretty creature I met yesterday." Mrs. Fowler replied, "She does not
look like the squaws we so often see about the settlement." She
continued, "What a neat, tidy girl she is. I have never seen her at
Parrtown, what a handsome face and fine form she has"
"And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,
Of finer form, or lovelier face."
The bow of the canoe had now touched the shore, and the Indian lass
most politely made a courtesy to the ladies in the canoe.
After landing, Mrs. Fowler put a piece of silver in Jim Newall's hand
and asked him if he would take them back home again in an hour or two.
Jim nodded an assent as he pulled his little bark out of the water to
the dry land.
Mrs. Godfrey, once on shore, fully recognized that she was at the old
camping ground of her protector in by gone days, Paul Guidon.
The squaw replied to Mrs. Godfrey's inquiry after her sick husband, that
he was very weak, almost dead. Does he know that a white woman is doming
to see him this morning? asked Margaret G. "Yes," replied the Indian
woman, "he be so glad see you, but he be very weak, no speak, he told me
in whisper last night, after I come back camp from Jim Newall wigwam,
best friend, best woman ever saw, was pale face woman, who told him of
Great Chief, Big Spirit, and great hunting ground way back sun, where
old Mag, (mother) was now. Pale face woman gave him book, and would talk
Great Spirit and tell him look after Paul and make him good man."
Is your husband's name Paul? asked Margaret Godfrey. "Yes mam," she
answered, "Paul Guidon his name." Mrs. Godfrey felt all must be a dream.
She appeared lost and bewildered after she had heard the name Paul
Guidon. She cast a glance at her companion and exclaimed, "Am I back to
the old camping ground of Paul Guidon, and is he here?" Then her
faculties seemed to desert her, for at that instant she staggered and
fell into the arms of the Indian woman, with such force as to almost
knock the squaw over. Mrs. Fowler noticing the stupor of her companion
and her pallid features, asked her if she felt ill. She did not reply.
Little Mag, for such was the name of the handsome squaw, ran down to the
river side, filled her moccasins with water and tripping back, she
poured the contents full in the face of Mrs. Godfrey. She went again and
again to the river, filled her moccasins and poured the water over
Margaret's face and temples.
Jim Newall, who was sitting in his canoe a few yards distant, seeing the
woman lying on the ground, came up and proposed to carry her to the
wigwam two hundred yards distant, or under the shade of some trees near
by. The latter proposition was acted upon. Jim, Mrs. Fowler and Little
Mag, carried Margaret to a shaded spot a few yards away. They all sat
down beside her, as she lay stretched and apparently lifeless upon the
ground. After little Mag had once more poured the contents of her shoes
down the neck of Margaret, and Mrs. Fowler had steadily rubbed her
temples and wrists, she opened her eyes, looked wildly about, and then
sat up supported by her companion.
She then commenced to speak in a low weak voice. Mrs. Fowler, listening
attentively, heard her say, "Forever honored be this spot of earth: Here
'Old Mag' departed this life. Here her son Paul, that most noble spirit
of the woods, who when I was weary, distressed, and a wanderer, broken
in everything but spirit, poor in all but faith and courage: Here! Here!
Paul took refuge, and my husband, my children and myself rested. Never
shall that day be forgotten by me. I shall always look back during my
life, and when I get to that other home, I shall, too, look back to this
sacred spot with unabated affection and regard. Here! Here was I eight
years ago with husband and children, unprovided for, unprotected, on the
shore of this river, in a rude and fearful wilderness, surrounded by
savages, but that noble Indian, that splendid Iroquois, whose old mother
lies in everlasting sleep near here, protected us and provided for us.
The hills around are hallowed in my memory, and these trees seem to
stand with grace and beauty. This shore is as sacred to my mind as those
of the Jordan were to the people of old. Here! yes here! how often have
I communed with my loving Saviour! This ground is sacred to me because
it incloses the dust of the mother of my protector. The ashes of old
Margaret Guidon repose here. Is this sacred ground soon to claim the
dust of her loving son? It may be that both came here to live for a
brief space and then to die and mingle their ashes with this Acadian
soil."
Tears streamed down over her beautiful waxen features, as Mrs. Fowler
and little Mag assisted her to her feet. No penitent at a Methodist
revival-service ever looked more serious than did Jim Newall, as
Margaret Godfrey uttered the above.
Margaret had at length sufficiently recovered to proceed to the wigwam,
assisted on either side by little Mag and Mrs. Fowler. The three walked
slowly toward the home of Paul Guidon. Arriving at the entrance of the
wigwam the little Chipewayan led the way inside.
The first object that met the eyes of Mrs. Godfrey was the sick Indian
lying, wasted and emaciated, on a bed of spruce-boughs covered with a
blanket.
Margaret Godfrey at once knelt at his bed-side and placing his dark thin
hand in that of her own, said "Dear Paul, I come to see you."
He looked up at her and stared in a sort of vacant manner. He tried to
raise his head, but was too weak to do so. She looked straight in his
eyes, and said again, "Paul, you remember your old pale-faced friend who
used to live at Grimross Neck?" As Margaret spoke the last word, Paul
Guidon faintly whispered, "Thank Great Chief, I told him get you come
me, Paul must not be made die till you come." Great tears rolled down
his sunken cheeks as he whispered the above, and Margaret Godfrey,
overpowered with emotion, lightly rested her forehead on his thin sinewy
arm. Not a step. Not a sound was heard for a few minutes within the
narrow circle of the wigwam, all rested as if in silent prayer, a more
touching, a more peaceful, a more solemn scene, was never witnessed in
palace or cottage. Deep grief, real sorrow, took full possession of
those women who knelt around the bed of the dying Iroquois, in that
birchen home on the banks of the St John, on the morning of September
the 20th, 1784.
There in the stillness of a North American forest, on a magnificent
autumn day, when the trees were dressed in all their gorgeous
loveliness, and at an hour when not even the rustling of a leaf could be
heard, death was gradually releasing the spirit of Paul Guidon from its
swarthy tenament.
