Cape Breton Places & Foods

Today we take another trip some distance from the Old Town Clock, for the location of the story of Jerome, the mystery man1

I was traveling on the Dominion Atlantic Railway coming from Yarmouth some little time ago, and my fellow passenger was Mr. F.G.J. Comeau, the general freight and passenger agent of that line.

When we were not far from Digby, Mr. Comeau, who was greatly interested in the history of Nova Scotia, said to me; “Did you ever hear the story of Jerome, the mystery man who landed on the shores of St. Mary’s Bay, and whose identity was never known, and who was put ashore from a mystery ship?” Immediately I sat up and took notice, and this is the story that Mr. Comeau told me:

It was in the early summer of 1854 that Jerome first came to Digby County. One evening the fisherfolk who lived along Digby Neck noticed a large vessel sailing up St. Mary’s Bay. She was strange to them and looked something like a man-of-war or a pirate ship…However she made no attempt to land a boat but simply hovered off shore. She was still there when darkness fell but in the morning she was gone, and her apparently meaningless visit caused some mild wonder amongst the people along the coast. This was changed to intense excitement when later in the day, one of the settlers named Albright, happened to go down to the shore at Sandy Cove.

As he approached the water’s edge he was startled to hear a moan, and on looking about him, he saw lying on the beach-a man. The stranger was young-apparently not over nineteen- with fair hair, blue eyes, and fine aristocratic features. All of this was apparent at a glance, but there was something else which caught and held Albright’s horrified gaze- both of the man’s legs were amputated slightly above the knees and the stumps tied up in bandages. When Albright finally mustered sufficient self-assurance to speak to him, the stranger said not a word, but simply lay there and moaned again.

Quickly, some of the neighbors summoned and the poor fellow was carried to the home of a Mr. Morton living at Centreville, and then called Trout Cove, where he was cared for and given a home. Apparently the operation had been newly performed by someone fairly skilled, for, though the victim at first suffered intensely, the wounds gradually healed and he became at last physically strong and well.

There was no clue to his identity beyond the fact that his clothes were of the finest material, nor did his protectors ever find out who he was despite the fact that he lived in the district for fifty-eight years. For in all that time he utterly refused to talk or to write and evidenced a desire to avoid anything which might throw light upon himself or his history. How could he remain so long silent is a question, but it has been suggested that he was unable to speak, either because of some natural defect of his vocal organs or as the result of an operation.

Only two or three times did he ever try to say anything and then it was apparently when taken by surprise, for he would immediately lapse into his former silence and appear to be angry at having been so caught off his guard. On one of these occasions he was heard to mutter something which sounded like Jerome, and from then on, that became his name. At another time, years later, he was suddenly asked where he came from, and murmured what sounded like Trieste, while on still a third occasion, when asked the name of the ship from which he was landed, he was thought to say Colombo. This last word led to the belief that he may have been of Italian descent, though people who knew him claimed that he looked more as though he might Irish.

In an effort to establish some conversation with him, the Mortons called in Jan Nicola, a Corsican, nicknamed “the Russia,” who was then living at Meteghan, and who spoke several European languages. Nicola had fought in the Crimean War and had later escaped from a war prison to find rest and shelter in Nova Scotia. He could elicit nothing from Jerome but his own former hardships made him sorry for the man, and although he had little enough himself, he made arrangements for the castaway to live with him. There, then, for the next seven years, the stranger made his home, and when Nicola died, he was taken by a family of Comeaus at St. Alphonse-de-Clare, Digby County, where he lived for over forty years.

During this time he was visited by thousands of people who heard his story but no one was able to identify him…He did not seem to mind their coming nor did their conversation usually disturb him, except that he would fly into uncontrollable rage at the mention of pirates or pirate ships.

The Nova Scotia Government learned of Jerome and several times published short accounts of him in an effort to locate his relatives, but without avail. Failing this they granted to his benefactors the sum of $104.00 a year to pay for his board. This amount being yearly passed by the Provincial legislature.

In later years a son of the Comeau family was working in New York when he was visited by two women who questioned him concerning Jerome. They said that their name was Mahoney and that they had known the man in Mobile Alabama. According to them, he had run away from home when still a boy and had gone to sea. Comeau afterwards said that one of them looked enough like Jerome to have been his sister. This one asked him if he would take a letter to Jerome and, on receiving his assurance that he would, brought him one sealed in an unaddressed envelope. This he took with him when he returned home; feeling that there might be a solution to the mystery, but such was not to be. Jerome took it when it was handed to him, looked fixedly at the envelope for some time, then tore it unopened, into little pieces, and threw it in the fire.

This same man, who had brought the letter, always felt that his mother, who cared for the stranger, knew something of the mystery about him, but if she did, as far as has ever been known, she did not tell a soul.

On April 19, 1912, Jerome died and was buried in the Catholic Cemetery at Meteghan. With him his secret also died, to be locked forever from human ears.

Many explanations have been suggested concerning him, but they are all purely imaginary. Some say that he may have been a nobleman whose lands had been wrongfully seized by a powerful rival and that his legs and voice were removed as a mans of getting him out of the way forever. Others suggest that he was a politician prisoner punished in this way for some crime. It as even been suggested that he was just a seaman who, as the result of an accident, had lost his legs and, being of no further use to his ship, was put ashore, where the Captain knew that he would receive good care. This, however, does not seem probable when one considers the fitness of his features and clothes and the total absence of any sign that he had ever done any hard physical work, for his hands were white and shapely as those of a girl.

The whole story, which is worthy of the talents of Sherlock Holmes, bears all the marks of some diabolic revenge. And if revenge it was, possibly not a state but a private one, or one wrought by some powerful secret society. When one considers the man’s personal appearance, his apparent unwillingness to try and talk, and his annoyance when a word was surprised from him, this idea becomes at least slightly probable. He would at times be lost in thought, when his mood was one of sadness, and he disliked any possible reference to his past, as is evidenced in his destroying of the letter unread.

If then, there were revenge; he may have felt that it was at least partly deserved. Yet it is evident that whoever left him on shore at Sandy Cove did not wish him to die as they left him the biscuits and water- not perhaps the daintiest of food, but still nourishment- and bandaged his wounds carefully. If the malnutrition was indeed deliberate, it is apparent that the perpetrators wished their victim to live. Perhaps Jerome had committed some offence, or had interfered with the plans of someone, for which the punishment was that though he should live, he would never walk or speak again.

All of this is mere fancy, but it is interesting at least to wonder what was the true story of the origin of Nova Scotia’s mystery man-Jerome. My thanks to Mr. Comeau, for a very interesting story and for a pleasant trip on the Dominion Atlantic Railway.

By the way, have you noticed that, if you come via the Dominion Atlantic Railway, when you get out of the train at the station in Halifax and look at the engine that brought here, that every D.A.R. engine ahs a name on it, not just a number? The names on these engines perpetuate the names of men who made history in this province, and I respectfully suggest that you look a little more closely at these engines and look up the history of the different men whose names you find there. It is quite usual to see a name on a ship, but to see a name on a railway engine is not usual. If you take a trip on one of the Dominion Atlantic trains, pulled by these engines with interesting names, be sure to look at the map of the line and find Sandy Cove and St. Mary’s Bay, where Jerome, The Mystery Man was landed in 1854.

The many fishermen friends of my acquaintance have told me some wonderful stories of their favorite lakes and never seem to tire of relating the exact details of the big ones that got away, but today I believe I have a true story of olden days in Halifax, of four Haligonians, and their amusing adventures on a fishing trip which took place over one hundred years ago.

In the limited time at our disposal for our chat today under the Old Town Clock, I regret that it is necessary to leave out some of the detailed descriptive comments of the original story as told by a former well-known citizen, Peter Lynch, Queen’s Councillor, who brought this story to light some sixty years ago in an address before the nova Scotia Historical Society.

It’s a story of Spider Lake, which you will find on your maps, over on the Dartmouth side towards Waverly.

Years ago, there was no one in the Town of Halifax better known than Joseph Hobson, the Barber. His shop, the resort of all classes, was on the north side of Duke Street.

He was an ardent fisherman. No disciple of Isaac Walton ever more delighted in the sport, or more skillfully and successfully whipped a stream. With an eye to business, and knowing how much he was missed when he was away, he did not allow his rod to keep him from his shop, and although during the fishing season, he was every week to be found at some of the neighboring lakes and streams, he managed to indulge in the one and sedulously attend to the other by leaving his home in the night at such time as to enable him to be at the fishing ground as the day broke, and after some three hour’s sport, to be back to his shop by breakfast time looking as neat as a new pin, and as fresh as a daisy. The dish of glittering fish displayed on the sill of the capacious shop window, generously told the nature of the morning’s occupation.

Next door to Hobson’s dwelt an old shoemaker by the name of Izet, a character in his way. He was just as enthusiastic a fisherman as his neighbor. Strange to say although the two men were always on the best of terms and held daily converse with each other, they never fished together. Izet had his fishing companion, George Illes, whose grocery shop occupied a corner some three blocks above that of his friend. They were both Scotchmen.

Joe Hobson, the Barber, also had a friend. He was Geordie Anderson, a man possessed of many of the same qualities of mind and heart as Hobson, and was one of the jolliest wags in town. He had not an enemy in the town, except those upon whom he had perpetrated some practical joke, for he was an inveterate practical joker. That overweening passion had cost him some friend, much money, and many a hard run, and not infrequent tussle, in which he was apt to come off second as he was but a small man. He was about five feet high and was of slight build. His dress was a long-skirted coat, a waistcoat which reached down to  his hips with large flap pockets and his short but well formed were cased in knee breeches, grey woolen stockings and ankle-jack  boots laced tight to his ankles. Above all those, resting in an ample white neck-cloth was a lean good nature face. Such was Geordie Anderson, the friend of Joe Hobson. They frequently talked together, often walked together, and always fished together. Geordie was of the two more reticent.

It so happened that on one memorable occasion, the two friends left their homes a little after midnight with their fishing gear, rowed themselves across the harbor and made their way through the thick bushes in the darkness towards as they thought a favorite fishing ground, but by some unaccountable blunder they had missed their way, got entirely astray and at last had to confess to each other that they did not know where they had got. Weary with wandering through the tangled bushes and fretting with the thought that they were wasting their morning in the woods, they had almost despaired of finding the fishing ground when just as the first grey streaks of light were shooting up into the heavens, they to their surprise, came upon the margin of a lake they had never seen before. It was a fine sheet of water, wooded to its margin, and lying asleep in the quiet of the surrounding hills. But just as the two men stepped upon a little hillock on the border of the lake a flop broke the stillness and a circle spread out upon the water until ring was locked in ring the whole surface of the lake was covered with gentle eddies. In a moment all sense of fatigue was forgotten, as with looks of delight the rods were quickly unclasped, joint fitted into joint, the lines were hastily put through the eyelets and favorite flies whirling through the air. The fish ignorant of the devices of the visitors, rose greedily in pursuit of the gandy flies as they skimmed the water, and in a very short time both baskets were filled, and a large bunch of splendid fish secured varying from 3 to 4 pounds in weight, and the fishermen, of course very much elated, were at home in time for breakfast.

