THE OLD MEDOCTEC FORT.
Twelve miles below the town of Woodstock there enters the River St.
John, from the westward, a good sized tributary known as Eel River. It
is a variable stream, flowing in the upper reaches with feeble
current, over sandy shallows, with here and there deep pools, and at
certain seasons almost lake-like expansions over adjoining swamps, but
in the last twelve miles of its course it is transformed into a
turbulent stream, broken by rapids and falls to such an extent that
only at the freshet season is it possible to descend in canoes. The
Indian name of Eel River is "Madawamkeetook," signifying "rocky at its
mouth."
[Illustration: Plan of Old Medoctec Village]
The Medoctec Fort stood on the west bank of the St. John four miles
above the mouth of Eel River. It guarded the eastern extremity of the
famous portage, five miles in length, by which canoes were carried in
order to avoid the rapids that obstruct the lower part of Eel River.
The rivers were nature's highway for the aboriginal inhabitants and a
glance at the map will show that Madawamkeetook, or Eel River, formed
a very important link in the chain of communication with the western
portion of ancient Acadie by means of the inland waters.
In early days the three principal villages of the Maliseets were
Medoctec on the St. John, Panagamsde on the Penobscot and Narantsouak
on the Kennebec. In travelling from Medoctec to the westward the
Indians passed from the lakes at the head of Eel River, by a short
portage, to the chain of lakes at the head of the St. Croix from
which there was communication by another short portage with the
Mattawamkeag, an eastern branch of the Penobscot. In the course of the
stirring events of the war-period in Acadia the Indian braves and
their French allies made constant use of this route, and the Medoctec
village became a natural rendezvous whenever anything of a warlike
nature was afoot on the St. John. But Medoctec possessed many local
advantages; the hunting in the vicinity was excellent, the rivers
abounded in salmon, sturgeon, bass, trout and other fish, and the
intervals were admirably adapted to the growth of Indian corn--which
seems to have been raised there from time immemorial.
The reader by examining the accompanying plan will have a better idea
of the situation of the old fort.
The site of this ancient Maliseet town is a fine plateau extending
back from the river about fifty rods, then descending to a lower
interval, twenty rods wide, and again rising quite abruptly sixty or
seventy feet to the upland. The spring freshet usually covers the
lower interval and the elevated plateau then becomes an island. The
spot is an exceedingly interesting one, but, unfortunately for the
investigator, the soil has been so well cultivated by the hands of
thrifty farmers that little remains to indicate the outlines of the
old fortifications. It is impossible to determine with absolute
certainty the position of the stockade, or of the large wigwam, or
council chamber, and other features commonly found in Indian towns of
that period. The only place where the old breast-work is visible is
along the south and east sides of the burial ground, where it is about
two feet high. The burial ground has never been disturbed with the
plough, the owners of the property having shown a proper regard for
the spot as the resting place of the dead. It is, however, so thickly
overgrown with hawthorn as to be a perfect jungle difficult to
penetrate. Many holes have been dug there by relic hunters and seekers
of buried treasure.
At the spot marked A* on the plan, between the grave-yard and the
river, there is a mass of ashes and cinders with numberless bones
scattered about. This is believed to be the site of the old council
fire. Here the visitor will find himself in touch with the events of
savage life of centuries ago. Here it was Governor Villebon harangued
his dusky allies; here the horrible dog feast was held and the hatchet
brandished by the warriors on the eve of their departure to deluge
with blood the homes of New England; here at the stake the luckless
captive yielded up his life and chanted his death-song; here the Sieur
de Clignancourt bargained with the Indians, receiving their furs and
peltry and giving in exchange French goods and trinkets, rum and
brandy; here good Father Simon taught the savages the elements of the
Christian faith and tamed as best he could the fierceness of their
manners; here too when weary of fighting the hatchet was buried and
the council fire glowed its brightest as the chiefs smoked their
calumet of peace.
