Young Lion of the Woods / Or, A Story of Early Colonial Days

CHAPTER IX.

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.

CHAPTER X.

MARGARET GODFREY ARRIVES IN NOVA SCOTIA.—DEATH OF THE YOUNG LION OF THE WOODS.

In the month of August, 1784, Margaret Godfrey once again arrived in Nova Scotia. This time she came alone, her husband being too ill to accompany her. She left her English home and came out to Nova Scotia to secure a personal interview with Governor Parr, and do all in her power to get back the property on the St. John River; or if not, then she would endeavor to secure some compensation for it, through the instrumentality of the governor. She remained at Halifax a few weeks, and then left for the St. John River. She did not appear satisfied with her visit to the governor. She could get no promise from him that the estate at Grimross Neck would be restored to her husband, or that any compensation would be granted in its stead. Nothing seems to have been done in her interest, and she left Halifax deeply disappointed in her mission.

Trouble had recently arisen between the people settled at the mouth of the St. John and the authorities at Halifax. Instead of one Province she was informed that there were now two Provinces. She determined to cross over to Parrtown, and see what she could accomplish by visiting the estate personally. With the letter from Sydney to Governor Parr, she took a certificate of survey, which read as follows:

This may certify, that by the desire of Captain ——, I have laid nine hundred acres of land on the Peninsular or place called Grimross Neck, in the Township of Gage, on the River St. John, beginning at the Portage and running down the river about two miles and a quarter to a maple tree marked, thence running S.W. till it meets Grimross Creek, thence up the said Creek to the Portage, thence crossing the Portage to the first mentioned bounds.

ISRAEL PERLEY,
Dept. Surveyor.

Gagetown, Jany. 31st, 1771.

Mrs. Godfrey finding that nothing could be accomplished by her visit up the river, returned to the settlement at its mouth. The place of settlement had undergone a great change since the year 1770, when she first came to Fort Frederick with her husband.

She remained at Parrtown a few weeks, in order if possible to gather further information respecting the property at Grimross Neck, and to consult with some of the leading inhabitants, as to what course they would advise her to pursue. She was most kindly entertained by the people of the place.

One fine morning, while walking about the settlement, she accidently met a fine looking young Indian girl. The young squaw, whose black eyes shone in the bright sunshine as polished jet, put out her small brown hand and said in quite good English, "Please mam, won't you give me something for sick husband?"

Margaret thought the dusky beauty looked rather young to be married, but she said to her, "And where does your husband live?"

She pointed her hand up the river and replied, "Not far that way."

"Have you been living here long?" asked Margaret.

"Not very long," replied the young squaw.

"What is the matter with your husband?" said Margaret.

The little squaw answered, "My husband be very sick with consumption, most dead."

"Where did you get that pretty ring on your finger?" said Mrs. Godfrey to the Indian woman.

Margaret Godfrey had noticed the ring on the squaw's finger, sparkling in the sunlight, as she pointed her small brown hand up the river in the direction of her home.

The swarthy beauty, with an innocent smile, as she hung her head on one side, said, "My husband give it me after we get married." The Indian lass then began to run her fingers over a string of red and white beads, that encircled her round plump neck and hung loosely down over a well proportioned bosom. At the same time she kept scraping the ground with the toe of her moccasin, and now and again crossing one foot over the other and resting the tip of her toe for an instant on the earth. Then she would swing one of her feet about a foot from the ground over the other. Her dark blue dress being quite short, and the wind blowing stiffly, she would occasionally display a small prettily formed foot, and an ankle that looked as though it had been formed in nature's most perfect mould.

Mrs. Godfrey broke the silence by asking the young woman if she would like her to go to the wigwam and see her sick husband? The Indian woman answered, "May be dead now, and long rough walk, no canoe here."

Margaret said to her, "Suppose you come down here to-morrow morning in a canoe and take me up to your wigwam?" She answered, "Have no canoe, but might get Jim Newall's, who lives mile more up river, he has canoe and sometime bring me down here."

Margaret agreed to accompany her to her wigwam early the next morning, if Newall and she came to the settlement in a canoe.

She said she would go and see Newall, and if he could not come, she would walk down and let her (Margaret) know how her husband was.

Mrs. Godfrey told the squaw where she would find her at ten o'clock the next morning, and then taking the hand of the Indian woman into that of her own, looked carefully at the ring, as she bid her good day.

