eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
“Arm yourselves quickly,” Madeleine ordered.
“What is your plan, Ma’m’selle?” the old soldier inquired.
“To defend the seigneury to the last. The little children must stay in the blockhouse and their mothers with them. That leaves only six of us to guard the palisades. We must try to make the Mohawks believe that we have a strong garrison. If they attack, we can only do our best. We are fighting for our people—what there are left of them—for our country and our faith. Let us fight to the death if need be.”
AND SO MADELEINE and her small force begin their harrowing vigil—hoping against all hope that help will come in time.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781787202986 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Tannenberg Publishing |
| Publication date: | 11/11/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 131 |
| File size: | 18 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
About the Author
Born the youngest of three children in St. Paul, Minnesota to English-Canadian parents, Brill graduated from the University of Minnesota with a Bachelor of Literature degree in 1899, a noteworthy achievement for a woman of her generation. At the time of her graduation, she was a book reviewer for a local newspaper, a task she did for various publications over the course of her writing career, with a specialization in reviewing books pertinent to the geography and history of Minnesota and Great Lakes regions.
She is best known to modern readers for her exciting tale of New France, Madeleine Takes Command—the portrayal of an historical happening quite likely inspired by her own family’s roots in this area of Canada. Her other meticulously researched books, both historical adventures and more factual accounts, all depict a similar deep interest in her history of the Northwest—Minnesota, the Great Lakes regions of Wisconsin, Michigan, and over into the Dakotas and parts of central Canada.
She died in 1962 at the age of 85 in her home state of Minnesota.
Read an Excerpt
ALTHOUGH IT HAD been fifteen minutes since Madame de Verchères had put on her bonnet and fur cape, she found excuses to linger in the big living room of the manor house on the St. Lawrence River. Now she changed the position of a candlestick. Now she shifted a log in the blazing fireplace. Once she tried the bolt on the heavy door, and once she straightened a stack of snowshoes in a corner of the room.Gravely her fourteen-year-old daughter followed these movements. Madeleine understood perfectly why her mother could not make up her mind to go. At last she came over and put a hand on the woman’s arm.“Maman,” she said in a low tone, “you cannot pretend any longer that there is a single thing to do here.”“I hesitate to leave, Madeleine. If I had not promised your father, I would not go one step.”“Of course you must go, Maman. You will not be away long, and we shall be quite safe, the boys and I.”“I wish I could be sure of that. The business must be attended to, and I may not have another opportunity to make the journey. But I cannot help feeling that it might be better to take all of you with me.”“The canoes will be crowded, Maman. And I couldn’t go to Montreal like this.” Madeleine glanced down at her Indian moccasins and a skirt of coarse homespun woolen no better than that worn by the poorest girls in New France. “There is no time now to make ready. And who would command here? Is there anyone we could trust? No, Mother dear, the boys and I must stay.”Madame de Verchères put both arms around her daughter and held her close. “You are brave, my Madeleine. We must be brave in this dangerous country of New France.”“It is our own country, Maman,” the girl said softly. “Don’t be anxious about us. I will take good care of the boys.”“I know well that I can trust you, my daughter, but you must be careful and discreet as well as brave. I have told the boys they are to obey you in everything, as they would your father or me. Keep them close. Do not let them wander in the woods. Alexandre will make you no trouble, I think, but Louis is more reckless. You must be firm with him. Where are the little ones?”As she spoke, a door was thrown open and a chorus of childish voices cried, “Hurry, Maman, the seigneur is waiting.”Madame de Verchères smiled down at her three youngest children—two small girls in bonnets and cloaks and a boy of five obviously very proud of his blue hooded coat, a miniature of the capote worn by Canadian soldiers. Then she raised her eyes to a shaggy, weather-beaten figure behind them, a man in homespun and buckskin who bowed low before her.“Pardon, Madame,” he said in a low apologetic voice, “but the seigneur bids me ask you to make haste. We must leave at once or night will overtake us.”