Some have supposed the old Medoctec fort to have been quite an
elaborate structure, with bastions, etc., but it was more probably
only a rude Indian fortification with ditch and parapet surmounted by
a stockade, within which was a strongly built cabin, in size about
thirty by forty feet. Parkman in his "Jesuits in North America," gives
a good description of similar forts built by the Hurons and other
tribes of Canada. The labor originally involved in the erection of the
palisade must have been very great, and nothing but stern necessity is
likely to have driven so naturally improvident a people to undertake
it. The stout stakes were cut, pointed and firmly planted with no
better implement than the stone axe of prehistoric times.
In the lower right hand corner of the plan will be found the spring
referred to in the opening chapter[15] as the scene of the ludicrous
Mohawk scare. Its distance from the old fort is about half a mile, and
the situation and surroundings correspond so exactly with Gyles'
description that there is not the slightest doubt as to its identity.
The water that flows from it never fails and is very clear and cool.
[15] See page 13.
At the back of the lower interval is a curious gully, something like a
broad natural roadway, which affords an easy ascent to the upland.
This no doubt was the commencement of the famous portage by which
bands of savages in ancient days took their way westward to devastate
the settlements of eastern New England.
The small stream which enters the St. John a little above the old
village site is known as Hay's Creek, but in some of the early maps
and land grants is called "Meductic river." About a mile from its
mouth there is a very beautiful cascade; the volume of water is not
large but the height of the fall, 95 feet perpendicular, is
remarkable, surpassing by at least ten feet the Grand Falls of the
River St. John.
Our knowledge of the village Medoctec, and the ways of its people two
centuries ago, is derived mainly from the narrative of John Gyles, the
English lad who was captured at Pemaquid in 1689 and brought by his
Indian master to the River St. John. At the time of his capture Gyles
was a boy of about twelve years of age. He seems to have met with
kindly treatment from his master though not from all the Indians. His
first rude experience was at Penobscot fort where upon the arrival of
the captives, some fifty in number, the squaws got together in a
circle dancing and yelling, as was their custom on such occasions.
Gyles says, "An old grimace squaw took me by the hand and leading me
into the ring, some seized me by my hair and others by my feet, like
so many furies; but, my master laying down a pledge, they released me.
A captive among the Indians is exposed to all manner of abuses and to
the extremest tortures, unless their master, or some of their master's
relatives lay down a ransom, such as a bag of corn, a blanket, or the
like, which redeems them from their cruelty for that dance."
After a long and wearisome journey the little captive at length neared
his destination, the canoes were paddling down the Madawamkeetook (or
Eel) river. When they reached the rapids they landed, and we shall let
Gyles tell in his own words the story of the last stage of his journey
and of his reception at Medoctec. He says: "We carried over a long
carrying place to Medoctock Fort, which stands on a bank of St. John's
river. My Indian master went before and left me with an old Indian
and three squaws. The old man often said (which was all the English he
could speak), 'By and by come to a great Town and Fort.' So I
comforted myself in thinking how finely I should be refreshed when I
came to this great town.
"After some miles travel we came in sight of a large Corn-field and
soon after of the Fort, to my great surprise; for two or three squaws
met us, took off my pack, and led me to a large hut or wigwam, where
thirty or forty Indians were dancing and yelling round five or six
poor captives. * * I was whirled in among them and we looked at each
other with a sorrowful countenance; and presently one of them was
seized by each hand and foot by four Indians, who swung him up and let
his back with force fall on the hard ground, till they had danced (as
they call it) round the whole wigwam, which was thirty or forty feet
in length. * *
"The Indians looked on me with a fierce countenance, as much as to say
it will be your turn next. They champed cornstalks, which they threw
into my hat as I held it in my hand. I smiled on them though my heart
ached. I looked on one and another, but could not perceive that any
eye pitied me. Presently came a squaw and a little girl and laid down
a bag of corn in the ring. The little girl took me by the hand, making
signs for me to come out of the circle with them. Not knowing their
custom, I supposed they designed to kill me and refused to go. Then a
grave Indian came and gave me a pipe and said in English, 'Smoke it,'
then he took me by the hand and led me out. My heart ached, thinking
myself near my end. But he carried me to a French hut about a mile
from the Indian Fort. The Frenchman was not at home, but his wife, who
was a squaw, had some discourse with my Indian friend, which I did not
understand. We tarried there about two hours, then returned to the
Indian village, where they gave me some victuals. Not long after I saw
one of my fellow-captives who gave me a melancholy account of their
sufferings after I left them.
