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AN INTENSELY EXCITING STOEY OF CEIME IN QUEBEC, 
 
 THIRTY' YEARS AGO!! 
 
 Utatol : 
 
 PUBLISHED Bl r R. WORTHINGTON. 
 
 1867 . • 
 

 
 
 * 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 " 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 / 
 
 v- 
 
 
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 I 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
LIST OF BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY 
 
 R. WORTHINGTON, MONTREAL. 
 
 JUST PUBLISHED: 
 
 0 I 
 
 Canadian Brigands. A most exciting Story. 
 
 Gerald Aymer’s Loves, and 10 complete stories. 
 
 A Strange Story, 
 
 The Ten of Diamonds, and other Tales. 
 
 Long Slippers? and other interesting Tales, by Eminent Authors. 
 
 The Hand-Book of Travels, and Tourist’s Guide Through 
 Canada and the United States. 
 
 What is This Mystery. By Miss Braddon. 
 
 The Advocate, a Novel by Mr. C. Heavysege, author of “ Jcphthah’s 
 Daughter,” &c., &c., in 1 Yol., 8vo. 
 
 The Harp of Canaan, by the Rev. J. Douglas Borthivick, in 1 Vol., ! 
 12mo., printed on best paper. 
 
 History of Canada, by the late Robert Christie, Esq., M. P. P., in 6 
 Vols., 12mo. 
 
 Carneau’s History of Canada, in 2 Vois., 8vo., Third Edition. 
 Artemus Ward, “ His travels,” with Comic Illustrations. 
 Artemus Ward, “His Book,” with 18 Comic Illustrations. 
 HesperUS, AND other Poems, by Ciias. Sangsters, in 1 Yol. 
 
 Saturday Reader, complete to Sept. 1st, 1867, in 4 Yols., Green Cloth 
 Extra. 
 
 Nimmo’s Popular Tales, 4Vois. in 2 half calf. 
 
 
 f 
 
THE 
 
 AN INTENSELY EXCITING STORY OF CRIME IN QUEBEC, 
 
 THIRTY YEARS AGO!! 
 
 Stotol : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY R. WORTHINGTON. 
 
 1867 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 , 
 
 4 
 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Frequent robberies in Quebec in 1831 and 1835— Or- 
 ganized band of Bobbers— The Conspiracy— Im- 
 prudent Measures— Cecelia Connor— First Suspi- 
 cions— Arrest— Trial— Conviction. 
 
 D URING the summer and autumn -of 1834, 
 the year of the great cholera, Quebec was 
 visited by a scourge, scarcely less alarming than 
 that of the epidemic ; theft, assassination and 
 burglary succeeded each other with inconceiv- 
 able rapidity, carrying fear and consternation 
 into every circle of society ; never was crime 
 nor robbery accompanied by more atrocious cir- 
 cumstances, nor committed with greater audaci- 
 ty, in the midst of a moral and comparatively 
 small population. 
 
 The doings were no longer confined to the 
 tricks and ordinary sleight of hand of the habi- 
 tual inmates of the prison ; petty larceny, thefts 
 of clothing or of poultry, prompted by misery 
 and committed tremblingly and in secret. They 
 were the attack of an armed band on our public 
 roads, in our country houses, our inhabited 
 dwellings, and in our churches. In vain did the 
 civic authorities institute enquiry and set their 
 runners on foot ; the authors of these crimes es- 
 caped out of reach and remained undetected. 
 All the known reprobates of the town were ques- 
 tioned, but without effect ; not a sign, not a hint, 
 not a guess gave a clue to the mystery ; bailiffs, 
 patrols, and magistrates were all of them at a 
 loss; even the promise of large suras of money 
 did not tempt the cupidity of a single accom- 
 plice. 
 
 The conspirators, secure in their secret, and 
 rendered more and more daring by the repeated 
 failures of the authorities, profited by the fear 
 that paralyzed the citizens, and continued their 
 depredations night after night. Scarcely a day 
 dawned but brought with it the rumor of some 
 fresh attempt ; the public journals laid hold of 
 the news with avidity, as a piece of great good 
 fortune, by the horrible details of which they at- 
 tracted the attention and excited the fear of their 
 readers, who, in terrified suspense, awaited anx- 
 iously the unravelling of the plot. Certain it 
 was, however, that if professsional thieves knew 
 aught of these misdeeds, a secret hand possess- 
 ing more than ordinary skill, directed and con- 
 trolled their movements — the conspiracy or what 
 ever it was, had a soulj a chief, far superior to 
 the ordinary run of thieves ; a head at once skil- 
 
 ful, crafty, and energetic; but where to find this 
 head was the question ; the core of the secret 
 had still to be touched; day by day it became 
 more and more necessary to bring the guilty to 
 light, and rid Quebec of the accursed plague. 
 
 This state of affairs continued until the spring 
 of 1835, without the discovery of a single cul- 
 prit, notwithstanding that every precaution had 
 been taken by the citizens, who were always on 
 the alert, and well armed ; still thousands of 
 pounds fell into the hands of this audacious band. 
 
 Happily the career of crime is not of long du- 
 ration ; the guilty cannot hope for exemption 
 from his deserts; sooner or later his very sense 
 of security betrays him, and delivers him, bound 
 hand and foot, at the tribunal of justice. But a 
 recent and unparalleled robbery gave renewed 
 vigor to the drooping spirits of the constabulary. 
 
 During the night of the 9th and 10th of Feb- 
 ruary, 1835, the scoundrels introduced them- 
 selves into the chapel of the Congregation of 
 Our Lady, of Quebec; breaking it open they 
 violated this sanctuary, consecrated to the wor- 
 ship of the Virgin, taking away with them lamps, 
 candlesticks, and consecrated vessels, all of 
 which were pure silver, and estimated at a value 
 of from a hundred and fifty to two hundred 
 pounds sterling. So enormous a crime aroused 
 the indignation of the entire population,, but, 
 again, as before, time had to elapse without ex- 
 posing a single trace of the guilty ; the vague 
 suspicions that were afloat served only to em- 
 barrass the authorities, so contradictory were 
 their statements. One month — two months — 
 three months passed, yet nothing transpired to 
 afford the slightest hope of success ; though four 
 hundred dollars had been held out as a reward 
 to the informer, not a clue could be obtained to 
 the secret. 
 
 But the guilty cannot remain quiet in their 
 transgressions, and thus avoid their punishment ; 
 they are their own informers. The men who, 
 up to this time had eluded all the vigilance of 
 pursuit, were fast weaving the snare that was to 
 entrap them — in their haste to convert their spoils 
 into money — journeying from Quebec to Brough- 
 ton to have it melted, and despising the caution 
 which had hitherto been their shield, they dis- 
 covered upon themselves. 
 
 An old Irish woman, Cecelia Connor, lived 
 as servant with a man named Norris, a connec- 
 tion of one of the conspirators, in the Township 
 
2 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 of Broughton, distant about fifty miles from the 
 City of Quebec. This woman, witnessing an 
 unusual commotion in her master’s household- 
 people coming and going at all hours felt per- 
 suaded that something strange was taking 
 place; accordingly she watched every move- 
 ment of those around her— listened to every 
 sound— questioned all she dared— guessed all 
 she could, and at last, strange to say, questioned 
 rightly; the truth had revealed itself to her— 
 she had fathomed the secret. 
 
 One cold winter’s night, perceiving a small 
 lio-ht twinkling beneath the branches of a dis- 
 tant wood, this old woman, for she was forty 
 years of age, and extremely feeble, actuated by 
 curiosity, °arose from her bed and walked to- 
 wards it, nearly three miles in the dark, and 
 through snow up to her knees ; at last she came 
 upon snowshoe tracks — she followed them for 
 about twice the distance of a gun shot— they 
 led to a little hut, used during the maple sugar 
 season as a place for boiling the sap. Creeping 
 cautiously up, she ensconced herself within the 
 shadow of a large maple tree, and awaited in 
 breathless silence, the result of her undertaking. 
 
 A man about six foot high acted as sentinel a 
 few paces from the cabin door; he stood upon 
 snowshoes, was armed with a huge and knotty 
 club, and was under orders to fell any living 
 thing that approached. This man the old ser- 
 vant recognised as a brother-in-law of her mas- 
 ter’s- he had recently arrived from Quebec. 
 The’ cabin door was partly open, and by the 
 blaze of a large coal fire, she perceived three 
 men, who looked like salamanders surrounded 
 by flames. One of them held a silver figure of 
 the Virgin in his hand, which he was showing 
 to his companions, to whom it appeared to give 
 intense satisfaction, and who were busily em- 
 ployed in tearing off the branches and ornaments 
 from chandeliers and other objects of church 
 service. 
 
 Trembling between fear and joy the old woman 
 leaned forward to catch, if possible, the mean- 
 ing of their gestures, and in the deep stillness of 
 the night the following words were wafted to 
 her ears : 
 
 “ In the devil’s name here’s a virgin— chaste is 
 she, and pure — she’s the girl to fill our pockets 
 
 poor little virgin, from a chapel you are likely 
 
 to visit many a queer place, let me tell you.” 
 
 As these words were pronounced, the man 
 who spoke snapped off its arms and threw them 
 into a heated crucible. This person was a lum- 
 ber merchant of the City of Quebec — his name 
 was Charles Cambray — the two others were 
 Norris, in whose service the old woman was, and 
 Knox, a man in bis employ ; he who kept watch 
 without was George Waterworth. 
 
 The old woman dared not remain longer where 
 she was, but she had discovered the secret and 
 was satisfied. Enchanted with her success, she 
 hurriedly retraced her steps to the dwelling, and 
 happily she reached it unperceived and in safety. 
 But what could have inspired this poor miser- 
 able creature with the thought, the strength, the 
 nerve, to undertake this laborious journey, the 
 discovery of which would most certainly have 
 resulted in her immediate death? Was it not 
 Providence who made U3e of this feeble instru- 
 
 ment to confound those who htd baffled an entire 
 population ! 
 
 Early next morning the four men returned 
 from their night’s work ; the servant, in opening 
 the door to them, perceived that Knox was tipsy. 
 She watched her opportunity, and as soon as he 
 had fallen asleep, she searched his person, and 
 found thereon a small silver sceptre which he 
 had stolen from his master, and for several days 
 back had concealed in his shirt bosom. As soon 
 as Cambray and George Waterworth had left for 
 Quebec she Went to the magistrate of the place, 
 (Mr. Hall) , informed him of what she had seeD, 
 and placed the stolen ornament in his possession. 
 
 The authorities in Quebec having been inform- 
 ed of these facts, Charles Cambray and George 
 Waterworth, two lumber merchants of that 
 place, both enjoying excellent reputations, were, 
 to the utter astonishment of their fellow-citizens, 
 arrested and thrown into prison. 
 
 In the interval, a minute investigation of the 
 particulars took place ; the dwellings inhabited 
 by the prisoners were thoroughly searched, and 
 among the articles found were a telescope and 
 some silver spoons ; these there were good 
 grounds for supposing had been stolen within 
 but a short period of time. From this day, the 
 veil which had hitherto concealed the iniquitous 
 career of the confederacy was torn aside, and 
 they stood before the public gaze in all their 
 nakedness and guilt ; and be it remembered that 
 to a poor weak woman Quebec owed its deliver- 
 ance from the depredations of this organised 
 band, all the more dangerous from the fact that 
 their position in society and general reputation 
 screened them the more effectually from suspi- 
 cion. 
 
 In the month of September, 1835, Cambray 
 was accused of house-breakiug and robbery, 
 committed against a Mr. Parke, who identified 
 the telescope found at the prisoner’s, as belong- 
 ing to him, and in the month of March follow- 
 ing, 1836, he was again accused, this time of a 
 most heartless murder committed at Lotbiniere 
 on the person of a Captain Sivrac. Owing, how- 
 ever, to the skill of his legal adviser, to the ab- 
 sence of sufficient proof, and to the perjuries of 
 his accomplices, who were unknowingly per- 
 mitted to give evidence on his behalf, and who 
 came on purpose to prove an alibi , he escaped 
 conviction in both these cases. 
 
 With regard to the sacrilegious theft on the 
 chapel of “ La Congregation,” the Attorney- 
 General did not like risking an immediate ac- 
 tion, persuaded that time would indubitably bring 
 forth more incontestable proof than that furnish- 
 ed by Cecelia Connor. It was owing to that, at 
 the close of the Criminal Term for March, 1836, 
 Cambray and Waterworth were set at liberty 
 upon giving bail. 
 
 In the following August fresh suspicions fell 
 upon them for the theft of building material, and 
 they were again incarcerated. 
 
 During the September Term the press of 
 business excluded once more the action of La 
 Congregation, and actuated by a spirit of folly, 
 a weakness, an inexplicable contradiction in the 
 character oi a man so full of energy and deter- 
 mination, that is if we are not to* attribute it 
 to a blindness inseparable from the circumstances 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 to be hereinafter explained, Cambray offered the 
 officer of the Crown to turn Kings evidence, 
 and, on certain conditions to give all the details 
 of the crime of which he and his accomplice 
 stood accused. This intelligence reached Water- 
 worth, who, having to choose between death or 
 treason, chose treason, and he also offered to 
 reveal without any condition save that which 
 the law allowed, namely : the hope of pardon 
 and liberty after the conviction of the offenders, 
 all the particulars connected with the aforesaid 
 crimes. This offer was accepted, and the ac- 
 cused remained in prison until the month of 
 March, 1837, when the criminal accusations : 
 burglary at Mrs. Montgomery’s, and the robbery 
 connected with the chapel of La Congregation 
 were brought on for trial by the frightful revela- 
 tions of Water worth, and which finally led to 
 the conviction of Cambray, Mathieu, and 
 Gagnon. Never did criminal trial produce a 
 greater sensation in the public mind, owing part- 
 ly to the sad celebrity of the prisoners, and part- 
 ly to the gravity of their offences. During the 
 whole of the March terra, 1837, the court was 
 positively crammed with spectators, and the 
 columns of the public prints teemed with the 
 details of the case. 
 
 To the number of interesting facts brought to 
 light in the course of his trial are added the 
 still more extraordinary disclosures of the 
 accomplice witness, together with those of the 
 convicted, from Avhora the material of these 
 memoirs has been derived. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 Defectiveness of the Penal Code — Revelations of Wa- 
 terworth— Appearance and character of W. — First 
 interview between W. and Cambray— An expedi- 
 tion— A frolic. 
 
 The voice of crime raised only to gratify an 
 idle curiosity, may inspire the mind with hor- 
 ror, but it debases its purity and corrupts its 
 nature, for it familiarizes it with the path of vice. 
 But when it appeals to the Legislature on behalf 
 of unfortunate fellow creatures, cast by their 
 laws on the highway of crime ; when in the 
 name of humanity it presses upon the consider- 
 ation of the country questions deeply affectiug 
 its honor and prosperity, when it seeks to elevate 
 wretches above their violent passions and sinful 
 dispositions, it then becomes the province of the 
 philanthropist and the patriot, and it is to these 
 effects we now unfold the fearful annals of blood- 
 shed and wickedness. 
 
 It is far from our idea to apologize for scoun- 
 drelism, nor do we wish to quiet public indig- 
 nation at an outrage committed against the 
 rights of society. We heartily desire that the 
 guilty may not escape punishment, but, we also 
 desire that the law of the land may not have the 
 effect of increasing their numbers, and of com- 
 pelling them to continue in their misdeeds. 
 
 Ask a criminal, a man from whose contact we 
 shrink with horror, ask him the history of his 
 life — he answers, poverty , weakness— the error 
 of one moment led to the theft of a loaf of 
 bread, or an old garment — the law laid hold of 
 me — disgraced me with public exposure — cast 
 me into prison among a number of old delin- 
 
 quents, men who glorifying in vice, encouraged 
 the committal of critrfe. And now, though 
 defamed and shunned by everyone,! must still 
 live, and I can only live by crime. 
 
 And when this man arrives at the climax of 
 his career — the gallows — when he is brought 
 face to face with death — when at last reflection 
 forces itself upon his mind, and the feelings com- 
 mon to human nature return, writhing in men- 
 tal agony— bemoaning his bitter fate— kneeling 
 in prayer upon his miserable pallet of straw, 
 deploring his crimes and invoking the mercy of 
 God, foi that of man has been denied him— who 
 without pity can witness the utter wretchedness 
 of his condition, or turn unmoved from so sad 
 a scene ? 
 
 Taking into consideration the population of 
 our country, there are few places in the world 
 containing a greater number of criminals ; and 
 to the causes we have mentioned is this frightful 
 progress of vice to be attributed, namely° : the 
 defectiveness of the penal code — public punish- 
 ment— a pernicious prison discipline, and the 
 want of a pQoitentiary, and houses of refuge to 
 reform the convicted. * 
 
 In the present state of affairs, when a man 
 has the misfortune to fall into our prisons, he is 
 lost to virtue ; there the barrier between the first 
 step and the last is removed, the road to vice is 
 levelled by this single act, for the best of incli- 
 nations fall amidst the surrounding corruption. 
 
 It was to expose this, to point out the allure- 
 ments that here beset the novice, that we have 
 undertaken to edit these memoirs, for, to detail 
 their importance, whether moral or political, is 
 far above our efforts ; all that we can hope for 
 is, to make the radical defect of our criminal 
 laws felt; if we succeed in this, we shall be 
 satisfied. 
 
 “ Yes,” said Waterworth, “ I desire to enter 
 fully into the details of our crimes, for I now 
 see where this life was leading me to, and [ desire 
 from my heart to abandon it. Moreover, I owe 
 society a reparation for having so cruelly out- 
 raged its laws. I will therefore speak freely 
 aud truthfully ; concealing nothing that may be 
 necessary to a just comprehension of the work- 
 ings of the confederacy ; after that I intend 
 leaving the country for ever, for my days would 
 be uncertain were I to remain. 
 
 “ I must acknowledge that it is with deep re- 
 gret that I bear witness against one to whom I 
 have been bound by the ties of a firm but fatal 
 attachment, but we were leagued for crime; and 
 conscience, which speaks sooner or later, acquits 
 me of the guilty oath ; still, as the rapid and 
 extraordinary adventures of the past sweep over 
 my brain, from the first offence to the last, I 
 must own that I proceed with pain. 
 
 “To me life has been as a dream — a strange 
 fatality — the fulfilment of a dreadful curse. I 
 know not what charm led me to adopt ray peril- 
 
 * It must be borne in mind that this narrative was 
 written thirty years ago. Many of the evils here enu- 
 merated, have been to some extent remedied, but it is 
 still to be regretted that but slight provisions are made 
 in our jails for the separation of criminals into classes. 
 The youth incarcerated for his first offence, is com- 
 pelled to mingle with men hardened in crime, and in 
 consequence, becomes too frequently like them— hope- 
 lessly vicious. Ed. S. K. 
 
4 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 ous calling, nor what h$nd pushed me so far. I 
 cannot help thinking that fate presides over our 
 actions, for up to the present moment I have 
 had no idea of the enormity of the crimes I have 
 committed. It seemed to me that every thing 
 took place suddenly and without giving me time 
 for reflection. 
 
 “ It is with difficulty that I recover from my 
 astonishment at the end of this strange blind- 
 ness.” 
 
 “ Well ! well ! I cannot say what power my 
 companion (Cambray) had acquired over me, but 
 one thing is certain, namely : that I would have 
 attempted anything in the world he might have 
 desired me." 
 
 “ What ! did you say Repossessed an influence 
 over youl” v 
 
 “ Influence ! Ah, more than it is possible to 
 imagine. I have loved him more than a father, 
 more than a brother, more than it is possible for 
 me to love any one again. There is nothing I 
 would not have done to have pleased him; in- 
 deed so much so, that I could hardly believe 
 myself not under the influence of a charm — some 
 magical power. Each time he was arrested I 
 ran and delivered myself voluntarily into the 
 hands of the police, resolved to share his fate 
 whatever the result. Even to-day when my 
 deposition places a lialter round his neck — for I 
 am determined to tell the truth — even to-day, I 
 would submit to twenty years exile in the most 
 desolate region on the face of the globe, if I 
 could obtain a commutation of his sentence.” 
 
 The accomplice witness pronounced these words 
 in accents of sincere affliction, bis eyes Ailing 
 with tears as he spoke, after which he remained 
 silent for several minutes, his spirit prostrate 
 under violent emotion and hideous reminiscence. 
 
 George Waterworth is something more than 
 thirty years of age, about six feet high, and well 
 formed. The repulsive manner generally attri- 
 buted to persons of his class is not perceptible 
 in him ; on the contrary his appearance is ex- 
 tremely favourable. He has a remarkably Ane 
 head, light hair, regular features, is quick in his 
 movements, in his manner cold, Arm, and severe; 
 he has a very large mouth, high cheek bones, 
 and appears very intelligent. But he looks like 
 a man broken by a sudden and violent reverse 
 of fortune ; pale, reserved and melancholy, he 
 seems completely subdued by the pressure of 
 circumstances. He *has a prodigious memory, 
 but, having heard his confessions, we doubt 
 whether he was courageous under difficulty, or 
 inflexible in his purpose ; on the contrary we 
 are inclined to think lie was easily led and won 
 over to the opinions of others, though he cer- 
 tainly wanted neither tact nor observation, at 
 least in judging of the dispositions of his former 
 associates. In his religious belief he is a Fatal- 
 ist, as are nearly all the greatest rogues ; in his 
 apparel he carries not the livery of vice and 
 misery, for he is rather neat in his person, and 
 respectably clad. 
 
 “ Certes the hour advances,” observed Water- 
 worth, startiug from his reverie and pulling out 
 a handsome silver watch. “ This watch ” said 
 he, “ is all that remains of that trade.” But to 
 business. If you are ready to listen, I am ready 
 to tell.” And thus he commenced his story : 
 
 “ 1 am a native of the county of , in Ire- 
 
 land, but my family came originally from Liver- 
 pool. I emigrated to Canada with my parents, 
 fourteen years ago, and lived with them upon a 
 farm on the Little River road, two miles from 
 Quebec, which place we left several years after, 
 to settle in the township of Broughton. 
 
 “ I am pretty well educated, as up to the age 
 of thirteen, I was kept constantly at school; — 
 at present I am something more than twenty- 
 nine years of age. Whatever maybe the crimes 
 of which I am this day accused, or which I may 
 avow, I solemnly declare that in my youth I 
 never felt the least inclination to commit theft ; 
 and that before the year 1833, 1 had never been 
 guilty of an offence of that nature. When a child 
 my disposition was such, that I was cited as a 
 model to my companions. Well, well! I have 
 changed greatly since that time, owing to a 
 combination of circumstances of which I do not 
 know that I was master. 
 
 “ In the summer of 1833, it so happened that 
 I had to go to Quebec, in charge of some saw- 
 logs belonging to a merchant of that place; one 
 day whilst in port, a man of pretty good appear- 
 ance jumped from the shore, upon the raft on 
 which I was, and in a very abrupt manner ac- 
 costed me as follows 
 
 “‘Boy/ said he, ‘ you’ve some pretty good 
 wood there ; come, let's strike a bargain ; what’s 
 your price ?” 
 