“Indeed, yes, I will be with you in a moment. You may take my portmanteau.”He shouldered a worn leather bag that had been brought from France many years ago. Madame de Verchères gave a quick glance around the big room. Then, linking her arm through that of her daughter, she followed him into the open.It was on an October afternoon in 1692 that mother and daughter stepped out of this home which, though built of roughhewn logs, was nevertheless known as a manor house. It belonged to an estate that King Louis XIV of France had granted to Sieur François Jarret de Verchères, the father of Madeleine, in return for his military services. Like other estates on the upper St. Lawrence, it was known as a military seigneury. And, like his neighbors, Madeleine’s father was called a seigneur.This estate of eighteen square miles was more than a home. It was a fort thrown up against the Iroquois nation. Those five tribes of Indians, headed by the ferocious Mohawks, were forever invading Montreal and the country around it. Therefore, when Madame de Verchères and her daughter left the manor house, they were not in the open. They were in an enclosure known as the stockade.A gate that was always bolted at sunset led from the stockade to the banks of the St. Lawrence. Careless of the stumps and stones that roughened the ground, the three younger children of Madame de Verchères ran along up to this gate and soon they were lost from view. Their mother, however, picked her way. It was not until she had passed through the gate that she lifted her eyes. She could see the St. Lawrence flowing swift and mighty about the sharp point of land on which the seigneury was built.“Look, Madeleine, look!” she cried, stopping short and pointing to the river. “Ah, is it not beautiful, chérie, our land of New France?”“Yes, Maman,” returned the girl solemnly. “I always feel that, no matter how hard our life is, our country is worth it all.”As soon as they passed through the gate, they could look down on the dock at the edge of the river. Two canoes rested beside it, and on the shore directly in front of it a group had gathered to watch them depart.A tall elderly man separated himself from the group and scrambled up the bank of the river. Although he wore buckskin breeches and moccasins over his hose of home-knit wool, his faded coat was of fine material and good cut. Plainly here was not one of the lesser folk clustered about the dock. Here was a seigneur.He raised a broad-brimmed hat of beaver felt. “I am honored, Madame de Verchères,” he said, “to have the privilege of escorting you today.”“You are kind, Monsieur. My business in Montreal is urgent or I would not trespass on your kindness. I am sorry if I have kept you waiting.”“Not at all, Madame. Mademoiselle Madeleine is to accompany you?”“If only she could!” sighed the mother. “But, as you know, she is the eldest of my children at home and she must take charge of the seigneury.”The seigneur made a deep bow to Madeleine. “So Mademoiselle holds the fort. How I regret that I cannot have the pleasure of serving under such a charming commandant!”Madeleine’s cheeks reddened. Except for a few months now and then in the convent school of the Ursuline nuns in Quebec and for rare visits to the fur-trading and mission center, Montreal, she had spent her fourteen years in the isolated seigneury. She was little used to courtly speeches.“I fear I am a very inexperienced one, Monsieur,” she replied.“Do you think there is any real danger now?” the mother inquired.“I trust not, Madame. So far as I know, there are no signs of trouble at present. But here on the upper river we must be on the alert always. You have a garrison?”“His Excellency the Governor has given us a few men of the militia and has supplied us with ammunition enough to withstand any ordinary attack.”“Then I think you have no cause for fear.”They were nearing the group by the river’s edge when two boys scrambled up the bank and ran toward them. The taller, who was about twelve, wore a leather hunting shirt over his breeches. His younger brother wore the blue blouse of a peasant. Although their brown legs were bare, moccasins protected their feet.“Oh, Mother,” cried the elder, “can’t we go too? There is room in the canoes.”“No, Louis, you must stay here and help Madeleine take care of the seigneury.”The boy’s face fell, and he kicked at a pebble with his moccasined toe. “There’s not a bit of danger here now,” he muttered. “The sergeant says so.”“My boy, here in New France there’s always danger,” put in the seigneur a little severely. “You wouldn’t desert the garrison, would you?”Louis glanced up at him and stopped kicking at the stone. “I didn’t mean to desert,” he protested. “I meant, couldn’t we all go?”His mother laid a hand on his shoulder. “Not this time, my son. If your father were here, it would be different. Don’t you remember what he always said—that one cannot put too much trust in strange soldiers? That’s why there must always be some member of the family left in charge. So—be good, Louis. Obey your sister just as you would your father or me. Remember you must uphold the honor of the Verchères.”While she spoke, the seigneur had been staring impatiently in the direction of the canoes. “Madame,” said he, “I do not like to press you, but the hour grows late.”