"After some weeks had passed," Gyles continues, "we left this village
and went up St. John's river about ten miles to a branch called
Medockscenecasis, where there was one wigwam. At our arrival an old
squaw saluted me with a yell, taking me by the hair and one hand, but
I was so rude as to break her hold and free myself. She gave me a
filthy grin, and the Indians set up a laugh and so it passed over.
Here we lived on fish, wild grapes, roots, etc., which was hard living
for me."
Where the one wigwam stood in 1689, there stands today a town of 4,000
people. The stream which Gyles calls Medockscenecasis is the
Meduxnakik and the town is Woodstock. On the islands and intervals
there, wild grapes and lily roots, butter-nuts and cherries are still
to be found, and many generations of boys have wandered with light
hearts in quest of them without a thought of the first of white boys,
who in loneliness and friendlessness trod those intervals more than
two hundred years ago.
It seems to have been the custom of the Indians at the beginning of
the winter to break up into small parties for the purpose of hunting,
and Gyles' description of his first winter's experience will serve to
illustrate the hardships commonly endured by the savages.
"When the winter came on," he says, "we went up the river, till the
ice came down running thick in the river, when, according to the
Indian custom, we laid up our canoes till spring. Then we traveled,
sometimes on the ice and sometimes on land, till we came to a river
that was open but not fordable, where we made a raft and passed over,
bag and baggage. I met with no abuse from them in this winter's
hunting, though I was put to great hardships in carrying burdens and
for want of food. But they underwent the same difficulty, and would
often encourage me by saying in broken English, 'By and by great deal
moose!' Yet they could not answer any question I asked them; and
knowing very little of their customs and ways of life, I thought it
tedious to be constantly moving from place to place, yet it might be
in some respects an advantage, for it ran still in my mind that we
were traveling to some settlement; and when my burden was over heavy,
and the Indians left me behind, and the still evening came on, I
fancied I could see thro' the bushes and hear the people of some great
town; which hope might be some support to me in the day, though I
found not the town at night.
"Thus we were hunting three hundred miles from the sea and knew no man
within fifty or sixty miles of us. We were eight or ten in number, and
had but two guns on which we wholly depended for food. If any disaster
had happened we must all have perished. Sometimes we had no manner of
sustenance for three or four days; but God wonderfully provides for
all creatures. * * *
"We moved still farther up the country after the moose when our store
gave out; so that by the spring we had got to the northward of the
Lady Mountains [near the St. Lawrence]. When the spring came and the
rivers broke up we moved back to the head of St. John's river and
there made canoes of moose hides, sewing three or four together and
pitching the seams with balsam mixed with charcoal. Then we went down
the river to a place called Madawescok. There an old man lived and
kept a sort of a trading house, where we tarried several days; then we
went further down the river till we came to the greatest falls in
these parts, called Checanekepeag[16], where we carried a little way
over land, and putting off our canoes we went down stream still, and
as we passed the mouths of any large branches we saw Indians, but when
any dance was proposed I was bought off.
[16] The Grand Falls of the St. John river, which the Indians still
call Chik-seen-eag-i-beg, meaning "a destroying giant."
"At length we arrived at the place where we left our canoes in the
fall and, putting our baggage into them, went down to the fort. There
we planted corn, and after planting went a fishing and to look for and
dig roots till the corn was fit to weed. After weeding we took a
second tour on foot on the same errand, then returned to hill up our
corn. After hilling we went some distance from the fort and field up
the river to take salmon and other fish, which we dried for food,
where we continued till the corn was filled with milk; some of it we
dried then, the other as it ripened."
The statement has been made by the author in the opening chapter that
exaggerated ideas have prevailed concerning the number of Indians who
formerly inhabited this country. The natives of Acadia were not a
prolific race and the life they led was so full of danger and
exposure, particularly in the winter season, as not to be conducive
to longevity. An instance of the dangers to which the Indians were
exposed in their winter hunting is related by Gyles which very nearly
proved fatal to him.
