1633, 1634.
LE JEUNE AND THE HUNTERS.
Le Jeune joins the Indians • The First Encampment • The Apostate •
Forest Life in Winter • The Indian Hut • The Sorcerer • His Persecution
of the Priest • Evil Company • Magic • Incantations • Christmas •
Starvation • Hopes of Conversion • Backsliding • Peril and Escape of Le
Jeune • His Return
On a morning in the latter part of October, Le Jeune embarked with the
Indians, twenty in all, men, women, and children. No other Frenchman was
of the party. Champlain bade him an anxious farewell, and commended him
to the care of his red associates, who had taken charge of his store of
biscuit, flour, corn, prunes, and turnips, to which, in an evil hour,
his friends had persuaded him to add a small keg of wine. The canoes
glided along the wooded shore of the Island of Orleans, and the party
landed, towards evening, on the small island immediately below. Le Jeune
was delighted with the spot, and the wild beauties of the autumnal
sunset.
His reflections, however, were soon interrupted. While the squaws were
setting up their bark lodges, and Mestigoit was shooting wild-fowl for
supper, Pierre returned to the canoes, tapped the keg of wine, and soon
fell into the mud, helplessly drunk. Revived by the immersion, he next
appeared at the camp, foaming at the mouth, threw down the lodges,
overset the kettle, and chased the shrieking squaws into the woods. His
brother Mestigoit rekindled the fire, and slung the kettle anew; when
Pierre, who meanwhile had been raving like a madman along the shore,
reeled in a fury to the spot to repeat his former exploit. Mestigoit
anticipated him, snatched the kettle from the fire, and threw the
scalding contents in his face. "He was never so well washed before in
his life," says Le Jeune; "he lost all the skin of his face and breast.
Would to God his heart had changed also!" [1] He roared in his frenzy
for a hatchet to kill the missionary, who therefore thought it prudent
to spend the night in the neighboring woods. Here he stretched himself
on the earth, while a charitable squaw covered him with a sheet of
birch-bark. "Though my bed," he writes, "had not been made up since the
creation of the world, it was not hard enough to prevent me from
sleeping."
[1] "Iamais il ne fut si bien laué, il changea de peau en la face et en
tout l'estomach: pleust à Dieu que son ame eust changé aussi bien que
son corps!"--Relation, 1634, 59.
Such was his initiation into Indian winter life. Passing over numerous
adventures by water and land, we find the party, on the twelfth of
November, leaving their canoes on an island, and wading ashore at low
tide over the flats to the southern bank of the St. Lawrence. As two
other bands had joined them, their number was increased to forty-five
persons. Now, leaving the river behind, they entered those savage
highlands whence issue the springs of the St. John,--a wilderness of
rugged mountain-ranges, clad in dense, continuous forests, with no human
tenant but this troop of miserable rovers, and here and there some
kindred band, as miserable as they. Winter had set in, and already dead
Nature was sheeted in funereal white. Lakes and ponds were frozen,
rivulets sealed up, torrents encased with stalactites of ice; the black
rocks and the black trunks of the pine-trees were beplastered with snow,
and its heavy masses crushed the dull green boughs into the drifts
beneath. The forest was silent as the grave.
Through this desolation the long file of Indians made its way, all on
snow-shoes, each man, woman, and child bending under a heavy load, or
dragging a sledge, narrow, but of prodigious length. They carried their
whole wealth with them, on their backs or on their sledges,--kettles,
axes, bales of meat, if such they had, and huge rolls of birch-bark for
covering their wigwams. The Jesuit was loaded like the rest. The dogs
alone floundered through the drifts unburdened. There was neither path
nor level ground. Descending, climbing, stooping beneath half-fallen
trees, clambering over piles of prostrate trunks, struggling through
matted cedar-swamps, threading chill ravines, and crossing streams no
longer visible, they toiled on till the day began to decline, then
stopped to encamp. [2] Burdens were thrown down, and sledges unladen.