Margaret recognized the ring as the one she had lost during the assault of the rebels at Grimross, in 1776. She missed it from off her finger soon after the cross-eyed, monkey-faced rebel "Will," had pulled her about the floor by the hand, and never saw or heard of it after. Paul Guidon often said to Mrs. Godfrey, that he believed the rebel "Will" had stolen her ring.

It was a very valuable one, set with a choice emerald, surrounded by precious stones. It was presented to Margaret by her father, on the day he was elected Mayor of Cork, and cost forty-live guineas. It had never occurred to Margaret, during her conversation with the squaw, to ask her name.

Mrs. Godfrey said to herself, "This Indian girl may be a daughter of one of the savages who attacked us at Grimross. Perhaps she has lied to me and I may never again see her or the ring. I may possibly get some information to-morrow that will satisfy me. I must wait."

At ten o'clock the next morning a strapping big Indian knocked at the door of the house where Mrs. Godfrey was lodging, and inquired if "woman lived there who wanted go in canoe and see sick Injun up river?"

He was informed that there was a lady inside, ready and waiting for a man named Jim Newall, to take her up the river. "Me Jim," he replied.

Margaret came to the door. She said, "Are you Jim Newall?" "Yes, me Jim Newall," he answered gruffly.

Margaret asked Jim how far it was to where he had left his canoe. "Just few steps," he replied. "Down among stumps at water edge." Margaret accompanied the Indian, and finding out where the canoe was, told Jim to remain there until she returned, as she wanted to get a few things for the sick man.

Half an hour later Mrs. Godfrey and a Mrs. Fowler were making their way by stumps of trees and over branches, with their arms loaded with things for the sick Indian. They were soon on board, and then Jim Newall paddled away up stream.

As the canoe slipped along, every spot on the shores seemed familiar to Margaret's eyes, and many sad thoughts flashed across her mind; memories of days never to be forgotten rose in her soul. She remarked to Mrs. Fowler, "How little everything has changed since I was here last, eight years ago, except at the settlement."

The morning was a charming one, the river was running, fairly rushing up, otherwise all nature seemed to sleep. The splash of the paddle, the ripple of the water along the sides of the canoe, and the gentle rolling of the little bark, were the only things that disturbed the quiet that reigned supreme all about. The Indian never spoke, and Margaret and her companion, as they sat one ahead of the other in the bottom of the canoe, seldom exchanged a word.

Mrs. Godfrey saw at a glance that the canoe was nearing the place where Paul Guidon and his mother had once lived. As she looked toward the shore her eyes rested upon a form standing at the water's edge, and as the canoe approached nearer and nearer the shore, she recognized the form as that of the pretty squaw she had met at the settlement the previous day. Margaret Godfrey remarked to Mrs. Fowler, "There stands the pretty creature I met yesterday." Mrs. Fowler replied, "She does not look like the squaws we so often see about the settlement." She continued, "What a neat, tidy girl she is. I have never seen her at Parrtown, what a handsome face and fine form she has"

The bow of the canoe had now touched the shore, and the Indian lass most politely made a courtesy to the ladies in the canoe.

After landing, Mrs. Fowler put a piece of silver in Jim Newall's hand and asked him if he would take them back home again in an hour or two. Jim nodded an assent as he pulled his little bark out of the water to the dry land.

Mrs. Godfrey, once on shore, fully recognized that she was at the old camping ground of her protector in by gone days, Paul Guidon.

The squaw replied to Mrs. Godfrey's inquiry after her sick husband, that he was very weak, almost dead. Does he know that a white woman is doming to see him this morning? asked Margaret G. "Yes," replied the Indian woman, "he be so glad see you, but he be very weak, no speak, he told me in whisper last night, after I come back camp from Jim Newall wigwam, best friend, best woman ever saw, was pale face woman, who told him of Great Chief, Big Spirit, and great hunting ground way back sun, where old Mag, (mother) was now. Pale face woman gave him book, and would talk Great Spirit and tell him look after Paul and make him good man."

Is your husband's name Paul? asked Margaret Godfrey. "Yes mam," she answered, "Paul Guidon his name." Mrs. Godfrey felt all must be a dream. She appeared lost and bewildered after she had heard the name Paul Guidon. She cast a glance at her companion and exclaimed, "Am I back to the old camping ground of Paul Guidon, and is he here?" Then her faculties seemed to desert her, for at that instant she staggered and fell into the arms of the Indian woman, with such force as to almost knock the squaw over. Mrs. Fowler noticing the stupor of her companion and her pallid features, asked her if she felt ill. She did not reply.