 “ ‘ This wood is not for sale, sir,’ said I ; ‘ it 
 does not belong to me, but to my master.’ 
 “‘Bosh. What does that matter? nobodyneed 
 know : come, make up your mind ; I’ll give the 
 money for it, cash down ; it will line your purse 
 and make a man of you. Here, I’ll give you so 
 much a foot (mentioning the price) : come, don’t 
 be a child.’ 
 
 “‘Oh no, no; I shall consent to nothin^ of 
 the kind.’ 
 
 ‘“Well, good-bye, my boy ; I hope your 
 scruples will pass away by the time you’re in 
 business for yourself. However, since you won’t 
 sell, at least if you happen to find anything, just 
 bring it along to me. I r ll give yc% a good price, 
 never fear — and I say, send your friends to me 
 too. By the bye, you don’t know me ; my name is 
 Charles Cambray, I’m a dealer in wood; my 
 place of business is in the Palais ; you’ll always 
 And me there : come on shore sometimes and 
 have a glass of punch with me.’ 
 
 “ I accepted his offer, and thus terminated my 
 Arst interview with this man. From that day we 
 became more and more intimate — the remainder 
 is known to you all. 
 
 “ But to continue ; from that time I acted 
 upon the suggestions he had throwu out, being 
 constantly on the look out for drift wood which 
 I collected in considerable quantities and sold 
 to him. In a short space of time I had amassed 
 much more money than I had ever possessed in 
 my life, and my ideas extending with my appre- 
 ciation of the business, I soon learned the method 
 of extracting logs from the booms around me, a 
 most lucrative occupation which I followed, I 
 must confess, without the slightest remorse, for 
 could not then foresee the end to which it was 
 leading me. Nevertheless it must be admitted 
 t nat queer notions exist in Canada concerning 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 5 
 
 individual rights in lumber, for the entire trade 
 is little else than pillage from the. very beginning ; 
 many a man scrupulously honest in the ordinary 
 affairs of life is a perfect Turk in this. 
 
 “ Shortly after the close of the navigation, and 
 just as I was on the point of returning to 
 Broughton, I happened accidentally to meet 
 with Cambray, who, addressing me in an in- 
 sinuating and persuasive manner peculiarly his 
 own, said — 
 
 11 ‘ Waterworth, my brave fellow, you're the 
 very man I wanted to see. A word in your ear ; 
 
 I know where there is some splendid wood to be 
 had at a distance of only some nine or ten miles 
 from Quebec. What do you say to it ? I can 
 assure you there's a good haul to be made ; one 
 night tide and the profit is our own.’ 
 
 11 We undertook the expedition with the hap- < 
 piest results ; we brought back about ten pounds 
 worth of wood, for which I received ten shillings 
 as my share. On our return, Cambray said to 
 me : 
 
 11 1 George, I know you to be a wide-awake fel- 
 low, and up to business. Now leave Broughton 
 early next spring, and I will give you an interest 
 in my business. You’ll see how we’ll get on to- 
 gether. But before you go, I’ve a little trick to 
 propose. You know that in our trade we’ll want 
 a boat; she must be a first rate one, a genuine 
 skimmer, now your brother-in-law, Norris, has 
 the very thing we want; he’d sell I know, but 
 
 then he’d ask such a d of a price ; but what 
 
 I want to know is, what’s to prevent you hook- 
 ing it? 
 
 “ 1 What ! would you have me act in that way 
 towards one who has supported me during a 
 whole summer? I think that would hardly be 
 the thing.’ 
 
 il 1 Tut, tut, deuce take it, it would be charit- 
 able at any rate, for it would keep him from 
 stealing wood.’ 
 
 “ 1 Come now, no folly ; give me your hand ; 
 there it’s agreed. I’ll go with you myself ; just 
 you get hold of the key, aijd see if the boat don’t 
 vanish.’ 
 
 u The next day Norris’ boat was snug in winter 
 quarters, in Black Jack’s yard, St. Rochs, but it 
 was not Norris who put it there. 
 
 “ After this little frolic, as we called it, T can 
 scarcely say I looked forward to my partnership 
 with any great pleasure, for I could not forget 
 that it would be with a man who had taught me 
 to steal, stolen with me, and finally stolen from 
 me ; in fact I gave him to understand that I did 
 210 1 think I could accept his offer, and even went 
 so far as to claim my share in the boat. He 
 then gave me a note for five dollars ; our prize 
 ■was worth forty at least, and shortly afterwards 
 I left for Broughton, by no means satisfied with 
 the result. ' 
 
 11 At this time Cambray appeared to be doing 
 a good business, he had always plenty of money, 
 and lived exceedingly well. He was very 
 regular in his habits excepting indeed the morn- 
 ing after a gale of wind, when he was always up 
 at day-break. He had also a desperate passion 
 for cock fighting. 
 
 u He was not married at that time, and boarded 
 at the house of one of his friends. I do not 
 think that he was then on familiar terms with 
 
 the inmates of the prison, nor do I believe he ever 
 did any thing worsi than find, but then it must 
 be remembered that he found a tremendous lot. 
 
 11 1 did not however like the appearance of 
 those he employed on his rafts ; they were the 
 veriest scum of vagabonds picked up on the 
 plains of Abraham, who all of them possessed a 
 terrible propensity for finding gloves, handker- 
 chiefs, coats, and in fact every thing that could 
 be eclipsed in their hats or pea jackets. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Cambray and Waterworth enter into Partnership— 
 Appearance and character of Cambray— A me- 
 thod of gainingat raffles — The lumber trade — The 
 Skimmers — The Lion’s share— Cambray marries — 
 His wife— His father. 
 
 <l l remained the winter at my father’s in Brough- 
 ton, and early in the spring, 1834, I returned to 
 Quebec, where I saw Cambray, who again urged 
 me to enter into partnership with him, a pro- 
 ceeding I finally adopted, though not without 
 much hesitation. 
 
 u One day he announced to me that he had hir- 
 ed a house in St. Rochs, where we both took up 
 our quarters on the first day of May. He also 
 informed me about the same time that he was en- 
 gaged to a young Canadian girl, of whom he said 
 he was greatly enamoured. 
 
 u Cambray at that time lived well, spent a good 
 deal of money, speculated largely, and was, gen- 
 erally speaking, looked up to by the class of peo- 
 ple with whom he associated, who were surpris- 
 ed that a young man commencing business could 
 find so much money and meet with such great 
 success. The consequence was, that he had 
 many friends, and was visited and esteemed by 
 the most respectable of people. 
 
 “ Cambray is about my age, much more # robust 
 in figure, but scarcely as tall. He has a well- 
 shaped head, regular features, i3 strongly set, 
 broad shouldered, easy in gait, engaging in man- 
 ner, light-hearted, and pleasing in his address, 
 that is, when his object is to entrap or deceive 
 you. But when agitated by his violent passions, 
 when plotting a conspiracy, when seeking rather 
 to overthrow than avoid the obstacles that may 
 intervene between him and his purpose, his ap- 
 pearance becorties totally changed. His habi- 
 tual mask of hypocrisy falls, and you have be- 
 fore you a frightful spectre ; his eyes sink into 
 his head, and sparkle with hellish fire ; his fore- 
 head becomes seamed with wrinkles, and the 
 muscles of his face twitch so violently that they 
 seem almost ready to snap asunder. His half- 
 opened mouth moves convulsively from side to 
 side, his thin lips become livid and quivering, 
 and his teeth gnash most fearfully. 
 
 11 This picture may appear overdrawn to those 
 who have not seen this man under the influence 
 ofhi3 evil nature, but not to those who have 
 watched the rising fury of his heart; not to 
 those who have seen him whispering his dreams 
 of blood into the ear of a hired assassin — wrap- 
 ped in the mysteries of a conspiracy, or executing 
 his evil deeds by the glimmer of a dark lantern. 
 These can affirm the truth of my statements ; and 
 let those who doubt, visit him within the walls 
 of his prison where he can have no possible in- 
 
6 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 terest in misleading them, and there speak the 
 convictions of the moment. 
 
 “ But the most powerful, I might almost say the 
 only passion of this man, that on which all others 
 are based, in which all his feelings centre, the 
 great lever of his every thought and action, is 
 the love of gain — the desire of acquiring wealth 
 — coveteousness — the ambition of becoming rich. 
 This is the leading trait in his character; to this 
 he owes all the hypocrisy and deceit of his career. 
 But among other peculiarities we might reckon, 
 his astonishing success in games of activity — his 
 jovial humour — bis incessant babbling — his im- 
 perious bearing — his absolute indifference to the 
 feelings of others — his powerful will and resolute 
 courage. Indeed, were it not for the unmanly 
 vice of hypocrisy, he possesses many noble at- 
 tributes, for generally speaking, his actions were 
 conducted on a large scale ; his enterprises be- 
 ing extensive and hazardous. 
 
 “ I must avow, however, that I cannot speak of 
 him with impartiality, so great has been his power 
 over me. Still, it must not be supposed that he 
 was addicted to the low and shameful vices of 
 the vulgar; on the contrary his manners were 
 far from dissolute, and never in the course of my 
 intimacy with him, have I seen him in a state of 
 intoxication. He was deeply attached to gam- 
 bling, and games requiring manual dexterity, 
 and he was remorseless in the exercise of the art 
 of juggling, in which he was thoroughly versed. 
 
 “ After my arrival from Broughton, I know that 
 he several times attempted to entrap his friends, 
 among whom were some of the most respectable 
 citizens of St. Rocbs, and to such an extent did 
 he carry it, that many began to suspect that he 
 was not strictly honourable in his dealings. 
 
 “ On one occasion, when preparing to move into 
 the house he had hired in St. Rochs, he held a 
 raffle ©f certain effects, for which he said he had 
 no use, and which, in value, he said, amounted 
 to about fifteen or twenty pounds. At his raffle 
 he had the luck to win back almost everything. 
 This will not however, appear very extraordinary 
 when the reader is informed that he made use of 
 loaded dice, a practice he pursued with such rare 
 dexterity, that he could glide the dice in or out 
 of the boxes as rapidly as he pleased. Several 
 of his companions present at the time, appeared 
 to place but little belief in such strange good 
 luck, and could not help murmuring in an under 
 tone, but none of them attempted to give public 
 expression to their sentiments, for it was danger- 
 ous to question the probity of a man whom the 
 community at large held in such high respect. 
 But when his dupes had left, his father reproach- 
 ed him sharply for his trickery, and for holding 
 a course which could only terminate in shame 
 and infamy. On this occasion the old man spoke 
 as if he had had other proofs of his son’s specu- 
 lations. This did not seem to have been the first 
 lecture he had received on the chapter of hon- 
 esty. 
 
 44 On the opening of the navigation we com- 
 menced the lumber trade in partnership, and on 
 a rather extensive scale for us. To recount all 
 the tricks, frauds, smugglings, doings, jobs and 
 bargains we had recourse to' during that sum- 
 mer, would take up far too much of our time* 
 suffice it to say that scarcely a night passed 
 
 without our securing a good haul of wood. One 
 of our practices was to cut, at high tide, the* 
 fastenings of the cribs with which vessels are 
 loaded, and await the result some distance below ; 
 as the tide descended, our booty descended with 
 it, and always found us ready for its reception. 
 
 “ Another portion of our operations consisted 
 in bribing the guides of the large rafts, from Up- 
 per Canada, who gave us their masters’ goods at 
 a very low valuation. Again we had a number 
 
 of skimmer s, as they were called, of which L 
 
 was chief; they visited the coasts after stormy 
 weather. Then we employed a gang of labourers, 
 whose duty consisted in effacing the various 
 brands from the wood which fell into our pos- 
 session. 
 
 “ This dangerous traffic often failed to be pro- 
 9 fi table, and gave us a great deal of trouble; 
 many came to inquire after lost property, and to 
 claim what they considered to be theirs. In 
 such cases, however, the effrontery and brusque 
 manner of Cambray always succeeded in divert- 
 ing them from their purpose, glad to be quit of 
 him at any cost. 
 
 “ I remember that one week we sold the same 
 lot of wood three times over, and twice to the 
 same individual. It is true, we had considerable 
 opposition in this line of business, but with this 
 exception, things went very smoothly. I have 
 no doubt that, at the end of the season, our pro- 
 fits were large ; but of this I cannot speak with 
 certainty, having received but a very small por- 
 tion. 
 
 11 My partner, perceiving my love for pleasure 
 and dissipation, and my inclination to indulge 
 in drink, very wisely observed that it would be 
 more to my advantage to leave my entire gains 
 in his hands till the termination of the fall busi- 
 ness, when I could receive the whole amount at 
 once. This I allowed myself to be persuaded 
 into, and from that moment Cambray kept the 
 accounts of the firm altogether in his own hands. 
 When the time came to render me an account of 
 the same, all the books had disappeared, and by 
 way of a statement, I had to content myself with 
 an illegible scrawl, together with the good round 
 sum of two pounds. Previous to this I had re- 
 ceived five pounds, so that it turned out that I 
 had risked my reputation, and in many instances 
 my life, during a whole summer, for the sum of 
 seven pounds. However, I had to put up with 
 it, for to have reasoned with him would have 
 been madness. 
 
 In the course of that summer Cambray made 
 several gains in cock-fighting, but he also lost 
 more than he gained. One day, disconcerted with 
 a recent loss, he said to me, 11 Why am I such a 
 
 tool as to continue betting in this manner why 
 
 cannot I content myself with the dice-box game 
 
 cocks are not plumped as easy as dice it^wili 
 
 take many a good throw to make up for my 
 losses. To avoid the necessity of payino* these 
 losses in future, he transferred his effects°to me 
 that is until he married, when he made over 
 everything to his wife. 
 
 “His wife was young, respectably connected, 
 mild, amiable, honest, and loved her husband to 
 distraction, but she sought rather too much to 
 acquire an influence over him. It was astonish- 
 ing that this man, so imperious and so violent 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 7 
 
 towards others, yielded with such good grace to 
 her every caprice, and indeed almost allowed 
 himself to be guided by her. Still, I thought 
 he was not perfectly sincere in his submission ; 
 that a great part of it was only feigned, the bet- 
 ter to conceal his real character. Be this as it # 
 may, she wa3 certainly mistress in the house ; 
 out of it, however, he indulged in tricks on 
 which her opinion would certainly have been re- 
 ceived with very little favour. One day having 
 taunted him on his amiable weakness, he coolly 
 replied : 4 If I find her troublesome, I know a re- 
 medy/' They appeared to live very contented, 
 but he did not act with the same courtesy to- 
 wards his father ; at times even going so far as 
 to administer slight corporal punishment, when 
 the good man, who was rather given to moral- 
 ize, touched too acutely upon the foibles of his 
 son. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mrs. A A dialogue— An expedition to the Island of 
 
 Orleans — Two blunders— Burglary at Mr. Atkin- 
 son's. 
 
 To my misfortune I once knew a Mrs. A 
 
 Her husband, with whom I -had been intimate, 
 had been dead several years. This woman kept 
 a little tavern in the St. Lewis suburbs, where I 
 occasionally resorted to pass an evening, and 
 here it was I first contracted those connections 
 which have since led to my ruin. 
 
 “ One evening, having remained much later 
 than usual, as I lay upon the counter, quietly 
 puffing my pipe, I heard the following dialogue 
 proceed from a small room adjoining. 
 
 “ ‘ Deuce take it, we got off nicely — those curs- 
 ed butchers never sleep a wink the whole night. 
 As soon as I saw the light I jumped ten feet 
 good off the ground, and hurt my leg most 
 awfully; and look here, look at this fora piece 
 of meat, and say whether it was worth while 
 risking one’s whistle for a filthy end of brisket. 
 
 u 1 Ah yes, our trade is done for in town ; the 
 people have become so suspicious, we must 
 take to the country for it, or make use of our 
 staff of dignity (a club). Oh! the country — 
 the country by all means — the country for ever, 
 where the people are so good-natured, and the 
 chickens fat, and ready for roasting. The coun- 
 try is the place. When I lived out of town I 
 was never without a fowl or a lamb for market; 
 many a windfall ; and only two or three times in 
 the (prison). 
 
 “ ‘ Faith comrade, we’re not badly lodged here, 
 it’s true, but we can’t live upon nothing ; we’ll 
 have to set to work to-morrow in earnest. — 
 You’ll take charge of the upper town market. 
 I’ll make my bargains in that of the lower town, 
 and hang me, if to-morrow at dinner-time, we 
 have not something to make a stew of. 
 
 I’ve another plan. What’s to prevent us 
 visiting the Island of Orleans; there’s a harvest 
 to be gathered there ; plenty of sheep, and the 
 easiest thing in the world to catch them. Just 
 throw them on their backs— so— a wisp of hay 
 in their mouth, and the lamb’ 3 your own.’ 
 
 That would not be a bad idea at all, but 
 then we require a boat of some kind.’ 
 
 11 1 Well, we’ll think of it ; meantime lei’s have 
 a whet, for we certainly deserve one.” 
 
 “ So saying, the two men entered abruptly the 
 apartment in which I was. I recognized them 
 immediately as two labourers often employed in 
 our lumber yard ; their names were Mathieu and 
 
 Charboneau. Mrs. A had let them a little 
 
 room about eight feet square, the entrance to 
 which was through a window. Seeing me, they 
 accosted me familiarly. 
 
 “ ‘ Boss,’ said one of the two, ‘ you’ll do to get 
 us out of our difficulty ; we’ve a nest to rob, and 
 want a boat. You’ll lend us yours for a night, 
 to get a few fat sheep from the Island of Or- 
 leans.’ 
 
 u I refused them promptly. ‘ I’ll see you to 
 
 the ,’ said I, ‘ before I’ll lend my boat to go 
 
 stealing with.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Stealing ! who said anything about stealing? 
 But it’3 all right, we’ll hear what Cambray will 
 have to say to it.’ 
 
 u At this moment in walked Cambray him- 
 self, who only replied to their request by a laugh 
 of scorn. ‘ Bah ! sheep stealers ; are you fools ? 
 But I’ll tell you what, Mathieu, if you know 
 where to find a well-lined purse in any of these 
 country parishes, that would be worth seeing 
 to, and I wouldn’t mind taking a share of the 
 risks.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Yes, deuce take it, I do know where to look 
 for one. There’s an old bachelor living near 
 St Laurent Church ; he must have some three 
 hundred pounds concealed somewhere on the pre- 
 mises.’ 
 
 “ Accordingly the whole four of us started for 
 the Island — Cambray, Mathieu, Charboneau, and 
 myself, and in a short time found ourselves at 
 the residence of the aforesaid old bachelor ; it 
 wa3 situated in the very centre of the village, at 
 but a short distance from the church. 
 
 “ The night we had chosen was one of the 
 most beautiful ; the great harvest moon sailed 
 majestically above, bathing the surrounding 
 landscape in a flood of soft light, as brilliant, al- 
 most, as if it had been day. 
 
 “ Without losing a moment, Mathieu stepped 
 up to the window and took out a pane of glass. 
 
 ‘ Take care,’ said Cambray, ‘ remember there must 
 be no violence unless we are absolutely driven 
 to it.’. 
 
 “ The pane fell and broke in pieces. I trem- 
 bled with fear ; it was the first time I had wit- 
 nessed a proceeding of that nature, and I took 
 to my heels and ran like a traitor. When at 
 about the distance of an acre, I turned my head, 
 and seeing my companions close upon my heels, 
 I redoubled my efforts to escape, followed by 
 them as hard as they could go. 
 
 “ ‘. What’s the matter ? what frightened you ?’ 
 said one ; ‘ what did you see ?’ said another. 
 
 ‘ Stop, stop.’ But I pushed on in an agony of fear. 
 
 “At last, having ran upwards of a mile, I 
 could go no further; and Cambray coming up 
 
 again, roared out, ‘ What the d did you see, 
 
 Waterworth? Tell us what you saw.’ 
 
 “‘Nothing,’ said I overcome with horror, 
 1 but — but — ’ • 
 
 “ ‘ What ! you saw nothing, and you ran in that 
 way. What a confounded coward you must be.’ 
 But my strength was so spent, that I could hard- 
 ly breathe. 
 
 “ Shortly after, the day began to dawn, and it 
 
8 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 became useless to re-attempt our expedition that 
 night. Mathieu, however, insisted upon giving 
 us a specimen of his skill in sheep stealing ; after 
 which we returned to the city, and wound up 
 our proceedings by an excellent repast on roast 
 lamb, which we had at Mrs. A ’s. 
 
 “ Some days after our abortive expedition to 
 the Island of Orleans, we planned a visit to the 
 country house of a Mrs. Atkinson ; the premises 
 were well known both to Cambray and myself, 
 for we had had, frequently, business transactions 
 at the place. 
 
 l< This project was also ratified at Mrs. A — ’s, 
 and the parties who had assisted us in our for- 
 mer scheme, were also our accomplices in this. 
 
 “Mathieu, by way of precaution, entered into 
 a private understanding with some of his fellow- 
 labourers, to the effect, that should the booty, 
 by any chance, slip through our hands, they 
 would take measures to secure it. Nevertheless, 
 we were not destined to succeed this time either, 
 for, whether through remorse or fear, no sooner 
 was the first ice broken, than I again took 
 flight. So that our second enterprise met with 
 the same fate as our first. 
 
 “A few days afterwards, November 3, 1834, 
 
 two old scoundrels, J. Stewart, and J. II 1, 
 
 came one evening to the residence of Cambray, 
 and proposed that he should accompany them in 
 the robbery of Mr. Atkinson’s, observing at the 
 same time that it was dangerous to let the fruit 
 ripen any longer, as all their confreres were using 
 every effort to obtain it. I was asleep at the 
 time, but they awoke me, and I solemnly pro- 
 mised that this time I would not desert my post, 
 and before leaving, we each of us pledged our- 
 selves to secresy, by repeating the following sen- 
 tence : 
 
 11 1 In the Devil’s name, kill me if I blab.’ 
 
 “ We went by boats as far as the East India 
 wharf, where we parted with Stewart and H — 1 ; 
 we then rowed to the market place, where they 
 again met us, in order to inform us that they^had 
 succeeded in opening the yard door, unseen. — 
 We then all proceeded to the place. A cross- 
 bar is lifted without noise. Cambray and H — 1 
 were soon inside, while Stewart and I kept watch 
 without. Our comrades found the safe, but tried 
 in vain to remove it ; at last Cambray, irritated 
 to excess, and cursing his soul, seized hold of it, 
 and by a violent effort, he raised it against his 
 person, and with a firm step, placed it on the 
 window, where we, coming to his aid, slid it 
 carefully into the yard by means of a plank. 
 How Cambray managed to lift so great a weight 
 I cannot tell ; I am sure it could not have been 
 less than eight cwt., for it was only by great la- 
 bour that we managed to get it to the boat. 
 But to proceed. Oft* we went with our prize, 
 and shortly after we came to anchor on a sand 
 bank in the river St. Charles ; this bank is im- 
 mediately opposite the St. Paul’s market, and is 
 always dry at low tide. Waiting until the ford 
 was passable, Cambray hastened to fetch an axe, 
 with which we broke open the chest, and tying 
 up the contents in two handkerchiefs, we made 
 our way back to his house. There, in a private 
 chamber, did we take an inventory of our spoils; 
 the lion’s share, as usual, falling to Cambray ; 
 for while he kept me employed in burning the 
 
 papers and books of the establishment, he man- 
 aged to pocket the money before the very eyes of 
 the others, whom he put off with a few dollars. 
 Next day he gave me seven pounds. I have 
 since learned that the box contained one hun- 
 dred and fifty pounds; so that this night’s work 
 was worth five hundred dollars to Cambray. 
 
