BHIL - O 
 ANOE 
 
 rum:3 
 
 AND 
 
 I 
 P R 
 
 462S 
 
 D3P4 
 
 DELEINE 
 ERCHERE3 
 
 By 
 WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND 
 
 •1 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. Copyi-ight No. 
 
 Shelf ..01.3 F<J- 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
O ma ole canoe, wat s matter wit' you, an' 
 w'y was you be so slow ? " 
 
Phil-o-rum's 
 Canoe 
 
 and 
 
 Madeleine 
 Vercheres 
 
 Two Poems by 
 
 William 
 
 Henry 
 
 Drummond 
 
 Author of " The 
 Habitant," etc. 
 
 Illustrated by 
 Frederick 
 Simpson 
 Coburii 
 
 * 
 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 XLbc 1knicftcrboc?ier press 
 
 1898 
 
^^ 
 
 ii)i):i'/ 
 
 Copyright, 1898 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
 
 K^i'DCOPiESfSECEIVtD. 
 
 Ube Tknickerbocher press, "Rcw ll?orft 
 
 ATM- - 5" <^l% 
 
PHIL-0-RUM'S CANOE. 
 
 *' /^\ MA ole canoe, wat 's matter wit' you, 
 
 V^ an' w'y was you be so slow ? 
 Don't f^ work hard enough on de paddle, an' 
 
 still you don't seem to go — 
 No win' at all on de fronte side, an' current 
 
 she don't be strong, 
 Den w'y are you lak' lazy feller, too sleepy for 
 
 move along ? 
 
 ** I 'member de tam, w'en you jomp de sam' 
 
 as deer wit' de wolf behin'. 
 An' brochet on de top de water, you scare 
 
 heem mos' off hees min' : 
 But fish don't care for you now at all, only jus' 
 
 mebbe wink de eye. 
 For he know it 's easy git out de way, w'en 
 
 you was a-passin' by " 
 
 I *m spikin' dis way, jus' de oder day, w'en I 'm 
 
 out wit* de ole canoe 
 Crossin' de point w'ere I see, las* fall, wan very 
 
 beeg caribou, 
 
2 Phil-o-rum's Canoe 
 
 Wen somebody say, " Phil-o-rum, mon vieux, 
 wat 's matter wit' you youse'f ? " 
 
 An' who do you s'pose was talkin' ? W'y de 
 poor ole canoe shese'f. 
 
 O yass, I 'm scare w'en I 'm sittin' dere, an' 
 
 she 's callin' ma nam' dat way. 
 " Phil-o-rum Juneau, w'y you spik so moche, 
 
 you 're off on de head to-day: 
 Can't be you forget, ole feller, you an' me 
 
 we're not too young, 
 An' if I 'm lookin' so ole lak' you, I t'ink I 
 
 will close ma tongue. 
 
 ** You should feel ashame, for you 're alway 
 
 blame, w'en it is n't ma fault at all. 
 For I 'm tryin' to do bes' I can for you on 
 
 summer-tam, spring, an' fall. 
 How offen you drown on de reever, if I 'm 
 
 not lookin' out for you 
 W'en you 're takin' too moche on de w'isky, 
 
 some night comin' down de Soo. 
 
 '• De firse tam we go on de Wessoneau, no 
 
 feller can beat us den 
 For you 're purty strong man wit' de paddle, 
 
 but dat 's long ago, ma frien', 
 
Phil-o-rum's Canoe 3 
 
 An' win' she can blow off de mountain, an* 
 
 tonder an' rain may come, 
 But camp see us bote on de evening — you 
 
 know dat was true, Phil-o-rum. 
 
 An' who 's your horse, too, but your ole 
 
 canoe, an' w'en you feel cole an' wet. 
 Who was your house w'en I 'm upside down, 
 
 an' onder de roof you get. 
 Wit' rain ronnin' down ma back, Bapteme ! till 
 
 I 'm gettin' de rheumateez. 
 An' I never say not'ing at all moi-meme, but 
 
 let you do jus' you please ? 
 
 '* You t'ink it was right, kip me out all night 
 
 on reever side down below. 
 An' even * bon soir ' you was never say, but 
 
 off on de camp you go, 
 Lefifin' your poor ole canoe behin', lyin' dere 
 
 on de groun', 
 Watchin' de moon on de water, an' de bat 
 
 flyin' all aroun' ? 
 