Little Mag, for such was the name of the handsome squaw, ran down to the river side, filled her moccasins with water and tripping back, she poured the contents full in the face of Mrs. Godfrey. She went again and again to the river, filled her moccasins and poured the water over Margaret's face and temples.

Jim Newall, who was sitting in his canoe a few yards distant, seeing the woman lying on the ground, came up and proposed to carry her to the wigwam two hundred yards distant, or under the shade of some trees near by. The latter proposition was acted upon. Jim, Mrs. Fowler and Little Mag, carried Margaret to a shaded spot a few yards away. They all sat down beside her, as she lay stretched and apparently lifeless upon the ground. After little Mag had once more poured the contents of her shoes down the neck of Margaret, and Mrs. Fowler had steadily rubbed her temples and wrists, she opened her eyes, looked wildly about, and then sat up supported by her companion.

She then commenced to speak in a low weak voice. Mrs. Fowler, listening attentively, heard her say, "Forever honored be this spot of earth: Here 'Old Mag' departed this life. Here her son Paul, that most noble spirit of the woods, who when I was weary, distressed, and a wanderer, broken in everything but spirit, poor in all but faith and courage: Here! Here! Paul took refuge, and my husband, my children and myself rested. Never shall that day be forgotten by me. I shall always look back during my life, and when I get to that other home, I shall, too, look back to this sacred spot with unabated affection and regard. Here! Here was I eight years ago with husband and children, unprovided for, unprotected, on the shore of this river, in a rude and fearful wilderness, surrounded by savages, but that noble Indian, that splendid Iroquois, whose old mother lies in everlasting sleep near here, protected us and provided for us. The hills around are hallowed in my memory, and these trees seem to stand with grace and beauty. This shore is as sacred to my mind as those of the Jordan were to the people of old. Here! yes here! how often have I communed with my loving Saviour! This ground is sacred to me because it incloses the dust of the mother of my protector. The ashes of old Margaret Guidon repose here. Is this sacred ground soon to claim the dust of her loving son? It may be that both came here to live for a brief space and then to die and mingle their ashes with this Acadian soil."

Tears streamed down over her beautiful waxen features, as Mrs. Fowler and little Mag assisted her to her feet. No penitent at a Methodist revival-service ever looked more serious than did Jim Newall, as Margaret Godfrey uttered the above.

Margaret had at length sufficiently recovered to proceed to the wigwam, assisted on either side by little Mag and Mrs. Fowler. The three walked slowly toward the home of Paul Guidon. Arriving at the entrance of the wigwam the little Chipewayan led the way inside.

The first object that met the eyes of Mrs. Godfrey was the sick Indian lying, wasted and emaciated, on a bed of spruce-boughs covered with a blanket.

Margaret Godfrey at once knelt at his bed-side and placing his dark thin hand in that of her own, said "Dear Paul, I come to see you."

He looked up at her and stared in a sort of vacant manner. He tried to raise his head, but was too weak to do so. She looked straight in his eyes, and said again, "Paul, you remember your old pale-faced friend who used to live at Grimross Neck?" As Margaret spoke the last word, Paul Guidon faintly whispered, "Thank Great Chief, I told him get you come me, Paul must not be made die till you come." Great tears rolled down his sunken cheeks as he whispered the above, and Margaret Godfrey, overpowered with emotion, lightly rested her forehead on his thin sinewy arm. Not a step. Not a sound was heard for a few minutes within the narrow circle of the wigwam, all rested as if in silent prayer, a more touching, a more peaceful, a more solemn scene, was never witnessed in palace or cottage. Deep grief, real sorrow, took full possession of those women who knelt around the bed of the dying Iroquois, in that birchen home on the banks of the St John, on the morning of September the 20th, 1784.

There in the stillness of a North American forest, on a magnificent autumn day, when the trees were dressed in all their gorgeous loveliness, and at an hour when not even the rustling of a leaf could be heard, death was gradually releasing the spirit of Paul Guidon from its swarthy tenament.

Margaret Godfrey raised her head from off the arm of the Indian, and as she did so, he again whispered, "me soon be on hunting ground behind setting sun, you must come see Paul." Mrs. Godfrey, promised him that she would. He looked at his little wife and tried to move his right hand toward his breast. She knew what he wanted her to do. She knelt down, kissed him and took from inside his shirt a book. It was the old service book. She handed it to Margaret Godfrey, who opened it and read to Paul, whose eyes were steadfastly fixed on the reader. As she continued reading, the eyes of the dying Indian gradually closed, and as she, shut the book he ceased breathing. The spirit of the "Young Lion of the Woods" had taken its everlasting flight.