 “ Stewart was arrested on suspicion for this 
 robbery, and in consequence, passed two months 
 in prison as a vagabond. 
 
 (i The excitement over, I left for Broughton, 
 where I remained until the end of January, 1835, 
 when Cambray came to urge me to return to Que- 
 bec ; and to avoid giving rise to any suspicions, 
 he had me summoned to appear as a witness in 
 a case then pending between him and a tavern 
 keeper named D — 1 — t. This was, of course, a 
 mere pretext, for I knew' nothing whatever about 
 the matter. However, I returned with him, and 
 we shall now see by what new exploits we dis- 
 tinguished ourselves. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Expedition to Carouge— Mrs. 0. — A practical joke— 
 Burglary at Paradis’, Cliarlesbourg. 
 
 “ Arrived at Quebec, Cambray and I recom- 
 menced our visits to Mrs. A.’s, wher£ we found 
 Mathieu and G — g — n still residing, with whom 
 we renewed our intimacy, and plotted further 
 depredations. Among other plans, it was pro- 
 posed that we should visit an old man named 
 Paradis, who lived at Caprouge, so we were 
 told, and who, it was said, possessed a large 
 amount of money. Cambray and myself under- 
 took to make all the necessary enquiries, and be 
 ready by the next day ; this we did, but with 
 scarcely any success. On coming to the place, 
 we found that Paradis had left some time before, 
 and that he then lived at Charlesbourg. An old 
 woman, Mrs. 0 — , occupied the house with her 
 daughter, where they kept a sort of tavern. As 
 soon as we got back to the city, we hastened to 
 our rendezvous , and informed our associates of 
 the particulars. 
 
 11 1 A proposj said Mathieu, 1 the old woman 
 you speak of ought to have laid up a little 
 money ; she and her daughter have been some 
 time in business. What do you say to try that 
 casket to-night?’ 
 
 111 What would be the use of it?’ said I. 1 1 
 know the poor woman well, and am satisfied 
 there is not a half-penny to be found in the 
 house unless, indeed, the little we may have left.’ 
 
 11 L Never mind, we can try.’ 
 
 “And try we did. We burst open the door 
 with iron levers, and in we went, without fur- 
 ther ceremony. 
 
 • “ The poor women, frightened almost out of their 
 lives, escaped through a window at the back. 
 We pursued, and obliged them to return, though 
 sorely against their will ; then, opening the 
 cellar door, we pushed them in, where Cambray 
 and Mathieu followed. 
 
 “ 1 The cellar is the most valuable room in the 
 house,’ said Gagnon ; 1 we could never have 
 done without it.’ 
 
 “ All this took place in the dark, a most neces- 
 sary precaution with us, considering we never 
 made use of masks. 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 9 
 
 u Our birds caged, we struck a light, and whilst j 
 • our companions were indulging in their interest- 
 ing tete-a-tete, we saw no reason why we should 
 not enjoy ourselves too ; accordingly, we placed 
 a table over the cellar trap, and having fur- 
 nished it with edibles and drinkables, down we 
 sat, and enjoyed ourselves heartily. Need I s$y 
 our friends soon joined us. and we had a roaring 
 time of it. 
 
 “ Supper over, we loaded the trap-door with 
 everything we could lay our hands on — stove, 
 boxes, pots, stewpans — everything. This com- 
 pleted, we set to work to pillage the house, and 
 having appropriated the best articles of clothing 
 we could fiud, together with a few pieces of 
 silver, we exhorted our fair prisoners to bear 
 patiently with their lot, and bade them farewell. 
 
 “ The following day was dedicated to a new 
 excursion. 
 
 “ Cambray and I went to hunt up old Paradis, 
 whom we found with little difficulty; and Catn- 
 bray, by way of accounting for his presence, i 
 asked him the way to Lake Beauport. 
 
 u But we did not, however, succeed in informing 
 ourselves sufficiently with respect to the general 
 arrangements of the premises, and Gagnon and 
 I returned the next da} r to complete our survey. 
 This time^Gagnon pretended he wanted to find 
 Craig's milt , showing at the same time the ad- ! 
 dress, which had been written on a piece of 1 
 paper ; for my part, I kept out of the way, fear- 
 ing he might recognize my figure. Having re- 
 turned to Cambray’s, and acquainted him with 
 our observations, that evening we all started on 
 our expedition. This happened, I believe, on 
 the 3rd February, 1835. 
 
 “ Crowbars in hand, we threw ourselves all 
 together on the door, which gave way instan- ; 
 taneously to the shock, and in a moment we j 
 were in the first room. Judge of our surprise 
 on entering, to find an old grey-headed man on 
 his knees, trembling fearfully, his hands raised 
 to Heaven, to whom he was crying, ‘ mercy, 
 mercy — a thousand times mercy .’ 
 
 11 This man was an old beggar, who had taken 
 up his lodgings there for the night. His fears 
 and his prayers set us all in a roar of laughter. 
 One of us seized the fellow, another rushed at 
 old Paradis, who was in bed at the time, dragged i 
 him out by the neck, and a third opening the 
 cellar trap, they were both hurled in to keep 
 each other company. 
 
 “ 1 sought to enter a little sleeping apartment, 
 at the door of which I found myself. 
 
 “ 1 Don’t go in there/ said Cambray ; ‘ let us 
 do the thing orderly, and divide fairly and 
 brotherly. 7 
 
 u 1 Leave me alone, 7 said I, ‘ there’s fc pretty 
 girl inside — the niece of the old man. 7 
 
 il 1 Stay with us — stay with us, I tell you, or 
 you’re a dead man. 7 
 
 “ I was obliged to obey. On breaking open a 
 box, we found a great quantity of gold coin. 
 This Cambray put in his pocket. 
 
 “ Having made the stove red hot, we deter- 
 mined upon taking Paradis out of the cellar, and 
 seating him upon it. This was to induce a 
 speedy confession on his part with regard to his 
 places of concealment. 
 
 “ It was an operation we had frequently to 
 
 resort to in the cases of the unruly — the 
 naughty — children who did not submit grace- 
 fully to our persuasiveness ; but we were startled 
 by the discovery that some one had escaped by 
 the window of the room which I had intended 
 entering ; the girl, doubtless. 
 
 “ This gave us so much alarm that we made 
 our escape as hastily as possible. When we 
 were at some distance, Gagnon shewed us a pis- 
 tol he had wrenched from Paradis. 
 
 “On the road home, Cambray, coming close to 
 me, said softly, almost in a whisper, 1 Let us 
 try aud humbug Gagnon and Mathieu; here, 
 hide this, 7 and he threw me eighteen doubloons 
 and fifteen dollars. The remainder he slipped 
 adroitly into the linings of his trousers $nd into 
 his boots. 
 
 “ Arrived at his residence, he drew forth a few 
 dollars ; he gave sixteen to Gagnon and Mathieu 
 as their share. For my part, I received forty- 
 eight, and he retained the balance, which must 
 have been upwards of six hundred* dollars, see- 
 ing that we had laid Paradis under a contribu- 
 tion of one hundred and seventy pounds. 
 
 “ Matters continued pretty much in this way ; 
 when we were in humour, we went on with our 
 work. On one occasion we broke into the office 
 of a Mr. Parke, a merchant in the Lower Town, 
 and there we found little silver and a telescope, 
 which Cambray appropriated, ‘to gratify a 
 whim, 7 he said. 
 
 “ Up to this time we lived in the greatest hardi- 
 hood. We were suspected by nobody, and we 
 had the pleasure each day of listening to the 
 details of our brigandage, and of moralizing 
 thereon, Cambray and I mixing with the most 
 respectable society. When suspicion became 
 aroused, and we were incarcerated, the tele- 
 scope, of which I have spoken, was found and 
 identified. Nevertheless Cambray escaped pun- 
 ishment in this instance. 
 
 “ Emboldened by these successes, we did not 
 stop, but pushed our robberies even into the 
 Chapel of the Congregation, the details of which 
 audacious attempt may be found in the trial of 
 Gagnon. 77 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Sacrilegious Robbery of the Chapel of “ La Congrega- 
 tion” — Trial of Gagnon — Verdict. 
 
 So far we have taken our narrative from the 
 lips of the witness. We will now, for the mo- 
 ment, adopt another form, as being suited to our 
 purpose, and obtain our details from the trial 
 itself, namely, the sacrilegious robbery of the 
 R. C. Chapel of the Congregation. 
 
 During the night of the 9th and 10th February, 
 1835, the R. C. Chapel of the Congregation of 
 Quebec, was forcibly entered, and ve.lne stolen 
 therefrom to the amount of £92 10s., namely: a 
 silver lamp, £20; a crucifix, £10 ; a statue of 
 the Virgin, £50 ; four sconces, £10 ; and two 
 candlesticks, £2 10s. 
 
 On the 29th March, 1837, Pierre Gagnon was 
 arraigned before the Criminal Court, charged 
 with having been an accomplice in the robbery 
 of the Congregational Chapel, together with 
 Charles Cambray and George Water worth. 
 
 The accused was a man young in years, but 
 
10 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 aged in crime ; nor was this his first appearance 
 at the criminal bar. Repulsive in appearance, 
 and possessed of a harsh and disagreeable voice, 
 it was evident his career had been nursed within 
 the walls of a prison, and was likely to be ex- 
 piated only on the gallows. 
 
 Messrs. Cazault, chaplain ; Joseph Dubois, 
 sexton; Joseph Peticlerc, syndic; and Etienne 
 Metivier, watchman, were held as witnesses to 
 testify, both to the robbery and the value of the 
 effects stolen ; and in addition to these, was 
 George Waterworth, an accomplice in the crime, 
 who had turned Icing’s evidence, in the hope of 
 pardon. 
 
 In the month of February, 1835, the witness, 
 Waterworth, resided with Carabray. 
 
 At afcout eight o’clock on the evening of the 
 robbery, they went to Mrs. Anderson’s, where 
 they found Mathieu and Gagnon, who still lived 
 in the same place. Having drunk together, 
 Cambray entered into conversation with Gag- 
 non and Mdthieu, but in a very low tone of 
 voice ; taking an opportunity, when Mrs. Ander- 
 son was absent for a moment, the two last named 
 slipped out and returned shortly afterwards with 
 a crowbar. They then left the premises, and 
 walked through St. Louis Gate towards the 
 Esplanade ; it was not, however, until they 
 arrived at the chapel that they fully resolved 
 upon entering it. But there were difficulties in 
 the way — people were seen to remain near it for 
 some time — so, to avoid suspicion, the robbers 
 continued their walk towards St. John’s Gate, 
 and then returned to the spot in question by a 
 different route. The people had gone. Mathieu 
 and Gagnon then approached the door of the 
 building, and worked some time to effect an 
 entrance. As soon as they had succeeded in 
 forcing it open, one of them returned to where 
 Cambray was, and said to him : u Now that the 
 door is open, you may walk in.” The witness 
 further said that he perceived they had broken 
 half of a window above the door ; the aperture 
 was sufficiently large to admit the body of a 
 man, and he believed that it must have been by 
 this means that one of them had entered, and 
 thus been enabled to open the door from the 
 inside. But to proceed : Mathieu and the two 
 others glided into the chapel, leaving Water- 
 worth to keep watch without, and give alarm in 
 case of discovery, or, in the event of its being 
 occasioned by one person only, to silence him 
 with a blow from a club he carried. 
 
 The three remained inside about a quarter of 
 an hour, during which time they lit a candle, 
 with phosphoric matches purchased by Cambray 
 from Sims, an apothecary in the Upper Town. 
 They then wrapped the stolen articles in mantles 
 and in the woman’s attire with which Gagnon 
 and Mathieu had been disguised on this oc- 
 casion. This over, they returned to Mrs. An- 
 derson’s ; but fearing that their movements might 
 attract observation, they transported their booty 
 to Cambray’s. Entering by a yard at the back, 
 they introduced themselves into a hay-loft, 
 where they again struck a light and examined 
 the result of their expedition. Here it was that 
 the witness first set eyes upon the effects, which 
 he observed consisted of a silver image of the 
 Virgin, a lamp, and several candlesticks ; lie 
 
 also recollected that it was a matter of debate 
 whether one of the candlesticks was of pure* 
 silver. He remembered breaking it with an 
 axe to ascertain the truth ; they found it to be 
 only plated. They then descended into the 
 stable, and having raised one of the planks, they 
 concealed everything beneath it. 
 
 A few days after this affair, Mathieu and 
 Gagnon returned to demand their share of the 
 spoils. As Cambray was absent at the time — 
 he had gone out with his wife — the witness gave 
 them each a dollar or two, and told them to ar- 
 range with Cambray for the rest. Later on, 
 Waterworth and Cambray made up their minds 
 to take the silver to Broughton, where, as we 
 have stated, the relatives of the former then 
 lived. Accordingly, they procured two barrels, 
 one of which they filled with liquor, and into 
 the other they put the ornaments of the Congre- 
 gational Chapel. Waterworth then started for 
 Broughton ; he was driven there in a cariole by a 
 carter; and besides the barrels, he brought with 
 him several other articles. He arrived there on 
 the second day from the time of his departure, 
 having slept a night at a tavern kept by one 
 Morin, near St. Mary’s. 
 
 Having stowed the barrels within doors, and 
 given special instructions to his sister \yith regard 
 to them, he drew from one a jar full of liquor, 
 which he carried to the house of a man named 
 Stevens, who lived at the further end of the 
 township. In this visit he was accompanied by 
 his sister, his brother-in-law, a man of the name 
 of Knox, and the carter. The witness remained 
 the whole night here ; but when Knox was on 
 the point of leaving, he desired him to conceal 
 the larger barrel in the snow. This was done. 
 
 Cambray made his appearance a few days 
 after this; and he and Waterworth having 
 satisfied themselves as to the safety of the 
 barrel, they both returned to Quebec. Scarcely 
 had they arrived, however, than they learned that 
 Carrier, the constable, had left for Brough- 
 ton. This happened on Ash Wednesday. Fear- 
 ful of discovery, and determined# at all risks 
 to ward off the impending blow, the robbers 
 started after him on the following day, and 
 travelled nearly fifty miles between five o’clock 
 in the afternoon and one the following morning. 
 
 On the road they met Carrier returning, and, 
 doubtful as to the issue of his journey, they 
 accosted him, asking him where he had been. 
 He answered that he had been to Broughton on 
 several business matters. They continued ques- 
 tioning him : but, receiving very evasive answers, 
 Waterworth, to make sure that he had discovered 
 nothing, pretended to be drunk, and insisted 
 upon searching the constable’s cariole, under 
 the pretence ot looking for liquor; but finding 
 nothing, they continued their journey. 
 
 Arrived at Broughton, the witness tnado 
 special enquiries respecting the object of Car- 
 rier s visit. His father, who appeared deeply 
 affected by the thought that his house, whicli 
 had hitherto enjoyed an unexceptional character, 
 should have been made an object of search by 
 the police, told him that the constable had been 
 there, but had found nothing. This ascer- 
 tained, Cambray decided upon leaving im- 
 mediately for the city, from which he re- 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 11 
 
 turned in the commencement of the following 
 April, bringing with him two crucibles, a bushel 
 of coal, and a pair of bellows. The following 
 night, Cambray, Norris, Knox, and the witness, 
 retired to the adjoining woods, where they 
 made a fire in the sugar cabin, and endeavoured 
 to melt their silver ; but being unable to attain 
 this, they broke it into pieces with a hammer, 
 and having rolled it up in a cloth, Cambray and 
 Waterworth brought it back to Quebec. 
 
 On Easter eve, the two associates carried their 
 silver to the quarries at Caprouge, where they 
 broke into a house used by the workmen, who 
 were then absent. They found the key of the 
 blacksmith’s forge, and having kindled the fire, 
 they placed their silver once more in the 
 crucibles they had procured, and again sub- 
 mitted them to the action of the flames, beating 
 and flattening the pieces at times with the heavy 
 mallets they found in the place, in order to 
 quicken the process as much as possible. 
 
 Thus they passed Easter Sunday, undisturbed 
 by a single accident, the fire being so ardent as 
 to cause one of the crucibles to crack. As the 
 image of the child, held in the arms of the vir- 
 gin, was found to resist alike flame and physical 
 force, Cambray, who held it in his hand, turned 
 to Waterworth, and said : 
 
 “Just look 'at this unlucky imp. He will 
 give us as much trouble as Shadrach, Meshach, 
 and Abednego.” 
 
 Nevertheless, towards evening, they had re- 
 duced all into ingots, which Cambray carried 
 home with him, and which remained in his pos- 
 session. 
 
 The prisoner here cros 3 -questioned the witness 
 as follows : 
 
 Prisoner — “ Do you believe that vou have a 
 soul ?” 
 
 Witness — “ Yes; I believe that I have a soul 
 to save.” 
 
 Prisoner — 11 Have you never borne false wit- 
 ness ?” 
 
 Witness — “ No, never.” 
 
 Prisoner — “ What ! Did you not swear false- 
 ly when you said that Cambray was not present 
 at the murder of Sivrac?” 
 
 The Court exempted the witness from answer- 
 ing this question. 
 
 Several witnesses were then heard to corro- 
 borate the evidence given by the accomplice, as 
 follows : 
 
 Mrs. Anderson, to prove the interview held by 
 the accused at her house ; Cecilia Connor 
 George Hall, and Eliza Lapointe, to confirm the 
 transactions which had taken place at Brough- 
 ton ; and Rene Labbe, blacksmith, to give evi- 
 dence in connection with the use of his forge on 
 Easter Sunday. 
 
 The accused then read the following appeal 
 to the jury, from a paper which he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 “Gentlemen of the Jury . — It is with sincere 
 sorrow that I behold myself forced to address 
 you on an occasion like the present, one which 
 will deprive me of my life, if you consider me 
 guilty of the crime whereof I stand accused. 
 My situation is the more pitiable, as I occupy the 
 position of another, whose substitute I am. 
 
 “ Waterworth, the king’s evidence in this 
 
 case, the only witness who implicates m the 
 robbery of the Congregational Chapel, has 
 placed me in the position of one of his own rela- 
 tions, Norris, the husband of his sister. To save 
 him, he destroys me ; to screen a relative, he 
 delivers an innocent man over to the sword of 
 justice. I pray of you to reflect upon this, and 
 also upon the character of him who deposes 
 against me. It is the man, who, only a year 
 ago, perjured himself before this very Court, 
 when he said that Cambray was not the author 
 of Sivrac’s murder, committed at Lotbiniere, 
 and in which he himself was complicated. He 
 swore in the face of God and man, that he had 
 seen him purchase the same silver spoons he, 
 the witness, had assisted him to steal. Had I 
 the means, I could prove this assertion on the 
 oath of no less than eight persons ; but, enclosed 
 within the prison for eighteen months, without 
 money, and without protection, what was it pos- 
 sible for me to effect ? The subpoenas which I 
 had procured a few days before this term, were 
 taken from me by my fellow prisoners. 
 
 u The man who denounces me is he who 
 avowed himself an accomplice in the robbery 
 committed at Mrs. Montgomery’s — a being with- 
 out shame — one who entered even a church, and 
 seized upon the sacred property, to the insult of 
 divinity ; and he it was who conducted the vari- 
 ous robberies in the Lower Town, and broke 
 open and pillaged the counting-houses. Yes, it 
 is upon this man’s conscience, unsupported by 
 other evidence, that I am now accounted his 
 accomplice, whereas it is upon Norris, whom it 
 is his interest to conceal, that the odium ought 
 to attach itself. Such is the man whose testi- 
 mony you have to consider. 
 
 “ Remember, that, even in this Court, there 
 have been instances in which the innocent have 
 suffered for the guilty. In the case of a robber}" 
 committed against a Mr. Masse, of Point Levi, 
 the Crown witness accused four persons entirely 
 free from blame, when suddenly another ap- 
 peared, whose evidence led to the conviction of 
 the real offenders. The man who thus perjured 
 himself was Ross, who wa3 afterwards executed, 
 and whose case created so deep a sensation in this 
 city. Remember, too, there are in Quebec a great 
 number of thieves who have the wit to place their 
 deeds of darkness to the account of old delin- 
 quents ; men who, having already appeared at the 
 criminal bar, are more likely to be thought guilty. 
 I admit that it is my misfortune to bear an in- 
 famous character, and to my disgrace I have 
 already appeared before this tribunal; but if I 
 have been guilty, I have suffered severely for ray 
 crime. 
 
 “ If my reputation is bad, the more open is it 
 to suspicion. Pay, then, no attention to the 
 career of my past life — deign only to consider 
 the state of my present position. 
 
 “ On the evening of the 10th April, on which 
 the crime was committed, I passed the whole 
 night at Mrs. Anderson’s, as also a girl who 
 could give her evidence to this effect, but that she 
 is now in the State of Maine. Another girl called 
 Doren could, if alive, have confessed this ; but 
 Waterworth, quarrelling with her, beat her so vio- 
 lently, that on the following day she was found 
 dead on St. Louis street. I can, however, produce 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 12 
 
 a woman named Catherine Rocque, who sleptat 
 Mrs. Anderson’s on the same night. 
 
 11 Having now submitted my defence, I desire 
 not that you sacrifice conscience for my sake. 
 All I ask is that you will render me justice. 
 May God assist you in your verdict.” 
 
 The prisoner had but one witness, the gnl) 
 Catherine Rocque, whom we have already men- 
 tioned, and who happened at that time to be in 
 prison. She was, however, brought before the 
 prisoner with the following result : 
 
 Prisoner — “ I ask you, Miss Rocque, do you 
 know me?" 
 
 Witness — “ Yes.” ? 
 
 Prisoner— “ Were you not at Mrs. Anderson s 
 on the 9th April, two years ago?” 
 
 Witness — “ Yes.” 
 
 Prisoner — “ Did not I sleep there that night ?” 
 Witness— (i Yes ; I believe you did. That was 
 two years ago, was it not?” 
 
 Prisoner— “ Did not I remain there the whole 
 night? Was not I tipsy?” 
 
 Witness — “ 1 do not know whether you re- 
 mained all night, for I was ‘a little mellow m} r - 
 self. I went to bed at six in the morning, and 
 did not get up till the following day.” 
 
 Prisoner — c: Enough ; I have nothing further 
 to ask.” 
 
 In the course of the trial, Mr. 0. Stewart, 
 counsel for Cambray, took exception to one of 
 the heads of the accusation, namely : that of 
 sacrilege — raising the question whether the Con- 
 gregational Chapel ought to rank with churches, 
 the robbery of which the law designates sacri- 
 lege, and the Court took this question en de - 
 libdre. 
 
 The Honorable Judge Bowen then addressed 
 the jury. He recapitulated the evidence fur- 
 nished by the trial ; he dwelt at some length on 
 the various points necessary to be taken into 
 consideration before rendering a verdict, the 
 principal one being doubtless the caution with 
 which they ought to receive the testimony of the 
 Crown witness, observing that it ought to be 
 accepted or rejected only so far as it agreed 
 with the statements of other witnesses. “The 
 jurors,” he added, “ had before them a question 
 of a very delicate nature — one that touched 
 directly on the conscience of each individual, the 
 dictates of which would doubtless tell them 
 whether he had spoken the truth, or whether he 
 had disguised it. 
 