Margaret Godfrey raised her head from off the arm of the Indian, and as
she did so, he again whispered, "me soon be on hunting ground behind
setting sun, you must come see Paul." Mrs. Godfrey, promised him that
she would. He looked at his little wife and tried to move his right hand
toward his breast. She knew what he wanted her to do. She knelt down,
kissed him and took from inside his shirt a book. It was the old service
book. She handed it to Margaret Godfrey, who opened it and read to Paul,
whose eyes were steadfastly fixed on the reader. As she continued
reading, the eyes of the dying Indian gradually closed, and as she, shut
the book he ceased breathing. The spirit of the "Young Lion of the
Woods" had taken its everlasting flight.
"Like a shadow thrown
Softly and sweetly from a passing cloud,
Death fell upon him."
An hour after Paul Guidon had died, Jim Newall, Mrs. Godfrey, Mrs.
Fowler and Mag Guidon went to the shore and brought Newall's canoe to
the wigwam. The dead chief was laid out in a military coat, which he had
kept with great care, on his head was an undress cap, and his lower
limbs were dressed in dark trousers, and long military or hunting boots
coming up to the knee.
Paul Guidon was united in marriage to Margaret Reonadi at Quebec in the
summer of 1760, and several military gentlemen were present at the
ceremony. He was dressed for burial in the same suit in which he was
married.
Newall's canoe, on which the body was laid, was draped along the sides
with evergreens. Spruce boughs were laid athwart the canoe forming a
bed for the body of the departed hero. On his breast were placed his bow
and arrow, also his moccasins. The widowed squaw said the canoe would
help his soul to cross rivers and lakes on the way to the happy hunting
grounds, the arrow would bring down game and the moccasins protect his
feet. When all preparations were completed Newall had arrived back with
another canoe. Mrs. Godfrey and Mrs. Fowler were then taken to the mouth
of the river by Jim, where they secured the services of a man named Cock
to accompany Newall up the river and assist him in digging a grave. A
person by the name of Farris presented Mrs. Godfrey with a British flag,
which he wished displayed at Paul's burial.
The following morning, according to an agreement, Newall came to the
settlement and took Margaret G. and Mrs. Fowler to the wigwam which
should hold the noble Paul no more forever. The British ensign was drawn
over the body of the dead Indian. He lay in a sort of state till next
day, the body being viewed by many of the Indians of the district, and
also by not a few people from the settlement. All those that came
expressed great sorrow for the quiet little Chipewayan widow, who was
far away from her home and people. On the day of the burial there was a
great gathering of the tribes. The body was borne to its final resting
place by ten stalwart Indians, five on each side of the canoe, which was
placed on five paddles. The procession was a most solemn one. The
forest, the rugged scenery, the quiet retreat, all these appeared to add
to the solemnity of the occasion. The grave was alongside that of his
mother, and neatly lined with spruce. At five o'clock in the afternoon
all that was mortal of Paul Guidon was lowered into its last abode.
"They laid them fondly side by side,
And near their icy hearts
They placed their arrows and their bows,
Their clubs, and spears, and darts;
For use when they with life are crowned
In heaven's happy hunting ground."
Margaret Godfrey read the burial service from the old service book,
while rivers of tears flowed down a score of swarthy faces, and an
occasional low wail uttered by the Indians standing round the open
grave, told of their sorrow and superstitious fear. The British ensign
was then placed over the dead Iroquois. It was the flag under which he
had lived and died, and a fit emblem to cover the remains of so true and
brave a man. (The characters of American sympathizers, of traitors and
rebels, as black as they appear in Colonial History, will appear
deeper-dyed as they stand in contrast to the loyalty of this true
Indian.) Margaret Godfrey spoke to them as follows: "I believe it to be
my solemn duty, yea, my special duty on this most sorrowful occasion,
that I should express my feelings. If there ascends from my heart a
prayer to the throne of the Great Chief, in behalf of this youthful
widow and in behalf of you people, let it be a prayer that the Great
Chief may turn the hearts of all from the thoughts of war to sentiments
of mercy and peace, such as our dear brother, whose remains we have just
committed to the grave, possessed in his life. When I think of that
true, and noble man, whose remains lie before us, I thank Him who rules
the winds and guides the stars in their courses, that such a man was
ever born. And if, at some distant period, it may be many years remote,
one of my own or my husband's countrymen (some of whom are now peopling
this country) should visit this spot or this neighbourhood, I trust that
tradition or history may inform such a one that here sleeps one of the
bravest, truest, and most noble sons of the forest that ever lived and
roamed over the hunting grounds of time. He was true to his adopted
country, true to its king, and true to its loyal people. An Indian, but
too honest and noble-minded to be a rebel, he not only discountenanced
the dark plottings of enemies within Acadia, but his sagacity sometimes
was the means of frustrating them. He was an Indian, high in character;
a noble example to some pale faces, to all. His body now rests beside
that little brook, but his spirit is in a country of light and peace.
This country is a good and pleasant country, and those who are coming to
live here are sprung from a noble race, and if you, my friends, all
prove as good and true as this departed red-man, you will have no cause
to complain at the pale faces settling around you. You will secure a
righteous treatment of your race, and your people will be a happy
people. The British people (my people) are a great people, and where
they settle they govern wisely, and in their dealings with all peoples
they are guided by that justice and generosity which alone becomes a
Christian people. These may be the last words I shall ever speak to you.
These may be the last moments I shall ever be with you. Remember my
loving advice and act upon it. If you do this you will earn the love of
the pale faces and build up for your race a lasting renown. You and I,
all of us, can learn good lessons from the life of Paul Guidon. If we
live as he lived we will be happy here, and bye-and-by be more happy in
the hunting fields of the hereafter. If we are as true to our Great
Chief, and as true to our king and country as he was, we will worship
the Great Spirit and never talk against our king and our country. Then
bye and-by we shall go to meet Paul Guidon in a country where there will
be no more wars, no more sighs, no more tears, no more parting, no more
dying."