The squaws, with knives and hatchets, cut long poles of birch and spruce
saplings; while the men, with snow-shoes for shovels, cleared a round or
square space in the snow, which formed an upright wall three or four
feet high, inclosing the area of the wigwam. On one side, a passage was
cut for an entrance, and the poles were planted around the top of the
wall of snow, sloping and converging. On these poles were spread the
sheets of birch-bark; a bear-skin was hung in the passage-way for a
door; the bare ground within and the surrounding snow were covered with
spruce boughs; and the work was done.
[2] "S'il arriuoit quelque dégel, ô Dieu quelle peine! Il me sembloit
que ie marchois sur vn chemin de verre qui se cassoit à tous coups soubs
mes pieds: la neige congelée venant à s'amollir, tomboit et s'enfonçoit
par esquarres ou grandes pieces, et nous en auions bien souuent iusques
aux genoux, quelquefois iusqu'à la ceinture Que s'il y auoit de la
peine à tomber, il y en auoit encor plus à se retirer: car nos raquettes
se chargeoient de neiges et se rendoient si pesantes, que quand vous
veniez à les retirer il vous sembloit qu'on vous tiroit les iambes pour
vous démembrer. I'en ay veu qui glissoient tellement soubs des souches
enseuelies soubs la neige, qu'ils ne pouuoient tirer ny iambes ny
raquettes sans secours: or figurez vous maintenant vne personne chargée
comme vn mulet, et iugez si la vie des Sauuages est douce."--Relation,
1634, 67.
This usually occupied about three hours, during which Le Jeune, spent
with travel, and weakened by precarious and unaccustomed fare, had the
choice of shivering in idleness, or taking part in a labor which
fatigued, without warming, his exhausted frame. The sorcerer's wife was
in far worse case. Though in the extremity of a mortal sickness, they
left her lying in the snow till the wigwam was made,--without a word, on
her part, of remonstrance or complaint. Le Jeune, to the great ire of
her husband, sometimes spent the interval in trying to convert her; but
she proved intractable, and soon died unbaptized.
Thus lodged, they remained so long as game could be found within a
circuit of ten or twelve miles, and then, subsistence failing, removed
to another spot. Early in the winter, they hunted the beaver and the
Canada porcupine; and, later, in the season of deep snows, chased the
moose and the caribou.
Put aside the bear-skin, and enter the hut. Here, in a space some
thirteen feet square, were packed nineteen savages, men, women, and
children, with their dogs, crouched, squatted, coiled like hedgehogs, or
lying on their backs, with knees drawn up perpendicularly to keep their
feet out of the fire. Le Jeune, always methodical, arranges the
grievances inseparable from these rough quarters under four chief
heads,--Cold, Heat, Smoke, and Dogs. The bark covering was full of
crevices, through which the icy blasts streamed in upon him from all
sides; and the hole above, at once window and chimney, was so large,
that, as he lay, he could watch the stars as well as in the open air.
While the fire in the midst, fed with fat pine-knots, scorched him on
one side, on the other he had much ado to keep himself from freezing. At
times, however, the crowded hut seemed heated to the temperature of an
oven. But these evils were light, when compared to the intolerable
plague of smoke. During a snow-storm, and often at other times, the
wigwam was filled with fumes so dense, stifling, and acrid, that all its
inmates were forced to lie flat on their faces, breathing through mouths
in contact with the cold earth. Their throats and nostrils felt as if on
fire; their scorched eyes streamed with tears; and when Le Jeune tried
to read, the letters of his breviary seemed printed in blood. The dogs
were not an unmixed evil, for, by sleeping on and around him, they kept
him warm at night; but, as an offset to this good service, they walked,
ran, and jumped over him as he lay, snatched the food from his birchen
dish, or, in a mad rush at some bone or discarded morsel, now and then
overset both dish and missionary.