On the way home Anderson charged his friend not to reveal to anyone their discovered treasure, and although Hobson promised to keep dark on the subject the other received the assurance with apparent incredibility “You know,” he said,” Joe, your weakness, now for once keep your own council and above all don’t tell Illes or Izet or the lake will soon be useless to us.”

In a short time after their return home the whole sill of Hobson’s shop window glistened as the light of the morning sun fell upon the fine fish, and what with the crowds who gathered around the window, and those who made their way into the shop to examine and ask about the finny monsters, there was but little to be done in the way of shaving or hair cutting. Poor old Hobson loving the truth, but yet remembering the injunction of Anderson stuttered and stammered as he perpetrated one after another of those monstrosities known as white lies, in response to the questions as to where the fish had been taken. About eleven o’clock when most of the crowd had dispersed, old Izet who had heard of the wondrous display, appeared in the shop with his leather apron. “Hello, Joe!” said the old man looking admiringly at the fish. “Where did you get those beauties?” Hobson repeated the reply he had been giving to the others during the morning, but he had now a more cunning party to deal with.

“Oh, no,” said Izet as he looked at honest Joe and saw falsehood written upon his face. “That won’t do,” Hobson became more confused and tried to evade further questions, but his neighbor would not let him escape, and after a long time he dragged the secret out of his victim, he having first promised faithfully not to reveal it to mortal man. Of course within half an hour, it was communicated by Izet to Illes, and the two had made their arrangements for a speedy visit to the Lake. As Izet was as leaky as Hobson, he had incautiously communicated the secret to a friend, and informed him with a chuckle of the intended excursion of himself and Iles. That friend, also a chum of Anderson, soon conveyed the intelligence to him and Geordie, as early as he could manage to, made his way to Hobson’s shop. As he entered Hobson saw by his manner that a storm was ahead and was not much surprised when the other said, “So Joe you’ve let the cat out of the bag.” As evasion was impossible Hobson had to admit that he had told the secret to Izet, but under a solemn pledge that tit would not be revealed to any other. “Didn’t I tell you’d do it,” rejoined his friend. “I knew you could not hold it, and I am not much surprised. Izet’s promise of secrecy was about as good as your own. He has told it to Illes and they already have arrangements to fish the lake, and are to leave tomorrow night, but I have determined that they shall not carry out their scheme and you know when I make up my mind to a thing I carry it out.” Hobson, kind hearted old soul, tried to remonstrate with him, reminded him that they were all neighbors, and friends,  and that they themselves would have felt very much hurt if Izet had made such a discovery and refused to allow them to participate in it first. But it was all in vain, and Anderson more excited and angry than his friend had ever seen him before, left the shop with a reiteration of his threat.

A short time before that, an Indian more in want of food than clothing, had offered a complete set of his clothes, including his hat and an eagle feather of portentous size, for sale, and Anderson thinking perhaps that it might be useful in his excursions through the woos, or more probably that it might aid him in carrying out one of his practical jokes, had become the purchaser of it.

On the next night, therefore, an hour before Izet and Illes were to set out, he with his full Indian suit, an old rusty musket, and the feather, piloted himself across the harbor and made his way up to the margin of the lake where he hid himself in the thicket. In due time his victims followed in their boat, landed at the place told to Izet by Hobson, and following the blazes on the trees as cut by the others as they could be discerned in the twilight, arrived on the shore of the lake just as day was breaking. As the two men stood upon the margin of the lake, no sound disturbed the repose except the gentle sighing of the woods but although there was not a breath of wind, the bosom of the lake was not undisturbed, for it was dappled all over with the fish, which were rising hither and tether in all directions. As the two enthusiastic sportsmen glutted their eyes with the ravishing scene, made doubly beautiful them by the circles on every hand, they looked at each other and with a merry laugh Izet remarked “What do you think Geordie Anderson would say if he saw us now,” little thinking that Geordie was but a few yards from them, his face beaming with delight. In a short time their hamper was opened and its contents spread out, for not knowing how long it might take them to reach the lake, they made their arrangements to breakfast there and spend part of the day. Their rods were put together with all possible expedition as the rising fish made them eager to get at once to work. Everything being ready was cautiously treading upon the yielding moss hillocks at the margin of the water when a crash of a bough of the neighboring thicket caused them to start.

No very recent atrocities had characterized the conduct of the Indians towards the whites, but past acts of treachery and cruelty were not so remote as to have been forgotten, and an Indian was therefore still an object of great dread. The evident crash of a limb near at hand, therefore, caused both men to start and look at ach other inquiringly but as nothing further was heard for the next few anxious moments, they were again to make ready for action, when another and louder crash caused them both to start, and with pallid faces turn towards the spot from whence the noise proceeded. “Did you hear that George?” said Izet. “Indeed I did,” said the other, “what can it be?” and as they both directed their anxious gaze towards the wood to their horror and dismay up rose an Indian clad in full regalia of his tribe. His face daubed with war paint and a very tall eagle feather rising from his cap gave him the apparent height of a giant. With loud and evidently angry words, purely extempore, which of course neither of the frightened men comprehended, he with impatient gesture motioned them to be off, and as they with trembling limbs hesitated, and gazed apparently spellbound, to their horror the Indian, raised a gun to his shoulder, with a wild Indian whoop. In an instant their rods were flung from them, their hamper and its contents abandoned, and they in full flight not knowing where they were going, and scarcely able to make their way along from terror, they tumbled and fell, with their clothes torn and their faces and hands scratched and bleeding, they made their way through the forest, and in a breathless state after an hour or more on the run, made their way to the shore, sprung into their boat and never felt that they were out of danger, until they were on the waters of the harbor, only too glad to have abandoned everything and saved their lives. In rags and tatters they made their way to their homes and narrated to their trembling families their narrow escape.

In the meantime Geordie Anderson as soon as they disappeared, having thrown down his musty firelock which had been innocent of powder or shot for many a long day, laid aside the cap and feather, threw himself down on the dewy moss and fairly rolled in it while his face was exuberant with delight. He, at last, sat down upon a rock, partook of the forsaken breakfast and then clearing one of the fishing rods, fished for an hour with much success, and returned in time to pay his accustomed morning visit to Hobson’s shop. His narrative of the morning’s adventure to Hobson, suffice it to say that it was interrupted by frequent and long pauses, during some of which his face became so purple and swollen, and his laughter so boisterous that Hobson begged him to desist fearing that it would result in a fit of apoplexy.

As for Izet and Illes they were the heroes of the day. Once within the precincts of the town, and feeling that they were safe, they recounted to their friends the perils from which they had escaped. They asserted that several Indians armed with guns and scalping knives had marched down upon them, and that fearing their numbers might increase, they, not being armed with anything but their rods, had thought that discretion was the better part of velour and had retired from the scene. The wondrous tale was reported from time to time for a day or two, until at last, just as Izet was finishing the narrative to an admiring audience in Hobson’s shop, Anderson appeared and raising his stick to his shoulder and pointing it at Izet, he uttered the same war whoop that he had let go at them at the lake. In a moment the truth flashed upon the mind of Izet and with a hearty malediction he fled from the shop. The audience, astonished at the sudden interruption, turned to Anderson for an explanation. He at once narrated the true version of the affair amid shouts of laughter. For days those who passed the cobbler’s shop heard the hammer of the old cobbler as with impatient blows it fell upon his lap-stone, but no one saw hi face for the next week.

We are all more or less familiar with Captain Kidd and his supposed activities off this coast. Today I am going to tell you a yarn, about a story which has come to me about a different kind of a pirate to Captain Kidd-a woman.

You know, if you chat with an old sailor, it is not very long before he will tell you a yarn of some far off happening, and in the course of my many travels for yarns and tales of the sea, with which Nova Scotia is so much associated, I have heard some weird and wonderful ones, but none more interesting than those of female pirates, one of which I will relate today.

As far as I know, there were no female pirates along the coast of Nova Scotia, but the sailors who sailed from these parts in bygone days have heard about them and so we can include a story like this in Tales Told under the Old Town Clock.

The story I’ll tell you today has been handed down from generation to generation and it dates back to 1799, just fifty years after the founding of Halifax. It’s the story of Priscilla Adams, who operated out in the Atlantic. It came to me in its original form, as a newspaper account from the pen of Captain Charterson. Most pirates operated off the coast of South America, or in places where no considerable naval strength was available to check their activities,-but not Miss Priscilla Adams. She operated right under the nose of the British Fleet, during the six years that she became famous. She is known to have robbed many craft and at all times to have operated within a day’s sail of where she might expect interference of naval vessels.

It is a mystery as to how she could have practiced as a pirate for so long without being caught. As the story goes, it was in December, 1799, that a vessel of less than forty tons, named The King Eagle, was known to be leaving a coastal port on the Atlantic on a so-called trading voyage. Merchants of her home port, knowing of her forthcoming voyage, requested space on board for freight, but her master refused, notwithstanding the fact that when he left port he carried nothing but ballast. Priscilla Adams found out somehow, just what this ship, The King Eagle, was up to. She found out that the King Eagle was not to be engaged in trade but was to go out into the Atlantic to meet a smuggler who was flying the flag of France, and there to take on a cargo which the smuggler had. She also found out that the smuggler was to receive, in return, bags of gold in payment for the contraband.

The King Eagle was out at sea for three or four days when she found she was accompanied by a long, rakish, dismal-looking craft of ugly lines. The skipper of The King Eagle tried to find out her name but even with the use of his telescope, he was unsuccessful, because the stranger had no name. If he had scanned the stranger a little more closely, he would have noticed the woman on the deck, was none other than the lady we have spoken of as Priscilla Adams. A brisk south-westerly gale came up and for two more days the vessels kept company with one another, until the gale had blown itself out, when Captain Roberts of The King Eagle continued on his voyage, and to his surprise he found that the mysterious, unknown craft sailed a similar course to that which he set. The mysterious craft was the much faster of the two, and in a few hours she outdistanced The King Eagle and disappeared over the horizon, much to the pleasure of Captain Roberts. Sailing with Captain Roberts, as first mate was a man named Evans, no doubt a Welshman, and to him Captain Roberts expressed his pleasure at seeing the mysterious boat disappear, as he had no liking for a ship that sailed the seas without even a name, and especially one so fast. Evans surprised the Captain by saying to him:” I believe that that ship is one known as The Black Devil, and overtook another ship and sent it to the bottom after stealing everything that the other ship had on board, including a number of bags of gold.” The mate continued, and told him that The Black Devil, had performed in exactly the same way as this ship had done during the past few days,-had caught up with them and sailed along with them and then sailed out over the horizon, but after dark had appeared from nowhere, as if from out of the sea, and had then sent on board a boarding party. He did not make Captain Roberts feel better by adding that while he was not reckoning on it, nevertheless, he felt that this mysterious ship, which he thought might be The Black Devil, was up to no good and might be heard of again.