The Red men paid the utmost attention to the words as they dropped from
Margaret Godfrey's lips. The grave was then filled in and the mourners
dispersed to their homes along the river, leaving Paul Guidon to rest
beside his mother.
For more than a century the "Young Lion of the Woods" has slept on the
banks of the St. John. His loyal spirit took its flight to another
sphere about the time thousands of united loyal spirits were forming a
city near his tomb. The few thousand people that had settled in the
colony in the days of Paul Guidon, were the ancestry of the nearly one
million true, loyal subjects who inhabit the Maritime Provinces at the
beginning of this year 1889. The colony, of which the noble Iroquois was
a citizen, was confined within narrow bounds. Now the sons of the
Loyalists are on the shores of the Pacific. Our country extends there.
It is a noble faculty of our nature which enables us to connect our
thoughts with the past as well as with the future, and by contemplating
the example and studying the character of Paul Guidon, we must come to
the conclusion that were that Indian living now his heart would glow
with patriotic pride at the strides the country has taken, and that our
destiny is Canadian, not American.
It is a pleasure to be able to exhibit to the present generation
something of the splendid character of the Iroquois, whose ashes,
commingled with those of the Union Jack, repose near the loyal City of
St. John.
"And has he not high honor,
The hill side for a pall,
He lies in state while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall;
And the dark rock pines, with tossing plumes,
Over his tomb to wave;
'Twas a kind dear hand in that lonely land,
That laid him in the grave."
"In that lonely grave without a name,
Where his uncoffined clay
Shall break again, O, wondrous thought!
Before the Judgment Day,
And stand with glory wrapped around
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife that won our life,
And the Incarnate Son of God."
CHAPTER XI.
MARGARET GODFREY'S FAREWELL.
The widowed squaw and the two pale-faced women were the last to leave
Paul's late camping ground. As they were pushed off into the stream by
Jim Newall, who with another Indian paddled them back to the settlement,
Margaret saw the other canoes, nine in number, going up the river. In
the twilight she watched them, and it came to her mind that when Paul
Guidon saw the porpoises at the mouth of the Bay of Fundy coming toward
the sloop, he was not to be blamed for thinking they were canoes. She
remarked to Mrs. Fowler those canoes resemble, at first sight, porpoises
on the Atlantic Ocean.
When they arrived at the settlement Little Mag was taken to the home of
the Lesters. As she sat down in one of the small, unfurnished rooms, she
rested her head upon her hands and bitterly sobbed. Mrs. Godfrey tried
to comfort her, but she wept on. Little Mag said she felt badly at
leaving the wigwam. If she had stayed there her husband's spirit would
have come in the night and been with her. She would not see him but she
would know he was there. Indians always come back the night they are
buried to see their loved ones again before going off to the great
hunting grounds. After a time "Little Mag" fell asleep, and in her
dream, as she reclined on a bench, talked in an unknown tongue. Neither
Margaret nor any present could understand a word she uttered. She
appeared to be conversing with some invisible being, invisible, at
least, to the pale faces. It may have been that in that little room
there was sweet communion between the widowed squaw and her departed
husband. She said to Mrs Godfrey after she awoke that she thought she
saw her husband and heard him say, "Don't worry about Paul." "Happy
hunting grounds here." "See you far off." "Far beyond setting sun." He
appeared to be speaking to her out of the setting sun. He was surrounded
by a golden light, while he looked to be dressed in polished silver, and
when she awoke by falling on the floor, she had started to fling herself
into his arms, which were outstretched to receive her; but when her eyes
were opened all around her was darkness.[7]
[Footnote 7: See interpretation of the dream at close of Chapter.]
Soon after relating the above she retired to bed and in the morning
seemed refreshed and happy. She sang songs in the Chippewayan tongue
during the morning; her deep black eye became brighter; her step was
light and quick, and her whole frame seemed to move to silent music, so
regular, graceful and quick were her motions.
Who among us of earth knows but there are times in the lives of some of
us, if not all of us, when the silent influences of dear departed
friends, happy in the etherial or spirit world, unconsciously direct our
thoughts and guide our movements.
In a few days Margaret Godfrey was preparing to leave the settlement
and return to Halifax, and there make one more effort to secure some
compensation for her husband's losses on the St. John.
She invited "Little Mag" to give her the history of the ring. In reply,
"Little Mag" said her husband, Paul, had given it to her, and when he
presented it to her told her that it once belonged to the best pale face
woman he had ever seen in all his travels, that it was stolen from off
the pale face's finger, and some moons afterwards he had knocked down
the thief and taken it off his finger, one night far outside the British
lines at Quebec. The thief was a rebel who had nearly killed pale face
woman. About two weeks after Paul had knocked the rebel down, there was
a sharp sortie between some British soldiers and some Americans, and
during the fight, which ended in the repulse of the Americans, the
monkey-faced, cross-eyed rebel, "Will," was taken prisoner. He was a
great coward, and acknowledged to her husband that he had taken the ring
off pale face woman's finger. Her husband told her to keep the ring till
pale face woman saw it. That pale face woman has arrow mark on right arm
above joint. Here Margaret Godfrey pulled up her sleeve and showed the
little squaw the arrow mark received by her at Fort Frederick, in 1770.
"Little Mag's" full brown-face lit up with an innocent smile as she
pulled the precious gem off her own finger and placed it in the hand of
Mrs. Godfrey, at the same time saying, "I know you the pale face who
lost ring." Margaret took the ring put it on her own finger and thanked
"Little Mag" for it.
The Chippewayan widow then took from a pocket in her blue skirt, a
small case and handed it to Margaret Godfrey, who opened it and took
from it a neck-lace of beads mounted with gold. A small gold cross was
attached. "Little Mag" said the neck-lace was given to her by officers
at Quebec when she was married, and Paul had given her the cross at the
same time. She had married Paul when he was visiting among her tribe,
when she was sixteen years old. When they came to Quebec the officers
were very good to them. They gave her plenty of good clothes because
they liked her husband so much.
Paul got sick while hunting with officers last winter. She was with them
and cooking in camp. In early spring left the officers and came down to
St. John River, in May, and built wigwam near his mother's grave. He got
no better, but worse, growing thinner and weaker, with great cough.