Sometimes of an evening he would leave the filthy den, to read his
breviary in peace by the light of the moon. In the forest around sounded
the sharp crack of frost-riven trees; and from the horizon to the zenith
shot up the silent meteors of the northern lights, in whose fitful
flashings the awe-struck Indians beheld the dancing of the spirits of
the dead. The cold gnawed him to the bone; and, his devotions over, he
turned back shivering. The illumined hut, from many a chink and crevice,
shot forth into the gloom long streams of light athwart the twisted
boughs. He stooped and entered. All within glowed red and fiery around
the blazing pine-knots, where, like brutes in their kennel, were
gathered the savage crew. He stepped to his place, over recumbent bodies
and leggined and moccasined limbs, and seated himself on the carpet of
spruce boughs. Here a tribulation awaited him, the crowning misery of
his winter-quarters,--worse, as he declares, than cold, heat, and dogs.
Of the three brothers who had invited him to join the party, one, we
have seen, was the hunter, Mestigoit; another, the sorcerer; and the
third, Pierre, whom, by reason of his falling away from the Faith, Le
Jeune always mentions as the Apostate. He was a weak-minded young
Indian, wholly under the influence of his brother, the sorcerer, who, if
not more vicious, was far more resolute and wily. From the antagonism of
their respective professions, the sorcerer hated the priest, who lost no
opportunity of denouncing his incantations, and who ridiculed his
perpetual singing and drumming as puerility and folly. The former, being
an indifferent hunter, and disabled by a disease which he had
contracted, depended for subsistence on his credit as a magician; and,
in undermining it, Le Jeune not only outraged his pride, but threatened
his daily bread. [3] He used every device to retort ridicule on his
rival. At the outset, he had proffered his aid to Le Jeune in his study
of the Algonquin; and, like the Indian practical jokers of Acadia in the
case of Father Biard, [4] palmed off upon him the foulest words in the
language as the equivalent of things spiritual. Thus it happened, that,
while the missionary sought to explain to the assembled wigwam some
point of Christian doctrine, he was interrupted by peals of laughter
from men, children, and squaws. And now, as Le Jeune took his place in
the circle, the sorcerer bent upon him his malignant eyes, and began
that course of rude bantering which filled to overflowing the cup of the
Jesuit's woes. All took their cue from him, and made their afflicted
guest the butt of their inane witticisms. "Look at him! His face is like
a dog's!"--"His head is like a pumpkin!"--"He has a beard like a
rabbit's!" The missionary bore in silence these and countless similar
attacks; indeed, so sorely was he harassed, that, lest he should
exasperate his tormentor, he sometimes passed whole days without
uttering a word. [5]
[3] "Ie ne laissois perdre aucune occasion de le conuaincre de niaiserie
et de puerilité, mettant au iour l'impertinence de ses superstitions: or
c'estoit luy arracher l'ame du corps par violence: car comme il ne
sçauroit plus chasser, il fait plus que iamais du Prophete et du
Magicien pour conseruer son credit, et pour auoir les bons morceaux; si
bien qu'esbranlant son authorité qui se va perdant tous les iours, ie le
touchois à la prunelle de l'œil."--Relation, 1634, 56.
[4] See "Pioneers of France," 268.
[5] Relation, 1634, 207 (Cramoisy). "Ils me chargeoient incessament de
mille brocards & de mille injures; je me suis veu en tel estat, que pour
ne les aigrir, je passois les jours entiers sans ouvrir la bouche." Here
follows the abuse, in the original Indian, with French translations. Le
Jeune's account of his experiences is singularly graphic. The following
is his summary of his annoyances:--
"Or ce miserable homme" (the sorcerer), "& la fumée m'ont esté les deux
plus grands tourmens que i'aye enduré parmy ces Barbares: ny le froid,
ny le chaud, ny l'incommodité des chiens, ny coucher à l'air, ny dormir
sur un lict de terre, ny la posture qu'il faut tousiours tenir dans
leurs cabanes, se ramassans en peloton, ou se couchans, ou s'asseans
sans siege & sans mattelas, ny la faim, ny la soif, ny la pauureté &
saleté de leur boucan, ny la maladie, tout cela ne m'a semblé que ieu à
comparaison de la fumeé & de la malice du Sorcier."--Relation, 1634, 201
(Cramoisy).