With the thought of what the mate had told him, Captain Roberts proceeded to the point of rendezvous in the Atlantic and there awaited the coming of the French smuggler, whose cargo would be transferred to his ship and to which he would hand out the bags of gold he had brought with him. The King Eagle slow as she was, reached her meeting point well before time and the sea being fairly calm, just cruised around and waited. He calculated that the Frenchman would turn up some time that night and by the next night the job would be done, but he was mistaken. What he did receive that night was a visit from a lady heading a boarding party of well armed pirates, who, just as in the story related by the mate, seemed to appear from nowhere in the night. The long, ugly, black-painted craft suddenly loomed up astern and easily overhauled The King Eagle. His ship was boarded before he had time to do anything about it, and as soon as the lady was aboard she said very sweetly: “If I am not mistaken, Sir, I am addressing the master of The King Eagle, who is hanging around these parts awaiting the coming of a Frenchman.” To which captain Roberts replied: “It was most kind of you, Mistress, to take so much trouble to come and tell me that.” The soft-spoken female voice replied: “I am glad that you are grateful, and since that is the case, I know you will grant me a little favor.” Captain Roberts, of course, was greatly surprised at such a statement, and said; “What might that be?” To which the lady said: “will you please hand me over some gold coins that you have done up in four canvas bags, marked with crosses on each.” Captain Roberts then said: “Oh, you have seen them.” To which the lady replied;’ I have not, but I intend to, and I am going to see them in a hurry, so don’t delay.” By this time Captain Roberts decided, lady or no lady, she was not going to take his money away from him that easily, and he swore by heaven, that he would have nothing to do with her and that she would not get the money. Still very much the lady, this woman pirate replied, “It is a pity that you cannot be persuaded,” and then she turned to her men and said: “Get  ready, boys,” and commanded her boarding party to guard Captain Roberts and his mate, whom they promptly surrounded, and then she ordered the rest of them to male for the crew’s quarters. Evans, the mate, was evidently impressed that the lady meant business, and he whispered to the Captain” It is better to give the money to her as it will be of no good to us if they throw us overboard. If we give her the money, we will live to come out again, and if we don’t it looks like she is going to get it anyway.” Apparently Captain Roberts decided that the mate was right, as they had been caught unprepared. So he addressed the lady with the remark that a woman had never altered his plans before but this time it looked as if he could no help himself. He suggested that she go aft with him to get hi money, or rather the Frenchman’s, and then he received a piece of news that did not make him feel any better, when Priscilla Adams said: “The Frenchman has no use for the money, sir, for he was rude to me a few hours ago, and, well, there isn’t any Frenchman now.”

In the Captain’s cabin, beneath the glimmer of an old lantern, Priscilla Adams, carelessly doffed her oilskin hat and threw off her coat, and revealed herself to Captain Roberts as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. In fact, she was described as a dream of beauty. Captain Roberts was a man who prided himself in never having succumbed to the wiles of maidens, a seasoned sailor, but there he sat, gazing with amazement. He had already fallen in love with the pirate, who with her men had captured his vessel and had now come to take his money. Suddenly he said to her: “I have changed my mind, you will not have my money until you make a promise.” To which she replied: “If you have changed your mind, Sir, I have not. I have come for your gold and I am going to have it, but, however, I will listen to what you have to say.” And so Captain Roberts made this proposition: “Take my money if you will, but if you promise to do what I want you to do, I will never speak of you being a pirate. I want you to meet me ashore;-you have no need to be afraid.” To which the lady replied: “Afraid, Sir! You insult me. Afraid! I certainly will meet you ashore. I have not seen the man I am afraid of yet. I will meet you ashore when and wherever you choose.” And she stood to her promise. She met Captain Roberts, some four or five days later, on an island in the Atlantic, and there on a chill, winter morning, they walked and talked. Three hours or more went by before Priscilla and Captain Roberts made their way down to their boats. “And this is the last, I suppose, I will see of you,” said Captain Roberts. “Certainly no,” replied Priscilla, “I can see that you have never made love before. I have captured your gold and now I’ll give it back. I’ll admit you have captured my heart but I’ll not take it back. Take me aboard your ship and we will set a course for church.”

The Black Devil may have continued her career as a pirate craft, and The King Eagle may have still sailed many seas, but Priscilla Adams was never more seen on the decks of the ugly vessel and Roberts never again was known to give money in exchange for contraband, and as far as can be ascertained these two strange characters of the sea spent the rest of their days in the Channel Islands,- those beautiful islands in the English Channel where for generations retired people have found a haven in which to live in peace and quietness in their old age, amidst the most lovely surroundings, where there was not even any Income Tax. Where life was considered ideal, until this war we are now engaged in overtook the world. No longer are those lovely islands the land of peace and plenty, as with the fall of France, the Nazi hordes moved in on them and many old people were forced to flee and leave their homes and belongings behind. The homes that they had saved all their lives to obtain, and which we all hope they get back in the not far-distant future, where the Union Jack will once more fly in the breeze, in place of the crooked cross.

As one gazes out to sea from our meeting place by the Old Town Clock on the Citadel, one can see Thrum Cap shoals and just opposite is the little fishing village of Herring Cove.

Today I want to take you back over the years to 1797 to tell you about the wreck of His Majesty’s Ship La Tribune and about a young hero about thirteen years of age, a boy whose home was in Herring Cove. His name was Joe Cracker. Perhaps his descendants live there today. The account from which the report of the wreck was obtained gives all the details and names of important individuals aboard the doomed ship, but fails to record the name of the Herring Cove boy, who by his example shamed older men to action, and whose name should be honored down through the years. Thanks to the Nova Scotia Historical Society his name was brought to light and honor given, to whom honor was certainly due, by the erection a few years ago, of a tablet on the sea side of the Herring Cove lighthouse.

La Tribune was one of the finest frigates in His Majesty’s service mounted 44 guns and had been lately captured by Captain Williams in the Unicorn frigate. She was commanded by Captain S. Barker, and sailed from Torbay the 22nd September, as convoy to the Quebec and Newfoundland fleets. In Lat. 49* 14″, Long. 17* 29″ she fell in with and spoke to his Majesty’s ship Experiment from this place, out 12 days. She lost sight of all her convoy October 19th in Lat. 46* 16″, Long. 32* 11″. On Thursday, November 28th, 1797, they discovered this Harbor about 8 o’clock in the morning. The wind being E.S.E. they approached it very fast, when Captain Barker proposed to the master that they should lay the ship to till they could obtain a pilot; the master replied, “he had beat a 44 gun ship into the harbor, that he had been frequently here and that there was no occasion for a pilot, as the wind was fair.” Confiding in these assurances Captain barker went below and was for a short time employed in arranging some papers he wished to take on shore with him. The master in the meantime taking upon himself the pilotage of the ship, and placing great dependence upon the judgment of a negro man by the name of John Casey, [who had formerly belonged here] whom he had placed forward to con the ship. About 12 o’clock had approached so near the Thrum Cap shoals that the master became alarmed and sent for Mr. Galvin the master’s mate. Who was sick below? On his coming on deck he heard the man in the chains sing out “by the mark five” the black man forward at the same time singing out “steady.” Galvin got on one of the carronades to observe the situation of the ship, the master in such agitation at the same time taking the wheel from the man who was steering with an intent to wear ship, but before this could be effected or Galvin able to give an opinion, she struck, Captain Barker instantly came on deck and reproached the master at having lost the ship. Seeing Galvin also on the deck, he addressed him and said [as he knew he had formerly sailed out of this harbor] that he was much surprised that he could stand by and see the master run the ship on shore. Galvin informed the Captain that he had not been on deck long enough to give an opinion. Signals of distress were instantly made and answered by the military posts and ships in the harbor.

Boats from all the military posts and the ships in the harbor, from His Majesty’s ships and from the Dockyard, proceeded to the relief of La Tribune. The military boats and one of the boats from the Dockyard, with Mr. Rackum, boatswain of the Ordinary, reached the ship; but the other boats, though making the greatest exertions, were not able, the wind being so much against them, to get on board. The ship was immediately lightened by throwing all her guns, except one retained for signals overboard and every other heavy article so that about half-past eight o’clock in the evening the ship began to heave and about nine she got off the shoals. She had before at about five or six o’clock lost her rudder, and on examination it was now found that she had seven feet of water in the hold. The chain pumps were immediately manned and such exertions made that they seemed to gain on the leaks, and by advice of Mr. Rackum the Captain ordered to let go the best bower anchor. This was done but it did not bring her up. The Captain then ordered them to cut the cable, and the jib and fore topmast stag sail were hoisted to steer by. All this time the violent gale, which had come on from the south east, kept increasing and carrying them to the western shore. In a short time the small bower anchor was let go, at which time they found themselves in about thirteen fathoms of water. The mizzen mast was then cut away. It was now about ten o’clock. The water gaining fast on the ship, little hope remained of saving the ship or their lives. All hopes of safety had vanished, the ship was sinking fast, the storm was increasing with redoubled violence, the rocky shore to which they were approaching resounding with the tremendous noise of the billows which rolled towards it, presented nothing to those who might survive the sinking of the ship, but the expectation of a more painful death from being dashed against those tremendous precipices, which even in the calmest day it is almost impossible to ascend. Dunlap, one of the survivors, stated that about half past ten at night, as nearly as he could conjecture, one of the men that had been below came to him on the forecastle and told him the ship was sinking; in a few minutes after, the ship took a lurch as a boat will do when nearly filled with water and going down. The jolly boat was let down with four men in her-but instantly the ship took a second lurch and sank to the bottom; after which neither the Captain nor any of the officers were seen. The scene, sufficiently distressing before became now particularly awful-more than 240 men, besides several women and children were floating on the waves making their last efforts to preserve their existence. Dunlap, whom we have before mentioned, gained the foretop. Mr. Galvin, the master’s mate, after incredible difficulty, got into the main-top, he was below when the ship sank, directing the men at the chain pump. He was washed up the hatchway, thrown into the waste and from there into the water and his feet as he plunged, struck a rock. On rising again he swam to the shrouds and arrived at the main-top and seated himself on the arm chest which was lashed to the mast. It appears that nearby one hundred persons were for a considerable time hanging to the shrouds, the tops and other parts of the wreck. On the main-top four only were alive when morning appeared; and ten were at one time alive on the foretop but three of them got so exhausted and had become so unable to help themselves that before any relief came, they were finally washed away; three others perished, and four only were finally left alive in the foretop. The place where the ship went down was only about three times her length to the southward of the entrance into Herring Cove. The people came down in the night to the point opposite to which the ship sunk and kept large fires, and were so near as to converse with the people on the wreck. Now we come to the hero part of our story.