"What 'Little Mag' do now my Paul gone?" "I know you good woman will ask
Great Chief to help me go home to my tribe, there live and die. My
little papoose, Paul, dead, sleeps near Quebec, died when few moons
old."
The information in Chapter nine respecting Paul Guidon's career after
leaving Halifax in 1776, was obtained from a document pasted in the back
of the old service book, and written at Paul's request by a Lieutenant
of the British Army stationed at Quebec in the year 1780.
Mrs. Godfrey left Parr Town late in the fall of 1784 for Halifax, and
soon after sailed from the latter place for England. Her mission to
Halifax and the St. John had been a failure. She could get no promise
that her husband's property would be restored to him, or that any
compensation would be granted him in lieu thereof.
As the brigt. in which Margaret Godfrey took passage sailed out of
Chebucto Harbour, she remarked to the captain that people who attempt to
settle in a new colony would do well before leaving comfortable homes in
the old land to find out what protection is guaranteed settlers, and
what class of persons they are likely to settle among. And as she cast a
last look upon the colony, as she entered the companion way to the
cabin, she pointed her hand toward the shore, remarking, "my husband and
I came out to this land in very comfortable circumstances fifteen years
ago; to-day, without a penny to call my own, I leave the colony
forever." The vessel ran across the ocean in thirty-six days, and Mrs.
Godfrey was once again on English soil.
Nothing having been accomplished in Nova Scotia by his wife's visit,
Captain Godfrey once more made an attempt for relief to the Lords of
Parliament at home.
After the close of the American war, a commission was appointed by
Parliament with power to inquire into the losses and services of the
Loyalists in America. Captain Godfrey, as has been stated in a previous
chapter, had put his case before many commissions, before Lords many. To
use a common expression, "his case had gone the rounds." And now, as a
last effort, he was about to present his claims before the Lord
Commissioner of Losses and Services of the American Loyalists. In his
memorial the captain stated to the Lords Commissioners, his services as
a soldier to the time of settling in the colony, concluding with giving
in detail the losses he had sustained on the River St. John, in His
Majesty's Colonial possession, by the cruel and savage acts of Indians
and rebels. He also stated in his memorial that he could have joined the
service of Mr. Washington, and that great inducements were held out to
him to do so, and to desert the cause of his king and his country. The
memorial concluded as follows:
"Your memorialist therefore, humbly prays, that his cause may be taken
into consideration, and that he may be granted such relief, as in the
benevolence of His Majesty King George the Third's Commissioners, his
losses and services may be found to deserve, and that he and the
subjoined witnesses may have a hearing from your Honourable Board."
Witnesses:
THOMAS BRIDGE, ESQ., }
No. 2 Bridge Street, Surry Side } To Property.
}
MR. BARTLEY, }
Delzex Court, near the Temple. }
GENERAL SKEIN, } To Service.
GENERAL MURRAY. }
SIR GUY CARLETON, } To Loyalty.
BROOK WATSON. }
(Here follows the signature of the petitioner.)
No. 2 Pratt Street, Lambeth.
As far as can be gathered from documentary evidence, and what
information could be obtained otherwise, no relief was ever granted to
Captain Godfrey or his family by the Commission of Losses and Services
of the American Loyalists. Mrs. Godfrey, whose many trials, hardships,
disappointments and sorrows, have been sketched in the foregoing
chapters, was living in London as late as 1805. A letter written by the
old lady to her son Charlie's wife, then living in Nova Scotia, was for
a few hours in the possession of the writer of these chapters. In this
letter she states her many difficulties and the numerous applications on
her part to various Lords and other authorities seeking relief in her
distress. Many portions of the long, well written letter are touching
indeed.
The persistency of the grand old lady in doing her utmost to force the
rulers of the country to a settlement of her husband's claims is greatly
to be admired. Her letter cannot be read by any colonist without
feelings of pity and shame. In one part of the letter she says
Councillor Brand[8] has given in my memorial to the treasury and I have
to wait till he gets an answer, and I pray God it will be a happy one,
but God knows what is best, and will, if we put all our trust in him,
guide us aright. The cursed Duke of Richmond is not dead yet.[9]
[Footnote 8: It will be remembered that Mrs. Godfrey was an Irish
woman.]
[Footnote 9: What was the cause of her animosity to this noble Duke, the
writer does not know.]
Mrs. Godfrey must have been near eighty years of age when this letter
was written. Thirty-five years had elapsed since her husband's first
loss in the colony, and nearly thirty years since he was driven out by
rebels and Indians.
Titles and pensions have been freely bestowed by English kings and
parliaments on men who have been daring and successful in Britain's
cause. If Captain Godfrey had performed no deeds worthy of a title or a
pension, he at least deserved to be reimbursed in part or in whole for
the losses he had sustained at the hands of rebels and savages. And it
is probable there were men and women in England who were styled Dukes
and Duchesses,--who wore orders on their breasts that covered less brave
and no more loyal hearts than those of Capt. and Margaret Godfrey. She
firmly supported and assisted her husband in his strict adherence to
King George the Third's cause, and faced the rebels like a Spartan and
defeated them in their designs at Grimross. Her tact, skill, courage and
cool determination in the midst of imminent danger were truly admirable.
She displayed the qualities of a born leader time and time again. In a
situation where she could seek no support she relied on her own
judgment, courage and faith. These sterling qualities brought to her aid
one who afterward proved to be a friend and guide. Alone at Fort
Frederick she defeated the designs of blood-thirsty savages by stepping
out of the Fort and standing unmoved and defiant amid a flight of
arrows. Her commanding presence and firm attitude won a savage to her
side. We can entertain no better wish for the memory of this Celtic
heroine, than that her name may be preserved, and her life and deeds in
the colony go down to the latest generation.