Le Jeune, a man of excellent observation, already knew his red
associates well enough to understand that their rudeness did not of
necessity imply ill-will. The rest of the party, in their turn, fared no
better. They rallied and bantered each other incessantly, with as little
forbearance, and as little malice, as a troop of unbridled schoolboys.
[6] No one took offence. To have done so would have been to bring upon
one's self genuine contumely. This motley household was a model of
harmony. True, they showed no tenderness or consideration towards the
sick and disabled; but for the rest, each shared with all in weal or
woe: the famine of one was the famine of the whole, and the smallest
portion of food was distributed in fair and equal partition. Upbraidings
and complaints were unheard; they bore each other's foibles with
wondrous equanimity; and while persecuting Le Jeune with constant
importunity for tobacco, and for everything else he had, they never
begged among themselves.
[6] "Leur vie se passe à manger, à rire, et à railler les vns des
autres, et de tous les peuples qu'ils cognoissent; ils n'ont rien de
serieux, sinon par fois l'exterieur, faisans parmy nous les graues et
les retenus, mais entr'eux sont de vrais badins, de vrais enfans, qui ne
demandent qu'à rire."--Relation, 1634, 30.
When the fire burned well and food was abundant, their conversation,
such as it was, was incessant. They used no oaths, for their language
supplied none,--doubtless because their mythology had no beings
sufficiently distinct to swear by. Their expletives were foul words, of
which they had a superabundance, and which men, women, and children
alike used with a frequency and hardihood that amazed and scandalized
the priest. [7] Nor was he better pleased with their postures, in which
they consulted nothing but their ease. Thus, of an evening when the
wigwam was heated to suffocation, the sorcerer, in the closest possible
approach to nudity, lay on his back, with his right knee planted upright
and his left leg crossed on it, discoursing volubly to the company, who,
on their part, listened in postures scarcely less remote from decency.
[7] "Aussi leur disois-je par fois, que si les pourceaux et les chiens
sçauoient parler, ils tiendroient leur langage.... Les filles et les
ieunes femmes sont à l'exterieur tres honnestement couuertes, mais entre
elles leurs discours sont puants, comme des cloaques."--Relation, 1634,
32.--The social manners of remote tribes of the present time correspond
perfectly with Le Jeune's account of those of the Montagnais.
There was one point touching which Le Jeune and his Jesuit brethren had
as yet been unable to solve their doubts. Were the Indian sorcerers mere
impostors, or were they in actual league with the Devil? That the fiends
who possess this land of darkness make their power felt by action direct
and potential upon the persons of its wretched inhabitants there is,
argues Le Jeune, good reason to conclude; since it is a matter of grave
notoriety, that the fiends who infest Brazil are accustomed cruelly to
beat and otherwise torment the natives of that country, as many
travellers attest. "A Frenchman worthy of credit," pursues the Father,
"has told me that he has heard with his own ears the voice of the Demon
and the sound of the blows which he discharges upon these his miserable
slaves; and in reference to this a very remarkable fact has been
reported to me, namely, that, when a Catholic approaches, the Devil
takes flight and beats these wretches no longer, but that in presence of
a Huguenot he does not stop beating them." [8]
[8] "Surquoy on me rapporte vne chose tres remarquable, c'est que le
Diable s'enfuit, et ne frappe point ou cesse de frapper ces miserables,
quand vn Catholique entre en leur compagnie, et qu'il ne laiss point de
les battre en la presence d'vn Huguenot: d'où vient qu'vn iour se voyans
battus en la compagnie d'vn certain François, ils luy dirent: Nous nous
estonnons que le diable nous batte, toy estant auec nous, veu qu'il
n'oseroit le faire quand tes compagnons sont presents. Luy se douta
incontinent que cela pouuoit prouenir de sa religion (car il estoit
Caluiniste); s'addressant donc à Dieu, il luy promit de se faire
Catholique si le diable cessoit de battre ces pauures peuples en sa
presence. Le vœu fait, iamais plus aucun Demon ne molesta Ameriquain en
sa compagnie, d'où vient qu'il se fit Catholique, selon la promesse
qu'il en auoit faicte. Mais retournons à nostre discours."--Relation,
1634, 22.