 *' Oh, dat 's lonesome t'ing hear de grey owl 
 
 sing up on de beeg pine tree ! 
 An' many long night she kip me awake till sun 
 
 on de Eas' I see, 
 
4 Phil-o-rum's Canoe 
 
 An' den you come down on de morning for 
 
 start on some more voyage, 
 An' only t'ing decen* you do all day, is carry 
 
 me on portage. 
 
 " Dat 's way, Phil-o-rum, rheumateez she 
 
 come, wit' pain ronnin' troo' ma side. 
 Wan leetle hole here, 'noder beeg wan dere, 
 
 dat not'ing can never hide, 
 Don't do any good feex me up agen, no matter 
 
 how moche you try, 
 For w'en we come ole an' our work she 's 
 
 done, bote man an' canoe mus' die." 
 
 Wall, she talk dat way mebbe mos' de day till 
 
 we 're passin' some beaver dam, 
 An' wan de young beaver, he 's mak' hees tail 
 
 come down on de water Flam ! 
 I never see de canoe so scare, she jomp nearly 
 
 two, t'ree feet, 
 I t'ink she was goin' for ronne away, an' she 
 
 shut up de mout' toute suite. 
 
 It mak' me feel queer, de strange t'ing I hear, 
 an' I 'm glad she don't spik no more, 
 
 But soon as we fin' ourse'f arrive over dere on 
 de 'noder shore 
 
" De mos* worse current 's de las' wan too, de 
 current of Dead Riviere." 
 
Phil-o-rum's Canoe 5 
 
 I tak' dat canoe lak' de lady, an' carry her off 
 
 wit' me, 
 For I 'm sorry de way I 'm treat her, an' she 
 
 know more dan me, sapree! 
 
 Yass, dat 's smart canoe, an' I know it 's true, 
 
 w'at she 's spikin' wit' me dat day, 
 I 'm not de young feller I use to be, w'en work 
 
 she was only play, 
 An' I know I was comin' closer on place w'ere 
 
 I mus' tak' care, 
 W'ere de mos' worse current *s de las' wan too, 
 
 de current of Dead Riviere. 
 
 You can only steer, an' if rock be near, wit* 
 
 wave dashin' all aroun'. 
 Better mak' leetle prayer, for on Dead Riviere, 
 
 some very smart man get drown ; 
 But if you be locky an' watch youse'f, mebbe 
 
 reever won't seem so wide, 
 An* firse t'ing you know you '11 ronne ashore, 
 
 safe on de 'noder side. 
 
MADELEINE VERCHERES. 
 
 I'VE told you many a tale, my child, of the 
 old heroic days, 
 Of Indian wars and massacre, of villages ablaze 
 With savage torch, from Ville Marie to the 
 
 Mission of Trois Rivieres; 
 But never have I told you yet of Madeleine 
 Vercheres. 
 
 Summer had come with its blossoms, and gaily 
 the robin sang, 
 
 And deep in the forest arches, the axe of the 
 woodman rang; 
 
 Again in the waving meadows, the sun-browned 
 farmers met 
 
 And out on the green St. Lawrence, the fisher- 
 man spread his net. 
 
 And so through the pleasant season, till the 
 
 days of October came 
 When children wrought with their parents, and 
 
 even the old and lame 
 
*' Like timers they watch their prey. 
 
Madeleine Vercheres 7 
 
 With tottering frames and footsteps, their 
 
 feeble labors lent 
 At the gathering of the harvest le bon Dieu 
 
 himself had sent. 
 
 For news there was none of battle, from the 
 
 forts on the Richelieu 
 To the gates of the ancient city, where the flag 
 
 of King Louis flew; 
 All peaceful the skies hung over the seigneurie 
 
 of Vercheres, 
 Like the calm that so often cometh ere the 
 
 hurricane rends the air. 
 
 And never a thought of danger had the Sei- 
 gneur, sailing away 
 
 To join the soldiers of Carignan, where down 
 at Quebec they lay. 
 
 But smiled on his little daughter, the maiden 
 Madeleine, 
 
 And a necklet of jewels promised her, when 
 home he should come again. 
 
 And ever the days passed swiftly, and careless 
 
 the workmen grew, 
 For the months they seemed a hundred since 
 
 the last war-bugle blew. 
 
8 Madeleine Vercheres 
 
 Ah, little they dreamt on their pillows the 
 
 farmers of Vercheres, 
 That the wolves of the southern forest had 
 
 scented the harvest fair. 
 