"Justin McCarthy in his concise and interesting work, Ireland's cause in
England's Parliament," says: "There is a charming poem by my friend
William Allingham, called Lawrence Bloomfield in Ireland," in which we
find a classic story, thrillingly told, as an illustration of the hero's
feeling on some subject of interest to his country. A Roman Emperor is
persecuted by the petition of a poor widowed woman, who prays for
redress of some wrong done to her and her children. The great emperor is
far too great, his mind is taken up too much with questions of imperial
interest, to have any leisure for examining into, or even for reading,
this poor woman's claim.
One morning he is riding forth of his palace gates, at the head of his
splendid retinue, and the widow comes in his way, right in his path, and
holds up her petition again, and implores him to read it. He will not
read, and is about to pass scornfully on, when she flings herself on the
ground before him, herself and her little children, just in front of his
horse's hoofs, and she declares that if he will not stay and hear her
prayer, he shall not pass on his way unless he passes over the bodies of
herself and children.
And then says Mr. Allingham, "the Roman," who must have had something of
the truly imperial in him, "wheeled his horse and heard."
Margaret Godfrey, the poor widowed woman, took up the petition of her
husband, and continued to pray for redress of wrong done her husband,
herself, and her children. For twenty years she continued in her prayer.
Read what the poor widowed woman says in another part of her letter to
her daughter-in-law, and see if the truly imperial is to be found in a
King or in England's noblemen, who for twenty years "heard and wheeled."
"I have been sick all winter and not able to help myself, and am very
ill at present. My illness has almost turned me, but if I had but half a
leg I'll do my duty toward my family."
In another letter written to her daughter-in-law not long after the
first, she says: "Tell Charles if he ever visits the mouth of the St.
John or old Fort Frederick, not to neglect for his mother's sake to
visit the grave of Paul Guidon. He knows the locality and may be able to
detect the spot where the hero sleeps. In my thoughts, God knows how
often I linger about that spot. Sacred indeed must be the earth that
mingles with the dust of such nobility. Were I present I would adorn his
last resting place with the early spring flowers. Many wintry storms
have passed above his grave. Spring time and summer have come and gone,
but he heeds them not.
"I feel that I am nearing the border land, and as I cross the stream I
believe I shall meet my husband and also my other protector standing
together on the shore to welcome me home, to a home where friends never
fail and where justice is administered in the highest perfection.
"It is my living desire, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying
desire, to meet beyond on the fields of glory Paul Guidon and my dear
husband. No Briton ever lived who was more loyal to his King and
country, and trusted more fully in the honour of earthly Lords than
Charles Godfrey.
"It may be that I shall bye and by find Paul Guidon's name inscribed in
brighter characters on the columns that support the arches of the
heavens, than the names of some to whom my husband applied on earth for
redress of wrong.
"One of Briton's statesmen lately said, 'It is easy for my Lord C. or
Earl G. or Marquis B. or Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year,
some of it either presently derived or inherited in sinecure
acquisitions from the public money to boast of their patriotism, and
keep aloof from temptation, but they do not know from what temptation
those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and
not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their
lives what it was to have a shilling of their own, and in saying this he
wept.
"And so have I, a thousand times in silence wept, as the utmost energy
of my life has been exerted to cheer, to comfort and to encourage a
weeping heart-broken husband weighed down with misfortunes and poverty."
The grave has long ago closed over every member of the Godfrey family
who were among the English pioneer settlers of Acadia, and the history
of their lives might have slept with them, but for a trifling
circumstance. The old documents referred to and copied in the foregoing
chapters, are greatly defaced, and time is completing their destruction.
Many of them are scarcely legible, and it required the utmost patience
and perseverance to gather together the facts as narrated in this work.
* * * * *
LITTLE MAG'S DREAM AS INTERPRETED BY ONE OF THE LESTERS.
As the little widow narrated her dream to one of the Misses Lester, the
latter understood it to be something like the following: Mag saw a vast
land with wooded hills and dales, green fields, lakes and rivers. Her
departed husband was quickly crossing over all these toward the setting
sun. He sped over the lakes and rivers in his canoe, and when he
emerged from among the trees, his bow and arrow hung across his
shoulder, over the open country he travelled in his moccasins, with the
old flag wrapped tightly about his breast and shoulders. At length he
approached the setting sun, where she lost sight of him for a moment,
the darkness that had gradually settled down, shutting out from her view
the passage of her husband, quick as a flash burst into a beautiful
crystal light. The heavens looked like shining silver, all around the
horizon was a wide cloud of clear light blue, with a border of gold.
Beneath was a broad expanse of green, with large groves of trees at
regular intervals dressed in a deeper shade. Through these were
meandering streams or rivers as of clear glass. Clear cut avenues ran
through at regular spaces from stream to stream, on the borders of which
(avenues and rivers) were thousands of jasper wigwams, sitting and
standing, at the front of each were Indians of all ages, dressed in pure
white and ornamented with precious stones of various hues. Rising above
the blue border of the sky, slowly and majestically, a new sun was
beaming. On its face stood Paul Guidon, in a dress of glistening
whiteness. The dress was after the pattern of that of an Indian chief.
Out of his right shoulder rose a red cross slanting slightly outward, on
the top of which stood an angel slightly inclining foreward. In his
right hand he held a wreath made of flowers most pure and white, inside
of which in letters of light blue, was the word Love. Out of his left
shoulder, in the same direction, rose a staff of deep blue, to which was
attached a drooping silver flag crossed with bars of gold. (Its pattern
was like the one placed in his grave.) On the top of the staff rested a
dove, holding in its beak a wreath, composed of rainbow shades, circling
the word Peace in letters whiter than snow. As the new sun continued to
rise, the jewelled sky increased in dazzling brilliancy, ten thousand
gems of shining gold shot out, and ten thousand sapphires too, all
glistening gloriously in the new light. The jasper tents on the
everlasting hunting grounds, and the motionless streams were brightning
with living flame. Thousands of Indians, strong and fair, in countless
groupings, seemed, to surpass even the sky itself in their glittering
starry dress.
Paul Guidon appeared to move his head forward as the star-paved sky
increased in burning brightness, till overpowered by the lustre shining,
and dazzled by the increasing brilliancy. Little Mag fell to the floor
and awoke in the darkened room. As she was in the act of falling the
faint sound of distant music, mingled with the noise of far away rushing
waters, seemed to fall upon her ears, increasing in strength and melody
as she touched the floor.