Thus prone to believe in the immediate presence of the nether powers, Le
Jeune watched the sorcerer with an eye prepared to discover in his
conjurations the signs of a genuine diabolic agency. His observations,
however, led him to a different result; and he could detect in his rival
nothing but a vile compound of impostor and dupe. The sorcerer believed
in the efficacy of his own magic, and was continually singing and
beating his drum to cure the disease from which he was suffering.
Towards the close of the winter, Le Jeune fell sick, and, in his pain
and weakness, nearly succumbed under the nocturnal uproar of the
sorcerer, who, hour after hour, sang and drummed without
mercy,--sometimes yelling at the top of his throat, then hissing like a
serpent, then striking his drum on the ground as if in a frenzy, then
leaping up, raving about the wigwam, and calling on the women and
children to join him in singing. Now ensued a hideous din; for every
throat was strained to the utmost, and all were beating with sticks or
fists on the bark of the hut to increase the noise, with the charitable
object of aiding the sorcerer to conjure down his malady, or drive away
the evil spirit that caused it.
He had an enemy, a rival sorcerer, whom he charged with having caused by
charms the disease that afflicted him. He therefore announced that he
should kill him. As the rival dwelt at Gaspé, a hundred leagues off, the
present execution of the threat might appear difficult; but distance was
no bar to the vengeance of the sorcerer. Ordering all the children and
all but one of the women to leave the wigwam, he seated himself, with
the woman who remained, on the ground in the centre, while the men of
the party, together with those from other wigwams in the neighborhood,
sat in a ring around. Mestigoit, the sorcerer's brother, then brought in
the charm, consisting of a few small pieces of wood, some arrow-heads, a
broken knife, and an iron hook, which he wrapped in a piece of hide. The
woman next rose, and walked around the hut, behind the company.
Mestigoit and the sorcerer now dug a large hole with two pointed stakes,
the whole assembly singing, drumming, and howling meanwhile with a
deafening uproar. The hole made, the charm, wrapped in the hide, was
thrown into it. Pierre, the Apostate, then brought a sword and a knife
to the sorcerer, who, seizing them, leaped into the hole, and, with
furious gesticulation, hacked and stabbed at the charm, yelling with the
whole force of his lungs. At length he ceased, displayed the knife and
sword stained with blood, proclaimed that he had mortally wounded his
enemy, and demanded if none present had heard his death-cry. The
assembly, more occupied in making noises than in listening for them,
gave no reply, till at length two young men declared that they had heard
a faint scream, as if from a great distance; whereat a shout of
gratulation and triumph rose from all the company. [9]
[9] "Le magicien tout glorieux dit que son homme est frappé, qu'il
mourra bien tost, demande si on n'a point entendu ses cris: tout le
monde dit que non, horsmis deux ieunes hommes ses parens, qui disent
auoir ouy des plaintes fort sourdes, et comme de loing. O qu'ils le
firent aise! Se tournant vers moy, il se mit à rire, disant: Voyez cette
robe noire, qui nous vient dire qu'il ne faut tuer personne. Comme ie
regardois attentiuement l'espée et le poignard, il me les fit presenter:
Regarde, dit-il, qu'est cela? C'est du sang, repartis-ie. De qui? De
quelque Orignac ou d'autre animal. Ils se mocquerent de moy, disants que
c'estoit du sang de ce Sorcier de Gaspé. Comment, dis-je, il est à plus
de cent lieuës d'icy? Il est vray, font-ils, mais c'est le Manitou,
c'est à dire le Diable, qui apporte son sang pardessous la
terre."--Relation, 1634, 21.
