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1 2 3

"O ma ole canoe, wat s matter wit' you.
w y was you be so slow ? "

ail

■^f^WHWBSWSWftKupe*-

Phil-c)-riim s
Canoe

and

Madeleine
Vercheres

Two Poems by

William

F^enry

DrumiTiond

Author of " The
Habitant," etc.

Illustrated by

F'rederit k

Simpson

(!oburii

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON

Zbc finicfierbocfter prees
1S98

?999

» J <«/ Si^ "W

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

Ube Itniclterbocher prees, new Korh

I-

PHIL-O-RUM'S CANOE.

" (^\ MA ole canoe, wat 's matter wit' you,

V>' an' w'y was you be so slow ?
Don't I work hard enough on de paddle, an'

still you don't seem to go —
No win' at all on de fronte side, an* current

she don't be strong,
Den w'y are you lak' lazy feller, too sleepy for

move along ?

" I 'member de tam, w'en you jomp de sam'

as deer wit' de wolf behin'.
An' brochet on de top de water, you scare

heem mos' off hees min' :
But fish don't care for you now at all, only jus'

mebbe wink de eye.
For he know it 's easy git out de way, w'en

you was a-passin' by "

I 'm spikin' dis way, jus' de oder day, w'en I 'm

out wit' de ole canoe
Crossin' de point w'ere I see, las' fall, wan very

beeg caribou.

2 Phil-0-rum's Canoe

Wen somebody say, " Phil-o-rum, mon vieux,
wat *s matter wit' you youse'f ? "

An* who do you s'pose was talkin' ? VV'y de
poor ole canoe shese'f.

O yass, I 'm scare w'en I 'm sittin' dere, an'

she 's callin' ma nam' dat way.
" Phil-o-rum Juneau, w'y you spik so moche,

you 're off on de head to-day:
Can't be you forget, ole feller, you an' me

we're not too young,
An' if I 'm lookin' so ole lak' you, I t'ink I

will close ma tongue.

" You should feel ashame, for you 're alway

blame, w'en it is n't ma fault at all,
For I 'm tryin* to do bes' I can for you on

summer-tam, spring, an' fall.
How offen you drown on de reever, if I 'm

not lookin' out for you
W'en you 're takin' too moche on de w'isky,

some night comin' down de Soo.

" De firse tam we go on de Wessoneau, no

feller can beat us den
For you *re purty strong man wit' de paddle,

but dat 's long ago, ma frien',

Phil-o-rum's Canoe 3

An' win' she can blow off dc mountain, an'

tender an' rain may come,
But camp see us bote on de evening — you

know dat was true, Phil-o-rum.

" An' who 's your horse, too, but your ole

canoe, an' w'en you feel cole an' wet.
Who was your house w'en I 'm upside down^

an' onder de roof you get,
Wit' rain ronnin' down ma back, Bapteme ! till

I 'm gettin' de rheumateez,
An' I never say not'ing at all moi-meme, but

let you do jus' you please ?

" You t'ink it was right, kip me out all night

on reever side down below,
An' even * bon soir ' you was never say, but

off on de camp you go,
Lefifin' your poor ole canoe behin', lyin' dere

on de groun',
Watchin' de moon on de water, an* de bat

flyin' all aroun' ?

" Oh, dat 's lonesome t'ing hear de grey owl

sing up on de beeg pine tree !
An' many long night she kip me awake till sun

on de Eas' I see,

I !

4 Phil-o-rum's Canoe

An' den you come down on de morning for

start on some more voyage,
An' only t'ing decen' you do all day, is carry

me on portage.

Dat 's way, Phil-o-rum, rhcumateez she

come, wit' pain ronnin' troo' ma side,
Wan leetlc hole here, 'noder beeg wan dere,

dat not'ing can never hide.
Don't do any good feex mc up agen, no matter

how moche you try,
For w'en we come ole an' our work she 's

done, bote man an' canoe mus' die."

Wall, she talk dat way mebbe mos' de day 1:11

we 're passin' some beaver dam,
An' wan de young beaver, he 's mak' hees tail

come down on de water Flam !
I never see de canoe so scare, she jomp nearly

two, t'ree feet,
I t'ink she was goin* for ronne away, an' she

shut up de mout' toute suite.

It mak' me feel queer, de strange t'ing I hear,
an' I 'm glad she don't spik no more.

But soon as we fin' ourse'f arrive over dere on
de 'noder shore

■""^■""""■"--

[

" De mos' worse current 's de las' wan too. dt-
current of Dead Riviere."

f.:

— i

2>^'^»^ >ii . ,,^

Phil-o-rum's Canoe 5

I tak' dat canoe lak' de lady, an' carry her off

wit* me,
For I 'm sorry de way I 'm treat her, an' she

know more dan me, sapree !

Yass, dat 's smart canoe, an' I know it 's true,

w'at she 's spikin' wit' me dat day,
I 'm not de young feller I use to be, w'en work

she was only play.
An' I know I was comin' closer on place w'ere

I mus' tp.k* care,
W'ere de mos' worse current 's de las' wan too,

de current of Dead Riviere.

You can only steer, an' if rock be near, wit'

wave dashin' all aroun'.
Better mak' leetle prayer, for on Dead Riviere,

some very smart man get drown ;
But if you be locky an' watch youse'f, mebbe

reever won't seem so wide,
An' firse t'ing you know you '11 ronne ashore,

safe on de 'noder side.