If Milman's lines had been written or known at the time of Mag's dream,
they could have been most suitably recited.
"From all the harping throng
Bursts the tumultuous song,
Like the unceasing sound of cataracts pouring,
Hosanna o'er hosanna louder roaring.
That faintly echoing down to earthly ears,
Hath seemed the concert sweet of the harmonious spheres."
CHAPTER XII.
MARRIAGE OF LITTLE MAG.--SOCIETY AT HALIFAX.
Soon after Mrs. Godfrey's departure from Parr Town for England, Little
Mag Guidon went up the St. John and settled there with some of the
tribe, intending to remain until a chance of getting back to her people
occurred. She was not destined, however, to go back to her Chippewayan
friends. Jim Newall, who had so often paddled her to the settlement and
back, made advances toward her, which she reciprocated till it ended in
the two being married. It appears she had won Jim's heart during the
illness of her husband. She told one of the Lesters, shortly after
Margaret Godfrey's departure, that Newall had said to her one evening
while going up to the camp from the mouth of the river, "Supposem, may
be, husband Paul die, Jim Newall come wigwam." She replied, "When Paul
die, no wigwam be there, won't stay 'lone." Jim answered, "Me, you, two
keep wigwam supposem." Doubtless, the above conversation laid the
foundation of their union. It proved to be a happy one. In a letter from
a friend to Mrs. Godfrey, a few months after her arrival home, it is
stated that "Jim and Mag appear to be the happiest of mortals, their's
is true love." The lady who wrote the above, evidently did not consider
"marriage a failure," especially among the Indians. In matters of
citizenship, in matters of human life, in matters of society, it may be,
that it would be beneficial to take a lesson or two from the lives of
the Iroquois, Chippewayan, and Mic-Mac. We certainly never read or hear
that marriage has been a failure among the Indians.
When Mrs. Godfrey bade farewell to Mag Guidon, she handed her name
and address, written in large, bold hand, and remarked as she handed it,
"Whenever you want to send me any message, if you are about here, get
some of my friends to write a letter for you."
While Mrs. Godfrey was at Parr Town she sought an interview with the
newly appointed Governor, (Thomas Carleton), who had arrived a few days
before to her departure. She made known to the Governor the losses
sustained and hardships endured by her husband while in the colony. She
also stated to Colonel Carleton the noble deeds of Paul Guidon, and of
his loyalty to the king. She told of his death and of the destitute
condition of his young widow.
Some months after Mrs. Godfrey had sailed for home, Governor Carleton
was told that the widow of Paul Guidon was soon to be married. He sent
to a friend of Mrs. Godfrey for information, and found the report to be
true. In a few days the Governor called at the house of the friend and
handed to her three guineas, to be expended for Little Mag's comfort.
This friend Mag usually called in to see when she came to the
settlement. She was told of the Governor's thoughtful kindness. Mag told
the friend to use the money in purchasing her wedding outfit. Not many
weeks later Mag Guidon was married to Jim Newall.
One afternoon the Governor received a note asking him if he would care
to see Little Mag in her wedding costume. He at once replied, naming a
day and hour that it would be convenient for him to receive the bride.
At the appointed time Little Mag and her pale faced friend appeared in
presence of His Excellency, who received them in the most gentleman-like
manner.
The bride, before leaving the presence of Governor Carleton, handed to
him Mrs. Godfrey's address, and asked him if he would send a letter to
her English mother, (Mag), and tell her that little Mag was married to
Jim Newall, and is living on the old camping ground where Paul died.
That Little Mag is happy and loves Jim as she did Paul. The Governor
promised Mrs. Newall that he would send a letter to Mrs. Godfrey. He
took the address and not long after wrote to Mrs. Godfrey, giving that
lady a full account of Little Mag's appearance as she stood in his
presence decked in her wedding garments.
Governor Carleton states in his letter that he never thought of seeing
so handsome a woman among the Indian tribes of America. That he believes
there are ladies in his own country who would almost feel inclined to
forfeit a title or an estate to be possessed of a pair of hands and feet
of the form and size of those of Newall's bride. Nature seemed to have
perfected its work in moulding the form and features of the handsome
squaw. The Governor continues, "She was dressed in a suit of navy blue
cloth, her skirt reaching to within an inch of the tops of her
moccasins. A loose blue cloth jacket, buttoned up in front with brass
buttons, covered her well rounded shoulders and breast. The jacket was
edged with scarlet cloth and reached to her waist. Around her full neck
hung a double row of beads, to which was attached a gold cross,[10] and
on each wrist she wore a bracelet of beads similar to the neck-lace. A
wampum band circled her head. Inside the band were three beautiful
feathers from the wing of a wild pigeon. Her hair as black as the
raven's back, was so arranged as to make her forehead appear like an
equilatiral triangle, the brows being the base. Her eyes, coal black,
round, quick and deep set, are indescribable, and a more beautiful set
of teeth I never saw in a human head. On her feet she wore light brown
moccasins, on the front of each was worked, in beads of suitable
colours, the Union Jack. As she put out her neat foot that I might
better observe the work on her moccasins, she said the work was put on
them by her wish out of respect to the flag that covered the remains of
her first husband, (Paul Guidon). In her own words she said to me: "Tell
mother in England, she see Jim Newall and know Jim; saw him when my Paul
sick and die. He paddled English mother down settlement in canoe."
[Footnote 10: The gold cross attached to Mag's neck-lace, was sent to
Paul Guidon by Sir Guy Carleton as a present. Paul received the present
while he was sojourning at Quebec.]