The first exertion that was made for their relief was by a boy, thirteen years old, from Herring Cove by the name of Joe Cracker, who ventured off in a small skiff by himself about eleven o’clock the next day; and this truly deserving young lad with great exertions and at extreme risk to himself, ventured to approach the wreck and backed in his little boat so near to the foretop as to take off two of the men, for the boat could not with safety hold any more; and here a heroic action occurred which deserves to be noticed. Dunlap and Munroe had, throughout the disastrous night providentially preserved their strength and spirits beyond their unfortunate companions, and had endeavored to cheer and encourage them as they found their spirits sinking; they were now both of them able to have stepped into the boat and put an end to their own sufferings, but their other two companions though alive, were unable to help themselves. They lay exhausted on the top, wished not to be disturbed and seemed desirous to perish where they lay. These generous fellows hesitated not a moment to remain themselves, on the wreck and to save, though against their will their unfortunate companions. They lifted them up and by the greatest exertions got them into the little skiff, and the manly boy rowed them triumphantly to the Cove and instantly had them conveyed to a comfortable habitation. After shaming, by his example, older persons who had larger boats, he put off again in his little skiff, but with all his efforts he could not then approach the wreck. His example, however, was soon followed by men in the La Tribune’s jollyboat and by some of the boats from the Cove, and by their joint exertions the other men were preserved, who with four that escaped in the jollyboat make twelve, the whole number of survivors of this fine ship’s company.

Some were disposed to blame Capt. Barker as exhibiting too much obstinacy in not abandoning the ship and preserving his crew as a violent storm was evidently approaching, but on examining the men who survived, it was found [though other officers in the same position might have formed a different judgment] that the conduct of Captain Barker was throughput the trying scene completely cool and collected. Though from the manner in which the ship had run ashore, no blame could be attached to him, yet he could not reconcile it to himself to lose so fine a ship without making every exertion to save her. Having by the greatest efforts considerably lightened, he had reason to suppose she might get off before high-water. She made no water while she lay aground, there were therefore great hopes, if she could not that night been got up the harbor she might with safety have been brought to anchor and have ridden out the gale. When she finally got off, universal joy was diffused throughout the ship-every man thought the object of their joint efforts was attained- but the rapid manner in which the water poured into her, soon damped their joy and plunged them into despair. Had the ship been finally saved by the great exertions which were made to affect it, every man would have praised Captain Barker, and notwithstanding those exertions failed, we think it can be justly said, as in the language of Addison, “Tis not in mortals to command success, Barker did more, he did deserve it.”

To his memory therefore and that of his brave fellow sufferers, the commiseration of their countrymen is justly due.

As a reward for his heroism Joe Cracker was made a Midshipman in His Majesty’s Navy. He did not, however, like it and so was let out and disappeared from further notice as far as can be ascertained. And as we look out towards Thrum Cap and Herring Cove let us think of the lad, Joe Cracker, who so long ago contributed to the splendid record of heroism, of which Nova Scotian fisher folk are so justly proud.

It is surprising the number of newcomers to Halifax who ask about that circular building, with the round dome for a roof, which they see a few miles before arriving in the city, if they come by the main highway or by train. It is not so surprising on the part of those whose advent to Halifax is by means of a motor road, but the more fleeting view that arrivals by train experience, does not give them equal opportunity to have the structure impress itself on their minds. Yet, many of them note it, and a number express curiosity about its unique design.

O course, it would be difficult to find a Haligonian who does not know of Prince’s Lodge, and who does not boast at least a smattering of its history. But even a number of regular residents do not know much about the building perched high on the hill overlooking Bedford Basin on one side, and with the cutting of the C.N.R. track providing a minor precipice on the other.

It would seem rather fitting for those of us who gather each Sunday morning for our visit together for Tales Told Under the Old Town Clock to take a jaunt out to Prince’s Lodge today. The same royal person who was instrumental in the erection of the historic clock on the slope of Citadel Hill likewise caused the erection of this other building. But, where the town clock stands in isolation, the other one was once part of an extensive group of buildings which formed the home of the Duke of Kent during his sojourn at this post.

True, it was separated by a little distance from the main buildings of the estate, but was a part of it. The rotunda provided the place from which the band on frequent occasions in those colorful days discoursed sweet music for the entertainment of Edward and his guests. Legend has it that the Duke utilized the Maroons, colored men who were shipped here from Jamaica, in his operations of building, and it is said that the rotunda was used as a kind of temple in which these Maroons practiced their rites.

It was after Edward’s arrival here from the West Indies in May of 1794, that this beautiful section of the Basin’s shore took on its very important role in local history. While guest of Governor Wentworth, Edward, who had been named head of the British troops in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, was taken to the Governor’s summer home these few miles from Halifax, which Wentworth had given the name of “Friar Lawrence’s Cell.”

Dr. Clara Dennis, in her much read book, Down in Nova Scotia, says “The Governor could not know that it was destined to be the setting for a real Romeo and Juliet whose romance would also end in tragedy, although unlike the tragedy of the imaginary Romeo and Juliet from whose story the Governor had taken the Friar Lawrence’s Cell as the name for his modest summer home.”

Edward found this spot, to use his own words, “better than any spot outside England,” and the obliging Governor gave over his place to his royal guest. From then on, it gained its new name of Prince’s Lodge.

Services of the leading landscape artist of the day in England were sought by the enthusiastic builder, and the natural beauty of the surroundings soon took on new glory as the development proceeded.

It is recalled that myriad pathways were directed through the woods, and each path was so designed that it formed a letter of the alphabet. Grottos abounded, Chinese pagodas were speedily erected where commanding views of the Basin could be secured.

It was fitting that such a place, and with such a history to be written in the brief period of its glory, should have a special pathway which boasted the designation of “Lover’s Lane”. What happy hours for those ill-fated lovers of history, Edward and the beautiful Julie St. Laurent who won his affections, the young widow who was an aristocrat in her own country, and who was Edward’s constant companion until expediency of the ways of state made it necessary for him to choose a royal bride. It was with Madame St. Laurent as the charming and beautiful and charming hostess that the then leaders of Halifax social world wended their way to the retreat on the Basin’s shores for the gay festivities. Many a titled visitor from other climes had his good option of Halifax greatly increased by the happy hours spent as an honored guest at the Lodge.

Let us say that we have traveled out the Bedford Road, past Mount St. Vincent, through Rockingham, beyond Birch Cove, and but a little beyond we see the rotunda, with the tracks between it and our highway. It was up the pathway from opposite the music room that we travel to reach the site of the main parts of the Lodge.

Arriving at the site, which has lost every link to the past but the rotunda, we will have to close our eyes and try to picture what it must have looked like at the end of the eighteenth century.

Records tell us that the main residence was a two-storey house of Italian style with wings at each end and the grand hall and reception room in the center. To the rear was a church-like structure said to house the offices and kitchen, for no cooking was actually done in the main building, a subterranean passage leading to that very necessary department. What rich repasts must have been carried along its artificially-lighted course?

Near enough to the house to give ready access was the library, stocked with books that were brought with great difficulty, for it is said that seven times through piracy or shipwreck Edward lost his household goods and books, including thousands of volumes at Sable Island.

It was a self sufficient little community that dwelt amid all this beauty, for it had its stables, forge, and a variety of other out-buildings to meet its requirements. There was even a barracks there for the guards over such an important person, and this structure was said to have been just a small space north of the still standing rotunda.

But even if able to get along quite well alone, it still was considered necessary to have a link with the city. It was not as simple a matter as today, with the telephone-so on a high elevation was the observatory and signal station. From it, signals were relayed through Fort Needham, at the north end of Halifax, on to Fort George on the summit of Citadel Hill.

Expense was not spared by Edward in meeting his own whims or those of his beauteous companion and it is said that when His Royal Highness finally quit this section, to meet the call of state elsewhere, he left the trifling amount of $800,000.00 in debts in Nova Scotia.

Dr. Clara Dennis tells us that behind all these scenes of pomp and gaiety dwelt a lonely hermit in his cell. He was furnished with rich food from the Lodge, but rejected all but the plainest of scraps, never leaving his cell but by nights. His grave is said to be somewhere about, at a place selected by Madame St. Laurent, and with keeping with his habits during life, he was laid to rest in the darkness of night. We could spend many moments here merely pondering what lay behind his selection of such a strange way of life.

There is another hidden grave hereabouts, according to stories that have been handed down. It is that of the Prince’s favorite charger. He would have no horse but the best, and it is said that this favorite stumbled but once, but even that was sufficient for a royal decree that he be shot.

There is still a little lake to be seen, if we travel up over the hill we find a small artificial lake. Once this was heart-shaped, made for Julie by her lover, but its shores are now unkempt. Where once stood well kept buildings. Are now but rough board structures used for picnic purpose.

For years the property was used for the center of organized outings from the city. Many of us in Halifax recall with thrilling memories the travels up the Basin in some small steamboat, to be disgorged at a wharf by the rotunda, and then to proceed on to the open parts above, where the fun of the picnic was experienced. Then at day’s end, as the shades of night started to make the eastern shore indistinct, we traveled down the slope again on tired and begrimed legs for the climaxing thrill, the boat trip back to the city.

What a contrast to those days of royal parties, with bowling on the green.-Prince’s Lodge, the name given to the section, is today counted as a residential suburb of Halifax. But a few short years ago it was the place where the more fortunate people of the city had summer homes, to be boarded up and deserted with the arrival of the colder months. Today it has a variety of attractive year-round residences, and people who make their homes there travel to and from the city in a matter of a comparatively few minutes, where once it was a journey of hours by horse-drawn vehicles, or by water up the harbor, through the narrows and to the western shore of the Basin.