An hour after Paul Guidon had died, Jim Newall, Mrs. Godfrey, Mrs. Fowler and Mag Guidon went to the shore and brought Newall's canoe to the wigwam. The dead chief was laid out in a military coat, which he had kept with great care, on his head was an undress cap, and his lower limbs were dressed in dark trousers, and long military or hunting boots coming up to the knee.

Paul Guidon was united in marriage to Margaret Reonadi at Quebec in the summer of 1760, and several military gentlemen were present at the ceremony. He was dressed for burial in the same suit in which he was married.

Newall's canoe, on which the body was laid, was draped along the sides with evergreens. Spruce boughs were laid athwart the canoe forming a bed for the body of the departed hero. On his breast were placed his bow and arrow, also his moccasins. The widowed squaw said the canoe would help his soul to cross rivers and lakes on the way to the happy hunting grounds, the arrow would bring down game and the moccasins protect his feet. When all preparations were completed Newall had arrived back with another canoe. Mrs. Godfrey and Mrs. Fowler were then taken to the mouth of the river by Jim, where they secured the services of a man named Cock to accompany Newall up the river and assist him in digging a grave. A person by the name of Farris presented Mrs. Godfrey with a British flag, which he wished displayed at Paul's burial.

The following morning, according to an agreement, Newall came to the settlement and took Margaret G. and Mrs. Fowler to the wigwam which should hold the noble Paul no more forever. The British ensign was drawn over the body of the dead Indian. He lay in a sort of state till next day, the body being viewed by many of the Indians of the district, and also by not a few people from the settlement. All those that came expressed great sorrow for the quiet little Chipewayan widow, who was far away from her home and people. On the day of the burial there was a great gathering of the tribes. The body was borne to its final resting place by ten stalwart Indians, five on each side of the canoe, which was placed on five paddles. The procession was a most solemn one. The forest, the rugged scenery, the quiet retreat, all these appeared to add to the solemnity of the occasion. The grave was alongside that of his mother, and neatly lined with spruce. At five o'clock in the afternoon all that was mortal of Paul Guidon was lowered into its last abode.

Margaret Godfrey read the burial service from the old service book, while rivers of tears flowed down a score of swarthy faces, and an occasional low wail uttered by the Indians standing round the open grave, told of their sorrow and superstitious fear. The British ensign was then placed over the dead Iroquois. It was the flag under which he had lived and died, and a fit emblem to cover the remains of so true and brave a man. (The characters of American sympathizers, of traitors and rebels, as black as they appear in Colonial History, will appear deeper-dyed as they stand in contrast to the loyalty of this true Indian.) Margaret Godfrey spoke to them as follows: "I believe it to be my solemn duty, yea, my special duty on this most sorrowful occasion, that I should express my feelings. If there ascends from my heart a prayer to the throne of the Great Chief, in behalf of this youthful widow and in behalf of you people, let it be a prayer that the Great Chief may turn the hearts of all from the thoughts of war to sentiments of mercy and peace, such as our dear brother, whose remains we have just committed to the grave, possessed in his life. When I think of that true, and noble man, whose remains lie before us, I thank Him who rules the winds and guides the stars in their courses, that such a man was ever born. And if, at some distant period, it may be many years remote, one of my own or my husband's countrymen (some of whom are now peopling this country) should visit this spot or this neighbourhood, I trust that tradition or history may inform such a one that here sleeps one of the bravest, truest, and most noble sons of the forest that ever lived and roamed over the hunting grounds of time. He was true to his adopted country, true to its king, and true to its loyal people. An Indian, but too honest and noble-minded to be a rebel, he not only discountenanced the dark plottings of enemies within Acadia, but his sagacity sometimes was the means of frustrating them. He was an Indian, high in character; a noble example to some pale faces, to all. His body now rests beside that little brook, but his spirit is in a country of light and peace. This country is a good and pleasant country, and those who are coming to live here are sprung from a noble race, and if you, my friends, all prove as good and true as this departed red-man, you will have no cause to complain at the pale faces settling around you. You will secure a righteous treatment of your race, and your people will be a happy people. The British people (my people) are a great people, and where they settle they govern wisely, and in their dealings with all peoples they are guided by that justice and generosity which alone becomes a Christian people. These may be the last words I shall ever speak to you. These may be the last moments I shall ever be with you. Remember my loving advice and act upon it. If you do this you will earn the love of the pale faces and build up for your race a lasting renown. You and I, all of us, can learn good lessons from the life of Paul Guidon. If we live as he lived we will be happy here, and bye-and-by be more happy in the hunting fields of the hereafter. If we are as true to our Great Chief, and as true to our king and country as he was, we will worship the Great Spirit and never talk against our king and our country. Then bye and-by we shall go to meet Paul Guidon in a country where there will be no more wars, no more sighs, no more tears, no more parting, no more dying."