"Your letter of 5th August, I received, and will make further inquiries
as you advise about the property." The letter is addressed as follows:
_Mrs. Charles Godfrey, * * *
Care of Charles Godfrey, * * * Esq,
(Late of His Majesty's Service),
Kinsale,
County Cork, Ireland._
The above is the substance of the Governor's letter to Mrs. Godfrey. The
date and first three or four lines of it were torn off and gone, and the
remainder was, with great difficulty, deciphered, the letter being in
several pieces and quite ragged. This letter must have been written in
the year 1785 or '86, as in a letter from a friend to Mrs. Godfrey,
dated September, 1785, Little Mag and her husband are said to have been
met in the street the day previous to writing. It is not at all likely
that little Mag was long married before she appeared in presence of
Governor Carleton.
Had Margaret Newall moved in a more elevated social sphere, and been
surrounded by wealthy parents and rich relatives, possibly Governor
Carleton would have been obliged to give Mrs. Godfrey a vivid
description of Mag's trousseau, and her beautiful presents of gold,
silver, diamonds, etc. But her parents and friends were poor. Her old
father possessed only a moving tent, occuping here and there, as he
found a spot to pitch it, a few square feet of King George the Third's
wilderness. Old Reonadi was not a commercial man. He had never made an
assignment. He was born one hundred years too soon to be surrounded by
commercial morality, perfect holiness and paternal affection. It took a
later generation of Chippewayans to display that care for their
posterity which only disguises an habitual avarice, or hides the
workings of a low and grovelling nature.
During neither of the stays that the Godfreys made at Halifax had
society reached that brilliant epoch it afterwards attained when that
Royal Duke, who set such an example of duty to all men, was making it
his temporary home. That for a colony was, from all accounts, indeed a
brilliant, gay, and polished society which was assembled at old Chebucto
when the Duke of Kent was at the head of the army in British North
America. Pleasure, however, was not the only occupation of that then
brilliant capital, at whose head was one so much devoted to duty, that
in its fulfilment he acquired the reputation of a martinet. This was the
day of the early morning parade, particularly irksome in a cold climate
to those who were obliged to turn out before daybreak in the bitter
weather of mid-winter. At this day, also, there were frequent troopings
of colours, marchings out, sham fights, and all the other martial
circumstances of a fully garrisoned town.
The maintenance of this strict discipline among the garrison whom he
commanded, was not more characteristic of the Duke than his affable
condescension and the considerate kindness that he displayed toward the
inhabitants of Nova Scotia, and of Quebec also, when he occupied its
castle. So that his name and memory are still held dear by the loyal
descendants of the men to whom Prince Edward was a familiar figure,
both at Halifax and Quebec, as he rode through the streets of either
town.
But Halifax, even at the time whereof we speak, so soon after its first
being rescued from the primeval forest, was not without its charms for
those who, like the Godfreys, had enjoyed the amenities of polished
circles. But the almost destitute circumstances in which they found
themselves when these visits were made, precluded them from entering
into many of the enjoyments that offered. However, there were a few
entertainments at which their position in society seemed to demand their
presence, and which they accordingly attended. Here, of course, they met
the heads of society, as well as many strangers from Boston, Quebec and
other places on the continent, nearly all of whom would be persons of
distinction in the several places where they hailed from. At this time
several tea gardens about Halifax furnished the means of quiet
recreation to the public. Adlam's garden, adjacent to the citadel, was
the most famous of these resorts, and here on one occasion when the
Godfreys were at Halifax, a garden party was given by one of the leaders
of _ton_, at which Captain Godfrey and his wife were privileged to meet,
among other distinguished personages, General Massie and Mr Arbuthnot,
the governor of the province. The ladies were richly attired. The
military wore their undress uniforms and the civilians were in full
dress, which consisted in that day of knee-breeches, silk stockings, and
shoes with buckles composed of silver or gold, set with brilliants or
other precious stones; the waistcoat was often of silk, satin or velvet,
richly brocaded or embroidered; the coat of blue cloth, with gilt
buttons; and a sword was not wanting to complete the costume.
It was difficult to decide at banquet or ball which presented the more
imposing appearance, the man of war or he whose avocation was of a
peaceful character, so nice were the dresses of both.
Margaret Godfrey did not forget her situation. Roaming about the lawns
and walks in a plain gown, and seeing the plainness of her own attire as
compared with those of the ladies about her, she retired to an obscure
corner of the grounds, feeling more happy under the circumstances in a
private nook than in the midst of gay and polished society. Although she
was clever, graceful and lively, she felt that the society in the
capital was, in some respects, ill-assorted. She thought the conduct of
some of the gentlemen and ladies was not wholly unimpeachable, while her
solid faith in the virtues of most of the ladies and gentlemen she met
from time to time during her stay never wavered.
A CONCLUDING CHAPTER.
THEN, NOW, AND TO BE.
How often do we hear of the deeds of the fathers of the country. How
often we read of them. And how little in comparison is said or written
of the hardships endured and the heroism displayed by the mothers. In
the early colonial days the women endured equal trials with the men. It
is possible that if the lives of the early settlers and the scenes of
those times were in full laid before us for review, we would find many
instances in which women displayed even greater courage than the men,
and in enduring the most severe privations and dangers, held out even
longer.
Had Captain Godfrey not been possessed with such a companion as his
wife, it seems almost certain he would have been made a prisoner and,
perhaps, been murdered. Her tact and perseverance in danger secured his
liberty and rescued him from death.
When her friends in London tried hard to persuade her from accompanying
her husband on his second venture in the colony, she calmly replied:
"Where my husband goes I can follow, if it be in the wilderness among
savages, or even through fire and blood. I love my husband, and wherever
he may be, to that spot I am attracted more strongly than to any
other." How much these brave words sound like those of Madame Cadillac,
spoken three quarters of a century earlier.
On the 24th of July, 1701, Cadillac landed at Detroit, and set himself
to found the place. Soon after this Madame Cadillac, who had been left
behind at Quebec, plunged into the wilderness to rejoin her husband.
It was a thousand miles in a birch bark canoe rowed by half-clad
Indians, and the route was through a dense forest and over great waters
swept by the September storms, but this brave woman undertook the
journey attended by only a single female companion.
When subsequently reminded of its hazards and hardships, she simply
replied: "A woman who loves her husband as she should, has no stronger
attraction than his company, where ever he may be."
