Nova Scotia stretches 500 kilometres on a southwest-northeast axis from Cape Sable to Cape North, the shape of the province is often compared to that native delicacy, the lobster, with Cape Breton Island representing the outstretched claws, preparing to nip unsuspecting Newfoundland across the Cabot Strait.
The coastline of the uplands region is deeply indented, forming many good harbours, some of which are considered outstanding. Hundreds of islands dot the landscape along the entire Atlantic coast, most notably at St. Margarets Bay and Mahone Bay. Reefs and shoals abound, accounting for the many lighthouses erected along this coast. In many ways the Atlantic uplands coast epitomizes the North Atlantic coastline with its bare granite sheets plunging headlong into the raging surf to produce an awesome cataclysm between land and sea. When people think of Nova Scotia, they usually envisage the rocky granite shores of the uplands. Annals of Nova Scotia knew them no more
“Picture to yourself, M. le Gouverneur, our plight: without a guide in the heart of the wild, not daring to retrace our steps to Quebec, knowing nothing of what lay before us, our food and ammunition low. Besides, we feared the vengeance of the tribe, for the two men that we had slain. M. de Pardeithan had told us how Indians treated captives. He had witnessed scenes the account of which made our blood run cold.”
“But did you meet with no Indians on your journey down the river?” asked the governor.
“No. God is good. Not till we reached Saint John.”
“Did you not see Indians at Meductec?”
“No, your Excellency, and for this reason: Aeneas had spoken so often of this great village of his people that we were very wary. Late one afternoon we saw smoke in the sky far downstream. So we landed, laid the canoe up in the bushes and waited till night. When it was quite dark we set out again, keeping very close to the eastern bank, and so passed undetected in the darkness.”
“But you met with Indians in Saint John, you say. Did they not recognize the canoe and question you about the owner?”
“Your Excellency will remember that it was a new canoe, made for the journey and only finished just before we left Quebec. None but ourselves had seen it.”
“When did you reach Saint John?”
“About three weeks ago. We are unskillful with the paddle and unversed in the craft of the hunter and the woodman. Our progress was slow. We went in continual dread of the Indians. M. de Pardeithan, having great experience in America, was our mainstay. He shot the game and caught the fish and cooked the meals. At last we reached Saint John.
“Here we found Pere Gaulin of the Mission Entrangeres. To him we made our confession and received absolution. At the first opportunity we heard mass. He assisted us in every way and instructed us how to reach the French settlements further on, for we dared not remain in Saint John. A party of Indians was going to Beaubassin; he recommended us to their care. So they piloted us to the river of Beaubassin, where there is a prodigious tide. Here we dared not stay for fear of the tribe of Aeneas would discover his death and hunt us down. We learned that there was another French settlement, called Mines, about twenty-five leagues farther on, which could be reached by water. After the rest of two days, we set out again along the coast. We were much buffeted by the strong tide and currents which run like a mill-race. We reached a great meadow overlooked by a mighty cape. Here were many houses and orchards and cultivated fields, from which the harvest had been gathered. The watercourses were diked against the sea. So fair a prospect I had not looked on since I quitted France.
“Here at last, I thought, we had found a safe haven, but our hopes were dashed. No sooner had we disclosed the dreadful story to the elders of the village, then they manifested the greatest terror and ordered us to depart immediately. They would not suffer us to remain there another night. They assured us the Indians would track us down and destroy us with all the torments of hell. To afford us food or shelter might bring the savages to cut their throats. The only place of safety was with you, M. le Gouverneur, under your protection, here in your strong fort. So the elders assured us, but they would not harbour us another hour if they could help it. Nor would any village dare to act as our guide. So once more, we set forth along an unknown coast in this cold and snow. All our previous sufferings were nothing to what we have endured these last five days. We could make no headway against the adverse tides, but were forced to land and await the ebb. We slept on the bare ground under the canoe. Our last morsel of bread we shared yesterday at noon. We are men in the last extremity. Another twenty-four hours and we must have died of cold and hunger.
“We throw ourselves upon your Excellency’s mercy. If you turn us away, we must perish miserably from cold and hunger, or fall victim of the cruelty of the savages.”