The Red men paid the utmost attention to the words as they dropped from Margaret Godfrey's lips. The grave was then filled in and the mourners dispersed to their homes along the river, leaving Paul Guidon to rest beside his mother.

For more than a century the "Young Lion of the Woods" has slept on the banks of the St. John. His loyal spirit took its flight to another sphere about the time thousands of united loyal spirits were forming a city near his tomb. The few thousand people that had settled in the colony in the days of Paul Guidon, were the ancestry of the nearly one million true, loyal subjects who inhabit the Maritime Provinces at the beginning of this year 1889. The colony, of which the noble Iroquois was a citizen, was confined within narrow bounds. Now the sons of the Loyalists are on the shores of the Pacific. Our country extends there. It is a noble faculty of our nature which enables us to connect our thoughts with the past as well as with the future, and by contemplating the example and studying the character of Paul Guidon, we must come to the conclusion that were that Indian living now his heart would glow with patriotic pride at the strides the country has taken, and that our destiny is Canadian, not American.

It is a pleasure to be able to exhibit to the present generation something of the splendid character of the Iroquois, whose ashes, commingled with those of the Union Jack, repose near the loyal City of St. John.

CHAPTER XI.

MARGARET GODFREY'S FAREWELL.

The widowed squaw and the two pale-faced women were the last to leave Paul's late camping ground. As they were pushed off into the stream by Jim Newall, who with another Indian paddled them back to the settlement, Margaret saw the other canoes, nine in number, going up the river. In the twilight she watched them, and it came to her mind that when Paul Guidon saw the porpoises at the mouth of the Bay of Fundy coming toward the sloop, he was not to be blamed for thinking they were canoes. She remarked to Mrs. Fowler those canoes resemble, at first sight, porpoises on the Atlantic Ocean.

When they arrived at the settlement Little Mag was taken to the home of the Lesters. As she sat down in one of the small, unfurnished rooms, she rested her head upon her hands and bitterly sobbed. Mrs. Godfrey tried to comfort her, but she wept on. Little Mag said she felt badly at leaving the wigwam. If she had stayed there her husband's spirit would have come in the night and been with her. She would not see him but she would know he was there. Indians always come back the night they are buried to see their loved ones again before going off to the great hunting grounds. After a time "Little Mag" fell asleep, and in her dream, as she reclined on a bench, talked in an unknown tongue. Neither Margaret nor any present could understand a word she uttered. She appeared to be conversing with some invisible being, invisible, at least, to the pale faces. It may have been that in that little room there was sweet communion between the widowed squaw and her departed husband. She said to Mrs Godfrey after she awoke that she thought she saw her husband and heard him say, "Don't worry about Paul." "Happy hunting grounds here." "See you far off." "Far beyond setting sun." He appeared to be speaking to her out of the setting sun. He was surrounded by a golden light, while he looked to be dressed in polished silver, and when she awoke by falling on the floor, she had started to fling herself into his arms, which were outstretched to receive her; but when her eyes were opened all around her was darkness.7

Soon after relating the above she retired to bed and in the morning seemed refreshed and happy. She sang songs in the Chippewayan tongue during the morning; her deep black eye became brighter; her step was light and quick, and her whole frame seemed to move to silent music, so regular, graceful and quick were her motions.

Who among us of earth knows but there are times in the lives of some of us, if not all of us, when the silent influences of dear departed friends, happy in the etherial or spirit world, unconsciously direct our thoughts and guide our movements.

In a few days Margaret Godfrey was preparing to leave the settlement and return to Halifax, and there make one more effort to secure some compensation for her husband's losses on the St. John.