There was a young prophet, or diviner, in one of the neighboring huts,
of whom the sorcerer took counsel as to the prospect of his restoration
to health. The divining-lodge was formed, in this instance, of five or
six upright posts planted in a circle and covered with a blanket. The
prophet ensconced himself within; and after a long interval of singing,
the spirits declared their presence by their usual squeaking utterances
from the recesses of the mystic tabernacle. Their responses were not
unfavorable; and the sorcerer drew much consolation from the invocations
of his brother impostor. [10]
[10] See Introduction. Also, "Pioneers of France," 315.
Besides his incessant endeavors to annoy Le Jeune, the sorcerer now and
then tried to frighten him. On one occasion, when a period of starvation
had been followed by a successful hunt, the whole party assembled for
one of the gluttonous feasts usual with them at such times. While the
guests sat expectant, and the squaws were about to ladle out the
banquet, the sorcerer suddenly leaped up, exclaiming, that he had lost
his senses, and that knives and hatchets must be kept out of his way, as
he had a mind to kill somebody. Then, rolling his eyes towards Le Jeune,
he began a series of frantic gestures and outcries,--then stopped
abruptly and stared into vacancy, silent and motionless,--then resumed
his former clamor, raged in and out of the hut, and, seizing some of its
supporting poles, broke them, as if in an uncontrollable frenzy. The
missionary, though alarmed, sat reading his breviary as before. When,
however, on the next morning, the sorcerer began again to play the
maniac, the thought occurred to him, that some stroke of fever might in
truth have touched his brain. Accordingly, he approached him and felt
his pulse, which he found, in his own words, "as cool as a fish." The
pretended madman looked at him with astonishment, and, giving over the
attempt to frighten him, presently returned to his senses. [11]
[11] The Indians, it is well known, ascribe mysterious and supernatural
powers to the insane, and respect them accordingly. The Neutral Nation
(see Introduction, (p. xliv)) was full of pretended madmen, who raved
about the villages, throwing firebrands, and making other displays of
frenzy.
Le Jeune, robbed of his sleep by the ceaseless thumping of the
sorcerer's drum and the monotonous cadence of his medicine-songs,
improved the time in attempts to convert him. "I began," he says, "by
evincing a great love for him, and by praises, which I threw to him as a
bait whereby I might catch him in the net of truth." [12] But the
Indian, though pleased with the Father's flatteries, was neither caught
nor conciliated.
[12] "Ie commençay par vn témoignage de grand amour en son endroit, et
par des loüanges que ie luy iettay comme vne amorce pour le prendre dans
les filets de la verité. Ie luy fis entendre que si vn esprit, capable
des choses grandes comme le sien, cognoissoit Dieu, que tous les
Sauuages induis par son exemple le voudroient aussi
cognoistre."--Relation, 1634, 71.
Nowhere was his magic in more requisition than in procuring a successful
chase to the hunters,--a point of vital interest, since on it hung the
lives of the whole party. They often, however, returned empty-handed;
and, for one, two, or three successive days, no other food could be had
than the bark of trees or scraps of leather. So long as tobacco lasted,
they found solace in their pipes, which seldom left their lips. "Unhappy
infidels," writes Le Jeune, "who spend their lives in smoke, and their
eternity in flames!"
As Christmas approached, their condition grew desperate. Beavers and
porcupines were scarce, and the snow was not deep enough for hunting the
moose. Night and day the medicine-drums and medicine-songs resounded
from the wigwams, mingled with the wail of starving children. The
hunters grew weak and emaciated; and, as after a forlorn march the
wanderers encamped once more in the lifeless forest, the priest
remembered that it was the eve of Christmas. "The Lord gave us for our
supper a porcupine, large as a sucking pig, and also a rabbit. It was
not much, it is true, for eighteen or nineteen persons; but the Holy
Virgin and St. Joseph, her glorious spouse, were not so well treated, on
this very day, in the stable of Bethlehem." [13]
[13] "Pour nostre souper, N. S. nous donna vn Porc-espic gros comme vn
cochon de lait, et vn liéure; c'estoit peu pour dix-huit ou vingt
personnes que nous estions, il est vray, mais la saincte Vierge et son
glorieux Espoux sainct Ioseph ne furent pas si bien traictez à mesme
iour dans l'estable de Bethleem."--Relation, 1634, 74.