There are still to be found traces of the paths leading back of the summer homes, the paths once trod by Edward and Julie, in the days before that fateful 1818, when it became advisable that Edward’s marriage to the Princess of Leningen take place. Madame St. Laurent first learned of this plan from a newspaper, and heartbroken she to a convent, death ending her career which knew both so much happiness and sadness in 1832. This romance, which is said to have included a marriage of Edward and Julie at Gibraltar, but which was not recognized by his royal father, George the Third, was doomed to unkind fate at the last.

But as a result of Edward’s union with the Princess, the British Empire was given its great Queen Victoria.

Surely a visit such as this, as we wind our way back to the shadow of the Town Clock, can give us food for much thought in the coming week, and will give added interest to the occasion when we next pass the rotunda. If you have time, and wish to hold a session with the past, so to speak, then by all means visit this historic place. See the lake, which still to a measure holds its heart-shape. Don’t delay for years, or it will be too late, for the area has been sub-divided for building lots. Up to recent years traces of the old foundation could be seen, but many of the rocks were more recently trucked away. Even the Gray house that succeeded the Prince’s Lodge, on the name site, is now a thing of the past.

Today the rotunda is owned by Mrs. Mary Karas, Morris Street, who occupies it as a summer home, and hopes to follow that practice for years to come, and finds the unusual design of the rooms of her Bedford shore home very intriguing.

At times efforts have been spoken of to gain possession of the place as a historic shrine, but so far no successful project has been launched.

And so we leave Prince’s Lodge, to return to town.

Here at our Sunday meeting place, the Old Town Clock on the eastern slope of Citadel Hill, we have a story of a young Halifax girl who became the wife of an Indian, and perhaps the strangest elopement story that this old city has ever had, to cause its gossips to let their tongues wag without ceasing for many days. It was up this steep incline that the young Indian and his chosen mate made their hasty way, in their successful effort to get clear of their pursuers.

But let’s start at the beginning. I’ve heard the story from various sources, it’s well known to many older Haligonians, but it will new too many of those who are newcomers. Peter Lynch recorded the story for the Nova Scotia Historical Society in 1883, so let’s go back to his account of it to refresh our memories.

Amongst the earliest settlers of this town from England, came a merchant, a man of respectable family, good education, and much intelligence. It was rumored that some unfortunate speculations at home had placed him in an unfortunate financial situation and that he sought a new chance in a new world. He soon won respect in Halifax, and went about his way unobtrusively, gaining a name for kindness and integrity.

His family was said to have been a small one, consisting of his sister, a aged spinster, who, after his wife had died, had presided over his household, and there was also his only child,, a beautiful girl seventeen years of age, and these with his domestic help and his clerks all dwelt under the one roof with him. In those days, it is recorded, hostels and boarding places were rather scarce, and it was not uncommon for a businessman to have his staff enjoy the comforts of his home with him.

At the time to which we refer, there was much distinction between the white settlers and the Indians, the red men feeling that the intruders on their grounds were taking from them their rightful heritage, the attack on the little settlement of Dartmouth, and the cruel scalping there, had heightened the feeling.

But despite the feeling, some Indians at times ventured into the settlement and were to be seen about its few streets. Among them was a tall, graceful lad who had been for some time an invalid and whose disease had baffled the skill of the Indian Medicine Men. He had come to seek the aid of the resident doctors, and while in the settlement, had attracted the attention of our merchant.

It was said that his good looks and his fine manly bearing, but above all, his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks and evident disability enlisted the sympathy of the kindhearted man. Gradually from time to time the Indian was invited to the house, and given a good feed at the merchant’s table. The lad’s intelligence and his apparent honesty, won the confidence of the man. His health improved under the attention of a Halifax doctor.

Then, at an evil hour for him, the merchant, and father of the young Halifax beauty, made the sad decision of taking the Indian into his employ… and in a shot time, he had won a place almost equal to one of his family. He wore the garb of the white man and seemingly adopted his customs and manners. His ability made him valuable to his benefactor. He was orphaned, and all contact with his race seemed to have successfully broken off. But there was one call that he could not overcome; that of the woods, and at intervals of increasing frequency, he sought and received permission to shoulder a gun and head into the forests. He always returned well laden with spoils of the hunt. First these were excursions of only a few hours. Then they became longer, perhaps some days.

He shirked his duties, and seemed to lose the pleasure of his new found life. Then, with a strange suddenness he was restored to his fondness for the civilized life, or so it seemed on the surface. It seemed a surprise of course to all others, but not to the maiden…the daughter of the household. Gossip started to spread about the friendship that was evident between the two young people of different races. Friends despaired of speaking with the father, knowing of his faith in his beloved child, and his confidence in the youth he had befriended. However, finally the merchant himself became aware of what was going on. 

The Indian was thrust from the house, and the young girl was kept under close watch. But, as Peter Lynch said, in his descriptive account in 1883, and I suppose it is just as true today, Love Laughs at Locksmiths.

After a time, she apparently emerged from her grief, and returned to a calm appearance. She was allowed to go and come from the house as she pleased. Soon again tales began to spread, that the Indian lover had been seen hovering about the brushwood fence and that under the cover of night, the pair had even been seen conversing near her father’s house.

Come the fall of the year, and one dark, but fine night, the occupants of the merchant’s house were aroused by his frantic cries on his discovery that his daughter had fled with her Indian lover. Neighbors were aroused by his cries, and gathered about the father, who seemed on a state bordering madness. He promised a large reward to anyone who would either secure the girl, or shoot the Indian. The discovery of her flight had been made with little loss of time. The father had armed himself with a gin, and had called on his neighbors to likewise equip themselves.

A tramp who had been wandering about the settlement said he had seen the pair as they passed him, speeding up the slope that now is surmounted by our Citadel, the very slope on which we gather, while I tell you these tales. The excited pursuers pressed on, spurred to fresh effort by this information. As they passed the palisade, one of the parties cried that he could see the path passing over the brow of the hill, which was then higher than it, is today.

You can see that the slope is a steep one, and possibly fear gave added drain on her strength, for the trembling girl tottered as she almost fainted with fatigue, but the Indian more accustomed to such a pace, was better fitted for such a race, and throwing his arms around her, had helped her sustain her steps.

Down the other side of the hill, they were able to gain speed but as they raced on, they could hear the angry cries of their pursuers. Where the Common is now, was once a stream and the Indian familiar with the lay of the land directed their path to a place where a dead log spanned the stream. He carried her across this makeshift bridge, the, putting down his burden, with a strength born of the situation, he managed to tear the end of the log from its resting place and topple it in to the water.

Up the incline known as Camp Hill they went on their way happy in the thought that the course of their pursuers had been somewhat delayed by the removal of the log bridge. Down the incline on the opposite side they ran on, and the cries of the armed pack behind again drew nearer and nearer.

What a welcome sight the black waters of the Northwest Arm must have been to the Indian, for he had laid his plans well. But, for a moment it seemed that fate had played fickle with his planning. His signal that he gave on reaching the shore went unanswered. No canoe with staunch-muscled braves at the paddles darted into sight as he expected. A cry of dismay broke from his throat as he heard the pursuers drawing nearer. But the cry was not in vain, for his friends, who had just given up hopes of his arrival had started to retrace their course across the Arm. They turned and put back to shore.

But a few yards separated the quarry from the pursuers when the canoe touched land. The girl was tossed into the frail craft, and just as one of the merchant’s servants reached out to grasp the hand of the Indian, he leaped into the canoe. The pursuer then grasped the canoe and held on, but a well directed blow of a paddle, landed on his head, put him out of the picture. The chase was over. A musket was raised and directed at the canoe, but fearful for the life of his daughter, it was thrown up by the father.

Today, in an auto, the place where the canoe left shore, and the place of landing on the Western bank near Melville Island, could be reached in a matter of scant minutes. Then it meant a long delay. The depths of the pathless forests hid well the path of the Indian, his fellow tribesmen, and the beautiful young girl who had chosen such a life, rather be separated from her lover.

What was the sequel, you ask. About a year from the time of the flight, on the banks of the Shubenacadie River, a baby was born, but the death of the mother wrote the end of another chapter in this strange story of old Halifax. What can have been her lot, in strange surroundings so foreign to her, and bearing the burden of the sorrow that she had caused the father who loved her so, can only be imagined. Perhaps death was a kindness to her.

The story isn’t quite all told. A few weeks after this scene of new life and of death in the lonely wigwam a tall gaunt Indian, under the shadow of night, stealthily made his way into the settlement. Carefully wrapped in a coarse blanket, an infant was placed in the porch of the merchant’s home, the door was loudly wrapped…then the Indian sped away.

The infant was carried in and placed in the arms of the father, as he sat sad and listless, just as he had spent much time since his daughter’s heedless act. The others for a moment thought he would cast it from him, and then as he looked down on the swarthy, little face, some of the features must have borne to him a link of the happier past. He gathered it to his bosom and baptized it in his tears. Blossoming into a beautiful woman, this mite was the solace of her grandfather’s declining years. Her Indian blood proved a blessing in one way, for it gave her a wonderful beauty of dark and distinguished nature. She did all in her power to add happiness to the home of the old man, and was beloved by the people for her kindness. She was sought in marriage by a British Naval Officer in command of a ship on this station, but giving him her heart, she would not consent to give her hand until the old grandfather she so loved had passed away. Then only did she marry her Naval Officer, and go with him to England and make hr home-a home blessed by a large family which had a number of its members gain distinction. Of the Indian, nothing more was ever heard.
 

As we gather in the shadow of the Old Town Clock, I am asking you to get out your map of Nova Scotia for today’s tale. We’ll talk of Claude de La Tour, and his son, Charles,

During the days when Canada was New France, there lived in this country for a number of years a scholarly gentleman named Nicolas Denys, Monsieur Denys, being a scholar, knew that a description of this strange, unreal country would be of interest to those at home in writing a book whose English title is “The Description and Natural History of the Coasts of North America”, and which was published in 1673. It is to this very well written work that we are indebted for today’s tale of a conflict between father and son: a misfortune that dogged the steps of Claude de La Tour.

By 1628, the two de La Tours. Claude the father and Charles the son, had built what is now Cape Sable the most important and strategic fort in all Acadie, Fort St. Louis. For many years, until the fort was superseded by the one at Louisburg in 1715, this stronghold at Cape sable was regarded as a key position for Acadie. 1628, however, found the de La Tours in a situation where it was imperative to have the support of certain powerful men at the court in France, and, in order to maintain their position, and hold their claim on Acadie, Claude de La Tour sailed for France. He was very successful on his mission, and on his return journey to Acadie, he was accompanied by a large French flotilla carrying supplies and reinforcements for Fort St. Louis.

But here began the bad luck which henceforth dogged the steps of Claude. The French ships met with an English fleet under the command of that mighty warrior, David Kirk. A battle followed in which the French were defeated. Kirk captured 18 French vessels, and among his prisoners of war was Claude de La Tour.