She invited "Little Mag" to give her the history of the ring. In reply, "Little Mag" said her husband, Paul, had given it to her, and when he presented it to her told her that it once belonged to the best pale face woman he had ever seen in all his travels, that it was stolen from off the pale face's finger, and some moons afterwards he had knocked down the thief and taken it off his finger, one night far outside the British lines at Quebec. The thief was a rebel who had nearly killed pale face woman. About two weeks after Paul had knocked the rebel down, there was a sharp sortie between some British soldiers and some Americans, and during the fight, which ended in the repulse of the Americans, the monkey-faced, cross-eyed rebel, "Will," was taken prisoner. He was a great coward, and acknowledged to her husband that he had taken the ring off pale face woman's finger. Her husband told her to keep the ring till pale face woman saw it. That pale face woman has arrow mark on right arm above joint. Here Margaret Godfrey pulled up her sleeve and showed the little squaw the arrow mark received by her at Fort Frederick, in 1770. "Little Mag's" full brown-face lit up with an innocent smile as she pulled the precious gem off her own finger and placed it in the hand of Mrs. Godfrey, at the same time saying, "I know you the pale face who lost ring." Margaret took the ring put it on her own finger and thanked "Little Mag" for it.

The Chippewayan widow then took from a pocket in her blue skirt, a small case and handed it to Margaret Godfrey, who opened it and took from it a neck-lace of beads mounted with gold. A small gold cross was attached. "Little Mag" said the neck-lace was given to her by officers at Quebec when she was married, and Paul had given her the cross at the same time. She had married Paul when he was visiting among her tribe, when she was sixteen years old. When they came to Quebec the officers were very good to them. They gave her plenty of good clothes because they liked her husband so much.

Paul got sick while hunting with officers last winter. She was with them and cooking in camp. In early spring left the officers and came down to St. John River, in May, and built wigwam near his mother's grave. He got no better, but worse, growing thinner and weaker, with great cough. "What 'Little Mag' do now my Paul gone?" "I know you good woman will ask Great Chief to help me go home to my tribe, there live and die. My little papoose, Paul, dead, sleeps near Quebec, died when few moons old."

The information in Chapter nine respecting Paul Guidon's career after leaving Halifax in 1776, was obtained from a document pasted in the back of the old service book, and written at Paul's request by a Lieutenant of the British Army stationed at Quebec in the year 1780.

Mrs. Godfrey left Parr Town late in the fall of 1784 for Halifax, and soon after sailed from the latter place for England. Her mission to Halifax and the St. John had been a failure. She could get no promise that her husband's property would be restored to him, or that any compensation would be granted him in lieu thereof.

As the brigt. in which Margaret Godfrey took passage sailed out of Chebucto Harbour, she remarked to the captain that people who attempt to settle in a new colony would do well before leaving comfortable homes in the old land to find out what protection is guaranteed settlers, and what class of persons they are likely to settle among. And as she cast a last look upon the colony, as she entered the companion way to the cabin, she pointed her hand toward the shore, remarking, "my husband and I came out to this land in very comfortable circumstances fifteen years ago; to-day, without a penny to call my own, I leave the colony forever." The vessel ran across the ocean in thirty-six days, and Mrs. Godfrey was once again on English soil.

Nothing having been accomplished in Nova Scotia by his wife's visit, Captain Godfrey once more made an attempt for relief to the Lords of Parliament at home.

After the close of the American war, a commission was appointed by Parliament with power to inquire into the losses and services of the Loyalists in America. Captain Godfrey, as has been stated in a previous chapter, had put his case before many commissions, before Lords many. To use a common expression, "his case had gone the rounds." And now, as a last effort, he was about to present his claims before the Lord Commissioner of Losses and Services of the American Loyalists. In his memorial the captain stated to the Lords Commissioners, his services as a soldier to the time of settling in the colony, concluding with giving in detail the losses he had sustained on the River St. John, in His Majesty's Colonial possession, by the cruel and savage acts of Indians and rebels. He also stated in his memorial that he could have joined the service of Mr. Washington, and that great inducements were held out to him to do so, and to desert the cause of his king and his country. The memorial concluded as follows:

"Your memorialist therefore, humbly prays, that his cause may be taken into consideration, and that he may be granted such relief, as in the benevolence of His Majesty King George the Third's Commissioners, his losses and services may be found to deserve, and that he and the subjoined witnesses may have a hearing from your Honourable Board."

Witnesses:

THOMAS BRIDGE, ESQ., No. 2 Bridge Street, Surry Side
MR. BARTLEY, Delzex Court, near the Temple. } To Property.