On Christmas Day, the despairing hunters, again unsuccessful, came to
pray succor from Le Jeune. Even the Apostate had become tractable, and
the famished sorcerer was ready to try the efficacy of an appeal to the
deity of his rival. A bright hope possessed the missionary. He composed
two prayers, which, with the aid of the repentant Pierre, he translated
into Algonquin. Then he hung against the side of the hut a napkin which
he had brought with him, and against the napkin a crucifix and a
reliquary, and, this done, caused all the Indians to kneel before them,
with hands raised and clasped. He now read one of the prayers, and
required the Indians to repeat the other after him, promising to
renounce their superstitions, and obey Christ, whose image they saw
before them, if he would give them food and save them from perishing.
The pledge given, he dismissed the hunters with a benediction. At night
they returned with game enough to relieve the immediate necessity. All
was hilarity. The kettles were slung, and the feasters assembled. Le
Jeune rose to speak, when Pierre, who, having killed nothing, was in ill
humor, said, with a laugh, that the crucifix and the prayer had nothing
to do with their good luck; while the sorcerer, his jealousy reviving as
he saw his hunger about to be appeased, called out to the missionary,
"Hold your tongue! You have no sense!" As usual, all took their cue from
him. They fell to their repast with ravenous jubilation, and the
disappointed priest sat dejected and silent.
Repeatedly, before the spring, they were thus threatened with
starvation. Nor was their case exceptional. It was the ordinary winter
life of all those Northern tribes who did not till the soil, but lived
by hunting and fishing alone. The desertion or the killing of the aged,
sick, and disabled, occasional cannibalism, and frequent death from
famine, were natural incidents of an existence which, during half the
year, was but a desperate pursuit of the mere necessaries of life under
the worst conditions of hardship, suffering, and debasement.
At the beginning of April, after roaming for five months among forests
and mountains, the party made their last march, regained the bank of the
St. Lawrence, and waded to the island where they had hidden their
canoes. Le Jeune was exhausted and sick, and Mestigoit offered to carry
him in his canoe to Quebec. This Indian was by far the best of the three
brothers, and both Pierre and the sorcerer looked to him for support. He
was strong, active, and daring, a skilful hunter, and a dexterous
canoeman. Le Jeune gladly accepted his offer; embarked with him and
Pierre on the dreary and tempestuous river; and, after a voyage full of
hardship, during which the canoe narrowly escaped being ground to atoms
among the floating ice, landed on the Island of Orleans, six miles from
Quebec. The afternoon was stormy and dark, and the river was covered
with ice, sweeping by with the tide. They were forced to encamp. At
midnight, the moon had risen, the river was comparatively unencumbered,
and they embarked once more. The wind increased, and the waves tossed
furiously. Nothing saved them but the skill and courage of Mestigoit. At
length they could see the rock of Quebec towering through the gloom, but
piles of ice lined the shore, while floating masses were drifting down
on the angry current. The Indian watched his moment, shot his canoe
through them, gained the fixed ice, leaped out, and shouted to his
companions to follow. Pierre scrambled up, but the ice was six feet out
of the water, and Le Jeune's agility failed him. He saved himself by
clutching the ankle of Mestigoit, by whose aid he gained a firm foothold
at the top, and, for a moment, the three voyagers, aghast at the
narrowness of their escape, stood gazing at each other in silence.
It was three o'clock in the morning when Le Jeune knocked at the door of
his rude little convent on the St. Charles; and the Fathers, springing
in joyful haste from their slumbers, embraced their long absent Superior
with ejaculations of praise and benediction.