Kirk took his prisoner to England, where he was presented at the court of King Charles the First. Now de La Tour was a Huguenot, and King Charles had always been interested in the Huguenots. In a very short time de La Tour had found high favour at the English court, and had married one of the noble ladies of Queen Henrietta Maria’s retinue. This paved the way for the trouble that followed.

The English at this time were very anxious to get a strong foothold in Acadie, and it occurred to Charles the First that now, with de La Tour married to an English lady, it might be possible to win the French noble to the English cause.

It was suggested to de La Tour that he pass over Fort Louis to the English. Claude agreed at once, making only the condition that he and his son remain in charge of the fort, and that they both receive titles from England. This was agreed to, and very soon, in 1630, two ships of war, one of which bore Claude de La Tour and his lady, sailed from England for Fort St. Lois.

They arrived safely in Acadie, and dropped anchor in the harbour in front of Fort St. Louis. As Claude and a party came ashore from the ships he saw that Charles, thoroughly suspicious of any ship flying the English flag, had brought from the fort a group of soldiers, and was waiting for him. Claude landed and after an affectionate greeting between father and son, Charles demanded to know what his father was doing in English ships.

Taking his son to one side, Claude explained the situation, and told briefly all that had happened since he had left Fort St. Louis two years before.

“I have here commissions from King Charles the First of England for both of us,” he concluded. “We are both to made members of the Order of the Garter, and we will stay on at the fort just as we have in the past, except we will fly the English flag instead of the Fleur de Lys.”

Charles looked at his father scornfully.

“Is this the man who was the husband of my mother,” he demanded. “What would she say to such traitorous conduct?”

Claude, who had fully expected Charles to fall in with him at once was just a little concerted by this reply.

“You do not understand,” he said to Charles. “I am older than you and wiser. Here are two ships of war flying the English flag, that crossed the ocean without being once challenged. I left France with a large fleet, flying the French flag; it was immediately attacked and shattered.”

“They were cowards,” growled Charles.

“They were not cowards,” returned Claude.” They were defeated by a superior force…and so it is going to be until the end. I tell you, Charles, the King cannot hold this country against the English.

“And you want to be with the winners!” exclaimed Charles, scornfully.

“I want to be with the winners,” replied Claude, calmly. “I am no longer young, I have a wife to whom I have obligations, I wish to be secure for the rest of my days.”

“I will have nothing to do with it!” cried Charles. “Go tell your English king so!”

Claude searched his son’s face, and saw determination written there. Not until that moment did he realize the position in which he had put himself. He had assured Charles the First and the English court that his son would change his allegiance as readily as Claude himself had, and the English, acting upon Claude’s assurances, had sent out in the two ships only a small garrison to add to the men already at Fort St. Louis. It was not a force large enough to do very much attacking a fort. Claude turned swiftly to Charles.

“What shall I tell the commander of the ships?” he asked.

“I do not care what you tell them,” retorted Charles. “Send them here and I will give them my answer.”

That seemed to be the best thing to do, so Claude sent for the English commanders. Charles bowed courteously before them.

“I thank the King of England, your master, for the favous which he has been pleased to offer me, and I am under great obligation to him for the good will which he shows to me; but I have a master fully able to appreciate and reward my loyalty to him. I cannot consider surrendering the fort, or accepting any commission or rewards other than those to which my master is pleased to give me.” He said.

The commanders looked at one another in dismay. This was not at all what they had expected. They argued their arguments and pleas to Claude, but to no purpose. At last Claude decided that it was no use trying to do anything until the next day, at least.

“This would be well thought over until the morrow,” he said to Charles. “I will send for my lady and your new mother and I will spend the night with you in Fort St. Louis.”

Charles eyes blazed.

“She is not my mother,” he flashed. “If my mother were alive, she would die of grief to hear her husband speak the words of treachery that you have spoken to me!”

“You have not met her, Charles,” said Claude

“I do not intend to meet her,” cried Charles. “You shall not enter Fort St. Louis…neither you or your wife.”

With those words he turned away and left his father

There was nothing for Claude to do but return to the ships, which is what he did. Through the night, he held a council with the commanders, during which they treated him with scant respect for having misled them so badly regarding Charles’ stand.

The following morning, Claude did not again land, but he sent a letter to Charles, in which he summarized all the arguments which he had, to make Charles surrender. He ended by saying that if Charles would not willingly yield, they were determined to make him yield by force, and he cautioned Charles not to bring upon himself the anger of the King of England. This letter was taken to Charles by an officer of one of the ships.

Charles did not even deign to send written reply. Instead, he sent a verbal replay by the same messenger who had brought the letter. It was terse, and very much to the point.

“My father and commanders of the ships may do as they think best,” he said. “For my part, my garrison and I are quite ready to receive them at any time.”

The following day the ships landed a force before Fort St, Louis, and a battle which lasted all day and all night began. Attempt after attempt was made by the English to force an entrance into the fort, but every attempt was turned back by the garrison. Then they tried to set the wooden fort on fire, but so withering a fusillade was maintained by those in the fort that the English could not come near enough to accomplish their design.

Losses to the English were quite heavy during this attempt at forcing the fort, while the garrison, behind the heavy wooden stockade, suffered very lightly.

The next day, in an effort to frighten Charles into surrendering the commanders brought on shore every man in the ships, soldiers and sailors alike. During the latter part of the night, they made entrenches near the corners of the fort. They placed their men in these trenches, and poured a heavy fire upon the fort.

But Charles was not a man who was easily frightened. With some of the spirit that his mother had shown years before, he met the increased attempts to captured the fort with redoubled efforts to hold it, and once more the English losses were heavy.

Towards the close of that day, the commanders of the ships held a council, at which Claude was present. They told him very plainly that they had not enough men to carry on a siege with so determined resistance against them and they reproached him again with having deceived them. The only course left to them, they said, was to return to England and leave Charles in possession of the fort.

At this Charles was thunderstruck. He did not dare to return to England, for he was almost certain of punishment for his outwitting deceit if he did. To go back to France would even be worse; in that country he would assuredly hang as a traitor. To stay in America was almost as impossible. To ad to the misery of the situation, there was his wife. What should he do with her, now that in fact he was a man without a country? He had never made plain to her the exact circumstances in which he would find himself, should there be any slip in the plans which he had made at the English court.

Now however, he was obliged to go to her, and tell her frankly that he was an outlaw, without refuge anywhere. He suggested to her that the best course she could follow would be to return to England with the ships, and leave him to get along the best way he could. But for a second time Claude de La Tour had been fortunate in his choice of a wife. Lady de La Tour refused point-blank to leave her husband, and suggested that he try to make some sort of terms with Charles. This suggestion was immediately supported by the commanders of the ships, who offered to send to Charles any message that Claude might have.

With the help of Lady de La Tour, Claude wrote Charles a second letter, telling his circumstances, and asking Charles for his protection. A reply, this time written, was brought back by the messenger saying that while Charles would never again permit Claude to enter Fort St. Louis, he would be welcome to land, and would be cared for as long as he wished to stay.

Claude and his lady were taken to the wood flanked shores, and the two English ships sailed away. At once Charles set his men to work building a log cabin for his father and the Lady de La Tour, just outside the borders of the fort. The cabin was soon built and supplies from the fort were taken to it.

From that day on, Claude and the Lady de La Tour lived in their log hut beside Fort St. Louis. When the supplies were exhausted, they were replenished from the fort; but never did either of them set foot within the fort; that they wished to betray the English.

And that, ladies and gentleman is the end of the story of the two de La Tours. Claude the father, and Charles the son, of whom plenty more was heard, and who later established himself in Saint John where his name is honoured today.

Eastern Passage, Nova Scotia, is a small community at the mouth of Halifax Harbour and is named for the waterway between the mainland on one side and the islands, Lawlor’s and McNab’s, on the other. The first official mention of the area was on a nautical chart prepared by James Cook in 1759. It refers to the South East Passage, the ocean end of the overall Passage, as passable for small watercraft. The name Eastern Passage is mentioned on an Admiralty Chart in 1853.

Eastern Passage has been, at one time or another, home to Mi’kmaq, French, British and German settlers. Native settlement was usually in the summer months when the Mi’kmaq could take advantage of the saltwater and freshwater resources accessible from the area. They continued summer settlement until the late 1800s.

War between France and England had a terrible effect on relations between the settlers of the Halifax area and the natives, who were often in caught in the middle. The Mi’kmaq were allied with the French, and as the fighting between France and England intensified m 1749, Edward Cornwallis placed a bounty on natives.

At the height of the problems in 1751, after an attack on Dartmouth residents, the Mi’kmaq were deported from Eastern Passage to McNab’s Island, where it was thought their movements would be restricted and easier to monitor. In his “History of Eastern Passage” for the Dartmouth Patriot in 1901, H. W. Hewitt wrote about an incident in which Mi’krnaq killed five English soldiers at the fort on Cogel’s Point.

A truce was called in 1752, at which point disease caused by European contact had weakened the Mi’kmaq population. By that time the English settlement of Halifax had become powerful enough that the Mi’kmaq no longer posed a great danger.

One of the first land grants given in Eastern Passage was to a veteran soldier. Joseph Gorham was granted a large parcel of land in Eastern Passage from Governor Edward Cornwallis in 1752. Gorham was most famous along with his three brothers as members of military group known as the Gorham’s Rangers, a mercenary group largely made up of Britain’s Mohawk allies, that used guerilla tactics. Gorham went on to be appointed Head of the Indian Department and Governor of Newfoundland. He was reportedly a heavy drinker and this eventually led to the loss of all his land, including the Eastern Passage grant.

In 1798 the land formerly owned by Gorham was deeded to one of the more noteworthy early settlers of Eastern Passage, Jacob Horn (his descendants now have an “e” at the end of their surname). Of German descent, Horn had fought alongside Frederick the Great of Prussia. Jacob eventually came to Canada and fought for the British under General Wolfe at Quebec in 1759. After the French defeat, he came to Halifax. According to Hewitt, Horn travelled from Quebec on snowshoes, a popular but gruelling mode of travel during the winter months. Jacob had been granted McNab’s Island, but found it inconvenient to transport produce and cattle to the mainland, so he traded his grant for one in Eastern Passage.

Many land grants were given to individuals whose ancestors still live in Eastern Passage. Names such as Naugle, Romkey, Hartlen and Soward can be traced to these early land grantees. Agriculture was a major source of income for many of the early settlers. Many of the early residents prospered, as they found the quiet life to their liking and the close proximity of the markets of Halifax convenient, especially in the winter when the harbour froze, making the trip easy in a horse and sleigh.