 The jury then retired, and shortly after re- 
 turned their verdict, namely: “That Pierre 
 Gagnon was guilty of sacrilege, or grand lar- 
 ceny, to the value of £20.” 
 
 Such was the decision of the Court on the ob- 
 jection taken by Mr. Stewart. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Suspicions— Conspiracy against Waterworth — An- 
 other Expedition to the Island of Orleans. 
 
 Water worth here resumes the thread of his 
 narrative : 
 
 The sacrilegious robbery of the Congrega- 
 tional Chapel gave ns so much trouble, and was 
 the cause of so much research on the part of the 
 police, who all but discovered our tracks, that 
 
 for some time afterwards we tfere obliged to 
 remain inactive. We began at that time to feel 
 a little distrustful of our security, and it was the 
 following incident that gave birth to our sus- 
 picions : 
 
 One hundred pounds having been offered by 
 the Governor for the discovery of the guilty, a 
 sum sufficiently great to tempt the cupidity of 
 most people, a woman being at Mrs. Ander- 
 son’s on the evening of the robbery, and having 
 observed us leaving the place, imagined that 
 possibly we might be connected with the affair. 
 Accordingly she found Carrier, the constable, 
 and proposed to communicate her suspicions to 
 him, on the condition that if they led to the con- 
 viction of the offenders, she was to obtain half 
 the sum advertised. 
 
 Carrier, on his part, mentioned the circum- 
 stance to certain friends of ours, from whom it 
 came to our ears, and it was upon me that the 
 accusers had fastened as their victim. For this 
 reason were my journeys to Broughton under- 
 taken. As for Cambray, his name as yet re- 
 mained untouched. 
 
 Great was the discomfiture of these greedy 
 beings, when they found that their efforts had 
 terminated in naught ; but Carrier may thank 
 heaven that he had nothing in his cariole at the 
 time we met him ; for had it been otherwise, we 
 would most certainly have saved him his journey 
 home. Our determination to murder him was 
 fixed, and every step towards its accomplishment 
 had been taken with great precaution. 
 
 I believe, however, that on these occasions 
 we permitted a spirit of indulgence, of humanity, 
 to triumph over common sense ; for to this 
 systematic lenity I cannot but attribute much 
 that led to our discovery. True, it was not im- 
 mediate in its effects ; nevertheless it brought on 
 further and better founded accusations. In fact, 
 
 I am of opinion that it was the movements of 
 Carrier that furnished Cecelia Connor with the 
 suspicions that we had the church silver in our 
 possession, suspicions which gradually strength- 
 ened, until, in the summer of 1835, they were 
 laid before the Court as facts, on which were 
 based our arrest ; for it must not be forgotten 
 that this woman was entirely ignorant of the 
 contents of the larger barrel, nor could she have 
 overheard any conversation concerning it. Her 
 discovery, therefore, must have sprung entirely 
 from her imagination ; but this is only conjec- 
 ture, for the incident has ever been a mystery to 
 us, something we have never been able to com- 
 prehend. 
 
 “ Stop a moment ! Possibly you may not have 
 heard that she followed you into the wood — that 
 she saw the image of the Virgin in the hands of 
 Cambray — that from Knox she took a small 
 silver sceptre, that ” 
 
 “Is it possible, is it possible? she watched us, 
 spied out our retreat, discovered us in the act. 
 Ah! had we only known, how easy it would 
 have been to have prevented all this trouble. 
 I could never have imagined that imbecile old 
 creature, such as she is, could have dared to watch 
 us after that manner. Had I thought it possible, 
 I would have strangled her without any remorse 
 whatsoever. Personal safety is the first law of 
 nature. Did she then follow us ? Alone? into 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS/ 
 
 13 
 
 ¥ 
 
 the woods ? Ah, that I could meet her once 
 more.” 
 
 In giving way to this burst of passion, the 
 witness betrayed the secret working of his 
 heart; he showed himself in the fulness of his 
 wickedness, the strength of his ferocious nature 
 completely overpowered every other considera- 
 tion, and usurped at once the mild sentiments 
 of contrition and regret to which he had hitherto 
 expressed hiipself resigned. He rose in his seat, 
 his fists clenched, and his lips quivering with 
 emotion — he was indeed the picture of a blood- 
 thirsty villain. Shortly after he seemed gra- 
 dually to suppress all external symptoms of 
 agitation ; he remained quite silent for a con- 
 siderable space of time, and finally relapsed into 
 that marble-like coldness which had hitherto 
 characterised his address. He continued : 
 
 After the chapel silver had been reduced to 
 ingots, and deposited in a place of safety, I went 
 home to Broughton, from which I returned about 
 the middle of May. 
 
 On my arrival, we set about a new expedi- 
 tion. This was our first work of the kind since 
 the sacrilege ; it took place on the Island of 
 Orleans. There were four of us concerned in 
 the affair — Cambray, Mathieu, Knox, and ray- 
 self; but Knox knew nothing of our conspiracy, 
 he had only come to take charge of the boat. 
 
 We proceeded to the parish of St. Laurent, 
 where we broke open the house of an old 
 bachelor. We found him alone, and seized him 
 by the throat, in bed. He tried to resist, so 
 that wc were obliged to treat him to a few 
 strokes of a stick. Our expedition ended in 
 nothing, for we found no money ; nor can I be- 
 lieve he possessed any, after the proofs to which 
 he submitted. For want of something better, 
 we carried off his stock of provisions, and some 
 of his best wearing apparel. I admit it was a 
 piece of cruelty to trouble a poor old man forso 
 little profit. 
 
 The following was much more satisfactory, 
 and gave us much less trouble. It was the rob- 
 bery committed at Mrs. Montgomery's, the in- 
 teresting details of which are given in the trial 
 of Cambray and Mathieu. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Carouge Wood— The Robbers’ Retreat— Mathieu— 
 Stewart and Lemire — A Conspiracy. 
 
 About three o'clock in the afternoon of the 
 22nd May, 1835, two men passed through St. 
 Lewis Suburbs, and directed their steps towards 
 the plains of Abraham. 
 
 “ For that business,” said Waterworth in a 
 low tone to his companion Cambray, “ we will 
 require at least seven or eight determined fel- 
 lows. Remember, it is in the very centre of the 
 town.” , 
 
 il Bah, seven or eight men to strangle a few 
 women, and pillage a house. You are nothing 
 but a coward, and know nothing about it ; the 
 more accomplices we have, the smaller will be 
 our profits; besides that, it does not do to 
 bring too many into affairs of that kind — some 
 traitor.” 
 
 “Oh, as to that you are right enougji ; it does 
 
 not do to trust our secrets to everybody. In an 
 unlucky moment, we might be intimidated, and 
 through weakness or remorse, or even treason, 
 one might be obliged to swallow his own dose, 
 in order to save himself. This is doubtless 
 true.” 
 
 11 A thousand devils; if ever accomplice plays 
 me that trick, if ever I even suspect that any 
 one dared to think of such a thing, he would not 
 remain a sound man much longer. I’d soon 
 make him forget the taste of his victuals.” 
 
 11 For that reason we ought to select men of 
 energy and trust,” said Waterworth, a little em- 
 barrassed, u men capable of even sacrificing 
 themselves, if necessary, rather than utter a 
 dangerous word. If Dumas was not in prison 
 now, he would answer capitally ; he's a crafty 
 rogue.” 
 
 “Dumas, he never attempts anything on a 
 large scale; he is too fearful of a dance in the 
 air. I have already told you Mathieu is one I 
 am looking for ; he's the very man, desperate as 
 a devil, fearing neither heaven nor earth — cun- 
 ning, cool, discreet, full of energy, and, above 
 all, able to force a lock better than any man 
 living. He is, moreover, one of whom we need 
 have po suspicion — a miserable old valet, who 
 is unconscious of his own abilities, and is in- 
 capable of turning them to account. A few 
 dollars to drink, and be merry, is all he will 
 ask ; his aim will be no higher than a night’s 
 debauchery. In addition to him, we might find 
 a couple of second rate thieves, whom we could 
 pay so much for the night.” 
 
 “ Certes, Mathieu ; let it be so, then, sincere 
 is the best, and we will find two others as as- 
 sistants only.” 
 
 “ Still we will be very few,” said Waterworth ; 
 and here the two companions jumped over a 
 fence, and discovered at a short distance a group 
 of men and woman. It was the band they were 
 in search of. 
 
 The plains of Abraham, and the neighbour- 
 ing woods, particularly that of Carouge, are the 
 rendezvous of a certain industrial class, who find 
 it more convenient to live upon the goods of 
 their neighbours than to earn any for them- 
 selves. These men are the outcasts of society, 
 branded with infamy, united by crime, and in 
 league against the law ; having no other re- 
 source, their lives are spent in plotting against 
 justice, surrounded by perpetual misery and 
 fear. They know neither peace nor security, 
 nor do they even enjoy the regular pittance of 
 the poor. At one time they are glutted with 
 their prey ; at another they are almost dying 
 with hunger. On the open hills they hold their 
 gatherings, and spend their nights the victims 
 of infamy and terror. 
 
 They know not the repose of honesty, fearful 
 visions haunt them day and night ; they have 
 not even the consolation of friendship — those 
 they meet in this place are destitute of either 
 feeling or sympathy — all sentiments of nature 
 are dead within them — interest, purely personal 
 interest, is the strongest passion they know, 
 and baseness, calumny and treason is their cur- 
 rent change. When in the spring of the year 
 the prisons are emptied, when navigation throws 
 her hordes of divers people upon our shores, this 
 
14 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 
 infected body spreads over our fields, and muti- 
 neers, adventurers, bullies and debauched char- 
 acters add daily to its numbers. 
 
 Should you trust yourself within the precincts 
 mentioned, you do so at a considerable risk, for 
 if your appearance indicates contribution , some 
 four of these rascals seize you by the throat, 
 levy their toll, and fly, leaving you half dead 
 upon the spot. 
 
 In the adjoining woods they have their hiding 
 places, their rendezvous , and their caves, and 
 in the neighbourhood their taverns and their 
 courts. 
 
 When they have succeeded in making a good 
 haul, a feast is sure to follow ; the kettle is sus- 
 pended to the branch of some tree, the fowl is 
 cooked in open air, and eaten on the grass; the 
 moon and stars preside over amourous meetings, 
 disgusting orgies, iniquitous conspiracies, and 
 short and restless repose. 
 
 Astonishing as it may seem, these hardened 
 and unnatural beings are the slaves of women 
 even more infamous than themselves ; for them 
 they commit their thefts, for them they stake 
 their very existence, and for them they waste in 
 prodigality all they have acquired at the peril of 
 their lives. Even here, amid the corrupt and 
 the wicked, love reigns triumphant, asserting 
 its power over the human heart, even when that 
 heart is dead to all other feelings of humanity. 
 Before its omnipotence, every other passion 
 bows, and in its grasp all are helpless. 
 
 But it would be too fearful to reveal the 
 scenes of bloodshed to w T hich it has given rise 
 in the woods of Carouge — to relate the jea-, 
 lousies, the retaliations, and the murders it has 
 occasioned in this place ; but which are now 
 buried in oblivion, through the apathy and in- 
 difference of the beholders. 
 
 “ Ah, the idle scamps,” said Cambray, as they 
 neared the group, who had already noticed their 
 arrival. u Look at them running; look, they 
 take us for constables. Ha, ha, ha — those gen- 
 tlemen are never quite sure of being innocent.” 
 
 Notwithstanding the state of excitement into 
 which the ragged assemblage was thrown, four 
 or five of the vagabonds refused to budge, for 
 they had recognised their visitors, and heartily 
 enjoyed the confusion their presence had oc- 
 casioned. 
 
 Cambray now left his companion, and, ad- 
 vancing to them, placed his hand familiarly on 
 the shoulder of one of them — a man of about 
 forty years of age, of middling stature, slightly 
 made, and marked with small-pox. He had a 
 pale complexion, sparklingly black and viva- 
 cious eyes, a narrow and lowering forehead, 
 thick hair, and uneven and hoarse voice, large 
 whiskers coming up almost to his eyes, thin 
 cars, an extremely small mouth, and the entire 
 expression of his features sharp and angular. 
 Altogether, his physiognomy was stamped with 
 the ferocity of a brute rather than the character 
 of a man. 
 
 “ Mathieu (for it was he), Mathieu,” said Cam- 
 bray, “ I’ve a secret for you,” 
 
 “What?” replied the man springing up from 
 where he was, and striking his sides. “ What? 
 A nest to rob? Speak— l’m your man.” 
 
 “ Well, comrade, you remember I have fre- 
 
 quently spoken to you of Mrs. Montgomery, but 
 as yet we have done nothing in the matter ; that 
 there is money there, you know. What do you 
 say to giving us your help? We have almost 
 forgotten our trade, so long is it since we have 
 worked at it; but remember, perseverance and 
 perfect coolness are indispensable. Be secret 
 and courageous, my boy, and the chicken i 3 
 ours.” 
 
 11 Courage ! the devil knows well enough I’m 
 not the man to be frightened ; and as to secresy, 
 I should think twenty years service have taught 
 me that. I will be ready this evening, if you 
 wish ; the night will be dark, there will be no 
 moon, and killing may be done without fear.” 
 
 11 Let it be so,” said Cambray, (t give me your 
 hand for this evening; but we shall want as- 
 sistance. Three will never be able to manage 
 it, and that great calf there (pointing to Water- 
 worth) is little better than a drowned hen. Per- 
 haps you are acquainted with some worthy 
 children, able scamps, who might be useful?” 
 
 11 Scamps 1 plenty of them; but as to their 
 being able, that’s another question. However, 
 there are some clever numsculls. Stewart, for 
 instance, is a wily fox, and well-suited for our 
 purpose. Then there’s Lemire, a young hand, 
 it is true, but with plenty of pluck, soul enough 
 for a beef-eater ; he would be worth something.” 
 
 “But you forget Gagnon,” said Waterworth, 
 coming up ; “ he was an old servant of the 
 lady’s, and could give us a good deal of advice.” 
 
 “His advice,” said Cambray. “Pooh! I 
 have sounded him long ago. Never fear, I 
 know his secret, and that’s all we w'ant ; he 
 would ask too much for his services.” 
 
 11 It will teach him in future not to tell where 
 his nests may be found,” said Mathieu, “ by my 
 faith, but it will be a rare trick to cook the pear 
 without his knowledge — he who has reckoned 
 upon it for such a length of time. Hallo! 
 Stewart — Lemire — come here, my boys.” 
 
 At this call two men left the group of thieves, 
 who were lying at a short distance, jealous of 
 being excluded from the secret of the conspiracy 
 which was apparently on foot, and came forward 
 to join their three friends. One of them was a 
 man of about thirty-six of age, small in stature, 
 but well made, and with rather a passable 
 countenance, considerably at variance with 
 his character, although somewhat severe in 
 expression. T.his man was an old delinquent, 
 named Stewart, notso much that he was a great 
 criminal as a vicious and corrupt being. The 
 other was much more characteristic and revolt- 
 ing in physiognomy ; his copper-coloured skin, 
 like that ot an Indian — his demon-like eyes, his 
 pointed and ill-formed head, his gait, his 
 sharp and cunning visage, his figure, his 
 countenance — all bespoke him of dark and 
 dogged disposition, well fitted for the paths of 
 vice. This man could not have been more than 
 twenty years of age ; his name was Lemire. He 
 had already appeared on several different oc- 
 casions at the bar of justice, accused of crimes 
 committed with a fearful degree of audacity, 
 nor had he even escaped the last and solemn 
 sentence of death. 
 
 Some years ago, it will be remembered that 
 an Irishman, crossing the Plains with his 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 15 
 
 
 •dearer half, whom he had only espoused that 
 morning, and was now about to introduce to his 
 future habitation and his home, was attacked in 
 open day by a band of four robbers. Happily, 
 the bridegroom was a man of considerable 
 physical strength, had a brave heart, and plenty 
 of nerve. Disarming one of his adversaries, he 
 struck them to the ground, and succeeded in 
 making three of them prisoners. Lemire was 
 one of them; he it was who commenced the 
 attack. 
 
 “ Come along, my game cocks,” said Mathieu ; 
 “ come along, we want you here. What do you 
 say to distinguishing vourselves this evening 
 at ” 
 
 “ Hush, hush,” interposed Cambray, putting 
 his hand over Mathieu’s mouth; “secrecy or 
 death — secrecy or death — Mathieu, remember 
 that. Let all of- you come and see me this even- 
 ing, and you'll know the rest. Mathieu, you’ll 
 bring them ; hide yourselves under the window, 
 and we’ll meet you a little after dusk. Good 
 bye.” 
 
 So saying, he started off with his companion, 
 and the brigands returned to their party. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Young Wife: her fears — The Rendezvous— Bur- 
 glary at Mrs. Montgomery’s. 
 
 At about half-past nine o’clock that evening, 
 three persons were assembled in a small room. 
 
 Waterworth sat silentlj r in one corner of the 
 apartment, his head resting on his hands ; 
 Cambray was at a table, drawing with a pencil 
 the divisions of a spacious dwelling ; and oppo- 
 site him sat a young woman of singularly mild 
 and agreeable countenance, delicately made, 
 and apparently in very feeble health. An ex- 
 pression of deep melancholy rested upon her face, 
 adding considerably to the interest of her ap- 
 pearance ; she wa3, moreover, in that state 
 which calls forth our tenderest sympathy. She 
 was evidently in great suffering, stopping occa- 
 sionally with a white handkerchief the great 
 tears that coursed over her cheeks. A single 
 candle, the flame of which was dimmed by a 
 long black wick, threw a faint glimmer of light 
 over the three figures, and added, if possible, to 
 the solemn and mysterious silence that reigned 
 in the apartment. 
 
 “But, my dear friend,” observed the young 
 woman, breaking for the first time the monotony 
 of this sad tranquillity, “ what sort of life have 
 you been leading for some time pa3t. Alas ! 
 you never stay with me now — your occupations 
 are too numerous, your business too extensive. 
 Take care, my dear husband, that you do not 
 involve yourself in difficulties, or get too deeply 
 into debt. I often fear this will be the case, 
 and it gives me much thought and anxiety. You 
 are no longer as you used to be ; you have be- 
 come agitated, melancholy, and unhappy, and 
 you scarcely take any rest or relaxation. Oh ! 
 
 I fear there is trouble at your heart. Ah, can 
 it be that you will not make your wife your 
 confidant 1” 
 
 “ Oh, don’t bother me,” was the brutal answer 
 of her husband ; “ if we were to listen to you, 
 women, you’d have us continually stuck in the | 
 
 house, like wax dolls. It is not thus a man 
 earns a livelihood. All your fears and lamenta- 
 tions are nothing but the imagination of women 
 kind. Have you not everything in the world 
 that is necessary to your comfort?” 
 
 “ Yes, it is true that we have a great deal of 
 money ; indeed, I often feel astonished at your 
 success in such trying times as these; but have 
 you not said that you are going away again to- 
 morrow ? What is the use of this work, my dear 
 husband ?” 
 
 “Yes, woman, I’ve said it, and I’ll do it; and 
 before starting I’ll take a few moments to sleep 
 in the attics.” 
 
 At that moment a dog, which had hitherto 
 lain under the table, uttered a low growl, and 
 arose with hair on end ; he rushed to the door 
 leading to the yard, and commenced barking 
 furiously. Waterworth made an involuntary 
 bound, and, raising his head, his eyes met the 
 face of his associate without, who wa 3 grinning 
 and winking in a most significant manner. 
 
 “Well, good evening, little wife,” said Cam- 
 bray ; “ try and be a little more reasonable.” 
 Then, turning to Waterworth : “ I think it is 
 time to turn in, if we wish to make an early 
 start.” 
 
 “ Charles, Charles,” interrupted his wife, by 
 way of banishing her grief. “Charles, when 
 are you going to give me the shawl you pro- 
 mised? it has not yet come.” 
 
 “ Make yourself easy ; you’ll get it to-morrow, 
 for I hope to make a little money before day- 
 light. Good bye.” 
 
 Thus speaking, followed by his companion, 
 he ascended a somewhat crooked flight of steps, 
 and entered a low garret of about eight feet 
 square, containing one miserable bed ; here the 
 two brigands, finding themselves alone, burst 
 into a hearty fit of laughter. 
 
 “She’s an innocent chicken,” said Cambray;” 
 we’ll give her time to get fast asleep, and tLen 
 we can get out of the window. I have the lad- 
 der ready fastened.” 
 
 “Are you there, friends?” whispered Cam- 
 bray. 
 
 “Here,” replied a black and bloated looking 
 phantom in a corner, “ here we all are, as trusty 
 as the sword of state. I’ve had a good sleep 
 already and the most charming of dreams — I 
 dreamed we had settled for the old woman, 
 frightened the servant, and pillaged and burnt the 
 house.” 
 
 “ Charming indeed,” said Cambray-“but time 
 presses — and you,” addressing Lemire and 
 Stewart, “you know that it’s to Mrs. Montgomery’s 
 we’re bound, — doyou know the old woman-? 
 
 “ To Mrs. Montgomery’s,” said Lemire ; by my 
 faith but that’s funny ; why, I had arranged with 
 Gagnon to pay her a visit to-morrow — It’s as 
 good as a fortune to go there ; will we break her 
 head ? assassinate.” — “ No, no— no useless sever- 
 ity” said Cambray, “ merely tie them up so that 
 they won’t be able to see; I’ll undertake the pil- 
 lage, come.” 
 
 “ The oath, the oath, “ eaid Waterworth, “ our 
 safety lies in that.” 
 
 “ Ah, yes, that’s strictness, said Mathieu, “ but 
 with gentlemen of our reputation it is seldom 
 necessary.” 
 
1G 
 
 4 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 Cambray however obliged them to take a 
 horrible oath, by which they bound themselves, 
 under the penalty of death, neither to back out 
 of the undertaking, nor part with the secret. 
 The ceremony over, they followed each other in 
 silence through the street, and ascended to the 
 Upper Town. 
 
 “Ah, here’s the’casket,” said Matbieu, throw- 
 , i n g himself forcibly against a little yard door 
 which gave way to the blow, and through which 
 he entered followed by the others. 
 
 “ Look at Waterworth,” continued he, “ I was 
 certain he would be the last to enter — he’s 
 always a coward on occasions like this.” 
 
 “ I would be so easily known,” said Water- 
 worth, “but let’s see who will keep the secret 
 longest.” 
 
 Above their heads stood the kitchen window, 
 open, and through it they got into the house. 
 
 By accident, in the lower kitchen they heard 
 the barking of a small dog, and the flooring of 
 the upper storey resounded to the footsteps of a 
 person who had jumped suddenly out of bed. In 
 a moment the burglars had hidden themselves in 
 the four corners of the room, and there they re- 
 mained as fixed and silent as marble statues. 
 
 In an upper apartment, a female in the de- 
 cline of age, awoke suddenly, crying in a falter- 
 ing voice to her servant : 
 
 “ Elizabeth! Elizabeth! did you not hear a 
 dull sort of a sound ? What is the dog barking 
 at? Listen! listen! don’t you hear? Heavens 
 if it should be robbers !” 
 