 Like ravens they quickly gather, like tigers 
 
 they watch their prey. 
 Poor people ! with hearts so happy, they sang 
 
 as they toiled away ! 
 Till the murderous eyeballs glistened, and the 
 
 tomahawk leaped out 
 And the banks of the green St. Lawrence 
 
 echoed the savage shout. 
 
 " O mother of Christ, have pity! " shrieked the 
 
 women in despair; 
 ** This is no time for praying," cried the young 
 
 Madeleine Vercheres ; 
 " Aux armes! aux armes! les Iroquois! quick 
 
 to your arms and guns, 
 Fight for your God and country, and the lives 
 
 of the innocent ones." 
 
 And she sped like a deer of the mountain, when 
 
 beagles press close behind, 
 And the feet that would follow after must be 
 
 swift as the prairie wind. 
 
Madeleine Vercheres 9 
 
 Alas ! for the men and women and little ones 
 
 that day, 
 For the road it was long and weary, and the 
 
 fort it was far away. 
 
 But the fawn had outstripped the hunters, and 
 the palisades drew near, 
 
 And soon from the inner gateway the war- 
 bugle rang out clear, 
 
 Gallant and clear it sounded, with never a note 
 of despair — 
 
 'T was a soldier of France's challenge, from 
 the young Madeleine Vercheres! 
 
 *' And this is my little garrison, my brothers 
 
 Louis and Paul ? 
 With soldiers two, and a cripple ? may the 
 
 Virgin pray for us all ! 
 But we 've powder and guns in plenty, and 
 
 we '11 fight to the latest breath, 
 And if need be, for God and country, die a 
 
 brave soldier's death. 
 
 " Load all the carabines quickly, and when- 
 ever you sight the foe 
 
 Fire from the upper turret and loopholes down 
 below, 
 
lo Madeleine Vercheres 
 
 Keep up the fire, brave soldiers, though the 
 
 fight may be fierce and long, 
 And they 41 think our little garrison is more 
 
 than a hundred strong." 
 
 So spake the maiden Madeleine, and she roused 
 
 the Norman blood 
 That seemed for a moment sleeping, and sent 
 
 it like a flood 
 Through every heart around her, and they 
 
 fought the red Iroquois 
 As fought in the old-time battles the soldiers 
 
 of Carignan. 
 
 And they say the black clouds gathered, and a 
 tempest swept the sky. 
 
 And the roar of the thunder mingled with the 
 forest tiger's cry. 
 
 But still the garrison fought on, while the light- 
 ning's jagged spear 
 
 Tore a hole in the night's dark curtain, and 
 showed them a foeman near. 
 
 And the sun rose up in the morning, and the 
 
 color of blood was he, 
 Gazing down from the heavens on the little 
 
 company 
 
Saluted the brave young captain. 
 
Madeleine Vercheres 1 1 
 
 ** Behold, my friends," cried the maiden, 
 
 't is a warning lest we forget, 
 Though the night saw us do our duty, our 
 work is not finished yet." 
 
 And six days followed each other, and feeble 
 
 her limbs became 
 Yet the maid never sought her pillow, and the 
 
 flash of the carabine's flame 
 Illumined the powder-smoked faces, aye, even 
 
 when hope seemed gone. 
 And she only smiled on her comrades, and told 
 
 them to fight, fight on. 
 
 And she blew a blast on the bugle, and lo! 
 from the forest black. 
 
 Merrily, merrily ringing, an answer came peal- 
 ing back. 
 
 Oh, pleasant and sweet it sounded, borne on 
 the morning air. 
 
 For it heralded fifty soldiers, with gallant De 
 la Monniere. 
 
 And when he beheld the maiden, the soldier of 
 
 Carignan, 
 And looked on the little garrison that fought 
 
 the red Iroquois 
 
12 Madeleine Vercheres 
 
 And held their own in the battle, for six long 
 weary days, 
 
 He stood for a moment speechless, and mar- 
 velled at woman's ways. 
 
 Then he beckoned the men behind him, and 
 
 steadily they advance 
 And with carabines uplifted the veterans of 
 
 France 
 Saluted the brave young Captain so timidly 
 
 standing there, 
 And they fired a volley in honor of Madeleine 
 
 Vercheres. 
 
 And this, my dear, is the story of the maiden 
 
 Madeleine. 
 God grant that we in Canada may never see 
 
 again 
 Such cruel wars and massacre, in waking or in 
 
 dream, 
 As our fathers and mothers saw, my child, in 
 
 the days of the old regime! 
 
z' 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 490 747 4