In 1813 the road from the Horne property (Quigley’s Corner) to Hawkin’s Point (Hartlen’s Point) was repaired after a request from Lewis Himmelman, a newly arrived settler of German descent. There were subsequent repairs to roads in Eastern Passage and Cow Bay due to increased population and usage. In 1827 the population of Eastern Passage stood at 157, comprised of 26 families. According to census data, none of the families reported fishing as an occupation.

By 1851 the population had quadrupled.

There were 661 people in Eastern Passage in 90 families. Almost half the families listed fishing as their primary occupation. This suggests that they migrated to Eastern Passage for this. The family names that were common at the time and which are still familiar are Horn(e), Cleary, Negus, DeYoung, Fraser, Osborn(e), Himmelmann, Moser, Edwards, Bowes, McKenzie and York.

The population of Eastern Passage continued to grow. The 1871 census recorded 818 people and 152 families. Fishing was the main occupation of a fifth of the population. Additional names in the census that are familiar today are Henneberry, Conrad and Welshman.

By 1881 the population growth slowed and there were reportedly 892 residents. One-third of the families listed fishing as their primary means of making a living. Most of the names of the settlers from the 1800s can still be found in Eastern Passage.

In the 1800s the residents of Eastern Passage made their living in a number of ways other than fishing. In 1855 a brickworks was opened. It employed up to 40 workers at a time and provided face bricks for Fort Needham in Halifax.

Between 1840 and World War II, gold was mined in Cow Bay. It was said to have been discovered by Al Negus in the 1840s and mined ’til 1890, when rights were sold to an American Company. Gold and other minerals such as graphite and lead were mined in Cow Bay and the Passage until World War II.

Construction has always been an important source of income in Eastern Passage. As early as 1745 the British military built the Eastern Battery to help protect the harbour from attack. It was renamed Fort Clarence. In 1866 and 1880 Fort Clarence was expanded, providing local jobs. It was finally dismantled in 1930.

The turn of the century brought new technology to Eastern Passage, including the first telephone service in 1902. The first automobiles appeared in Nova Scotia in 1909. Into the ’30s and ’40s boats and horse-drawn wagons or sleighs were the main modes of transportation in Eastern Passage (according to one resident there were only three or four cars in the Passage before World War II). In 1912 the railway was extended from Woodside through Eastern Passage to Musquodoboit, allowing further industrial developments.

Imperial Oil opened in 1918 and was a major employer, offering year-round employment with benefits. Many of the employees of Imperial Oil moved to the new village called Imperoyal in what is now known as Woodside.

The early ’40s brought a lot of changes to Eastern Passage both physically and psychologically. The population of Eastern Passage exploded with the influx of thousands of soldiers who were assigned to guard the harbour and train for the war in Europe. The forts, gun bunkers and submarine gates changed the landscape forever. The destructive fire of 1942 also changed the lives of many people in Eastern Passage. Families were left homeless and much of the waterfront was burned to the ground. And finally the famous Crick was dredged in 1946. Before that it has been said that you could jump across the water at low tide. The dredging made it possible for the Crick to become the base for the fishing industry in the area.

The Eastern Passage that the interviewees remember was a small rural community, where many people fished, others ran small businesses and some worked in the home. Earning a living was no easy task as most of the employment was seasonal. Many of the Passage people were employed in one of the nearby oil or sugar refineries and some worked gathering sand and gravel for construction.

While only several kilometres from Halifax, the Eastern Passage that is remembered in these interviews was a small, tightknit village that had the feel of a place far removed from the big city. People seemed to enjoy the rural feel of Eastern Passage as well as the advantages of living near a big city.

Eastern Passage was a community of contradictions. Often it was referred to as a fishing village, but many people worked in construction or the oil industry and some travelled to the city to work. Though Passage people were protective of their rural lifestyle, they could and often did travel to Halifax for business and recreation. Maybe it was the isolation and the shelter provided by Lawlor’s and McNab’s, large islands that lie between Eastern Passage and Halifax, or their love of rural life, but most will tell you that it was the strong sense of community that has made Eastern Passage unique.

Sometime ago I had to out of town in connection with programs to be broadcast ans as I found myself in the Annapolis Valley, I decided I would go and see the De Mont Habitation, near Granville Ferry, which was rebuilt just previous to the outbreak of the war.

When I arrived at Bridgetown I kept straight on, instead of turning to the left, and very shortly after passing through Belle Isle, I came to Granville Ferry and the bridge that heads over to Annapolis.

I then continued straight ahead for about seven miles to my goal, the Habitation, which I propose to tell you about, especially as I found that very few Halifax names on the register. The excellent roads we have on the main highways in Nova Scotia, should be left once in a while if one is to see the many historic and interesting places in our own Province. A visit to the Habitation should be made by every Nova Scotian and particularly school children, as it would make the study of our History, that much more interesting.

We in Halifax are rather prone to look back on 1749 as the dawn of history. We have many things of historic significance within the shadow of the venerable old town clock, or not very far afield, but we have to realize, that is, if we want to be fair, that there are many places on this continent that pre-date our own little sphere.

For instance, we have in this province this site of the first permanent habitation of the white man north of the Gulf of Mexico, but even today, with all the publicity that has been given to this restoration of this habitation at Granville, I am amazed at the number of our own people that have a complete lack of knowledge about the site or the wonderful restoration that has taken place.

I ask you, radio-listener. Today, how many of you have visited the restored habitation?

I’m rather ashamed that I have to estimate that a very small percentage of one percent has ever been there, yet there is a mecca worthy of the attention of every person on this continent.

Do you realize that in 1605-yes, I said, 1605 De Monts and Champlain arrived in Annapolis Basin and named it Port Royal?

The first permanent abode was not at the Annapolis Royal we know today, but some seven miles down the other side of the water, and there in 1605 was built the French fort, or habitation that was first built by white man on the Northern side of the Gulf of Mexico.

Before we go into the restoration of the habitation, let us consult the booklet of the Provincial Government, titled “Historic Nova Scotia” for a few more facts that will better prepare us for a visit to the place itself…It records that “During the first winter six settlers died, and the reason recorded was that they overtaxed themselves through grinding corn by hand. The Indians could not be induced to assist in such labour….”

It was 1606 that Lescarbot arrived from France amongst additional settlers… and we have every reason to give thanks for his arrival. It was largely due to the willingness of this man to set down facts, that we have such a complete picture of early life in this Province of ours. Let’s see what we can find out about Marc Lescarbot, for he is one who has left as strong an imprint on our earlier annals as the more venturesome explorers. Marc Lescarbots was born in Vervins, France., and, as we have said, joined the Port Royal colony in 1606, his Talents as Lawyer, Poet and historian making him the life of the place. He taught the colonists agriculture, the Indians Christianity, followed the chase and studied the nature of the country. In between, he composed and staged a play, Neptune’s Theatre, said to be the first fruit of literature in North America. It is recalled that on his return to France he wrote a monumental history of New France, and it is said that he performed many public services and died full of years and honours in his native land.

But it seems unfair to deal with Lescarbot at such length, and ignore the many others whose names were associated with the early days of this very important colonization venture. Names such as De Monts himself, Champlain, Pontgrave, a member also of the original De Mont’s expedition, that very alluring name of Poutrincourt, Champdore, a member of Champlain’s order of Good Cheer, Louis Hebert, the apothecary of De Monts expedition…yes, and others who braved the rigors of ocean passage, which we can hardly realize today, and the increasing dangers after landing on a new shore.

But that is all history, and for the majority of you, I imagine the details are stored in the back of the mind from the days when you sat in either city or town school, or in the little re school house,[ or shall we say the whitewashed one] and heard it retold by your teacher.

The main thing to be impressed on you at the present time is that what is now known as Granville, on the western side of the Annapolis Basin, there is to be found one of the most unusual structures to be encountered anywhere on this continent.

It is a restoration of the original De Mont’s habitation, so completely true to form that it is breath taking. I know that 90 percent of my listeners will drive up to it in shiny modern cars and park in the lot that is provided, that will eventually constitute a memorial park. But if you want a word of advice, which I am afraid you will not heed, you will leave your car a quarter of a mile, or even less, up the road, and then afoot, slowly approach the habitation.

To drive up at the swish of modern speed is to destroy the illusion. Rather it is more in keeping to approach leisurely on foot. It will be truly breath taking when you get your first view. True, time has to a small degree only succeeded to efface the traces of newness from the masonry, but as to the timbers, already bathed by the fog so often down old Fundy, and the winter’s snow and summer’s heat, the structure might well have been there centuries.

If ever there was a place where there is need for the caution not to dismiss it with a visit of ten or fifteen minutes, and then speed away, it is this one. That is, if you are interested in gaining the full savour of that which is about you. Probably few can feel they could spare the time, but one of the best times to wander about its walls, even if the gate is locked, is on a foggy evening. You can sit on the grass, with back against the log stockade, and peer out over the Bay, with eyes in the direction of Goat Island. You can hope, alas, in imagination only, to see the boats returning once more from France, to receive an accounting from that true guardian left for several years, the Indian Chief Membertou, one who was allowed to sit with the white men at the festival times within, as the Order of Good Cheer held its convivial gatherings.. Stay there until darkness falls, smoke a bit if you will, but be careful that no sparks endanger this glorious shrine of history. Then come back early, say, a bit after 8 a.m., and give each part of the structure your undivided attention, before the daily flow of tourists arrives.

What will you see?-a palisaded fort, which has its own blacksmith’s shop and armouries place, its bake shop, its living quarters, its chapels, its trading post for exchanging baubles with the Indians for furs they have trapped, its storehouses, its wine cellars [but no wine there now, unfortunately], and even the original well, in the centre of the yard, which has been excavated again. You will see the timbers hown out of logs, by skilled Annapolis Valley men, who still survive today, and held together with pins, not spikes. You will find hand-wrought nails, just as those made by the early arrivals from France. You will find iron work, the product of nearby forges of this age, notably that of Arthur Eaton, Granville Ferry. And made to look as if they have been allowed to come down to us through the centuries.

More important you will be able to sit in the hall which, as far as possible, is an exact duplicate of that in which the happy hours were spent by the Order of Good Cheer. Oh, those early days1 You will see the hospitals, on a second floor, where the sick and wounded were placed in wooden cubicles, close to the chimneys, for warmth, and with sliding doors, with grilled windows, where to be placed would seemingly mean certain death from lack of air, if not from wounds inflicted by the enemy. The habitation is only sketchily furnished, that in the hall of Good Cheer by interested friends in the States, France was to have supplied much of the fittings, but the war intervened.