"One winter," he says, "as we were moving from place to place our
hunters killed some moose. One lying some miles from our wigwams, a
young Indian and myself were ordered to fetch part of it. We set out
in the morning when the weather was promising, but it proved a very
cold cloudy day.
"It was late in the evening before we arrived at the place where the
moose lay, so that we had no time to provide materials for a fire or
shelter. At the same time came on a storm of snow very thick which
continued until the next morning. We made a small fire with what
little rubbish we could find around us. The fire with the warmth of
our bodies melted the snow upon us as fast as it fell and so our
clothes were filled with water. However, early in the morning we took
our loads of moose flesh, and set out to return to our wigwams. We had
not travelled far before my moose-skin coat (which was the only
garment I had on my back, and the hair chiefly worn off) was frozen
stiff round my knees, like a hoop, as were my snow-shoes and shoe
clouts to my feet. Thus I marched the whole day without fire or food.
At first I was in great pain, then my flesh became numb, and at times
I felt extremely sick and thought I could not travel one foot farther;
but I wonderfully revived again. After long travelling I felt very
drowsy, and had thoughts of sitting down, which had I done, without
doubt I had fallen on my final sleep. My Indian companion, being
better clothed, had left me long before. Again my spirits revived as
much as if I had received the richest cordial.
"Some hours after sunset I reached the wigwam, and crawling in with my
snow-shoes on, the Indians cried out, 'The captive is frozen to
death!' They took off my pack and the place where that lay against my
back was the only one that was not frozen. They cut off my snow-shoes
and stripped off the clouts from my feet, which were as void of
feeling as any frozen flesh could be.
"I had not sat long by the fire before the blood began to circulate
and my feet to my ankles turned black and swelled with bloody blisters
and were inexpressibly painful. The Indians said one to another: 'His
feet will rot, and he will die;' yet I slept well at night. Soon after
the skin came off my feet from my ankles whole, like a shoe, leaving
my toes without a nail and the ends of my great toe bones bare.... The
Indians gave me rags to bind up my feet and advised me to apply fir
balsam, but withal added that they believed it was not worth while to
use means for I should certainly die. But by the use of my elbows and
a stick in each hand I shoved myself along as I sat upon the ground
over the snow from one tree to another till I got some balsam. This I
burned in a clam shell till it was of a consistence like salve, which
I applied to my feet and ankles and, by the divine blessing, within a
week I could go about upon my heels with my staff; and through God's
goodness we had provisions enough, so that we did not remove under ten
or fifteen days. Then the Indians made two little hoops, something in
the form of a snow-shoe, and sewing them to my feet I was able to
follow them in their tracks on my heels from place to place, though
sometimes half leg deep in snow and water, which gave me the most
acute pain imaginable; but I must walk or die. Yet within a year my
feet were entirely well, and the nails came on my great toes so that a
very critical eye could scarcely perceive any part missing, or that
they had been frozen at all."
We turn now to the consideration of the state of affairs on the St.
John after the removal of the seat of government from Fort Nachouac to
Menagoueche and subsequently to Port Royal.
After the retirement of the French from the river, at the close of the
seventeenth century, our knowledge of that region for the next thirty
years is small. We know, however, that the Maliseets continued hostile
to the English. War parties from the St. John united with the
neighboring tribes, roaming over the country like hungry wolves,
prowling around the towns and settlements of New England, carrying
terror and destruction wherever they went. The resentment inspired by
their deeds was such that the legislatures of Massachusetts and New
Hampshire offered a bounty of L40 for the scalp of every adult male
Indian.
For sixty years Indian wars followed in rapid succession. They are
known in history as King William's war, Queen Anne's war, Lovewell's
or Dummer's war and King George's war. In nearly every instance the
Indian raids were instigated or encouraged by their French allies, who
feared that otherwise the English would win them and thereby gain the
country.
