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. Café near the Palais Royal
The governor frowned.
“Who and what are you?” he demanded, “and what is the reason of your coming to this place?” As the governor said this, he stared hard at the man.
Me. Adams translated the question into French. Mr. Shirreff, stood at the foot of the table with standish, sand-box, quills, and various documents spread out before him, entered the governor’s words in the very vellum-bound minute book to be seen still in the Province House in Halifax. This was the procedure throughout the examination.
There was a pause. Before answering, the prisoner considered with himself. Then, throwing back his head, he spoke with great deliberation.
“My name is Paul Francois Dupont de Veillein, as it appears in the paper before M. le Secretaire. I come of a family of good report in France”-he smiled faintly and spread out his hands in a graceful gesture-”well known in the ancient city of Blois. I was educated at Saint Omer, for my parents designed me for the Church, but when I arrived at the age of seventeen, I exchanged the soutane for the King’s uniform, and entered the Regiment Salis-Samade as gentleman cadet. In a few months, my family became reconciled and procured me a commission. I served for three years in Flanders, on the eastern frontier, and in Italy, not, I may say, without distinction. During the month of September, 1722, I was on furlough in Paris, devoting myself to the pleasures of the capitol.”
He smiled again and then sighed.
“On the first day of October towards dusk, I was sitting in a café near the Palais Royal; I received a billet from, as I thought, a lady of my acquaintance, making an immediate appointment at our usual rendezvous. When I reached her door, I noticed a hackney-couch before it, waiting in the street. As I turned to knock, I felt my arms clutched from behind by two pairs of hands, and, in spite of my resistance, I was dragged into the couch by two men who appeared to be lackeys of some great house. I still strove to tear myself loose while the carriage was rattling over the cobblestones, as fast as the horses could go, but I could not draw my sword. That night I dined in the Bastille.”
“The Bastille!” echoed the governor, and his face grew harsh, “You are a criminal then. What was your offence?”
Veillein’s black brows gathered.
“I do not know. I was never told. Your Excellency understands what is a letter de cachet? You become obnoxious to some great person who has the ear of the King’s minister, or the King’s mistress. Perhaps some lady finds your society more agreeable of that of a more powerful admirer. Perhaps you have made an epigram or have scribbled some verses about a person of influence which are taken amiss. Perhaps in your cups, you have mentioned names too freely. Pouf! A little piece of parchment with the sign-manual, and La Bastille closes her jaws upon you. Men grow grey there, men die, and never a hint of accusation or accuser. But I am resolved”-he raised his voice-”to know the reason for my arrest. I will sue for justice at the foot of the throne.”
“How long were you confined at the Bastille?”
“From October, 1722, to August, 1724, two years all but two months. Two years out of my life! When I was twenty! Picture to yourself, M. le Gouverneur! Two years of an innocent man’s life spent in prison! True, the imprisonment was not equally rigorous for all. Some of us were allowed to exercise ourselves in the square. It was there, at tennis that I met my friend, M. Alexandre Poupart de Babour, whom I found again at Quebec and who has accompanied me on this adventure.”
“How were you released?”
“One night I was awakened from my sleep by M. Bellamis, commissaire ordonnateur, who showed me an order for my instant removal. As soon as I could dress, I was again placed in a couch, with two soldiers for guard, and driven to the western gate of Paris. There I was met by two mounted men with a led horse. Under this escort I traveled day and night until we reached Havre. I was at once taken on board the Notre Dame de Rouen, supply ship, in the stream, and ready to sail for New France. Although we had to wait three days for a favourable wind, I was so closely watched that I had no opportunity of communicating with the shore, or of making my escape. After a voyage of five weeks, we reached the River of Canada-a truly magnificent river-and in four days more we anchored at Quebec. That is one of the strongest places in the world. In all my experience as a soldier, I never saw a town of such natural strength. Posted on a cliff, up which a goat could hardly find its way, with an impassible river on its left flank, it has a complete enceinte and a cavalier mounted on the highest point-Quebec can never be taken. But pardon me!” he bowed to the governor and the Council, “I forgot I am talking to English officers.”
“How long did you remain in Quebec, M. de Veillein?”
“About a twelvemonth! I was entertained like a gentleman for that time by the governor himself, M. de Vaudreuil. Why, I do not know. That also is to be explained, but I suppose it was upon private advice from someone who had known me in Old France. I have no certainty.”
At this point, the governor, Mr. Adams, and Mr. Skene put their heads together and whispered. The prisoner warmed his hands at the fire.
“This is very strange, M. de Veillein, or whatever your name is,” said the governor in a grating voice. “You were well entertained, you say, by the governor himself, and yet you left the place without his passport. You stole away like a vagabond, like a thief in the night.”
The prisoner bit his lip.
“M. de Vaudreuil is a very old man, near eighty, I should say, and hard to deal with. I tried more than once to obtain a passport, but he always refused it. At the same time he would say: “You may go if you choose, M. de Veillein, whenever you please. I will not stop you;” and his wrinkles would pucker into a smile. I then had recourse to the bishop, M. de Saint Vallier. He could not give me a passport, but you have seen his assurance that I and my two friends were good Catholics and have been regular in our duties.”