GENERAL SKEIN, GENERAL MURRAY. } To Service.

SIR GUY CARLETON, BROOK WATSON. } To Loyalty.

(Here follows the signature of the petitioner.)

No. 2 Pratt Street, Lambeth.

As far as can be gathered from documentary evidence, and what information could be obtained otherwise, no relief was ever granted to Captain Godfrey or his family by the Commission of Losses and Services of the American Loyalists. Mrs. Godfrey, whose many trials, hardships, disappointments and sorrows, have been sketched in the foregoing chapters, was living in London as late as 1805. A letter written by the old lady to her son Charlie's wife, then living in Nova Scotia, was for a few hours in the possession of the writer of these chapters. In this letter she states her many difficulties and the numerous applications on her part to various Lords and other authorities seeking relief in her distress. Many portions of the long, well written letter are touching indeed.

The persistency of the grand old lady in doing her utmost to force the rulers of the country to a settlement of her husband's claims is greatly to be admired. Her letter cannot be read by any colonist without feelings of pity and shame. In one part of the letter she says Councillor Brand8 has given in my memorial to the treasury and I have to wait till he gets an answer, and I pray God it will be a happy one, but God knows what is best, and will, if we put all our trust in him, guide us aright. The cursed Duke of Richmond is not dead yet.9

Mrs. Godfrey must have been near eighty years of age when this letter was written. Thirty-five years had elapsed since her husband's first loss in the colony, and nearly thirty years since he was driven out by rebels and Indians.

Titles and pensions have been freely bestowed by English kings and parliaments on men who have been daring and successful in Britain's cause. If Captain Godfrey had performed no deeds worthy of a title or a pension, he at least deserved to be reimbursed in part or in whole for the losses he had sustained at the hands of rebels and savages. And it is probable there were men and women in England who were styled Dukes and Duchesses,—who wore orders on their breasts that covered less brave and no more loyal hearts than those of Capt. and Margaret Godfrey. She firmly supported and assisted her husband in his strict adherence to King George the Third's cause, and faced the rebels like a Spartan and defeated them in their designs at Grimross. Her tact, skill, courage and cool determination in the midst of imminent danger were truly admirable. She displayed the qualities of a born leader time and time again. In a situation where she could seek no support she relied on her own judgment, courage and faith. These sterling qualities brought to her aid one who afterward proved to be a friend and guide. Alone at Fort Frederick she defeated the designs of blood-thirsty savages by stepping out of the Fort and standing unmoved and defiant amid a flight of arrows. Her commanding presence and firm attitude won a savage to her side. We can entertain no better wish for the memory of this Celtic heroine, than that her name may be preserved, and her life and deeds in the colony go down to the latest generation.

"Justin McCarthy in his concise and interesting work, Ireland's cause in England's Parliament," says: "There is a charming poem by my friend William Allingham, called Lawrence Bloomfield in Ireland," in which we find a classic story, thrillingly told, as an illustration of the hero's feeling on some subject of interest to his country. A Roman Emperor is persecuted by the petition of a poor widowed woman, who prays for redress of some wrong done to her and her children. The great emperor is far too great, his mind is taken up too much with questions of imperial interest, to have any leisure for examining into, or even for reading, this poor woman's claim.

One morning he is riding forth of his palace gates, at the head of his splendid retinue, and the widow comes in his way, right in his path, and holds up her petition again, and implores him to read it. He will not read, and is about to pass scornfully on, when she flings herself on the ground before him, herself and her little children, just in front of his horse's hoofs, and she declares that if he will not stay and hear her prayer, he shall not pass on his way unless he passes over the bodies of herself and children.

And then says Mr. Allingham, "the Roman," who must have had something of the truly imperial in him, "wheeled his horse and heard."

Margaret Godfrey, the poor widowed woman, took up the petition of her husband, and continued to pray for redress of wrong done her husband, herself, and her children. For twenty years she continued in her prayer. Read what the poor widowed woman says in another part of her letter to her daughter-in-law, and see if the truly imperial is to be found in a King or in England's noblemen, who for twenty years "heard and wheeled."

"I have been sick all winter and not able to help myself, and am very ill at present. My illness has almost turned me, but if I had but half a leg I'll do my duty toward my family."