'mim'

MADELEINE VERCHERES.

I'VE told you many a tale, my child, of the
old heroic davs.
Of Indian wars and massacre, of villages ablaze
With savage tor.h, from Ville Marie to the

Mission of Trois Rivieres;
But never have I told you yet of Madeleine
Vercheres.

Summer had come with its blossoms, and gaily
the robin sang.

And deep in the forest arches, the axe of the
woodman rang;

Again in the waving meadows, the sun-browned
farmers met

And out on the green St. Lawrence, the fisher-
man spread his net.

And so through the pleasant season, till the

days of October came
When children wrought with their parents, and

even the old and lame

" Like ti^^^rs they watch their prey.

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Madeleine Verclieres 7

With tottering frames and footsteps, their

feeble labors lent
At the gathering of the harvest le bon Dieu

himself had sent.

For news tliert; was none of battle, from the

forts on the Richelieu
To the gates of the ancient city, where the flag

of King Louis flew;
All peaceful the skies hung over the seigneurie

of Vercheres,
Like the calm that so often cometh ere the

hurricane rends the air.

And never a thought of danger had the Sei-

gneur, sailing away
To join the soldiers of Carignan, where down

at Quebec they lay,
But smiled on his little daughter, the maiden

Madeleine,
And a necklet of jewels promised her, when

home he should come again.

And ever the days passed swiftly, and careless

the workmen grew,
For the months they seemed a hundred since

the last war-bugle blew.

Madeleine Vercheres

Ah, little they dreamt on their pillows the

farmers of Vercheres,
That the wolves of the southern forest had

scented the harvest fair.

Like ravens they quickly gather, like tigers

they watch their prey.
Poor people ! with hearts so happy, they sang

as they toiled away !
Till the murderous eyeballs glistened, and the

tomahawk leaped out
And the banks of the green St. Lawrence

echoed the savage shout.

" O mother of Christ, have pity ! " shrieked the

women in despair;
" This is no time for praying," cried the young

Madeleine Vercheres ;
" Aux armes! auxarmes! les Iroquois! quick

to your arms and guns,
Fight for your God and country, and the lives

of the innocent ones."

And she sped like a deer of the mountain, when

beagles press close behind.
And the feet that would follow after must be

swift as the prairie wind.

Madeleine Vercheres 9

Alas ! for the men and women and little ones

that day,
For the road it was long and weary, and the

^^♦•t it was far away.

But the fawn had outstripped the hunters, and
the palisades drew near,

And soon from the inner gateway the war-
bugle rang out clear.

Gallant and clear it sounded, with never a note
of despair —

'T was a soldier of France's challenge, from
the young Madeleine Vercheres!

" And this is my little garrison, my brothers

Louis and Paul ?
With soldiers two, and a cripple ? may the

Virgin pray for us all !
But we 've powder and guns in plenty, and

we '11 fight to the latest breath.
And if need be, for God and country, die a

brave soldi::r's death.

" Load all the carabines quickly, and when-
ever you sight the foe

Fire from the upper turret and loopholes down
below,

BBB

T^ririwm«iliiifi

lo Madeleine Vercheres

Keep up the fire, brave soldiers, though the

fight may be fierce and long.
And they '11 think our little garrison is more

than a hundred strong."

So spake the maiden Madeleine, and she roused

the Norman blood
That seemed for a moment sleeping, and sent

it like a flood
Through every heart around her, and they

fought the red Iroquois
As fought in the old-time battles the soldiers

of Carignan.

And they say the black clouds gathered, and a
tempest swept the sky,

And the roar of the thunder mingled with the
forest tiger's cry,

But still the garrison fought on, while the light-
ning's jagged spear

Tore a hole in the night's dark curtain, and
showed them a foeman near.

And the sun rose up in the morning, and the

color of blood was he,
Gazing down from the heavens on the little

company

"Saluted tlie brave youii^ captain.

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Madeleine Vercheres

" Behold, my friends," cried the maiden,

't is a warning lest we forget,
Though the night saw us do our duty, our
work is not finished yet."

And six days followed each other, and feeble

her limbs became
Yet the maid never sought her pillow, and the

flash of the carabine's flame
Illumined the powder-smoked faces, aye, even

when hope seemed gone,
And she only smiled on her comrades, and told

them to fight, fight on.

And she blew a blast on the bugle, and lo!
from the forest black.

Merrily, merrily ringing, an answer came peal-
ing back.

Oh, pleasant and sweet it sounded, borne on
the morning air.

For it heralded fifty soldiers, with gallant De
la Monniere.

And when he beheld the maiden, the soldier of

Carignan,
And looked on the little garrison that fought

the red Iroquois

Madeleine Vercheres

And held their own in the battle, for six long
weary days,

He stood for a moment speechless, and mar-
velled at woman's ways.

Then he beckoned the men behind him, and

steadily they advance
And with carabines uplifted the veterans of

France
Saluted the brave young Captain so timidly

standing there,
And they fired a volley in honor of Madeleine

Vercheres.

And this, my dear, is the story of the maiden

Madeleine.
God grant that we in Canada may never see

again
Such cruel wars and massacre, in waking or in

dream,
As our fathers and mothers saw, my child, in

the days of the old regime !

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