 “ Yes, I hear it,” replied the girl, “ it’s in the 
 kitchen ; perhaps it’s the window shaking with 
 the wind.” 
 
 “ No, something is walking about there; let 
 us go down and see.” 
 
 “ No, no, in the name of God, don’t be so 
 bold,” shrieked the old woman, nearly losing her 
 senses. “ Lock the door and listen. Oh ! heaven 
 help me, I*m choking.” 
 
 “ What i3 the matter, ma’am ?” whispered a 
 little boy of ten years old, who slept upon a sofa, 
 and who had been awakened by the noise. 
 
 These were the only persons in the house. 
 
 The robbers, though somewhat alarmed, re- 
 mained quiet, scarcely allowing themselves to 
 breathe, and listening eagerly to every sound, in 
 the hope of discovering how many people they 
 had to contend against. Soon, however, the 
 house relapsed once more into a deep and pain- 
 ful silence, broken only by the sobs of the wo- 
 men, the ticking of the clock, and the interrupt- 
 ed occasional barking 'of the dog, which rushed 
 through the different apartments snapping at 
 every obstacle in his way. 
 
 How difficult it is to paint the sensations of 
 the mind, to produce in truthful color, the sus- 
 pense, the weariness, the suffering of the lover 
 who waits in vain the coming of his mistress ; 
 his impatient heart overflowing with affection, 
 with despair, and with jealousy ; but however in- 
 tense may be his feelings at such a moment, they 
 are nothing, positively nothing, compared with 
 the mental torture endured by the two poor wo- 
 men we have spoken of. Weak and unprotect- 
 ed, trembling and frightened almost to insensi- 
 bility ; every moment brought fresh horror to 
 their imaginations ; every moment brought them 
 
 nearer the dreaded time, when their door would 
 be forced in, and they would behold themselves 
 in the presence of demons on a mission of de- 
 struction, perhaps of death; when the hand of 
 the robber would be fastened upon their throats, 
 and the pistol or the knife gleam savagely in 
 the hands of a merciless and powerful foe. The 
 night wind whistling through the crevice of a 
 window ; the cracking of a board ; the buzzing 
 of an insect, were to them noises pregnant with 
 their coming fate, noises that chilled The very 
 blood in their hearts, and petrified their frames 
 with fear. To await danger in a state such as 
 this, is to suffer a thousand deaths ; it is to live 
 beneath the millstone, and feel the crushing of 
 your bones; to be exposed to the points of a 
 thousand needles, and feel them entering your 
 flesh, and tearing you to pieces ; or to be pre- 
 sent at a festival of spectres and feel their ghast- 
 ly faces near your own ; to behold them writh- 
 ing in hideousness, and to be forced to listen to 
 the frightful imprecations they pour into your 
 ear. It is to endure all these at once till the 
 mind borders on insanity, the brain reels, and 
 the body succumbs before the dread phantom of 
 despair. Such was the trial these unfortunate 
 creatures had to endure for nearly an hour, be- 
 tween their first alarm and their second.” 
 
 “ Elizabeth, I hope they are gone,” said the old 
 woman, faintly, coming gradually to her senses. 
 “I will lie down again, but I do not think I 
 shall be able to sleep : let us wait for a moment 
 however.” 
 
 During this interval,. the robbers had changed 
 neither place nor posture, nor were they free 
 from all emotion : impatience, fear, vexation and 
 covetousness vanquished them by turns ; they 
 too had their reflections, they too had their suf- 
 ferings to endure. One moment their thoughts 
 wandered amid danger and infamy, presenting 
 fearful visions of the gallows and of death; the 
 next they brightened into a golden future, mad 
 revelry, lewdness and debauchery. 
 
 “ I thought I heard the voice of a man,” said 
 one of them ; “ what do you say about going up 
 stairs ?” 
 
 “ Wait, wait, for a moment longer.” “ No, 
 no ; I’m certain there are only women, come ; 
 lads, up we go ; up we go.” 
 
 At that instant, Cambray struck a light, show- 
 ing the way ; breaking open the doors he rush- 
 ed up stairs, followed by the others, and soon 
 found himself at the chamber containing the 
 women. Entering, Cambray received a violent 
 blow with an iron poker from the servant Eliza- 
 beth McLellan. 
 
 However, the three inmates were soon seized 
 by their throats, tied up in blankets, and placed 
 under the surveillance of three of the robbers, 
 while the remaining two pillaged the house. 
 Mrs. Montgomery was in a faint the greater part 
 of the time, but, coming to herself, she implored 
 the man watching her, in accents that might 
 have melted the heart of a tiger: “ You look 
 
 like a good man,” said she, “ oh ! have pity on 
 me, and do not hurt me.” “ No, no, I’m not a 
 good man. I’m a wicked man, a very wicked 
 man. Mathieu, have you found anything yet?” 
 
 “ Tut, tut; silence ; hold your tongue.”* 
 
 The robbers ransacked the whole house, emptied 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 the cupboards, bureaux and trunks, tossing and 
 mixing everything, appropriating a large quan- 
 tity of silver and articles of value which they 
 carried off with them ; after having taken the 
 cruel precaution of rolling and tying up the 
 women and the boy in carpets, in such a way, 
 that it was impossible for them to get out with- 
 out great exertion. 
 
 It was daylight when they left the house, and 
 as they passed through St. John’s gate, laden 
 with their spoils, they encountered the men of 
 the watch, returning from their posts, who per- 
 mitted them to pass unchallenged. 
 
 Cambray and Mathieu were placed on trial for 
 this crime (28th March, 1837), and upon the 
 evidence of Waterworth, their accomplice, they 
 were both found guilty. At the time this took 
 place, Lemire had been transported, and Stewart 
 was dead. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 An Expedition by Water— The Price of Indiscretion— 
 A Critical Moment. 
 
 Some day3 after the robbery at Mrs. Mont- 
 gomery’s, two men might have been seen un- 
 rolling the sails of a small boat near the East 
 India wharf; a third, standing on the wharf, 
 said to one of them : 
 
 “ Don’t miss your chance, whatever you do ; 
 it’s a matter of some consequence, as you know, 
 and concerns our personal safety.” 
 
 “ Never fear, comrade, I’ll do my share.” 
 
 The sails were adjusted, and a moment after 
 a light west wind carried the boat into the stream 
 in the direction of the Island of Orleans. 
 
 It was on a beautiful evening in the month of 
 June, a little before sunset; the shadows were 
 deepening on the surface of the water, and the 
 surrounding hills, fields and orchards, which 
 Nature has grouped in such richness and variety 
 in the vicinity of Quebec, were clad with ver- 
 dure, and dotted with flocks, and the magnifi- 
 cent vessels from every portion of the globe re- 
 flected in the river — enhanced, if possible, the na- 
 tural beauty of the scene. It was the fairy-like 
 hour of enchantment, when the coming night 
 lends her beauty and repose to the surrounding 
 brilliancy, and day once more resumes its twi- 
 light of early purity. Deep in the crystal waters 
 were the banks, the woods and the vessel masts 
 reflected, and soft echoes of song from on board 
 ship were wafted across them, and at intervals 
 could be heard the distinct booming din of the 
 neighbouring city. 
 
 But the breeze was stiffening ; clearer and 
 clearer sounded the rolling waves against the 
 timbers of the fleet, and the moon, named by the 
 ancients the chaste Lucinda — probably because 
 she contemplates in silence the impurity and 
 horror hidden from the day — rose gently through 
 wind-driven clouds over the distant horizon. 
 
 Already the little yacht had cleared the al- 
 most inextricable labyrinth of vessels lying at 
 anchor before the city, and now she was speed- 
 ing across the basin between Quebec and the 
 Island of Orleans, the lowering clouds were 
 gathering in density, and the person on the 
 wharf could see nothing but the sails ; they ap- 
 
 17 
 
 peared like a little white cloud skimming the 
 roughening surface. 
 
 “ You’re very moody, this evening,” said one 
 of the sailors to his companion ; u a good breeze 
 this — a good breeze. I don’t exactly know where 
 you’re taking me to ; but this wind will carry us 
 any distance. Tell me where is this timber you 
 speak of? Is there much of it?” 
 
 11 You’ll know when we get there,” replied the 
 other savagely. 
 
 u Hallo !” muttered the first, 11 he’s not in a 
 good humour, it seems. I say, comrade, does 
 what I said at Mrs. A.’s stick in your heart still ? 
 Listen now. I told nothing of consequence. I 
 only said I knew those connected with the Mont- 
 gomery affair — that’s all. I mentioned no names ; 
 and as I was tipsy at the time, nothing can come 
 of it.” 
 
 “ For goodness sake, don’t speak of it,” said 
 the other passionately, repressing an angry 
 movement, grinding his teeth, and trembling in 
 every limb. “ Now’s the time I think ; I’m far 
 enough — yes, this is the place.” 
 
 “What!” interrupted the first loquaciously, 
 •“is this your grapple— this big stone, with a 
 couple of fathoms of cable ; only one, that won’t 
 go very far, I think.” 
 
 u Further than you are aware of, perhaps; 
 but— but — look here. Devil take it, listen — 
 quick— hurry yourself, or the sail will tear itself 
 in two.” 
 
 “ And why did you let go ? You had it in 
 hand. Never mind — all for luck, I suppose. 
 We’re between the churches now. Are we going 
 down the river?” 
 
 So saying, he threw himself into the fore-part 
 of the boat; and, mounting one of the seats, he 
 bent over the side to catch the sail, which was 
 flapping furiously in the wind, and which 
 escaped as soon as caught. While occupied in 
 this manner, his companion leaving the tiller, 
 stole quietly to his side, and, seizing the rope 
 attached to the grapple, which a moment before 
 had excited so much derision, he threw the 
 noose over the head of the unfortunate man, and 
 before he had time to utter a single exclamation, 
 with a sudden jerk he hurled him overboard 
 into the seething billows. Th # e wretch, who 
 committed this, then seated himself quietly on 
 the bulwarks, and watched with savage joy the 
 bubbles rising from the water that had just 
 closed over his victim. When, lo ! at a short 
 distance, and in the full light of the moon, he 
 beheld the face of his adversary glaring at him 
 above the waters ; he had rid himself of the 
 weight, and the waves were fast driving him to 
 the boat. With heart furious with rage and 
 despair, he seemed to rise through the waves 
 like a monster of the sea. The other leaned 
 over to grasp his victim once more, and accom- 
 plish the work he had begun. At last they met ; 
 the drowning man struggled convulsively for a 
 grasp — his hands closed upon the neck of his 
 murderer — closed with the iron hold of death — 
 his eyes rolled in agony, his body writhed madly 
 in the yielding element, and his tongue poured 
 forth the imprecations of the damned. 
 
 u Coward ! traitor ! I have you now. Do 
 your worst. I shall not drown alone ; no, I shall 
 
 B 
 
18 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 not drown alone! you cannot make me quit 
 my hold — death alone has strength for that.” 
 
 The murderer’s voice was chol ed in a violent 
 effort to give utterance to his feelings, his 
 parched mouth moistened with blood, which a 
 moment afterwards gushed forth in a torrent on 
 the figure beneath him. Dreadful, indeed, be- 
 came the struggle; he felt himself drawn gra- 
 dually out of the boat, till his feet alone seemed 
 inside. The other, curbed in his desperation by 
 the approach of death, felt as if hanging by a 
 thread over an unfathomable abyss — felt his 
 life giving way — his hand slipping from its 
 hold. 
 
 This scene of horror would probably have 
 lasted some time, had not the wind now risen to 
 a gale, driving the waves with such impetuosity 
 against the boat as to positively raise the com- 
 batants and tear them asunder. The drowning 
 man, thrown back once more, swam round and 
 round, watching eagerly for an opportunity of 
 renewing the contest; but it never came. All 
 his efforts to regain his hold upon the boat were 
 vain ; his adversary, armed with an iron-shod 
 gaff, struck him violently several times as he * 
 approached, till, completely exhausted, the un- 
 fortunate man rolled over into the surging bil- 
 lows, and disappeared from view. 
 
 A gleam of savage joy shot through the mur- 
 derer’s heart, throbbing wildly with the excite- 
 ment and the triumph of the hour. Again he 
 set the sails, and this time he was alone ; again 
 the boat .darted like a bird over the bosom of 
 the deep— again was the tide rising, and the 
 moon, as though to congratulate him upon the 
 victory, burst at that moment through the 
 heavy clouds, and continued her silent course in 
 the heavens. But scarcely had he run thirty 
 fathoms when he perceived what appeared to be 
 the head of a man caught in the stem of the boat ; 
 it seemed to look at him steadfastly for a mo- 
 ment, and then vanish as mysteriously as it had 
 come. Unnerved by terror, the murderer shrank 
 involuntarily from the sight. Again he turned 
 towards it, and still the horrid phantom head 
 appeared and disappeared as before. 
 
 In a paroxysm of rage at being thus haunted, 
 he seized *the gaff once more, and, approaching 
 the object, he discovered it to be the dead body 
 of his victim, which, by some unaccountable 
 action of the water, had become fastened to the 
 stem of the boat, and was thus towing ashore, 
 Raising his arm, the iron hook of the gaff 
 descended upon the skull, dashing out its brains 
 with almost superhuman force ; and as the de- 
 tached body swept past, he yelled out : 
 
 11 Go — go to the dead now, and tell them what 
 you know. See if they’ll listen to you.” 
 
 In a few minutes he had reached the city, and 
 stepping upon the wharf he had left the night 
 before, he was met by the person who had seen 
 them off. 
 
 11 Well, what have you done ?” asked he. 
 
 11 What had to be. I had some trouble, 
 though ; but his affairs are settled — we are quit 
 of him — his threats will no longer alarm us, for 
 dead men tell no tales.” 
 
 “ Bravo ! that’s the way to serve traitors ; but 
 come along, and have something to eat, for, by 
 
 my faith, you deserve it. Let’s hear the story 
 now, it will whet our appetites.” 
 
 So saying they stepped into a tavern. 
 
 The man whose cruel death we have just re- 
 counted was James Stewart, whom we have al- 
 ready mentioned in connection with the Mont- 
 gomery robbery. He paid dearly for a word 
 dropped in a drunken spree ; his murderers 
 
 W ere , but we shall withhold their names for 
 
 the present. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Montmorency murders— Cambray at the parson- 
 age— A chattering housekeeper— The Sexton accused 
 —The two Griffiths. 
 
 One evening, as the rain was falling in torrents 
 and the darkness was so great that at the dis- 
 tance of three paces nothing could be seen, two 
 farmers, from the Parish of Chateau Richer, on 
 their return from market, arrived at a small ford 
 a little above the Falls of Montmorency, when 
 suddenly five bandits, armed with clubs and 
 daggers, presented themselves, and, seizing them 
 by their coat collars, accosted them with the ter- 
 rible sentence : 11 Your money or your life.” 
 
 “ You must take our lives then, for we have no 
 money,” said one of them. 
 
 11 Liar! I saw you receive fifty dollars on the- 
 market place not four hours ago : our boat has 
 good sails, and we got here before you. Now do 
 you understand — come out with it — out with it, 
 or we’ll take the sweat out of our sticks ; we’ll 
 knock the blood out of you.” 
 
 The two farmers, trembling with fear, and far 
 from any house where they could have obtained 
 help, surrendered their purses. As one of them 
 handed his to the man who held him, he leant 
 forward with a movement of surprise, and ex- 
 claimed : “ Why, Polette, is it you, and are you 
 hard-hearted enough to assassinate the companion 
 of your infancy, he with whom your younger 
 days were spent, he who has # saved your life 
 twenty times by keeping your pranks secret?” 
 
 In truth he had recognised Mathieu among 
 the brigands. Mathieu was a native of the 
 Beaupre Hills, a redoubtable thief known by the 
 name of Polette ; but ten years had elapsed 
 since he had left his birthplace, and entered upon 
 the more extended sphere of city life. He had 
 become proud since then, was ashamed of his 
 early plebeian life just as the clerk of a tavern in 
 town looks down upon his brethren of the vil- 
 lage. 
 
 . “ Ah, you know’ me,” said Mathieu ; “ ill luck be- 
 tide you, ’tis your sentence of death. Had not 
 your memory been so bright, you might have got 
 away with only the loss of your money ; but now, 
 if you live I shall be hung ; it must be your life 
 or mine.” 
 
 At that moment the five robbers drew the un- 
 fortunate men from their carts, threw them on 
 the ground, and, dragging them into the water 
 held them there until drowned. As soon as they 
 were dead, they untackled their horses, pushed 
 the carts into the stream, and threw the bodies 
 in after them, in order that, when found, people 
 w r ould think they had missed the ford and fallen 
 a prey to the accident. This accomplished, they 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 # 
 
 went back to their boats, a distance of two 
 leagues. 
 
 An hour later, about six o’clock in the evening, 
 a man respectably clad, but drenched with rain, 
 presented himself at the house of the Curate of 
 Beaupre, asking whether he could*have lodgings 
 for the night. On his admission, his hos tcried 
 out in accents of friendship : 
 
 11 How, is it you, Cambray, and where are you 
 going at such a rate ? Come, you must have sup- 
 per with me, and then I’ve an excellent bed for 
 you.’ 7 * . 
 
 11 Oh, I’m not going far, only a shooting party 
 to St. Ann’s. But I shan’t refuse Jour supper, for 
 I’ve a splendid appetite.” 
 
 Thus did they engage in conversation, laugh- 
 ing friendly and familiar, while a delicious and 
 bountiful supper was being laid upon a little 
 round table hard by, and in a few minutes the 
 two friends were attacking it. 
 
 11 Look there,” said the curate, u look, there’s 
 a fire on the beach ; more vagabonds I suppose, 
 come to steal our sheep to-night.” 
 
 “ Pardon me, sir,” said Cambray, 11 they are the 
 sailors who brought me here ; they will leave with 
 the turn of the tide.” 
 
 The two friends supped heartily, after which 
 the curate took up his breviary, and Cambray 
 went into the kitchen to dry hi3 clothes at the 
 chimney fire. 
 
 The curate had a housekeeper, and, like all 
 curate’s and bachelor’s housekeepers, the woman 
 had more tongue than discretion. Cambray soon 
 got chattering with her, and in less than ten 
 minutes he knew all the curate’s affairs — how 
 many sheep he had, how much money — where 
 the keys were, where the sacred vases and papers 
 of consequence, together with a goodly stock of 
 village scandal and gossip. All this was told 
 with an air of great importance, the old woman 
 always speaking in the plural we. We did this 
 — we did that, we desire that this shall be done 
 so — we are of this opinion, myself and the cu- 
 rate. 
 
 And when every mystery had been ventilated, 
 she conducted Cambray to his room, took her 
 broth a la reine, and retired for the night. 
 
 Next morning terrible excitement reigned in 
 the parsonage — people crying — running hither 
 knd thither, coming in, going out. 
 
 It appears the curate, on entering the church, 
 previous to saying mass, noticed that the sacred 
 vases had been stolen during the night. Cam- 
 bray, awakened by the noise of the housekeeper, 
 the servants,- the singers and the sexton, dressed 
 himself quickly and hastened to join in the 
 bustle. 
 
 In the midst of this din he approached the 
 curate and whispered softly in his ear, 11 By 
 whom the church has been robbed I can’t say — 
 but I have seen a rather suspicious looking char- 
 acter in your kitchen ; the man is fearfully agi- 
 tated — I must confess, I don’t like his appearance 
 — there he i3.’ 
 
 u Eh, oh. Why, that’s the sexton.” 
 
 “ The sexton, oh then, it can’t be he. I suppose 
 he does not keep the keys.” 
 
 “ No, but it is he who shuts the doors, returned 
 the curate — still I think he’s an honest man, its 
 
 19 
 
 true though, it’s true, he seems greatly agitated, 
 who can say ?” 
 
 • That day the sexton was arrested and thrown 
 into prison. The old housekeeper told all her 
 neighbours how for a length of time she had had 
 her suspicious of who the thief was — meantime, 
 Cambray had joined his party in the boat. 
 
 11 I’ve hooked the church plate,” said he on 
 arriving, 11 and more than that they’ve got the 
 sexton in the brig ( prison ) for the job.” 
 
 The robbers then went to u Isle auxOies” 
 where they assassinated the two unfortunate 
 Griffiths, but why they did so, remains a mystery 
 to the present hour. Three months later the poor 
 sexton was tried for the church robbery and ac- 
 quitted — he was innocent. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Murder of Captain Sivrac— Effrontery and temerity — 
 The Skimmers— A reverse of fortune— Arrest of 
 Cambray and Waterworth— The veil torn aside. 
 
 These, said Waterworth, resuming the re- 
 cital we have interrupted for a moment by ano- 
 ther form of narrative ; these are the crimes in 
 which I have taken part, and which continued 
 without interruption from the month of Novem- 
 ber to the month of July, 1835. 
 
 I know there is another charge placed to our 
 account, one on which Cambray was tried and 
 acquitted before the Criminal Court, namely, 
 the murder of Captain Sivrac. 
 
 Though Captain Sivrac gave the names of 
 his assassins on his death bed, and though Cam- 
 bray, since his conviction stated that he, I, and 
 others were present at his murder, probably 
 with the view of revenging himself on me and 
 getting me into difficulty, I solemnly declare 
 that I have never been at Lotbiniere, and that I 
 never imagined there was money to be found in, 
 the miserable hut occupied by Sivrac. 
 
 I have often, whilst in prison, heard the details 
 of this affair, and know them to have been of a 
 most revolting nature. A solitary and defence- 
 less old man attacked upon an inhospitable isl- 
 and, severely beaten — forced by the most inhu- 
 man treatment to give up all he possessed, and 
 to crown the barbarity after having beaten him 
 almost to death, to throw him into a cellar full 
 of water, and lock the door upon him, were acts 
 the most frightful, the most diabolical that the 
 imagination can invent ; it was doing harm for 
 harm’s sake, a pure delight in acts of brutality. 
 This was altogether opposed to our plan of work- 
 ing. When people submitted with good grace, 
 and did not seek to oppose us, we never ill-treat- 
 ed them, persuaded that it was more to our safe- 
 ty ; that it would abate the rigour of pursuit and 
 the danger of coming into contact with justice. 
 It is an adopted opinion among robbers that the 
 murderer never escapes death, and if this sen- 
 tence was never pronounced but in such cases, I 
 firmly believe that it would in a great measure 
 do away with violence in burglarious attempts. 
 
 By this time we had quite forgotten the sus- 
 picions that had reached even our very doors, 
 and we lived in the greatest possible security. 
 Little did we think that the first rumor was as a 
 snowball started from a mountain top, destined 
 to gather size with every movement, till at last 
 
20 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 it descended with crushing violence upon its un- 
 suspecting victims; but Cambray in his assu- # 
 ranee thought to quell any storm that might 
 arise by his effrontery and bravado. 
 
 The day after the robbery of the Congrega- 
 tional Chapel he visited the place for the mere 
 purpose of gratifying his vanity and audacious 
 curiosity, and, passing by the Chapel with a 
 friend, as though by accident, he got him to re- 
 count all the details known concerning the mat- 
 ter. 
 