The rich heritage we enjoy comes to us through the great efforts of
patriotism and dogged perseverance of our ancestors (the fathers and
mothers of the country). As we in gratitude remember the former, let us
not forget the latter.
Margaret Godfrey died in London about the year 1807, having survived her
husband fully twenty years. She was beloved by friends, and esteemed by
all who came in contact with her. She sank full of years undimmed by
failure and unclouded by reverses. Who can think of such persons as Mrs.
Godfrey without acknowledging that such are the true nobility of the
human race!
And now, when from the long distance of a hundred years or more, we
look back upon the hardships and misfortunes endured by one family of
the early colonists, we feel assured that pen and tongue can never make
fully known to us or our posterity the extent of the misery and
suffering of most of the early colonial settlers.[11]
[Footnote 11: For a vivid account of the sufferings and hardships of the
early Colonial settlers, I would refer the reader to Ryerson's excellent
work, The Loyalists of America and their times. Vol. II. Chap. XLI.]
We know enough, however, to admire the heroism of our ancestors and
their firm attachment to the mother land. Our hearts should warm with
gratitude for what they have done for our happiness. And as we consider
the unflinching determination of the founders of these British colonies
to make this land a British home, we feel that we should as
unflinchingly carry on their work and expand their views. Deeply rooted
in the hearts of our ancestors was a love of the old land, and their
desire in the new was to build upon the foundations of the old.
We, under Providence, are commissioned to carry forward the work they
left unfinished.
This land was the home of our fathers and shall be the heritage of our
children. The provincial spirit of our ancestors is being merged into a
great national one. A grand idea of nationality is being deeply rooted
in the hearts of the present generation. We are preparing for all the
responsibilities and all the works of a nation, and whether our
political union with the mother country becomes weaker or stronger as
the years pass by, our love for the old land will never cease. We are
proud of our parentage. Proud of the Celtic and Saxon blood that courses
through our veins.
As our country expands, and as we continue to build, may our love of
country widen, and the light of patriotism that brightened and cheered
the hearts of our ancestors as they toiled on, brighten and deeper burn
in all our hearts, and one grand illumination throw its rays upon the
surface of two oceans.
A neighbouring nation may envy our progress and seek our union, but this
will only stimulate our energy and strengthen the bonds that bind
British Americans together.
Our fathers left us a few disunited provinces, our children will inherit
a vast dominion, bounded east and west by the world's two great seas.
In even less time than it took our ancestors a century ago to travel
from Halifax to the mouth of the St John, we can plant our feet on the
shore of the Pacific.
The stars and stripes may wave along our Southern boundary, and there
shall their proud waves be stayed
The Eagle may be lord below,
But the young Lion lord above.
We rest firm in the belief that the decree has gone forth out of the
court of heaven, that the flag which was wrapped in its folds around the
"Young Lion of the Woods" in his last sleep, shall wave triumphantly
over Canada till peoples and nations cease to exist on earth.
The provinces in which the heroic events related in the foregoing
chapters occurred, now partake of the fortunes and sentiments and
character of a vast country. They live together with Canada, they
flourish with her, and if they are ever called upon to oppose a mightier
foe than Red men and Rebels, they will not be found unequal to the
occasion.
Never was nobler duty confided to human hands than that which was
confided to our ancestors more than a century ago. It was theirs under
providence to commence the foundations on which we are building, and in
the record of our social, industrial, educational, political and
religious progress we await with confidence the verdict of the world.
Although for the greater portion of the century the growth of the
British North American Colonies has been slow, yet it has been sound,
and it will be better for Canada in the future if the growth is not too
rapid. If the process of consolidation takes place regularly and
moderately, every institution in the land will be sounder. If the
majority of the immigrants which the country annually receives are
similar in character and principles to those of the early colonists, we
shall have nothing to fear in the future. We have nothing in our past
history to discourage us, and much in our present condition and
prospects to stimulate us. We who are privileged to live in the closing
years of the century behold a wonderful unity and an extraordinary
advancement of the whole Dominion in all its great interests. And the
man, if such there be, who was born on this soil and sprung from such an
ancestry as the early colonial settlers and United Empire Loyalists, or
from the loins of settlers of a later generation, who is not proud of
his country and of being called a British American, is unworthy of his
race and the land of his birth, and unworthy of having his name classed
with that of the noble Iroquois (Paul Guidon.) There are persons who
have acted a less noble part in life's drama, than the British officer
and his wife who settled at Grimross Neck, and even a less noble part
than Paul Guidon, who have won golden wreaths for their tombs, and since
Margaret Godfrey's name and deeds have been dug from oblivion, should
they be forgotten or the Iroquois tomb go unadorned?
Our past in its three great eras, that of settlement, Responsible
government and union, shows grand steps in the country's triumphant
march. If with decaying sectional spirit, the grand idea of British
American independence takes hold of the minds and hearts of the people,
this would be found the gradual power that would impel the country to
its national destiny. As we behold mighty provinces forming and splendid
cities rising, we begin more fully to realize the glorious career on
which the Dominion has entered, these events should compel, yea they
announce a safe, wise and splendid future.
The few millions who have sprung from those who founded the colonies,
trace back with lineal love their blood to them. So may it be in the
distant future millions more will look back with pride and trace their
blood through those who formed a nation in peace, to those who founded
the colonies, and to those who formed the union.
We may read of the past, write of the past, and think of the past. To do
so is often profitable; it is also a pleasure. But, as we admire the
spirit and works of those who have passed beyond the flood, we should
more earnestly prepare for the future. "The sleeping and the dead are
but pictures." "Yet, gazing on these long and intently, and often we may
pass into the likeness of the departed, may stimulate their labors, and
partake of their immortality."
"The growing nation, may it prove Dominion of the Good!
And ever stand, in coming years, where Britain always stood,--
The foremost in the cause of right! upholder of the truth!
The nation which in growth of years grows in the strength of youth!
Then we may cry, with hopeful voice, unto the heavenly powers,
For blessings on our native land--'This Canada of ours.'"
FINIS.
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