There was a pause. The governor asked to see the minutes the secretary had taken down; and the big book was passed up to him. While he consulted the entries, there was silence in the room, except for the crackling of the fire. The prisoner never took his eyes off the governor’s face. The book was handed back to the secretary.
“Answer me one more question,” said the governor. “Are not you and your two friends deserters from the troops at Quebec?”
“On the faith of a Christian, your Excellency”-the prisoner laid his hand on his heart-”we are not. I scorn to deny that I myself hold the King’s commission in the Regiment Salis-Samade. I have already informed your Excellency I have served in Old France. But my friends were never in the army. I have greater acquaintance with M. de Babour than with M. de Pardeithan, for we were both prisoners in the Bastille together, and little better than prisoners again in Quebec. M. de Pardeithan I have known only some four months, since he came to Canada from the Mississippi. I-we-the-heat-”
The tall Frenchman swayed where he stood, and would have fallen forward with his face against the table, if Sergeant Danielson and one of the soldiers had not caught him in time and laid him on the floor. He was in a dead faint. The Council started from their seats. Mr. Skene ran to the Frenchman’s side and put a hand over his heart.
“Brandy!” he cried, “At once!”
Mr. Doucett opened a locker and produced a glass and a square bottle. The surgeon forced some of the liquid through the clenched teeth of the prostrate man.
“Far gone,” Mr. Skene muttered, as he felt in his pocket for his lancet; “ill nourished-vital forces weak.’ He opened a vein in the Frenchman’s arm and administered more brandy. Presently the prisoner revived suffiently to open his eyes, but he could not sit up, though he tried hard to do so. The soldiers propped him on his feet and half carried him back to the guardroom. At Mr. Skene’s suggestion, the governor ordered food for him.
The investigation was not abandoned on account of this occurrence. The guard brought next M. de Pardeithan before the Council. He proved to be a thick-set, sad-eyed Breton. His thin delicate hands were calloused and chilblained, but on one grimy finger was a seal ring with his arms engraved upon it. This he showed to governor in proof of his gentle blood. His evidence confirmed the story of M. de Veillein in every particular. Of himself, he said that he had been transported to New Spain, for his share in a fatal duel in which he had seconded a friend. From New Spain, he had escaped to the French plantations at the mouth of the Mississippi, where he had obtained employment as secretary. After remaining in this post for three years, he had made his way up the great river to its affluent, the Ohio, and so by the lakes and the river of Canada to Quebec. He had traversed the continent from south to north. All he knew of the other prisoners was the account they gave of themselves, and that they were respected in Quebec as gentlemen.
The third prisoner M. Alexandre Poupart de Babour, a famished, blond Cupidon of twenty, in dirty rags, agreed in every respect with the other two. He did not know the real cause of his confinement in the Bastille, nor of his transportation to Canada, but he believed that it had been so ordered by some of his family, on account of amours, for he had been a very wild youth.
The prayer of the three adventurers was not refused. They were detained within the walls of Saint Anne for six months as prisoners on parole. The officers supplied them with clothing and welcomed them to their table. During the dull winter days and long winter evenings, the strangers learned to speak English. In a hundred agreeable ways they helped to pass the time, at cards or chess, or with stories, over the wine, of Old France.-campaigns, travels, duels, love affairs-of the wild countries of New Spain and Louisiana. The place had known no such winter since the Sieur de Champlain instituted the Order of Good Cheer in 1606, as related in the pages of Master Marc Lescarbot.
In the spring, Mr. William Winniett, trading up the bay made inquires at Mines, learned that the Frenchmen’s tale was true, and wrote to the Hon. John Doucett to tell him so. He and the Council then agreed that their guests were not spies, but gentlemen that had met with misfortune and ill usage. They further agreed that to detain them at Annapolis Royal until the Indians began to gather there would be more cruelty. So by the very earliest opportunity, they were shipped off to Boston, and the annals of Nova Scotia knew them no more.
What happened after their arrival in Boston-whether they ever saw France again and obtained that justice from Louis le Bien-aime which de Veillein was determined to sue for-remains a mystery.