 “ Robbed the Chapel,” said he, “ and how did 
 they get in? What, by this window! what 
 audacity, what atrocity — to rob a church in the 
 face of God himself, as one may say ! It’s horri- 
 ble, horrible ! it makes one’s blood curdle to 
 hear of it. They carried away the silver ; but 
 what will they do — what will become of them — 
 it seems so incredible ; but they have been some 
 miserable prison birds, I suppose.” 
 
 In making these edifying remarks he had en- 
 tered the chapel with the guardian, and at each 
 new revelation of pillage, he affected the utmost 
 surprise and astonishment. 
 
 He did not hesitate to follow a like course 
 with regard to all subsequent expeditions, and 
 it must be allowed that, aided by this false sem- 
 blance of honesty and his babblings of morality, 
 for a length of time he succeeded in escaping 
 the suspicions of the blind goddess of Justice. 
 
 But we went further than this in our measures 
 of precaution, for we threatened, and even used 
 violence where we deemed it necessary ; and 
 having thus foiled first suspicions, Cambray and 
 I made arrangements to recommence our traffic 
 in wood, to dupe the entire world, but espe- 
 cially strangers who bad possessed any money. 
 These were seduced into hotels where, in the 
 exercise of our lucrative and industrial talents, 
 we rarely, if ever, failed in lightening them of 
 their effects. There are, in several parts of this 
 town, many houses of entertainment wherefrom 
 the host down to the servants in his employ, in- 
 cluding a numerous fry of attaches, all reap con- 
 siderable profit in the way we have mentioned. 
 
 I was not a little surprised to meet there fre- 
 quently people who ranked by no means with 
 the lower grades of society, people who pretend- 
 ed to be gentlemen. They were adventurers, it 
 is true, but they had the impudence to mix with 
 honest people. They were rascals of the vilest 
 stamp ; one with hypocritical face played upon 
 the best feelings of human nature, by preaching 
 virtue, while his associate, more hardened or 
 more skillful, was extracting the purse of the 
 listener, or involving him in some game in which 
 he was sure to be a loser to some extent. 
 
 We were on the high road to fortune when 
 the avalanche fell ; we were arrested and thrown 
 into prison. In the records of the Court’ the de- 
 tails of this unfortunate business will be found ; 
 it happened on a fine day in the middle of July, 
 at about three o’clock in the afternoon. The 
 evening before this certain magistrates furnished 
 with an authentic document, had searched the 
 premises occupied by Cambray, and taken there- 
 from some silver spoons and a telescope. That 
 day Cambray had spent the greater part of his 
 time cockfighting in the Palais , according to 
 his laudable custom. 
 
 On his arrival at home about the hour men- 
 tioned, his wife, whom he found alone, for (Wa- 
 terworth was absent), gave him in lengthy de- 
 tail an account of the magisterial visit. 
 
 “Did they say nothing more— nothing very 
 significant?” asked he, “ did you read nothing 
 striking in their demeanour ? Did they often ask 
 to see me ?” 
 
 “ But why so many questions concerning so tri- 
 fling a matter, if as you told me yesterday morn- 
 ing it is only a seizure for ten pounds, owed by 
 Waterworth, for which you have become respon- 
 sible, it can never ruin us ; it but verifies the 
 old proverb, 1 1 he who answers pays.’ ” 
 
 “ Well, you see it is because I do not think 
 their mode of proceeding strictly legal. To en- 
 ter a house as they did, seems to me rather a 
 stretch of authority.” 
 
 “Do not agitate yourself,” replied the young 
 woman, “ there is nothing disgraceful in the 
 matter : if it were even for vour own debt, a 
 promise of your own unfulfilled, it might then 
 be a subject of trouble, of shame, but security 
 only, there is no shame in that. Ah ! Heavens, 
 what do I see ? Look there ! look, they are 
 speaking together and pointing to the house — 
 now they are coming towards it. Oh, have you 
 concealed anything from me ? What do they 
 want ? What can they want ? Let me lock the 
 door.” 
 
 “ Stop, stop ! no foolery,” replied her husband 
 with affected coolness, and rising from his chair 
 with a firm step, he crossed the room and lay 
 down upon the sofa. While this conversation 
 was going on, an acute observer might have no- 
 ticed a certain embarrassment in his manner and 
 speech ; doubt, even fear, at times flitted across 
 his countenance, as if disturbed by some secret 
 presentment. In truth, when his wife pronounc- 
 ed to him the terrible words, “ here they are,” he 
 made an involuntary bound from where he was, 
 a cold shiver seemed to pass over him, and for a 
 moment he remained pale, immovable and de- 
 jected. “ Can it be ” muttered he between his 
 teeth, 1 “can it be that we are discovered, betray- 
 ed ?” 
 
 Coming to himself again, his strength of mind 
 once more resumed its sway, he became calm 
 and collected, seemed to despise his ill-fortune, 
 and resolved to brave his destiny ; when suddenly 
 the house resounded to a thundering knock, and 
 five or six men, among whom were several mem- 
 bers of the constabulary, entered and surround- 
 ed him with dreadful precision. 
 
 “What do you desire, gentlemen ?” said Cam- 
 bray, in affected unconcern, rising from the sofa 
 and crossing his arms arrogantly over his chest. 
 
 “ In the name of the King, you are my prison- 
 er,” said one of the magistrates, placing his hand 
 upon Cambray’s shoulder and signalizing the 
 others to seize him. 
 
 “ What do you mean ? Why am I arrested ? ” 
 
 “ Why, Cambray, you are accused of murder. 
 Do you remember Sivrac? You are accused of 
 sacrilege. Were you never in the Congrega- 
 tional Chapel? Have you not stolen silver in 
 your possession ? Is the name of Cecelia O’Con- 
 nor unknown to you ? These are the grounds 
 upon which you are arrested.” 
 
 Cambray, always cool and collected, cast his 
 
CANADIAN BRIGADNS. 
 
 21 
 
 eyes on the warrant for his arrest, and while it 
 was being read, he became paler and paler at 
 every word ; nevertheless he maintained his 
 composure throughout the entire proceedings, 
 looking stedfastly in the face of the magistrate. 
 
 11 Sivrac was my friend,” said he at length, 
 with an evident effort to restrain himself; but 
 suddenly losing all patience, he stamped upon 
 the floor, exclaiming, “ but what is the use of all 
 this? is it thus you speak to a free and innocent 
 man ? When you bring me before justice, I will 
 laugh at your accusations.” 
 
 During the first part of this speech his face be- 
 came livid and his eyes fairly flashed with fury, 
 but he soon masked himself with innocence and 
 confidence ; an expression of mockery gleamed 
 in his eyes and curled upon his lips ; one would 
 have said that he already had a foretaste of the 
 joy of seeing his enemies confuted in their as- 
 sertions. 
 
 On the appearance of the magistrates, his wife 
 had retired into another apartment, but her in- 
 terest in the ordeal to which her husband was 
 submitting, was too great not to listen to it all. 
 
 « Well then, come,” said Cambray, “ Come, 
 come ! let us see whether or not I am the mur- 
 derer of Sivrac. Come !” and as he was prepar- 
 ing to depart, his wife burst shrieking into the 
 f room and threw herself towards him. Pale, trem- 
 ;* bling, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders, 
 it was with difficulty she could respire. Mute 
 with terror at the thoughts of his sufferings, and 
 anticipating his despair, with imploring eyes she 
 turned to those surrounding him ; thrice did she 
 try to find words to give utterance to her feel- 
 ings, but agony had deprived her of her voice. 
 At last a shriek burst from her pent up heart — 
 but such a shriek — it was scarcely human, so 
 wild was it, so touching, aud so full of anguish. 
 
 “Ah, what do I see? What do I hear? What 
 are you going to do with him ?” cried she. 
 
 For a moment there was a deep silence. Cam- 
 bray alone had sufficient energy to bear it. 
 He raised her with affected solemnity, and said, 
 “My wife, rouse yourself, be courageous, and 
 show yourself worthy of your husband ; remem- 
 ber you are the partner of one who never quail- 
 ed in the p#esence of man ; remember that and 
 fear nothing. You know me well ; now listen. 
 I am accused of a crime, a most dreadful crime— 
 that of murder — but an accusation is no proof of 
 guilt.” 
 
 These terrible words sounded like a death 
 knell in the ear 3 of his distracted wife, who fell 
 back into the arms of a neighbour who had en- 
 tered the house attracted by the noise. Cam- 
 bray alone appeared unaffected by the mournful 
 sight, and marched bravely to the prison, sur- 
 rounded by the magistrates, and exposed to the 
 jeers of the passers by, or the observations of 
 those who hung out of the windows of their 
 houses attracted by the unusual spectacle. 
 
 That evening Cambray was confronted with 
 his accusers, and thrown into'the lock*up. Short- 
 ly afterwards Waterworth, his associate, deliv- 
 ered himself into the hands of the authorities, re- 
 solved to share his fate whatever it might be. 
 
 So long as Cambray hoped to impose upon 
 the public, by assuming an apparent indifference, 
 so long did he appear quiet and submissive ; but 
 
 no sooner did he discover that the veil had been 
 torn aside from his iniquitous career — no sooner 
 did he learn the damning array of evidence 
 against him, than he gave way to the wildest 
 transports of rage. 
 
 During the first part of his confinement he was 
 morose, at times ferocious and brutal in his 
 bearing, so much so that even the witnesses who 
 were to depose against him trembled in his sight. 
 Not that he was afraid of death, nor ashamed of 
 the infamous life he had been leading. No; 
 what troubled him was, that he had been short 
 in his hey d^y of success. 
 
 Cambray and Waterworth, before “ this re- 
 verse of fortune,” as they were pleased to term 
 it, were people of great distinction among their 
 friends, and were generally respected by all who 
 knew them. The following is an account by 
 Waterworth, who resided the greater part of the 
 year in town, of the manner in which affairs were 
 conducted in Cambray’s house for some time be- 
 fore his arrest. 
 
 It is astonishing, said he, to what an extent 
 hypocrisy and position operate on the minds of 
 the most worthy of our citizens, and it is re- 
 markable that the first breath of suspicion comes 
 generally from a quarter where it is least looked 
 for ; it seems as if vice clashes with vice for the 
 sole purpose of protecting society from universal 
 corruption. Only a few days before our arrest, 
 Cambray’s house was the resort of people of the 
 highest respectability. It will doubtless seem 
 strange to you that one of his most intimate 
 acquaintances was a person of most exemplary 
 manners and conduct, one moreover whose posi- 
 tion alone was a guarantee of respectability. 
 This person could never have known the real 
 character of his friend ; indeed from positive 
 knowledge I can affirm, that he regarded Cam- 
 bray as a model of honesty and truthfulness ; 
 alas like many others he was only a dupe ; under 
 the genial smile of friendship lay a depth of 
 villany, he would have recoiled from with hor- 
 ror. ( 
 
 The religious disposition of ' Cambray’s wife 
 did much towards bringing this class to the 
 house, and it must be added that the cordial 
 manners of her husband did much towards in- 
 ducing them to repeat their visits. He did not 
 however partake of the religious feelings ot hi3 
 spouse, for he possessed none, but he believed 
 that the friendship and good opinion of his 
 neighbours was likely to be useful to him ; con- 
 sequently he aped the virtue others applauded. 
 
 I do not wish to insinuate that Cambray did 
 not believe in the existence of a God ; far from 
 this, his conduct proves the contrary, for in 
 our iniquitous conspiracies he never failed to 
 invoke the aid of the devil, and those who 
 believe in an evil spirit, necessarily acknowledge 
 a good one. The miserable wretch whose life 
 has been dedicated to Satan, and who finds his 
 death bed a scene of utter despair, proves the 
 existence of one who has filled the heart of man 
 with repentance and sorrow. 
 
 As I have already stated, we were enjoying 
 the height of prosperity at the time of our arrest : 
 fortune, fame and security seemed to wait at our 
 doors, but the day of retribution had come, 
 suspicion had fallen upon us, and in a moment 
 
22 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 all our bright hopes of the future had perished. 
 No sooner were we taken up, than the most 
 horrible of crimes, real or imaginary, were 
 placed to our account, and the town accepting 
 every detail as truthful, re-echoed with wrath 
 and indignation ; thousands priding themselves 
 upon their perspicuity or upon their pretended 
 discoveries circulated the most ridiculous stories 
 concerning our secret doings in all of which we 
 were represented as the most atrocious mon- 
 sters under Heaven. The guilty too loaded us 
 with their own misdeeds, thus hoping to escape 
 the vengeance that belonged to them. 
 
 This unfortunate piece of business suddenly 
 opened our eyes to the enormities of our crime ; 
 nevertheless we did not despair of escaping 
 the rigor of the law, and of re-entering society 
 once more, trusting that our full purses would 
 make amends for our lost characters. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 First Night in the “Lock-up”— Reproaches— Criminal 
 Reflections. 
 
 So far we have seen vice triumphant, march- 
 • ing with head erect, and in full defiance of jus- 
 tice. Here our subject changes colour a little, 
 thoughts of the past arise, and fears for the 
 future. Let us follow our characters in their 
 defeat, listen to the clanking of their chains, and 
 the imprecations of their fate. 
 
 We have unfolded the revolting details of their 
 numerous crimes ; let us now unfold the conse- 
 quences thereof, and witness the tribulation of 
 their subsequent life. We have traced them 
 from their first offence to the depth of their vil- 
 lainy ; let us now judge of their humiliation and 
 punishment ; for who can paint repentance and 
 remorse ? 
 
 On the evening of their arrest, Cambray and 
 Waterw^orth were chained up in the same place. 
 Behold them, one opposite the other, fastened 
 by massive chains to the thick walls of the cell, 
 wet with moisture and covered with cobwebs ; 
 a lamp hangs between them, and its pale and 
 sickly light seems to regard them with a restless 
 and defiant glare. 
 
 Their forms are languid now and relaxed, and 
 the pervading silence, interrupted by the sighs 
 of one and the mutterings of the other, manifests 
 more strongly than could word or gesture the 
 nature of their thoughts. Had any one looked 
 into this dungeon through the only aperture 
 that admitted daylight — had seen their flaming 
 eyes amid the gloom — they would have believed 
 them to have been two ferocious brutes crouched 
 in their respective corners, each trembling in the 
 fear of being assailed by his adversary. 
 
 “ See,” said Waterworth, raising his chains, 
 which sounded with a deep clank in this sub- 
 terraneous abode. “ See,” said he, breaking at 
 last the oppressive silence of the place, “ what I 
 owe you, Cambray ; see what you have brought 
 me to.” 
 
 11 Ah ! you open your eyes at last ; IT1 bet you 
 are sorry for what you have done,” replied Cam- 
 bray, with a mocking laugh, as he gathered him- 
 self into a sitting posture. 
 
 “ Heavens ! what will my father say when he 
 hears of this ? What will he think ? What will 
 
 he do ? 0 that I had never seen you ! Cambray, 
 
 it was you who enticed me to commit the acts I 
 have done — you who deceived me — you alone are 
 responsible.” 
 
 “ What would you say, you miserable cow- 
 ard?” cried Cambray, throwing himself towards 
 Waterworth as far as his chains would allow. 
 
 “ Would you reproach me ? Hold your tongue, * 
 or I’ll strangle you with my chains j hold your 
 tongue, or I’ll bliry you in curses ; hold your 
 tongue, or Til call hell to my aid. What ! does 
 it follow that because you were more timid than 
 I, that you were less guilty? And you wish to 
 desert me, do you? You wish to be my ac- 
 cuser. Is treason already on your lips ! Re- 
 member, I will not remain in chains forever. 
 Choose, then, between secresy or death.” 
 
 “ Cambray,” said Waterworth, quickly, “you 
 are unjust. I will not flinch, even in the pre- 
 sence of death itself, if by it I can save you. 
 You know the truth of what I say — you know 
 that I could swear to it ; but would it not have 
 been better, had there been no necessity for this ? 
 Ah, my friend, I have followed you in a career 
 of crime ; and if fate wills it, I shall die with 
 you.” 
 
 “Bah — die — bah! That may do for fools. 
 What have we to fear ? Has not luck protected 
 us so far through what you have the weakness 
 to call 1 a career of crime/ but what I would 
 call the road to fortune, fame, and honour. It 
 is true our star is somewhat eclipsed, and that 
 we are rather unlucky for the time. It is cer- 
 tainly bad enough to be under suspicion ; but 
 let us stand up like men, and battle bravely, 
 and we’ll soon rid ourselves of the trouble. 
 
 lt The blow that levelled us came from 
 Broughton ; it was your family that betrayed 
 us ; had you taken my advice, you would have 
 dispatched them long ago. Little, indeed, were 
 you adapted for the part assigned you.” 
 
 “ Listen while I am able to tell you the ob- 
 ject of my intentions, for I have never unfolded 
 all. The veil is torn asunder ; now we are 
 alone, and can speak freely, for the walls of our 
 prison are discreet, and I have no reason to hide 
 my thoughts from you. Listen, then, and learn 
 to know me. I have felt what it if to be poor, 
 Waterworth; I have even been on the verge of 
 starvation ; I have experienced the pride and dis- 
 dain of the rich ; and I said to myself, reputation, 
 happiness and fame are only the results of wealth. 
 
 I said this ; and since then, surrounded by my 
 fellows in misery, and with but a very limited 
 circle of acquaintances, I have never felt the 
 sting of poverty. Why? Because, since then, 
 the world at large has been my treasury from 
 the entire human race. I have drawn my profits. 
 Had I submitted to their laws, I might have 
 died from hunger ; but, as their enemy, I have 
 triumphed over everything. Live and enjoy 
 yourself is the only law I know; it matters not 
 at whose expense. True it is that you now be- 
 hold me stopped for the time in the glorious 
 career I have pursued, enclosed between these 
 four walls, and accused of crimes that may lead 
 me perhaps to the scaffold. You weep — you 
 tremble at the thought. Well, for my part, I 
 laugh at it. I’ve plenty of courage yet ; and 
 what is better, plenty of gold— gold, Water- 
 
• CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 23 
 
 worth. I can buy up my jailors, break my 
 •chains, and escape. I can have the best of 
 counsel, and the most powerful pleaders, so that 
 I may safely look forward to the day of libera- 
 tion, when I may again commence with new 
 hopes and strengthened vigour.” 
 
 “ Do they know everything ?” interrupted 
 Waterworth ; c< have they discovered all?” 
 
 “No ; I think not. I have questioned them 
 thoroughly, and I believe I have arrived at the 
 nature of their evidence — mere trifles — dreams 
 based in a great measure upon their imagina- 
 tions. The affairs of Parke and Sivrac ; that’s 
 all.” 
 
 u Sivrac ! What, that frightful murder ! 
 Heavens ! you were not there ?” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed, I was not there — was I not? 
 True, true — an alibi, an alibi. Devil grant it, I 
 am saved. You can prove an alibi, can’t you?” 
 “ I do not know ; I — I was not always with 
 you.” 
 
 “ What ! traitor !■ — do you hesitate ! Are you 
 too scrupulous to save the life of a friend — the 
 friend who has fed and clothed you — who 
 opened to you all the enjoyments ot lite at a 
 time when you wanted even its necessities. 
 Well may you cast down your head. Hear me, 
 Waterworth. Choose between my hate and 
 my gold. Will you swear it or not?” 
 
 “ I will swear anything, everything, Cam- 
 bray. I feel like a child in your hands. There 
 is something about you — what, I know not — 
 that holds me faster than even the demon spirits 
 that have besieged my soul. I have heard that 
 there are certain wild animals that charm their 
 prey ; the power you have over me is stronger 
 still. You are so determined. But let us not 
 speak of what has passed ; these walls may hide 
 spies, for aught we know. I do not like to 
 think of such scenes of horror immediately be- 
 fore sleep ; my dreams frighten me. Heavens ! 
 what a night we have passed ! What has fate 
 in hand for us ? Tell me not that man is master 
 of his own actions ; what has brought me to this 
 condition, if not fate ? Fate chains us to her 
 chariot wheels, and all are crushed in turn. 
 From birth I must have been singled out for 
 crime and eternal damnation.” 
 
 “ Such is your story,” said Oambray, 11 and 
 here is my moral : It is absolute folly to commit 
 crime, and then tlircTw the blame on another or 
 on Fate ; our fate remains with ourselves. Had 
 I wished I need never have been better than a 
 mere nincompoop ; but what others respected, I 
 defied — what others worshipped, I have trampled 
 under foot — and yet I have lived upon their 
 gains. Such are my principles — such my de- 
 sires. I could have acted differently, but I did 
 not choose to.” 
 
 “ Is there anything more doleful, more me- 
 lancholy, than the call of the sentinel every 
 quarter of an hour,” said Waterworth ; “ how 
 can I sleep with the voice of the persecutor ring- 
 ing in my ears ?” 
 
 “ It is unpleasant,” said Cambray ; “but let’s 
 have a little music, to drive away melancholy,” 
 and he began to sing and shake his chains with 
 such violence, that the jailor, who was going 
 his rounds for the last time that night, rushed 
 to their cell, crying out “ Ho, there,” and threat- 
 
 ening to separate them — to put each in a dif- 
 ferent and dark cel! — if they did not stop their 
 noise. 
 
 By the time all within this abode of crime 
 had relapsed into silence, two new arrivals made 
 their appearance ; they stretched themselves on 
 the cold and wet stone floor, and in a short time 
 all were fast asleep. 
 
 Next day Cambray’s wife paid him a visit. 
 He spoke to her through the massive grated 
 door of his prison. She was very pale, and 
 greatly changed in appearance since he had 
 seen her — completely crushed with grief, and 
 resigned to the Divine will. 
 
 At the time of her husband’s arrest she had 
 fainted, and her recovery was looked upon as 
 uncertain ; but her habitual suffering, hope, 
 and above all, the astonishing elasticity of char- 
 acter with which she was endowed, finally re- 
 established the calmness of her mind. 
 
 In this interview the horror of his situation 
 recalled the fearful thoughts of the past. No 
 longer able to control herself, she burst into 
 tears, sobbing violently. 
 
 Providence, in uniting this young, mild and 
 virtuous woman with a miserable bandit, ac- 
 corded her the privilege of succumbing to her 
 sufferings — of resigning a poisoned existence. 
 
 She died several months after the imprison- 
 ment of her husband. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Life within the prison. The patriarch of thieves, or 
 Captain Dumas— several attempts at escape— the 
 German baron Van Koeing— the Jailer. 
 
 Cambray and Waterworth, several days after 
 their arrest, were taken out of the lockup and 
 placed in a room with about a dozen other 
 scoundrels in accordance with the deplorable 
 custom adopted in our prisons : there they met 
 Mathieu and Gagnon and several other villains 
 alike distinguished in the annals of vice. With 
 these they entered into criminal compacts and 
 fresh conspiracies against society. It is difficult 
 to imagine, and far more to portray the diabolical 
 manners that reigned in that lawless*circle. To 
 give a faint idea of it, however, we shall again 
 adopt the language of the King’s evidence Water- 
 worth, from whom the greater part of our in- 
 formation has been derived. 
 