Civil and ecclesiastical authority in France were at this time very
closely united. The missionaries of New France were appointed and
removed by the authorities at Quebec and received an annual stipend
from the crown, and however diligent the missionary might be in his
calling, or however pure his life, he was liable to be removed unless
he used his influence to keep the savages in a state of hostility to
the English. The Maliseet villages on the St. John, the Penobscot and
the Kennebec rivers were regarded as buttresses against English
encroachments in the direction of Canada, and the authorities at
Quebec relied much upon the influence of the missionaries to keep the
savages loyal to France.
The first missionary at the Medoctec village, of whom we have any
accurate information, was Father Simon, who has already been
frequently mentioned in the extracts from John Gyles' narrative. He
belonged to the order of the Recollets, founded early in the 13th
century by St. Francis of Assissi. The missionaries of that order
began their labors on the St. John as early as 1620; they came to
Acadia from Aquitane. Father Simon was a man of activity and
enterprise as well as of religious zeal. He did all that lay in his
power to promote the ascendency of his country-men in the land they
loved to call "New France," but his influence with the Indians was
always exercised on the side of humanity. On this point Gyles'
testimony is conclusive. He says: "The priest of this river was of the
order of St. Francis, a gentleman of a humane generous disposition. In
his sermons he most severely reprehended the Indians for their
barbarities to captives. He would often tell them that excepting their
errors in religion the English were a better people than themselves."
We have no exact information as to the number of years Father Simon
labored at Medoctec, but he died near the close of the century.
Governor Villebon in December, 1698, wrote, "Father Simon is sick at
Jemseg," and as his name does not again appear in the annals of that
time it is probable that his sickness proved mortal. He was succeeded
in his mission by one of the Jesuit fathers, Joseph Aubery, who came
to Medoctec about 1701, remaining there seven years. He then took
charge of the Abenaki mission of St. Francis, where he continued for
46 years and died at the age of 82. Chateaubriand drew from his
character and career materials for one of the characters in his well
known romance "Atala."
The next missionary on the River St. John was Jean Baptiste Loyard,
who was born at Pau in France in 1678, and came out to Canada in 1706.
He remained almost constantly at his post, except that in the year
1722 he went to France to obtain aid for his mission. His position was
a difficult one, for the letters of the Marquis de Vaudreuil show that
in addition to his spiritual functions he was regarded as the
political agent of the French on the St. John.
By the treaty of Utrecht, in the days of Queen Anne (A. D. 1713), "all
Nova Scotia, or Acadia, comprehended within its ancient boundaries,"
was ceded to the Queen of Great Britain. But the question immediately
arose, what were the ancient boundaries? The British were disposed to
claim, as indeed the French had formerly done, that Acadia included
the territory north of the Bay of Fundy as far west as the Kennebec
river; but the French would not now admit that it included anything
more than the peninsula of Nova Scotia.
In 1715, Governor Caulfield endeavored to have a good understanding
with Loyard, assuring him that he would not be molested, and begging
him to say to the Indians of his mission that they would receive good
treatment at the hands of the English and that a vessel full of
everything they needed would be sent up the river to them.
But other and more potent influences were at work. On June 15, 1716,
the French minister wrote the Marquis de Vaudreuil that the King, in
order to cement more firmly the alliance with the savages of Acadia,
had granted the sum of 1,200 livres, agreeably to the proposal of the
intendant Begon, to be expended in building a church for the Indians
on the River St. John, and another for those on the Kennebec. The
Indians were wonderfully pleased and offered to furnish a quantity of
beaver as their contribution towards the erection of the churches. In
the years that followed the king made two additional grants of 1,200
livres each, and in 1720 the Marquis de Vaudreuil had the satisfaction
of reporting that the churches were finished; that they were well
built and would prove a great inducement to the savages to be loyal to
France.
The probable site of the Indian chapel on the banks of the St. John is
shown in the plan of the Medoctec Fort and village near the north west
corner of the burial ground. A small stone tablet was discovered here
by Mr. A. R. Hay, of Lower Woodstock, in June, 1890. The tablet is of
black slate, similar to that found in the vicinity, and is in length
fourteen inches by seven in width and about an inch in thickness.