“Yes, yes, Monsieur.” She drew Louis, then Alexandre, to her and kissed them. “The good God keep you, my brave sons.”As the five figures advanced, the crowd that had almost obscured the boats parted. With yelps of delight the three youngest children, Jean, Angélique, and Cathèrine, who had reached the dock many minutes before, welcomed their mother. Then, after hurriedly embracing their sister and the two boys, they began besieging the seigneur with questions. How long would it take to get to Montreal? In which canoe was each to sit?Smilingly the gentleman placed Madame de Verchères and the small boy on the folded blanket in the center of the first canoe. To Angélique and Cathèrine he gave the place of honor in his own canoe. The four oarsmen assigned to each craft raised their paddles.“En avant!” cried the leader. The paddles dipped and the party was off.It was a primitive mode of travel for the lady of the manor, but neither she nor her children thought about that. There was no other way of going to Montreal. Even the Governor of the colony traveled by bark canoe. No road connected Quebec, the capital, with the only other real towns, Three Rivers and Montreal. The St. Lawrence was the highway. Unless the traveler followed the river, by boat in summer or on the ice in winter, he had to make his way on foot over Indian trails. Practically all the population lived along the banks of the great river and its tributaries.Twenty miles was not a very long journey. But to Madeleine and the two boys, as they stood watching the canoes driven against the current by the muscular arms of the canoemen, the undertaking seemed a truly serious one. If the times had been peaceful, they would have felt no anxiety about their mother’s trip. But the times were not peaceful. For eight years and more the folk along the St. Lawrence above Three Rivers had lived in almost constant dread of the Iroquois. The country above Three Rivers had to bear the brunt of Indian wars. The settlements around Montreal and for nearly a hundred miles below could be reached easily by the fierce warriors, who came from their own country by way of Lake Champlain and the Richelieu River. Raiding parties appeared suddenly, now in one place, now in another, to kill, burn, and destroy wherever they could take by surprise the seigneuries, the tiny villages, the isolated farms, and even the forts.Madeleine had faith in the courage of the neighboring seigneur and his men. She was glad that her mother had the opportunity to travel with him, but for all that, she was anxious and would be until the business in Montreal was finished and the home trip safely over.The tenant farmers—habitants, as they were called—waved and cried good luck before they went their various ways. Soon Madeleine and her brothers were the only people left on the shore. Soberly they watched the two frail boats racing upstream. Silently they went back to the stockade. As they passed in, ten-year-old Alexandre asked, “Shall we close the gate?”“Of course not,” Louis answered. “Whoever heard of closing the gate until everyone is in from the fields?”Madeleine replied more gently, “No, Sandre, we will wait until sunset as usual.”Leaving her brothers to their own devices, she reentered the manor house and went through to the kitchen. There she was surprised to find one of the guards gossiping with Nanette, the one maidservant of the family. All but two of the squad of militia were out patrolling around the field where the habitants were at work. In those dangerous days it was not thought safe for the people of the seigneury to scatter to their various farms. All worked together in one field and then went on to another, and always with an armed guard.In the spring of that year 1692, raiding bands of Iroquois had kept the country around Montreal and for many miles down river in continual alarm. Seeding had been delayed, the fields farthest from the stockade had lain untilled, and harvest was late in those that had been planted. Though the middle of October was now past, there was still work to be done, fall plowing and clearing and burning of refuse, before winter settled down on the St. Lawrence. So the soldiers had gone to the fields with the workers, leaving only two on guard within the stockade.As Madeleine came through the door, the man who had been talking with Nanette turned around a little sheepishly. He was one of the ten guards sent by the Governor to protect the seigneury“So, Gatchet? You can find nothing to watch but Nanette cleaning fish?” Madeleine tried to make her tone as gentle as possible.“La Bonte is in the bastion by the gate, Mademoiselle,” returned the man sulkily.“But how about the rear bastions? A man certainly ought to be stationed on one of those, too. If only so many of you did not have to be out in the fields guarding the workers, I should keep four men in the stockade.”As she met his eyes, almost insolent in their amusement, her cheeks flushed. “No, Gatchet, I am not just a frightened girl. But I know what happened here at this very seigneury two years ago, and I tell you it can happen again.”“The sergeant has given us no such orders, Mademoiselle.”“Very well. I shall talk to the sergeant himself this very evening.”Without another word the guard turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen. Madeleine stared after him, and as she did so, she wondered anxiously about the next few days. If Indians should attack them, how far could she trust men like this?