 “ Whilst in the lock-up and loaded with chains, 
 our condition became so frightful to me that I 
 believe I could not have endured it much longer, 
 but as good luck would have it we were soon 
 taken out and placed in a room were we met 
 several of our old acquaintances. From this 
 day the prison by no means appeared so horrible 
 a place ; and had it not been for our natural 
 yearnings for liberty, a sentiment common to all 
 mankind and a subject of deep despair to the 
 inmates, we would have been rather happy than 
 otherwise. We had nothing to do all day but 
 to relate our former prowess and invent schemes 
 of escape and future depredations. Our ancient 
 friends told us of all their tricks, their adven- 
 tures, their insight into the constructions of the 
 wealthiest houses and the projects in which they 
 expected to engage on their re-entrance into 
 
24 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 the world. In \his way we encouraged each 
 other in vice, and the least experienced among 
 us soon acquired a wondrous knowledge of our 
 art. We had amongst us a singular character 
 in the profession, one Dumas, an extremely 
 expert and cautious thief, who though he had 
 never incurred the risk of dancing in the air, he 
 nevertheless had passed the greater part of his 
 life in prison. By his companions, this man was 
 called Captain Dumas, who looked up to him as 
 their patriarch and instructor. This original 
 character had kept a journal of his exploits and 
 those of his little band for ten years, and also 
 undertook the task of teaching the young the 
 secret of his trickery, and of initiating the inex- 
 perienced into the details of criminal attempts 
 past and future. At the approach of the crimi- 
 nal term, he nominated himself president of an 
 Amateur Court, before which each of the 
 prisoners pleaded his cause, to each he gave the 
 substance of his’defence, wrote speeches for them, 
 addressed the jury, administered a paternal repri- 
 mand to the guilty, and laughingly pronounced 
 sentence upon all. Thus the inmates mutually 
 instructed each other in their little industrial 
 vocations, and became familiar with the penalties 
 imposed by the law on their misdemeanours. 
 Among us was a man of herculean strength, 
 who amused us by playing at hanging ; this he 
 did by suspending himself by the chin on a 
 silk handkerchief and imitating the contortions 
 of the body, while on the gibbet. We were not 
 always idle, however ; for while Mathieu busied 
 himself in making false keys of wood to carry 
 out our projects of escape, Cambray and I had 
 
 made arrangements with a coiuer, named K y, 
 
 and in concert with him we worked at an 
 apparatus, intended on our discharge, to convert 
 our virgin silver into American half dollars. 
 
 Oue dark and rainy night, just such a one as 
 invites the drowsy sentinel to a nap in his box, 
 while it favours the enterprise of crime, we all 
 set to work in right good earnest, to effect our 
 escape. In a short time eight doors had been 
 opened, a ceiling pierced, a wall broken through, 
 a rope ladder hung ; all that was wanted to 
 complete our liberation was the signal “ are you 
 ready,” when the ill-omened voice of alarm 
 sounded through the jail, and we were discovered. 
 
 Immediately a picket of soldiers invested the 
 place, and we all rushed to our beds to escape 
 the punishment consequent upon the attempt. It 
 is astonishing that it is almost impossible to 
 enter into any conspiracy without a rumor of it 
 reaching the ears of the jailer ; there are too 
 many people in the same apartment, there is 
 always some traitor to be found among them, 
 who to gain favour is ready to sacrifice the lives 
 of his companions ; but we well knew how to 
 punish these treasonable disclosures and care- 
 fully watched the suspected spy, making him 
 pay dearly for any little favours he obtained. 
 Cambray above all was inexorable in his perse- 
 cution, till at last the jailer was compelled to 
 remove some of his victims, who till that time 
 had lived in perpetual martyrdom. 
 
 During the time I remained in prison, there 
 were several attempts of this nature, the most 
 daring of which was perhaps that of Cambray. 
 
 One day whilst we were all in the yard the 
 
 door was opened to permit the entrance of a load 
 of wood. Cambray, seizing the opportunity, 
 rushed through the gate into the street, over- 
 turning a carter in his violence, together with a 
 sentry, who stood on guard, but his precipitation 
 was checked by the vehicle, and he was retaken 
 by some soldiers who had arrived in time to 
 prevent his escape. But the best concerted plan 
 took place shortly after this event. 
 
 One of the prisoners — and it was Mathieu, we 
 believed, who had taken this liberty — had made 
 wooden keys for every door of the jail not 
 excepting even that of the entrance. Every 
 arrangement had been made for a general sortie,, 
 and the conspirators were completely sheltered 
 from suspicion. Prevost, who wa3 at the head 
 of this movement, was to have opened the doors 
 of every room during the night time, gathered 
 the prisoners in the passage, descended quietly 
 and opened the outer door, given the signal to 
 leave, got the whole band noislessly into the 
 passage, armed the most determined with the 
 guns of the guard, and led them all into the 
 street, with the full determination to assassinate 
 the sentinel had he offered to oppose their exit. 
 This plan was partly carried into effect, and 
 whilst the little army was arranged in the pass- 
 age, awaiting impatiently the signal of Prevost,. 
 who was a criminal condemned to transportation 
 and who had descended to open the doors, he, 
 in order to have his sentence commuted, informed 
 the jailer and thus made a merit of his treason, 
 and obtained great favour for having done so, 
 while the least guilty in the affair were thrown 
 into the cells. This Prevost is a man of the very 
 worst character ; he fully merits transportation, 
 and I heartily hope it may come to pass before 
 long. 
 
 Our companions in this abode of crime were 
 men entirely lost to decency and character ; but 
 sometimes hatred or predudice or blind suspicion 
 threw the innocent or the young in with the rest. 
 It was horrible to listen to the sarcasm and jest- 
 ing of which these simpletons, for so we called 
 them, were made the subjects; and if the new 
 comers were not proof against every thing in the 
 shape of vice, the contagion of evil in every 
 form, they were sure to fall into the ways of 
 those by whom they were surrounded. 
 
 There is a man there at present of high birth 
 and great honesty. I am convinced that he was 
 reduced to the greatest misery by a series of 
 misfortunes, and by deplorable accident he was 
 finally thrown into this den of infamy. He was 
 an inhabitant of St. Jean Port Joly, a Canadian 
 peasant. He was known in his parish as the 
 German Baron, a local corruption of Van Koeing, 
 which in the German signifies son of the King. 
 He told me his history : it is one of great interest, 
 even romantic in its details. His father was an 
 officer in an English regiment, which wa 3 
 stationed in Canada about sixty years ago ; he 
 was of German parentage, being the only son of 
 Baron Van Koeing, one of the most noble and 
 wealthiest Barons of Germany. His father 
 placed him in the English army until such time 
 as his age warranted his appearance among the 
 dignitaries of his native Empire. Unfortunately 
 this young officer, amiable, wealthy and with 
 every prospect of fame before him, was naturally 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 25 
 
 of a thoughtless disposition, preferring a life of 
 contented retirement to the labour and anxiety 
 attendant upon a distinguished position. Hav- 
 ing wandered over the greater part of Canada, 
 he at last fixed his residence at 11 Riviere 
 Ouelle ” where he became acquainted with a 
 beautiful peasant girl, the daughter of a farmer 
 in that vicinity, whom he afterwards married. 
 
 For some time he lived in plenty and never 
 dreamed of returning to Germany, but his re- 
 sources soon began to fail, his family to increase, 
 his pledges of affection to double, and this son 
 of the king saw the moment of indigence rapidly 
 approaching. At last his father’s death occurred 
 and the succession became vacant ; too poor and 
 too idle to reclaim his estates in person, the 
 German Baron employed a Canadian lawyer in 
 his stead, giving him power to dispose of his 
 domains and dignities. The collateral inheritors, 
 who, in the absence of the heir, had succeeded 
 to the immense property, to disencumber them- 
 selves of the legitimate claimant gave his agent 
 a sum of several thousand florins, quite sufficient 
 to render the Canadian family of Van Koeing 
 perfectly independent, but which was completely 
 squandered at the end of twenty years. The 
 son of this Baron destined by birth to revel in 
 luxury, to hold dominion over his fellow crea- 
 tures, to adorn the foremost ranks of society in 
 Europe, found himself at more than thirty years 
 of age, poor, ignorant, humble in appearance as 
 the peasantry with whom he had been brought 
 up, and to crown all, the inmate of a prison. 
 Where then is the superiority of birth and rank ? 
 — raise the democrat, the man of the people, and 
 lower the monarch, and not one of nature’s laws 
 will be broken, not a principle violated. 
 
 You are aware that last winter the inhabitants 
 of the various parishes of the county of Rimouski 
 and Kamouraska were reduced to great want 
 by the failure of their crops. St. John Port 
 Joly suffered considerably in the general dearth, 
 and among the rest the German Baron found 
 himself, his wife and children, on the verge of 
 starvation. 
 
 One fearfully cold evening, when the thermo- 
 meter stood at fifty degrees below zero, and 
 the wind beat furiously over the village and 
 against the frozen woods in the vicinity, there 
 was neither food nor firewood in the Baron’s 
 house, and his half naked family, faint with 
 hunger and shivering with cold, hung weeping 
 around their master, imploring to get them a little 
 bread. Grief and despair in his heart, he left the 
 house in the middle of the night and cautiously 
 made his way to the house of a rich neighbor, 
 and returned with a loaf of bread and a few 
 pounds of pork. The following day being sus- 
 pected be was arrested for the act, and thrown 
 into prison, where he has remained for three 
 months awaiting his trial without being able to 
 find bail for his re-appearance. 
 
 The history of the German Baron is only one 
 among thousands of the same kind, equally in- 
 teresting and instructive. 
 
 I have now been some time shut up in this 
 prison — continued Waterworth — and I have 
 keenly felt the privation of freedom, but I must 
 acknowledge that we have ever been indebted 
 to the jailer for his sympathy and humanity in 
 
 ameliorating our unfortunate condition. Not- 
 withstanding the vexations to which he was 
 constantly exposed by the ill temper of some of 
 the inmates, and the general inconvenience re- 
 sulting from the various arrangements of the 
 building, he was ever in good humour and omit- 
 ted no means of rendering our lives as support- 
 able as circumstances would permit ; mildness 
 and firmness act much more favourably than 
 would severity, which only aggravates the evil 
 passions of the perverse and inflexible. 
 
 Do not imagine, however, that there is any 
 looseness in our discipline ; on the contrary it 
 requires all the vigilance of our jailer to watch 
 the treachery that is daily being woven around 
 him, and to control so great a number of pris- 
 oners within so small space. For all have con- 
 stant intercourse with outsiders, who furnish 
 them with the necessary instruments to effect 
 escape, and generally aid them in carrying out 
 their nefarious schemes. 
 
 “ Scarcely a day passses in which confisca- 
 tions are not made — of keys, cords, knives and 
 aquafortis, 'and all the various et ceteras required 
 for that purpose — these are enclosed in baskets 
 by officious sweethearts, longing for the deli- 
 very of their beloved, who draw them up to the 
 windows by means of cords. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Waterworks reasons for turning King's Evidence- 
 Correspondence between Cambray and Water- 
 worth on this subject. 
 
 In the course of these revelations, Waterworth 
 has not given any reason for having turned 
 King’s evidence against his associates, and it 
 became necessary to use much persuasion in 
 order to induce him to speak of it, for it seemed 
 as though he reproached himself for the act. 
 At last, however, he consented, and it was thus 
 he explained the fact : 
 
 u I had been in the lock-up several days for 
 some trick I had been guilty of, and during that 
 time I experienced all the horror of isolation ; 
 my days were occupied in giving way to the 
 most violent transports of rage, and my nights 
 by frightful dreams. 
 
 “ I fancied I saw figures tracing my death 
 sentence on the walls around me, or busily em- 
 ployed in erecting my scaffold. 
 
 u One day when I had exhausted myself in 
 one of my fits of desperation, and felt as if all 
 the energies of life had departed, the jailer paid 
 me a visit, and informed me that Cambray had 
 had an interview with the officers of the Crown, 
 and had volunteered to reveal the true details of 
 our criminal career, on condition of being set 
 at liberty on the expiration of the Criminal Term 
 in September (1836), and of receiving pardon 
 for his share in the matter. 
 
 11 1 He stipulated,’ said the jailer, 1 above all 
 to have his freedom without any delay whatever.’ 
 This led me to suspect his real motive in saying, 
 as he did on one occasion, ( We have large sums 
 of money in reserve — as yet we have not touched 
 the Congregational silver’ — and it was doubt- 
 less Cambray’s intention to come out snugly, 
 and sacrifice me for the purpose of being able 
 
26 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 to take entire possession of our mutual gains. 
 1 Well, since I have been betrayed, I am de- 
 livered from my oaths. I must be before them.’ 
 
 “ On that day, without any condition what- 
 ever, I offered my declaration to the officer of 
 the Crown, and my offer was accepted. I do 
 not know whether I was the victim of any 
 trickery, but this I know that Cambray swore 
 revenge to the death for my having played him 
 such a trick. 
 
 u As we were kept in separate apartments we 
 were obliged to write to each other. This we 
 often did. Our correspondence generally turned 
 on projects of escape, or new expedients pro- 
 posed by Cambray, with the view of getting out 
 of our trouble. The following, however, I re- 
 ceived last autumn : 
 
 1 Waterworth! 
 
 1 You have sworn by the Devi lto keep our 
 secrets. You have broken your oath, you have 
 turned King’s evidence, you stand dishonoured 
 before all your associates as having eaten your 
 own words. For that act you well know I have 
 the right to kill you. Think not that because I 
 and others are now enchained between four walls 
 you can escape my vengeance. When I desire 
 it I can find a subterraneous passage to your 
 cell and strangle you ; but you know I have 
 ever been your friend, aod I have now the means 
 of saving us both. I am only accused of theft, 
 — the murder of Sivrac is yet unpunished, — let 
 us like two brothers, you and I, bear witness 
 against some of the ragamuffins in this place, 
 against P or G if you like. 
 
 I Y ou see by this means we shall both be saved, 
 for the murder of Sivrac was an abominable 
 affair, one that I almost regret, for not one sou 
 did I put in my pocket. As soon as I am once 
 free you shall have half of my hidings. 
 
 I I must tell of a good precautionary trick I 
 have taken. About twenty rascals have lately 
 left the brig (prison), and I succeeded in speak- 
 ing to them. They intend assaulting everybody 
 in the streets by way of revenge. This will 
 have the effect of diverting attention from us 
 and throwing the indignation of the public upon 
 them, you see. f 
 
 I It’s a pity you have betrayed me, but I may 
 yet make a large fortune. Write me if you are 
 willing to arrange matters concerning Sivrac’s 
 affair ; if not, I shall have your life. 
 
 Cambray. * 
 
 II To this I replied somewhat as follows : 
 
 1 Cambray ! 
 
 ‘ You reproach me with having violated my 
 obligations and of betraying my associates, but 
 it is from you I have taken example, and now 
 you propose fresh treason, still more contempt- 
 ible, for it is founded on falsehood. * 
 
 1 For a length of time you have deceived me, 
 representing fortune and pleasure as the reward 
 of brigandage ; you have taken advantage of 
 your influence over me, and made me the instru- 
 ment of your cupidity ; but I have arisen from 
 this dream — my eyes are open — yes, I will be 
 King’s evidence, not against the innocent whom 
 you would charge with the murder of Sivrac, 
 but against you, Cambray ; and you will see 
 when my recital is made whether or not my 
 memory is a faithful one. 
 
 ( You must be an incarnate devil to boast of 
 having engaged the miserable wretches who 
 were set at liberty to attack people in the street, 
 in order to divert public attention from your- 
 self. You ask my motive for acting thus, here 
 is my answer — 
 
 1 The devil told me I was doing well, 
 
 And afterwards that my deeds were chronicled in 
 hell/ 
 
 Such is the case now — I am no longer under 
 your influence, and I believe I need not respect 
 the criminal oaths I have taken any longer. 
 For this reason I shall reveal everything. I 
 laugh at your threats and your impotent wrath. 
 Rely no longer upon me. Waterworth.’ 
 
 “ It was not without considerable effort that 
 I resolved upon sending this desperate answer 
 to my comrade, from whom in return I received 
 the following reply : 
 
 1 Waterworth ! 
 
 ( We will yet meet, in a cell, in a narrow 
 passage, on the scaffold, perhaps, or at any rate 
 in hell — no matter whera; but so surely as you 
 fall into my hands I’ll choke you — I’ll massacre 
 you. Meantime I send you my direst curses, 
 thou infamous traitor. Cambray.’ 
 
 “At last the March Assizes (1837) came; 
 Cambray and his accomplices were placed upon 
 trial, and I rendered evidence in* the matter. I 
 must admit when I was confronted with my 
 former comrades my heart revolted at my posi- 
 tion, and remorse followed on the footsteps of 
 truth. 
 
 “ Alas I wish I could see Cambray before I 
 leave. I would not be afraid to meet him for 
 he is unarmed. We could not behold each other 
 without emotion, I am certain. 
 
 <£ But here I must be allowed to terminate 
 this recital, to draw a veil over these sad events, 
 for the remainder is known to you all.” 
 
 •Some days after this (6th April, 1837,) Wa- 
 terworth was set at liberty, and left for ever, to 
 seek his fortune elsewhere. 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 Trial of Cambray and Mathieu — Conviction and 
 Sentence— The First Night of the Condemned. 
 
 During the long and interesting trial under- 
 gone by Cambray and Mathieu for the robbery 
 committed at Mrs. Montgomery’s, and of which 
 we have given the full details, the accused, 
 seated in the criminal dock, overlooking the 
 crowd, remained perfectly calm and collected, 
 regarding from time to time with much assur- 
 ance and an unfaltering eye, witnesses, judges, 
 and jury, and casting at times disdainful or 
 threatening glances at certain personages among 
 the crowd. Mathieu, especially, appeared im- 
 perturbably cool, while his accomplice, Cambray, 
 more capable of feeling the humiliation of his 
 position, was, to judge from his convulsive efforts 
 to repress his emotions, violently agitated. Not 
 that fear or remorse had aught to do with these 
 sensations — rage and disappointment alone were 
 the cause of all his pangs. The sufferings he 
 had experienced in prison were deeply graven 
 on his countenance, slight contractions about 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 27 
 
 nis mouth marked infallibly the anguish and 
 mental torture he had endured, and effaced in 
 some measure his affected serenity ; and he, who 
 had been so remarkable for manly vigour and 
 joyousness, now appeared ill in health and shat- 
 tered in constitution. Notwithstanding that his 
 guilt was manifest to all present, still more than 
 one gazed on him with expressions of sincere 
 compassion, while the more timid and simple, 
 looking upon a man above the stamp of vul- 
 garity, admired the apparently unwavering 
 fortitude with which he comforted himself. 
 
 On Waterworks, entering the box to bear 
 witness against them, they stood up and glared 
 at him with eyes of fire, looking as if they wished 
 to penetrate to the inmost depths of his heart. 
 But the denouncer was prepared for this en- 
 counter, for he raised his eyes to Cambray calmly 
 and collectedly, and, having. gazed on him for a 
 moment, without evincing the least emotion, he 
 turned to the Court, and gave his testimony 
 fearlessly and with precision: it was evident he 
 had made up his mind to unveil the whole, so 
 resigned and open his confession. Nevertheless 
 the struggle with his nature was severe ere he 
 could reconcile himself to this act of treachery, 
 still the tenor of his conversation was not tinged 
 with that remorse or confusion that so frequently 
 forms the substratum of feeling in the hearts of 
 the guilty, even where every other sentiment of 
 .honour has been abandoned. 
 
 The evidence went sorely against the accused ; 
 the only defence that Cambray’s counsel could 
 make was reduced to a question of credulity on 
 the part of the accomplice. Mathieu’s counsel 
 asked Mrs. Montgomery if, when she heard the 
 name of Mathieu pronounced, it was not possible 
 that it might have been intended for some other 
 person than the prisoner, from which arose the 
 question whether it was not a fact that the 
 name was a common one. 
 
 The jury retired, and re-entered immediately, 
 amid the most universal anxiety on the part 
 of all present. Everybody, but especially the 
 prisoners, tried to read the verdict in their faces. 
 There was a moment of deep silence, and then 
 •came the fatal senteuce : 
 
 u Charles Cambray and Nicolas Mathieu are 
 guilty of the crimes of which they stand accused.” 
 Mathieu, on hearing the verdict, showed no 
 emotion whatever : neither restraint nor embar- 
 rassment indicated the least affectation of calm- 
 ness. 
 
 Cambray, on the contrary, appeared for the 
 moment violently agitated and despairing — a 
 thousand thoughts rushed through his mind, 
 and weighed upon his imagination. 
 
 Their trial was over, and they were brought 
 back to prison, surrounded by a crowd of people. 
 
 Cambray, who was ill at the time, pretended 
 that he was too weak to walk, and was therefore 
 conducted in a vehicle. 
 
 Several days after this their sentence of death 
 was pronounced with imposing solemnity by the 
 president of the Court, in tones of pity, and in 
 the presence of an expectant but silent multitude 
 •of spectators. 
 
 The prisoners bore up against the terrible 
 ordeal with firmness and resolution. Cambray 
 maintained a proud and disdainful mien, but, 
 
 raising his head, several great tears coursed 
 down his cheeks — tears it would be difficult to 
 say whether of weakness or regret. Mathieu 
 was also at his ease, as much as if he had not* 
 had the slightest interest in the event ; he 
 amused himself by playing with his hands upon 
 the dock, a spectacle which on another occasion 
 would have appeared insignificant or ridiculous, 
 but which on the present left a sad and painful 
 impression on the minds of all who witnessed it. 
 
 The first night of the condemned was one of 
 depression, horror, and mental agony too great 
 either to paint or analyse. Who can inspire the 
 healthy and hopeful with an idea of the desola- 
 tion experienced by the unfortunate being whose 
 existence is measured by the near approach of 
 death — death branded with infamy, and within 
 an allotted period? Every movement, every 
 thought, every nervous quiver, is to him a step 
 towards the end of his existence, a thread 
 diminished to the cord of existence, and added 
 to that which is destined to launch him into 
 eternity — a voice calling on him to efface the 
 judgment by appearing before his Creator. 
 
 Ever before his eyes are walls grated and 
 silent — livid light — enormous doors — guardians 
 — chains — the hangman— and, finally, infamy 
 and death — death — a frightful spectre, which 
 every one has gazed upon, and which every 
 one must experience, and yet the existence 
 of which all appear to doubt, but which the 
 condemned felon is alone destined to meet face 
 to face. Death is already standing before him, 
 inexorable and inflexible. 
 
 Such is the fate of the unhappy being upon 
 whose head the sentence has fallen — the dread 
 certainty within a known time doubles and 
 triples hi3 agony of mind. Had he even the 
 power'of convincing himself of the justice of the 
 sentence? but, alas! from the depths of his 
 heart the cry of despair comes to him in the 
 accents of rage. Man, — has he a right to take 
 away human life ? — holdest thou not thine from 
 the Creator alone? Thus does he disclaim 
 against society, in spite of crime, and is ushered 
 on to the scaffold, his heart burning with hatred 
 and vengeance. Such is an approximation to 
 the feelings experienced by Cambray and Ma- 
 thieu, modified by the individuality of each. 
 Cambray’s conduct was that of a ferocious beast 
 bounding about in frenzy, shaking chains, yell- 
 ing, dashing himself down, till, overpowered by 
 exertion, he became calm and reflective, ferreting 
 his brains for expedients to gain sympathy, and, 
 if possible, to lull the storm once more. 
 