It was found quite near the surface, just as it might naturally have
fallen amid the ruins of an old building, covered merely by the fallen
leaves; the inscription is in an excellent state of preservation and,
without abbreviation, reads as follows:
[Illustration: SLATE-STONE TABLET.
A relic of the Indian Chapel of Saint Jean Baptiste. Found
at Medoctec, June, 1890.]
DEO
Optimo Maximo
In honorem Divi Ioannis Baptistae
Hoc Templum posuerunt Anno Domin
(MDCCXVII).
Malecitae
Missionis Procurator Ioanne Loyard Societatis Iesu
Sacerdote.
The translation reads:--"To God, most excellent, most high, in
honor of Saint John Baptist, the Maliseets erected this church A. D.
1717, while Jean Loyard, a priest of the Society of Jesus, was
superintendent of the mission."
The inscription is clearly cut, but not with sufficient skill to
suggest the hand of a practised stone engraver. It was in all
probability the hand of Loyard himself that executed it. The name of
Danielou, his successor, faintly scratched in the lower left-hand
corner, is evidently of later date; but its presence there is of
historic interest.
The Indian church of St. John Baptist at Medoctec, erected in 1717,
was the first on the River St. John--probably the first in New
Brunswick. It received among other royal gifts a small bell which now
hangs in the belfry of the Indian chapel at Central Kingsclear, a few
miles above Fredericton. The church seems to have been such as would
impress by its beauty and adornments the little flock over which
Loyard exercised his kindly ministry. It is mentioned by one of the
Jesuit fathers as a beautiful church (belle eglise), suitably adorned
and furnished abundantly with holy vessels and ornaments of sufficient
richness.
The chapel stood for fifty years and its clear toned bell rang out the
call to prayer in the depths of the forest; but by and by priest and
people passed away till, in 1767, the missionary Bailly records in his
register that the Indians having abandoned the Medoctec village he had
caused the ornaments and furnishings of the chapel, together with the
bell, to be transported to Aukpaque, and had caused the chapel itself
to be demolished since it served merely as a refuge for travellers and
was put to the most profane uses.
The Marquis de Vaudreuil in 1718 wrote to the English authorities at
Port Royal protesting against English vessels entering the River St.
John, which he claimed to be entirely within the French dominion. He
encouraged the French to withdraw from the peninsula of Nova Scotia,
promising them lands on the St. John river on application to the
missionary Loyard, who was empowered to grant them and in the course
of time a number of families resorted thither.
When Loyard went to France in 1722 he represented to the home
government that the English were making encroachments on the "rivers
of the savages"--meaning the St. John, Penobscot and Kennebec. "Why is
this?" he asks, "if not for the purpose of continually advancing on
Canada?" He points out that France has not cared for the savages
except when she has had need of them. The English will not fail to
remind them of this fact, and will perhaps by presents more valuable
than the missionaries can offer soon succeed in winning them. Loyard
recommends the court to increase the annual gratuity and to provide
for each village a royal medal to serve as a reminder of the king's
favor and protection. His advice seems to have been followed, and for
some years an annual appropriation of 4,000 livres was made to provide
presents for the savages, the distribution being left to the
missionaries.
[Illustration: BELL OF OLD INDIAN CHAPEL. (A. D. 1717.)]
Port Royal, under its new name of Annapolis, was now become the
headquarters of British authority and efforts were made to establish
friendly relations with the Indians of the St. John river. In July,
1720, nine chiefs were brought over to Annapolis in a vessel sent by
Governor Philipps for the purpose; they were entertained and addressed
and presents were made to them and they went home apparently well
pleased. However the English governor did not count much upon their
fidelity. He states that he was beset with Indian delegations from
various quarters; that he received them all and never dismissed them
without presents, which they always looked for and for which he was
out of pocket about a hundred and fifty pounds; he adds, "but I am
convinced that a hundred thousand will not buy them from the French
interest while the priests are among them."