The construction itself, a Federal undertaking, was a painstaking effort. The ground was sifted for quite a depth, and there the excavations revealed the places where fireplaces existed, where the wine cellar was dug. All of this tallied with the original drawing of the habitation, and measurements left in the documents. Under the skilled guidance of Architect Harris of Ottawa, all of this was carefully followed. A kiln was erected on the site during the restoration, and thousands of bricks baked from native clay, as it was done at the start of the 17th century, to give complete authenticity. The glass in the windows was specially made to be in keeping of those times. Many are covered with parchment alone, to let in the light, and in this new structure, this, in two years, has been so effective, that only one has been replaced.

Much of your pleasure of a visit to the habitation will be from your association with Albert Parker, caretaker, who loves the whole place. He lives just across the road, and has done so for many years, and is a native of the section. He went to sea early, but returned to these parts. He heard the tales of the habitation that once stood there from his boyhood days. When the restoration took place he was one of the principals selected to aid. He selected many of the timbers and stones that went into its building, traveling miles through the woods to get just the right articles. No better choice could have been made than this quiet mannered, but this enthusiastic man. He will unquestionably play a major role to making the habitation better known in all parts of this continent.

Already thousands have visited the habitation. Their remarks, listed in the register kept there will show in convincing manner their true appreciation of what the habitation means: That it was a venture truly worthwhile. In the register remarks column, I wrote, “I will tell my friends of the Old Town Clock about this”.

But in 15 minutes it is impossible to give a comprehensive picture of the wonders to be found there. May I suggest that when the opportunity exists, you visit this almost hallowed ground at Granville, Nova Scotia . All Service men from Upper Canada or elsewhere should go and see where history began in Canada. They will find it particularly interesting, and can imagine how the soldiers and sailors of those days carried on, without the modern departmental corps to rush up their every need by motor truck. I think they’ll agree it was tough soldiering in those days.-No radio to broadcast messages home every week, or to tell how their comrades were making out, on the other side of the world.

Be you, Soldier, Sailor, Airman, or Civilian you’ll find plenty of interest at the habitation of Granville, where history began in North America.

As we meet together under the Old Town Clock and look out over the habour, we might see an old sailing ship putting out to sea. Whenever this happens, my thoughts immediately go back to the days when all was sail and of the strange happenings which took place along our Coast, and so I have a story about sailing ships, a woman, and hardships and danger. The date of this story goes back to the middle of the sixteenth century, and our heroine is a French girl of noble birth who endured unbelievable hardships in order to be with the man she loved. Get out that map of North America and search out a small island, called the Isle aux Demons.

The First French governor of Canada, during the days of the intrepid Cartier, was Sieur de Roberval, appointed to King Francis the First as “Lord of Norembega, Viceroy, and Lieutenant General in Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, Newfoundland, Belle Isle, Carpunt, Labrador, the Great bay, and Baccalaos.” With these high-sounding titles went the more practical awards of a grant of money with which to buy and equip five ships, and authority to settle the new land with convicts pardoned from French prisons.

Now at Roberval’s castle in Picardy lived his beautiful young niece Marguerite, a favourite with everyone at the court on account of her courage and daring, and her ever-gay spirits. But if she was a favourite with everyone, there was at least one at the court, a young man whose name has not come down to us., for whom she was the center of the universe. He was not of noble birth, however, and had no fortune; therefore, even though Marguerite shared his passion, there was little or no possibility of a marriage.

Hope dies very hard in young breasts, however, and when it was known that Roberval was sailing for the New World, and taking with him Marguerite, the young man volunteered to join the Viceroy’s party. In the hope that in Canada some lucky circumstance might enable them to disclose their secret love.

Their secret was disclosed, however, long before they wanted Roberval to know about it. Somehow, during the crossing of the Atlantic the Viceroy discovered the affair, and was exceedingly angry. It would seem from the meager records that he was not so angry with Marguerite for her attachment to one of low birth as he was for keeping the affair a secret. However that may be, he was so angry with his niece that he devised for her as terrible a punishment as one could imagine.

Some miles off the coast, there is a lonely, rocky island, rising sheer from the water, around which the winds moan with a sound that is scarcely earthly. Superstitious sailors believed it to be haunted, and called it Isle aux Demons, or Island of Devils, and gave it a very wide berth. Roberval decided to leave Marguerite on this barren island as punishment.

The little fleet put off its course to Isle aux Demons, and Roberval put Marguerite and her old nurse, who accompanied her on the voyage, into a boat and ordered them taken ashore. He allowed the unfortunate women a small supply of provisions, and gave them for guns and some ammunition to defend themselves against wild beasts, and to shoot game for food. Slowly the boat went ashore while the sailors crossed themselves as protection against the demons which, they were sure, were waiting to seize and devour them. As the boat’s keel grated against the rocky beach, Marguerite’s nurse begged and entreated not to be left on the island; but in vain, for the men was condemned criminals, whose only hope of freedom lay in complete obedience to the orders of Sieur de Roberval. As for marguerite, she sat calmly in the boat, too proud to ask for mercy, until one of the seamen offered to help her ashore. Then, refusing his offer, she placed one foot on the gunwale of the boat, and leaped to the barren shore of Isle aux Demons.

In the meantime, Marguerite’s lover was standing by the rail of the ship, hardly believing that Roberval would really carry out so atrocious a plan. When he saw the boat returning, however, and glimpsed the figures of Marguerite and her nurse on the beach, and heard orders given to prepare to sail, he knew that the punishment was indeed going to be carried out. He turned from the rail, rushed to his quarters, seized his two guns and some ammunition, and, returning to the deck, leaped into the water. Weighted down as he was, he managed to swim to shore, and three figures stood unhappily on the cliffs of Isle aux Demons and watched the white sails of Roberval’s fleet grow smaller and smaller, and at last fade into the distance.

When the last sail had disappeared below the horizon, the three marooned people took stock of their situation. Fortunately it was during the summer that they were marooned, for their chance of surviving without preparation for the North Atlantic winter would have been very small indeed. They looked over their slender stock of supplies, decided how long the food would last, and went to work at once preparing temporary shelters until such time as they could build something more permanent.

That evening, Marguerite and her lover knelt on the rocky heights of Isle aux Demons, and with joined hands, prayed to god to consecrate their marriage.

During the weeks that passed, while they worked hard at building shelters against the coming winter, and stocked a larder with wild fowl and with game, both of which were, fortunately, abundant on the island, Marguerite’s good spirits were almost invaluable. She laughed, sang old songs of Picardy, reminded her lover that at last they had their wish to be together, and was far, far jollier than I am afraid most of us would be under the circumstances.

But on stormy nights, when fall set in, and the wind howled and shrieked around the little island, and waves pounded with deep throbs against the rocks, it was hard to keep cheerful. The old superstitions rose in their minds, and Marguerite, when the wind gave a more than usually demon like howl, crossed herself and breathed a short prayer foe safety against the powers of the lower world that held this land in their sway.

With the coming of the next summer, a baby was born to Marguerite-the first European baby to be born in North America to a family living on this continent. This event opened for Marguerite new interests, and new motives for living. But her husband, in spite of Marguerite’s efforts to be gay, began to lose his spirits. The thought of Marguerite deprived on his account of all the things to which she ha been accustomed, the thought of this unfortunate infant, probably destined never to see a human face other than those of its father and mother and the nurse, weighed heavily upon him, and he began to fail rapidly. So weak did he become that with the first chill weather he fell victim to what was probably pneumonia, and died.

Doggedly refusing to give up, Marguerite buried his body, and took upon herself the task of providing food for the three remaining persons. In a few weeks ,however, death struck again, this time taking Marguerite’s baby. Even this terrible blow did not dishearten her. She carried on, with indomitable spirit, while her sole remaining companion, the old nurse gave up entirely, and fell an easy prey to disease. Marguerite was alone.

Even yet, this amazing girl-for she was scarcely more than that- refused to abandon hope. Sometimes, on the far horizon, during sunny days, she would catch a glimpse of a white sail, whose mariners were keeping far from the fearsome, haunted Isle aux Demons. “One day,” she thought, “a ship will come close enough for me to signal it, and I shall be rescued.”

Against wild animals-two beautiful pelts of white bears were among her trophies-against her own superstitions, against the paralyzing cold, against starvation, and-even worse-against insanity from the horrible conditions and her almost hopeless situation, Marguerite waged her lone battle. Three mounds of earth stood just outside her shelter to remind her of what she might expect, and the sails that she saw were far, far away on the horizon, just near enough for her to see them, but to far away for them to see her. Even if they had seen her from a distance, it is doubtful they would have come to the island, for seamen feared the Isle aux Demons as they would have the mouth of the bottomless pit.

Nevertheless, Marguerite watched all day for the sail which might come. She made herself a seat on a rocky pinnacle of the island, and on every clear day, winter and summer, she sat there watching the horizon-watching-watching.

Two winters and two summers passed, with Marguerite still alone on the Isle aux Demons-alone, save for her memories, three mounds and the hope that could not be quenched in her breast, kept ever burning, like a beacon fire that she maintained at her point of vantage from which she watched the horizon.

Then, just as the third winter was about to wrap its icy blanket about Isle aux Demons, Marguerite sighted a sail-much nearer than any that had ever before come into sight.

She rushed to her fire, and heaped green wood on it. Soon a pillar of grey smoke was rising skyward, a beacon that the men on the ship could scarcely miss. Hardly daring to look, Marguerite turned her back on the approaching sail and counted slowly to a hundred. Then she turned again to see if the vessel was coming closer. It was! It was now close enough for her to distinguish the figures on the deck, close enough for her to see that it was a fishing vessel that had wandered from its usual course. Warily the vessel approached the island. Quite evidently the superstitious seamen feared that the smoke was simply a trick of the devils to lure them to their destruction; but their curiosity was overcoming their fear.

Marguerite raced to the beach, and signaled frantically to the vessel. Amazed, but still cautious, the ship came closer, closer, and at last put a boat that came near enough for marguerite to tell the men who she was, and what she was doing on this lonely and much feared island.

The boat came to shore, and took Marguerite off her horrid island prison. The crew of the ship did all they could for her comfort, and carried her with them back to France to civilization. Marguerite de Roberval’s lonely exile was over.

After knowing this story, one cannot help but feel just a little glad that the cruel Sieur de Roberval did not prosper as Gove nor and Viceroy of New France. His convict colony, held together only by force, soon broke up when a famine struck it, and his days came to an inglorious end when he was killed in a tavern brawl in Paris some years later.

Of the later days of Marguerite, little is known. Of this, however, we may be sure; that wherever she was, and however how much of a favourite she was, her heart was buried with two mounds, one large, one small, on the lonely Isle aux Demons.