 Mathieu, more resigned to his condition, and 
 less violent in disposition, retained his calmness 
 and serenity. He nourished no thought of 
 escaping the gibbet, and regarded it as the 
 natural consequence of his crimes. 
 
 In the course of forty-eight hours the greater 
 part of their sufferings were over. The elasticity 
 of the mind, that which gives strength and 
 energy to the human character, which fami- 
 liarises us with every situation, and supports us 
 in the greatest trouble, gradually restored calm- 
 ness to the minds of our heroes, and permitted 
 them to spend the day with some degree of 
 indifference, and the night in deep repose. 
 However, both Cambray and Mathieu requested 
 
28 CANADIAN 
 
 an interview with some minister of religion. 
 Mathieu had a Catholic priest ; but Cambray had 
 priests of every denomination, aDd pretended to 
 adopt the opinions of each, until, at last, the 
 base wretch proclaimed himself repented and 
 contrite — a lamb gathered into the fold. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Religion in the “ lock-up.”— The character of Cambray 
 
 from a new point of view. 
 
 As stated in the preceding chapter, Cambray 
 asked for and received ministers of every reli- 
 gious belief, and for the space of two days 
 appeared to waver between the doctrines of each ; 
 at last he determined in favour of Catholicism, 
 and affected to adopt all its rites ; he did not, 
 however, cease to hold interviews with the min- 
 isters of other churches, for his object, as will 
 appear hereafter, was to interest all in his 
 favour. 
 
 The Catholic priest who attended him in his 
 cell, deceived by his false pretences of honesty, 
 had frequently visited him as a friend previous 
 to his arrest. 
 
 u Ah well, Cambray,” said the young priest 
 with much softness, “ how do you do? — doubt- 
 less ill at ease and troubled in spirit, I come to 
 offer you as much consolation in your present 
 state as lies in my power. You and I were well 
 known to each other atone time ; I never thought 
 it could have come to this. You greatly deceived 
 me. But it would be cruel to reproach you in a 
 moment like the present, far better to lead you 
 on the road to repentance, and to awaken you to 
 the voice of reconciliation with God.” 
 
 u Ah Heaven,” replied Cambray, 11 with all 
 my heart ; I am indeed ill and suffer much, but 
 not to compare with the torments of my soul. 
 
 I know full well, that, for me there is neither 
 help nor the consolation of refuge in religion ; 
 mankind is now to me as nothing, God can only 
 save me, could I but obtain his pardon ; but there 
 is one thing that troubles me greatly. Among 
 so many religions of which I cannot tell one 
 from the other, which is the best — how can a 
 man in my circumstances, decide within an 
 instant upon a matter of such great importance, 
 without fear of mistake.” 
 
 “ Your momentsjare short and precious,” said 
 the young priest, “ and you are entirely ignor- 
 ant in the science of salvation, as Catholic priest 
 and according to my belief, I must tell you in 
 the presence of God and man, whom I take as 
 witness of my sincerity and according to the 
 founders of Christianity, that out of the Catholic 
 and Apostolic Church of Rome there is no salva- 
 tion. But as I have said your moments are short 
 and precious — I could prove to you each of the 
 doctrines of our religion, but is there time ? 
 The Saviour did not tell us to discuss and prove, 
 but to believe and pray, it is not with conten- 
 tious subtlety that we must walk in the way of 
 truth, but with a humble submissive and trusting 
 heart — faith is a grace to be obtained from 
 Heaven by fervently asking at the sacrifice of 
 passion and of pride. If, therefore, you will 
 throw yourself into the arms of the Catholic 
 religion, say so, and I will devote myself wholly 
 to your conversion— I will pour into your soul 
 
 BRIGANDS, 
 
 • 
 
 the sweet consolations of holy writ — mayhap 
 the words of the Saviour may move you, and the 
 example of his life inspire you with horror.of the 
 sins you are guilty of; do not despair, for the 
 religion of Christ is one of love, of charity and 
 of compassion, it pours forth the balm of conso- 
 lation alike in the hospital, in the prison, in the 
 cabin of the poor and in the palace of the rich, 
 on the troubles of the virtuous and on the re- 
 morse of the contrite. Your crimes are no doubt 
 great, but God is full of mercy — believe, weep 
 and pray, and his heart will open to receive 
 you.” 
 
 These words pronounced with deep impres- 
 siveness had nearly softened the heart of the 
 condemned, and in accents of grief, he cried out 
 in a fit of passing repentance. 
 
 “ Truly do I throw myself without delay into 
 the arms of Divine mercy — I deplore my crimes 
 and sincerely ask for pardon, but the time is so 
 short — if people of virtue and influence would 
 only interest themselves on my behalf— but, alas, 
 human justice in condemning does not allow 
 time for repentance. Do you think there would 
 be any use in making the request?” 
 
 u Reckon not on that, for you may be deceiv- 
 ed, and place yourself in a position of false 
 security — perhaps it might be better for the sal- 
 vation of jour soul were death to remove you 
 while repentance lasted, for the flesh is weak and 
 the spirit strong in a nature as vitiated as thine. 
 However, I will think of it. I will speak of it, 
 and above all, I will regulate my conduct in ac- 
 cordance with the hopes I may entertain of your 
 salvation.” 
 
 , The religion of Christ is touching and sub- 
 lime, when it reveals to the unfortunate words 
 of love and welcome, the mission of the priest 
 noble and philanthropic, who visits even the 
 cell of the condemned to administer peace and 
 consolation, and the man who refuses it, must, 
 indeed be devoid of heart, and totally incurable. 
 But why does religion extend pardon when the 
 law withholds it — the former recoils from blood, 
 the latter desires it — the former offers salvation, 
 the latter presents despair and death. The law 
 then that establishes punishment by death is in- 
 human, or rather, I should say, almost impious ; 
 it deprives of existence, yet throws a doubting 
 soul into eternity. 
 
 Pause ye Legislators of our country, is there 
 no means of reforming the fallen, instead of an- 
 nihilating them. True, executions are rare, but 
 still the law permits them, and if the law is not 
 enforced, it becomes dangerous, a pledge of im- 
 punity and an invitation to crime. The repro- 
 bate who contemplates a violation of the law, 
 thinks only of the punishment with which his 
 offences are threatened, and if he discovers that 
 there is a means of escape, he easily assures him- 
 self of the probability. 
 
 11 At last,” said Cambray, (for we must return 
 to our subject), “ I flatter myself that you will 
 think of some means by which my sentence may 
 be commuted, I will see you to-morrow, for I 
 have never been baptised, I believe.” 
 
 “ Yes, I will return to-morrow,” said the priest. 
 li Good bye — peace be with you, but remember 
 that in three days you /ire to appear before the 
 Eternal tribunal.” He then left. 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 29 
 
 “ I do not despair,” said Cambray to Mathieu, 
 who, during the entire interview described, spoke 
 not a syllable. u If I can only interest the 
 clergy in my favor, we are saved,” and a leer of 
 satisfaction and hope lit up his countenance, for 
 as yet he was only half repentant and half 
 triumphant. 
 
 11 It takes a good color,” said Mathieu, “ it 
 takes a go^d color.” 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A visit to the prison— Charland— The Condemned— 
 Gillan the murderer— Exportation— Departure. 
 
 Some days after the Criminal Term 1837, 
 we visited the prison, and the turnkey introduced 
 us to the rooms occupied by the criminals, he 
 was on his rounds to ascertain the safety of his 
 prisoners, this he repeated three times during 
 the night, at eight o’clock, at midnight and at 
 four in the morning. Each storey of the prison 
 is divided by a passage or corridor, on each side 
 of which are the rooms occupied by the prisoners. 
 Each room is about fifteen feet square and con- 
 tained twelve or fifteen persons ; round these 
 rooms which are used in common, are small cells, 
 each of which serve as a sleeping apartment for 
 two or three. As soon as the turnkey opens the 
 door, the inmates range themselves in a semi- 
 circle and answer to their names; those who 
 have any thing to ask or any complaint to make 
 profit by this occasion to lay their reqdeSts before 
 hhe sheriff or jailer. 
 
 In the first room we visited, were such crimi- 
 nals as had been condemned to transportation ; 
 there were .thirteen in number, all in the flower 
 of their age, the youngest being about twelve 
 years of age, the eldest about twenty-five. It 
 is hardly possible to imagine a more thievish 
 and ill looking set than composed this party, 
 nevertheless, they were all full of spirits and 
 buffoonery, and joked gaily with each other on 
 the difference of time each was condemned to 
 endure in exile. 
 
 lt I don’t care,” said a young lad of twelve or 
 fifteen years, u I’m only in for seve.n years, I’m 
 not like Johnny there, who has four times seven. 
 Johnny will be a big boy when he gets back.” 
 u Bah,” said another, “ there will be several 
 of us, we’ll find lots of amusement, never fear — 
 we’ll give lots of trouble too.” 
 
 From this room, we passed into one in which 
 were the old delinquents, the incorrigible vaga- 
 bonds and permanent boarders of the king, whose 
 lives cling to the prison as those of fishes do to 
 the water or birds to the air. At their head was 
 Charland a witty and lively hunchback, full of 
 chatter, politeness and courtesy, his hair was 
 lank and light in color, his complexion sallow, 
 his figure squat and round, his head in his 
 shoulders, his shoulders in his chest, and his 
 chest in his stomach, ju3t such a figure as Mr. 
 Goulie paints us in his clown Gangrenet. 
 
 Charland the redoubtable robber of the Plains 
 of Abraham and cherished prisoner of the guar- 
 dians, Charland sanguine and energetic whilst 
 exercising his craft, but soft, jovial, amiable and 
 full of fun when in jail — lastly, Charland, thief 
 and assassin — for the trade pleased him and he 
 had no desire to change it. 
 
 u See here,” said he, addressing the turnkey 
 with an air of compassion and pointing out a 
 young man who had nothing to cover him but a 
 pair of torn trowsers, and whose bust was com- 
 pletely naked, “ look at this poor child, look at 
 him, could you not find him a shirt ? Know 
 you not that the air is raw in this apartment.” 
 
 11 What did he do with the shirt given him 
 yesterday ?” said the turnkey. 
 
 “ I do not know — it was so bad — it came to 
 pieces.” 
 
 “ Well, I’ll think of it.” 
 
 On leaving, we asked the turnkey why Char- 
 land appeared to take such an interest in the 
 young man. 
 
 11 It is,” said he, u because Charland is Briga- 
 dier, that is to say, the senior of the room, and as 
 such is the spokesman of the others. There is 
 perhaps another reason, it often happens that 
 the prisoners hide their clothes among them- 
 selves, in order to get others given them, so that 
 they can change the first for tobacco and rum. 
 For some days past Charland has been drunk 
 from drinking liquor through an old pipe intro- 
 duced through the gate by some friends without. 
 It is nearly impossible to prevent communication 
 with the people outside ; every day we take from 
 them instruments of every description, intended 
 to pierce doors and walls, every day they are 
 furnished with strong durable vestrpents, and 
 yet they are always in rags, — they te&r them 
 among themselves. It is difficult to restrain 
 these old troopers in crime, even the sewers and 
 drains under the prison are to them attractive 
 roads of escape. Mathieu once remained three 
 days in the sewers beneath the city, amidst all 
 the filth, visiting every nook to find an aperture 
 by which to escape, until at last he was seized 
 at one of the gratings, though not without deeply 
 offending the nasal organs of the constables who 
 discovered him.” 
 
 From this room we went into one occupied by 
 the unfortunate lunatics who ramble about our 
 streets during the summer months, and whom 
 the police keep from perishing during the in- 
 tense severity of the winter by sending them to 
 prison, in default of an asylum, an institution 
 we do not yet possess. This assemblage was 
 the most affecting and repulsive in the building, 
 bearing upon it the impress of misery and degra- 
 dation. The Baron Van Koring — the King of 
 Scotland — Paddy the Chanter, and many other 
 of our public notabilities were in this depart- 
 ment. 
 
 Having inspected every quarter of the prison, 
 one after the other, we at last arrived at the cell 
 of the condemned. We perceived four men 
 stretched on a miserable pallet all under sentence 
 of death. Above them swung a solitary lamp 
 * which emitted a dim sepulchral light, and the 
 pale yellow walls of the cell imparted their sick- 
 ly hue to the care-worn features of the inmates — 
 a soldier named Gillan, who had killed one of 
 his companions, Cambray and Matthieu, for bur- 
 glary, and Gagnon for the robbery of the Con- 
 gregational Chapel. 
 
 The cell was so low, dark, and small that it 
 seemed scarcely able to contain us. Before us 
 lay the four figures of the inmates, so still that 
 one might have believed them dead ; in perceiv- 
 
30 
 
 CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 ing us, however, Cambray raised himself and in- 
 vited us to a seat on the bench beside him — the 
 unique furniture of the apartment. 
 
 To our first question he made no answer ex- 
 cept by lamentations upon the state of his health ; 
 his manner was subdued as if by affliction, and 
 he spoke in a low and broken tone of voice. He 
 asked us what news there was respecting the 
 circulation of his petition, and whether there 
 was any probability of his obtaining his pardon. 
 “ It is not,” said he “ that I place much reliance 
 upon the petition. I am quite resigned, and, as 
 die we must, it matters little whether it comes 
 sooner or later ; however, my friends have urged 
 me to try it as a last chance, but there is little 
 hope I believe.” 
 
 “ Have you heard anything about my sister ?” 
 interrupted Mathieu, “I have just learned that 
 she was found dead upon the ice. I know her 
 disposition so well. She came from the country 
 to ascertain how things went, and when she 
 found me embroiled in this affair she poisoned 
 herself.” 
 
 “ They have got up a petition for me in my 
 parish, but it's quite useless ; by my faith, I’d 
 as soon die now as not. Yesterday I saw a 
 priest for about a quarter of an hour ; my affairs 
 are well settled, and I am quite ready. I fear 
 death no more than that,” he added, puffing a 
 cloud of smoke from his pipe, that unrolled itself 
 in long spiral curves around his hideous person. 
 
 11 Mathieu’s a queer fellow,” said Cambray, 
 “he looks very simple, but he is deep — he looks 
 far ahead of him. It’s a singular truth that he 
 steals from pure pleasure ; with him it is a pas- 
 sion, an impulse, dating from infancy ; and pro- 
 vided he steals, he concerns himself little about 
 the booty.” “You understand me Mathieu, is 
 not that the case ?” 
 
 “ No ! I don’t know what you mean. It had 
 never cost me a thought. I would not trouble 
 myself to reason upon the matter.” 
 
 “ It is, as with the youngsters who are 
 sentenced to transportation,” said Cambray, 
 “ they are inborn thieves, and can follow no 
 other occupation. They are a pretty set ; the 
 captain who is to conduct them to their place of 
 destination will have occasion to be constantly 
 on his guard. Amongst them all there are per- 
 haps two or three possessed of sufficient courage 
 to mutiny, but the cowardice of their companions 
 (for thieves are nearly always cowards) will 
 prevent anything of the kind ; for my part I 
 would not enter into any compact with them 
 under any circumstances ; they are too treacher- 
 ous and too timid. Since I have been in prison, 
 each time I attempted to escape I was betrayed, 
 abandoned, even by those who had proposed the 
 scheme. Ah, they have made me pay dearly 
 for their treason ; they might organize a thou- 
 sand conspiracies now, I would never join one 
 of them. During the entire winter they have 
 been making false keys to open all the doors, 
 and yet they have not dared to make a single 
 attempt to regain their freedom.” 
 
 “ 0 yes l” said Mathieu, “ wooden keys; they 
 accused me of making them, but without reason. 
 
 I will not deny that I have frequently made 
 them, but the merit of doing so on that occasion 
 does not belong to me ; there are many others 
 
 who work at the trade besides myself. What a 
 splendid exit we would have made last winter 
 had not that infamous Provost sold the secret 
 for a few favours ; his nature was too irresolute 
 for a coup de main like that. The greater part 
 of the prisoners we have with us are fit for no- 
 thing ; five or six had found the means of open- 
 ing their doors, and of descending nightly into 
 the yard ; at last they were discovered, chained, 
 and thrown into cells ; they were notlsufficiently 
 punished for their cowardice. What ! descend- 
 ed every night to tremble in the yard, to gaze 
 upon the moon, count the stars, without suffi- 
 cient courage to scale the wall and escape; 
 then return to their rooms chilled, with insipid 
 excuses in their mouths, such as, * it was too* 
 cold — we saw the guard — we did not know 
 where to go to — to-morrow we will be braver.’ 
 Such cowardice merits the lock-up a do^en times^ 
 over. I regret that I took no part in the scheme 
 to desert, had I only known how this affair 
 would have ended.” 
 
 “ If Waterworth,” said Cambray “ had not led 
 me to hope that he would have united with me 
 in that affair of Sivrac’s, my trial would not 
 have come off during the last Term. I would 
 have taken care to have made myself ill. He 
 played me a cruel trick, the infamous wretch 
 Waterworth ; he’s the most abject being within 
 the prison walls.” 
 
 “ Yes, the accursed,” added Mathieu, “ he it 
 was who got us into this scrape, but the devil 
 will broil him for that trick.” * 
 
 “ But Waterworth says,” said I to Cambray 
 “ that it was you who first offered to turn king’s 
 evidence.” 
 
 “ No, no, no, it was proposed to me, but I 
 would not ; if Waterworth betrayed us, it is be- 
 cause he has no conscience, he has not the bump 
 
 of honesty, and so Dr. B told him a few 
 
 months ago. Waterworth has no excuse; he 
 was actuated by wickedness, by fear ; he ought 
 to be hung twenty times over. To make be- 
 lieve that he is innocent he represents himself as 
 a coward ; yes, he is a coward, and one of the 
 vilest rascal^into the bargain ; there was no fear 
 of his compromising Norris and the others.” 
 
 “ I do not blame him,” said Mathieu, “ but he 
 should not have put us in their stead ; that 
 was not well done, that. Do you know it’s 
 dangerous to take the evidence of such as we 
 are; it should not be done ; to escape six months’ 
 imprisonment we could say anything. Water- 
 worth had better leave Quebec, his days are not 
 insured to him here ; we have associates who 
 will avenge our fate.”’ 
 
 “Nobody will speak to him,” said Cambray, 
 
 11 he will never be received anywhere, the trai- 
 tor. ? Ah ! if I could only meet him, I’d— yes — 
 but I do not wish to see him — no, I would do 
 him no injury.” 
 
 It would be necessary to have heard the ac- 
 cents in which these words were delivered, and 
 to have seen the expression that accompanied 
 them ; to understand and appreciate the full 
 force of their hidden strength. 
 
 “ I would not wish to be in his place,” added 
 Cambray, “ though it is very hard to be con- 
 demned to die for having committed theft only. 
 In the United States they hang only for murder, 
 
CANADIAN BRIGANDS. 
 
 31 
 
 \ 
 
 and it seems to me much more rational ; the best 
 punishment is transportation. Penitentiaries do 
 not inspire much terror, but transportation, ah, 
 it is desolate indeed; a man loves his native 
 country for ever. The court has adopted a wise 
 measure in transporting all the young thieves ; 
 it saves them from the gallows and frightens 
 the rest. You will soon see brigandage on the 
 decrease 1” 
 
 “ But, I think transportation should be the uni- 
 form punishment imposed by law, a commuta- 
 tion of sentence has not the same effect.” 
 
 “For a man who walks on the edge of a pre- 
 cipice, ordinary danger is of no account, it 
 leaves no impression on their minds. To the 
 criminal condemned to death, exportation offers 
 a consolation, a plank of salvation. Confined 
 in his cell, cast down in despair, awaiting with 
 horror the hour of the scaffold approaching, the 
 knell to eternity — the door opens, he trembles 
 .in every limb, but no, he is assured of life, and 
 falls joyously upon his pallet — he will not diq 
 on the scaffold — how sweet the transition — he 
 is the happiest of criminals ; exile presents no- 
 thing frightful to him who has been face to face 
 with death.” 
 
 “Cambray!” said the turnkey, “ you saw a 
 priest yesterday ; they say that you have been 
 converted, that you have turned Catholic, that 
 you have been baptised.” 
 
 “Yes, it is true to a certain extent. Oh! I 
 do not know yet, it is not quite settled — these 
 things require time — I am not yet decided — I 
 have still doubts !” 
 
 “ Ah, Cambray,” said Mathieu, “do not speak 
 in that way in the hour you have come to ; is 
 it possible you possess such sentiments?” 
 
 “Mathieu! I know what Fvedone, and what 
 I have to do ; mind your own affairs, or it will 
 be I who will teach you. With me it was not 
 to change a faith, but to choose one. 1 think, 
 however, I would have believed in God had I 
 reflected upon the subject.” 
 
 “ There are few who do not believe,” observed 
 Mathieu, “but people like us never think of 
 him. Water worth has often said to me, 1 look 
 here, Mathieu, after we are dead everything will 
 be dead to us — take your course and fear no- 
 thing.’ The miserable wretch, see what he has 
 brought us fo.” 
 
 During this gabble between Cambray and 
 Mathieu, Gagnon remained perfectly quiet and 
 passive, holding a book (the lives of Martyrs) 
 in his hand, reading from time to time a few 
 lines and casting side-long glances at us ; he 
 was silent, pensive, impatient of conversation, 
 and appeared desirous of seeing our visit abridg- 
 ed. There was nothing in the appearance of 
 this man to indicate the injustice of his sentence ; 
 on the contrary, the gallows and he appeared 
 made for each other. But amidst these vile 
 wretches how great was the contrast in favour 
 of Gillan the murderer. Gillan raising his hands 
 to heaven, deeply moved in spirit, rolling in 
 mental agony upon his couch, striking his breast, 
 his eyes filling with tears, his breath choking 
 with sighs and remorse, Gillan alone indicated 
 true fervent grief ; alone was able to say “ I am 
 innocent.” When we spoke to him “ Yes,” said 
 he “I am a murderer, the murderer of my best 
 friend. I was drunk, exasperated, furious ; we 
 were on the same guard, without a light, un- 
 known to each other, I was unconscious of 
 what I was doing. A knife fell into my hand 
 and I struck — killed my best friend. Oh! what 
 misfortune, what misfortune ! To live in a cell 
 with felons, and die with them in three days 
 time. It is horrible, horrible. Oh! accursed 
 drink, to me you have been fatal indeed.” 
 
 The next day Cambray, Gillan, and Mathieu 
 were informed that their sentence of death had 
 been commuted to one of transportation, and 
 that in two months they would accompany the 
 others to new South Wales. From that mo- 
 ment there was nothing further of conversion. 
 Mathieu and several others attempted to make 
 their escape by a sewer. Cambray tried to 
 make himself sick by swallowing tobacco, but 
 the visiting physician divining his object, re- 
 commended a sea voyage to re-establish his 
 health. At last, on the 29th of May, 1837, about 
 ten o’clock in the morning, thirty-nine criminals, 
 chained two and two, left the prison. Cambray 
 and Mathieu at their head. Arriving beneath 
 the gibbet, they simultaneousiy burst forth in 
 loud and repeated hurrahs, and then marched 
 joyously towards the gate, saluting this one and 
 calling to that, like old soldiers leaving for the 
 army. They were placed on board the brig 
 Ceres, Captain Squire commanding,, and that 
 evening they set sail for the Antipodes. 
 
 THE END. 
 

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