Governor Philipps' lack of confidence in Indian promises of friendship
and alliance was soon justified, for in Lovewell's war, which broke
out in 1722 and lasted three years, the Indians surprized and captured
a large number of trading vessels in the Bay of Fundy and along the
coast, and a party of 30 Maliseets and 26 Micmacs attacked the Fort at
Annapolis, killing two of the garrison and dangerously wounding an
officer and three men. In retaliation for the loss of Sergt McNeal,
who was shot and scalped, the English shot and scalped an Indian
prisoner on the spot where McNeal had fallen, an action which, however
great the provocation, is to be lamented as unworthy of a Christian
people.
Lovewell's war was terminated by a notable treaty made at Boston in
1725 with four eminent sagamores representing the tribes of Kennebec,
Penobscot, St. John and Cape Sable; Francois Xavier appearing on
behalf of the Maliseets of the St. John. The conference lasted over a
month, for the Indians were very deliberate in their negotiations and
too well satisfied with their entertainment to be in a hurry. The
treaty was solemnly ratified at Falmouth in the presence of the
Lieutenant-Governors of Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Nova Scotia,
and about forty chiefs. The formal assent of the St. John Indians does
not appear to have been given until May, 1728, when three or four
sachems, accompanied by twenty-six warriors, came from Medoctec to
Annapolis Royal to ratify the peace and make submission to the British
government. Governor Armstrong with the advice of his officers made
them presents, entertained them several days and sent them away well
satisfied.
The ministry of Loyard was now drawing to a close. He seems to have
been a man of talents and rare virtues, esteemed and beloved by both
French and Indians, and in his death universally lamented. He
devoted nearly twenty-four of the best years of his life to the
conversion of the Indians, and when summoned to Quebec for the
benefit of his health, which had become impared by toil and
exposure, he had hardly recovered from the fatigue of the journey
when he requested to be allowed to return to his mission, where his
presence was needed. It was while in the active discharge of his duty
among the sick that he contracted the disease of which he died in the
midst of his people, who were well nigh inconsolable for their
loss. The obituary letter announcing his death to the other Jesuit
missionaries contains a glowing eulogy of the man and his work.
His disposition had nothing of sternness, yet he was equally
beloved and revered by his flock; to untiring zeal he joined
exemplary modesty, sweetness of disposition, never failing charity
and an evenness of temper which made him superior to all annoyances;
busy as he was he had the art of economising the moments, and he
gave all the prescribed time to his own spiritual exercises; over his
flock he watched incessantly as a good shepherd with the happy
consolation of gathering abundant fruit of his care and toil; he
was fitted for everything and ready for everything, and his
superiors could dispose of him as they would. The date of his death,
June 24, 1731, suggests some remarkable coincidences. The 24th of
June is St. John Baptist's day; Loyard's name was Jean Baptiste; the
church he built was called St. Jean Baptiste; it was the first
church on the banks of a river named in honor of St. Jean Baptiste
(because discovered on 24th June, 1604, by Champlain); and it was
fitting that the missionary who designed it, who watched over its
construction and who probably was laid to rest beneath its shade,
should pass from the scene of his labors on the day that honors the
memory of St. Jean Baptiste. By a pure coincidence the author finds
himself penning these words on St. John Baptist's day, 1903.
[Illustration: Jean Loyard Fac-simile, A. D. 1708.]
Loyard's successor was Jean Pierre Danielou, whose presence at
Medoctec is indicated by the occurrence of his name on the memorial
tablet. After his arrival at Quebec in 1715 he was employed for some
years as a teacher, but took holy orders about 1725. Danielou had been
but a short time in charge of his mission when he received a sharply
worded letter from the governor of Nova Scotia, ordering the Acadians
settled on the River St. John to repair to the port of Annapolis Royal
and take the oath of allegiance. The governor says that their settling
on the river without leave was an act of great presumption. A number
of the settlers accordingly presented themselves at Annapolis, where
they took the required oaths and agreed to take out grants.
The little French colony were settled at or near St. Anns (now
Fredericton) for a census made in 1733, for the government of France,
gives the number of Acadians on the river as 111, divided into twenty
families, and fifteen of these families, numbering eighty-two persons,
were living below the village of Ecoupay (or Aukpaque). Two families
lived at Freneuse and three at the mouth of the river.
The story of the old Medoctec village in later times will be told
incidentally in the chapters that are to follow.