In another letter written to her daughter-in-law not long after the first, she says: "Tell Charles if he ever visits the mouth of the St. John or old Fort Frederick, not to neglect for his mother's sake to visit the grave of Paul Guidon. He knows the locality and may be able to detect the spot where the hero sleeps. In my thoughts, God knows how often I linger about that spot. Sacred indeed must be the earth that mingles with the dust of such nobility. Were I present I would adorn his last resting place with the early spring flowers. Many wintry storms have passed above his grave. Spring time and summer have come and gone, but he heeds them not.

"I feel that I am nearing the border land, and as I cross the stream I believe I shall meet my husband and also my other protector standing together on the shore to welcome me home, to a home where friends never fail and where justice is administered in the highest perfection.

"It is my living desire, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying desire, to meet beyond on the fields of glory Paul Guidon and my dear husband. No Briton ever lived who was more loyal to his King and country, and trusted more fully in the honour of earthly Lords than Charles Godfrey.

"It may be that I shall bye and by find Paul Guidon's name inscribed in brighter characters on the columns that support the arches of the heavens, than the names of some to whom my husband applied on earth for redress of wrong.

"One of Briton's statesmen lately said, 'It is easy for my Lord C. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either presently derived or inherited in sinecure acquisitions from the public money to boast of their patriotism, and keep aloof from temptation, but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what it was to have a shilling of their own, and in saying this he wept.

"And so have I, a thousand times in silence wept, as the utmost energy of my life has been exerted to cheer, to comfort and to encourage a weeping heart-broken husband weighed down with misfortunes and poverty."

The grave has long ago closed over every member of the Godfrey family who were among the English pioneer settlers of Acadia, and the history of their lives might have slept with them, but for a trifling circumstance. The old documents referred to and copied in the foregoing chapters, are greatly defaced, and time is completing their destruction. Many of them are scarcely legible, and it required the utmost patience and perseverance to gather together the facts as narrated in this work.

LITTLE MAG'S DREAM AS INTERPRETED BY ONE OF THE LESTERS.

As the little widow narrated her dream to one of the Misses Lester, the latter understood it to be something like the following: Mag saw a vast land with wooded hills and dales, green fields, lakes and rivers. Her departed husband was quickly crossing over all these toward the setting sun. He sped over the lakes and rivers in his canoe, and when he emerged from among the trees, his bow and arrow hung across his shoulder, over the open country he travelled in his moccasins, with the old flag wrapped tightly about his breast and shoulders. At length he approached the setting sun, where she lost sight of him for a moment, the darkness that had gradually settled down, shutting out from her view the passage of her husband, quick as a flash burst into a beautiful crystal light. The heavens looked like shining silver, all around the horizon was a wide cloud of clear light blue, with a border of gold. Beneath was a broad expanse of green, with large groves of trees at regular intervals dressed in a deeper shade. Through these were meandering streams or rivers as of clear glass. Clear cut avenues ran through at regular spaces from stream to stream, on the borders of which (avenues and rivers) were thousands of jasper wigwams, sitting and standing, at the front of each were Indians of all ages, dressed in pure white and ornamented with precious stones of various hues. Rising above the blue border of the sky, slowly and majestically, a new sun was beaming. On its face stood Paul Guidon, in a dress of glistening whiteness. The dress was after the pattern of that of an Indian chief. Out of his right shoulder rose a red cross slanting slightly outward, on the top of which stood an angel slightly inclining foreward. In his right hand he held a wreath made of flowers most pure and white, inside of which in letters of light blue, was the word Love. Out of his left shoulder, in the same direction, rose a staff of deep blue, to which was attached a drooping silver flag crossed with bars of gold. (Its pattern was like the one placed in his grave.) On the top of the staff rested a dove, holding in its beak a wreath, composed of rainbow shades, circling the word Peace in letters whiter than snow. As the new sun continued to rise, the jewelled sky increased in dazzling brilliancy, ten thousand gems of shining gold shot out, and ten thousand sapphires too, all glistening gloriously in the new light. The jasper tents on the everlasting hunting grounds, and the motionless streams were brightning with living flame. Thousands of Indians, strong and fair, in countless groupings, seemed, to surpass even the sky itself in their glittering starry dress.

Paul Guidon appeared to move his head forward as the star-paved sky increased in burning brightness, till overpowered by the lustre shining, and dazzled by the increasing brilliancy. Little Mag fell to the floor and awoke in the darkened room. As she was in the act of falling the faint sound of distant music, mingled with the noise of far away rushing waters, seemed to fall upon her ears, increasing in strength and melody as she touched the floor.

If Milman's lines had been written or known at the time of Mag's dream, they could have been most suitably recited.