PAUL GUIDON.
It will be remembered that the Godfreys, accompanied by their faithful
friend Paul Guidon, arrived at Halifax in the "Viper." Paul remained
twelve days with his friend, and then a vessel being about to sail for
Quebec, Commander Greaves secured him a passage in her.
But the farewell almost broke the heart of the noble Iroquois, and he
wept many bitter tears. Margaret Godfrey was aware of Paul's desire to
gain possession of the old service book, she knew he had longed for it
since the day of his mother's burial, and on bidding him adieu she
presented him with the book, saying as she did so, "Paul keep this book,
it is from your friend, no doubt you will sometimes be able to get some
one to read to you useful lessons from its pages."
Paul Guidon had frequently told Mrs. Godfrey that he felt a sort of
charm come over him whenever his eyes rested on the book, and when he
touched it with his hand he imagined he could hear his mother whisper
the words, "Paul be good man, and bye and by you will come to me on the
sunny plains of the happy hunting ground."
At Quebec a British officer, becoming greatly attached to Paul, engaged
him as a sort of confidential servant, and noticing the Iroquois
admiration for the military dress, he had a suit made for him. Indeed,
Paul became an especial favorite with all the soldiers of the garrison.
Colonel MacLean, with whom the Indian had engaged, had great confidence
in him, and frequently trusted him to carry important messages. The
Colonel found him to be a most trusty fellow, and occasionally sent him
alone to observe the enemy's movements. Paul was as straight as an
athlete and had an eye keen as an eagle's. He scarcely ever failed in
reporting to the Colonel something worth knowing.
On the night of December 31st, 1776, the Iroquois advanced in a creeping
position so close to the enemy's lines, that on his return he was able
to state to the Colonel what the enemy were doing, and he told what he
had observed in such an intelligent way that the British were prepared
to meet and repulse every attack of Arnold and Montgomery on that night.
In the attack Montgomery was killed and Arnold wounded.
One night, an exceptionally dark and stormy one, the Indian was sent out
to reconnoitre. He lost his way, and getting inside the enemy's lines,
came near being captured. In the dense darkness he crept right up
against one of the enemy's pickets. The sentry fired, and Paul fell flat
on the snow quite near the sentry's feet, the shot passing over the
Indian's head. In another instant Paul had regained his feet, and while
the sentry was attempting to reload his musket the Iroquois grasped at
him, and in doing so caught him by his hands, which were clasped
tightly around the weapon. The sentry gave a most determined backward
jerk, but Paul held him firmly and then wrenched the musket out of his
hands, bringing with it a ring off the sentry's finger. The Iroquois put
the ring on his own finger and made off at once for the British lines.
In his haste, when nearing the British outposts, he stumbled and fell,
and with such force that he was knocked senseless and lost the ring. He
lay there for some time, and when he had somewhat recovered he found
himself so benumbed with the cold that he could scarcely move his limbs.
It was snowing when he fell, and when he became conscious of his
situation, he found himself covered with an inch or more of snow, and
his head and face badly cut and bruised. On all four he crept to the
British outposts with the blood streaming from a cut in his leg and one
on his face. At last he reached the lines, more dead than alive. Paul
received a cold from which he never recovered.
In the morning he crawled out in search of the ring, thinking it might
be of some value. He was enabled to find the place where he had fallen
by retracing his steps and seeing the blood on the snow in spots here
and there. It had stopped snowing soon after he recovered consciousness,
consequently it was not difficult next morning to find out the spot
where he had received his injuries. The sun was shining brightly, and as
he kicked away the snow after hunting about for an hour or so, his eye
caught something shining brilliantly. He picked it up. It was a ring. He
put it into his pocket and returned. He knew he had seen the ring
before. He put it in an inside pocket of his coat and sewed it in,
fearing he might otherwise loose it.
The Indian for a long time was unfitted for active duty. He made his
home sometimes at the garrison and sometimes with the tribes of Indians
in the neighborhood.
When General Burgoyne, in June, 1777, advanced from Canada into the New
England States, Paul Guidon attached himself to one of the officers of
the expedition. This officer was afterward killed and Paul was captured
by the Americans and sent a prisoner to Boston, and at that place
detained for some months.
At length he managed to make his escape. He wandered for weeks in the
woods and along the paths, and at last struck the Nova Scotia boundary
and continued on until he reached the vicinity of Fort Frederick. There
he remained for a short time visiting the scenes and places of other
days. He then set out once more for Quebec, and arrived there in
September, 1778, where he remained till the close of the war. In
September, 1780, he was united in marriage with a handsome young
Chipewayan squaw. Paul Guidon was loved and admired by most of the
Indians of the Quebec district, and never wanted for a home amongst
them.
His wife was of medium height, her face was handsome, and her features
clean-cut, as they are seen in Greek statuary. She was as brown as some
statues are. Her eyes were of the deepest and brightest black, they were
quick and piercing as arrows sent to their mark.