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The Marin Family Chronicles--Volume 1-Book 2

The Traders by Charles O. Goulet

Chapter One -- A New Beginning

    The bright May sunshine added to the festivity of the occasion.  Pierre and Françoise, Jacques and Marguerite, and their children came to greet the new governor.  Pierre and Jacques held their youngest children in their arms; Louis Joseph was a sturdy nine months old, noisy and wriggly, while Angelique, the youngest Breton child, was almost walking and resented being held in her father's arms so she screamed and howled to be allowed her freedom; Genevieve, the oldest, held onto her mother's skirt and shyly watched the proceedings.  The two families had a spot to the right of the old dock that was recently repaired in preparation for the arrival of the new commandant.
    Pierre gazed across the bay to the warship that lay at anchor.  He recognized it as a brigantine of thirty guns.  From that distance he could not tell the size of its armament, but it looked formidable.  He noticed it was anchored in almost the same spot as the ship that brought Françoise and him to Acadia two years before.  Activity aboard the warship indicate that the new commandant was about to come ashore.
    "I hope this Chambly makes his headquarters here instead of at Fort Pentagouet," Jacques said to no one in particular.
    Pierre, who thought he was talking to him, turned and replied, "I doubt that will happen, Jacques.  Port Royal is quite secure.  It's the border between the English and us that needs attention.  I'm sure he, like Grandfontaine, will makes his headquarters at Pentagouet."
    "You're probably right.  I hear Captain de Chambly was important in the defence of New France against the Iroquois."
    "So I've heard, Jacques.  It seems he was the commandant of Fort St. Louis and did such a successful job that most people call it Fort Chambly.  As well, it seems he oversaw the building of it."
    Françoise added, "Someone told me the new governor, Count Frontenac, thinks highly of him."
    Pierre laughed.  "Yes, I hear he was sent here so he would be out of Frontenac's hair.  Frontenac wants to extend the fur trade for his own purposes, while Chambly feels it should be curtailed until the English and the Iroquois have been subdued.  I'm told he hates the English."
    Jacques grinned.  "That may be trouble for you, my friend."
    Pierre grunted, but said nothing.
    A pinnace slowly made its way to shore, and as it approached, they could see a tall slim man standing in the centre, waving a plumed hat to the crowd.  A desultory cheer went up from the crowd, and he waved his other hand.  This time the cheer was a little more enthusiastic, though not boisterous.
    The small crowd moved forward as the party from the boat ascended to the dock.  Lieutenant Richard, the ranking officer at the fort, Father Molin, the parish priest, and Alexandre Le Borgne, better know as 'Belleisle' moved forward to greet the new commandant.
    Pierre watched the simple ceremony with keen interest.  The commandant was a tall slim man about forty years of age, with a thin, lined face.  He wore a white wig which was the mode of the day, so Pierre could not tell the colour of his hair.  His clothes were fashionable, but not ostentatious; he wore a simple cloth coat that came above his knees and his petticoat breeches were tied below the knee with a narrow brown ribbon.  At his throat was a white lace cravat.  He wore white leather gauntlets and brown leather shoes with red tongues and heels.  His hat of heavy felt with a wide brim and a large grey ostrich feather was at a rakish angle.  A thin sword dangled at his left hand.
    His animated face, with sharp piercing eyes of a nondescript colour surmounting his long sharp nose, impressed Pierre.  As well, he carried himself with an air of authority.
    "He seems to know what he's doing," Pierre remarked to Françoise.
    "I hope you're right, dear."
    As the crowd pressed forward to shake his hand, he greeted them affably and pleasantly.  Slowly the little retinue made its way to the small fort which stood two hundred yards from the dock.
    "I wonder if he'll give a speech," mused Jacques.
    Pierre laughed.  "Oh, I'm sure he'll do that.  That's the easiest thing a new governor can do.  That costs no money."
    "You're right, Pierre.  Look, he's stopping."
    The new governor turned and gazed over the small crowd.  "Friends," he said as he lifted his arms, "I am very pleased to be among you today, and I am delighted at your show of welcome and friendship.  With pleasure, I accepted to be your new governor, and I will do everything in my power to help you make Acadia the best colony of our glorious king, Louis XIV.  My job, as I see it, is to maintain the peace and to protect you from the enemies of France.  As you know, we are at peace with the English, but our esteemed king is at war with the United Provinces--the damned Dutch--so we must be vigilant of this enemy who so recently established to our south.  Because of this, I will not be staying with you for long.  I must prepare the defences at Pentagouet.  In fact, I hope that some of you stalwart men will accompany me and help me to rebuild and strengthen those defences."
    A shout went up from several of the men.  Often work of this kind meant the king's coin, which was scarce in the colony, would increase.  Pierre glanced at Françoise.  The idea of earning some money appealed to him.  He wondered if the new commandant would let him continue his trade with the local Indians and if he would be able to continue his connection with Boston.  Although his business activities had not thrived, he hope they would improve and make him prosperous.  He would meet with de Chambly to see how he fit into the scheme of things.
    The following Monday, Pierre made his way to the fort to pay his respects, but mainly to find out what the new governor would allow in the way of commerce with the New Englanders.  As he approached the gate to the fort, he saw a single sentry stationed at the gate.  The soldier wore the uniform of a marine, standing rigidly at guard.  Pierre smiled to himself.  The new commandant seemed a stickler for protocol.  Pierre felt there was little need for a sentry here--there was not an enemy within many miles.
    As he stepped to the gate, the sentry stepped in front of him to bar his way.  "Your business, sir?"
    "I wish to pay my respects to the commandant."
    "Your name, sir?"
    "I'm Pierre Marin, concessionaire of 'Belleisle."  I'd like to speak to Captain de Chambly."
    "One moment, sir.  I'll see if the captain wishes to see you."
    Pierre understood the reason for the sentry.  His job was to screen visitors to the commandant.  The sentry disappeared inside but soon returned.  He nodded his head toward the interior, and Pierre passed in.
    Once inside he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior.  Jacques de Chambly was seated behind a table that he was using as a desk.  He looked up from the paper he was reading and smiled.  "Good morning, Monsieur Marin.  What brings you here so early on a Monday morning?"
    "Good morning, sir.  I thought it only right that I welcome you personally to Port Royal."
    The commandant smiled wryly.  "My good man, I'm sure there is more to your visit than that.  What can I do for you?"
    Pierre was taken aback.  The man's forthrightness surprised him.  For several moments he was speechless.  "Sir, I also wanted to offer my services to you.  When you arrived, you indicated you would need help to work on the defences of Fort Pentagouet.  I though I might be of service."
    Pierre was surprised at himself.  Without thinking, he had made an offer that he had not discussed with Françoise.  He was not sure she would be pleased with him if she were there to hear him offer his services at Fort Pentagouet.  The commandant surprised him, and in his confusion, he blurted out impetuously.
    Chambly stared at him keenly.  "Monsieur Marin, you are the first to offer your services.  I thank you.  How can you be of help?"
    "In many ways, sir.  I'm an ex-sailor of the French Navy, a fisherman, and I'm good with tools.  As well, I can read and write, and I speak the Micmac tongue, though not as well as I would like to."
    Chambly grinned.  "You do have talents I can use.  What do you want in return?"  His voice turned hard and flinty.
    "Wages, and..."
    "Wages, to be sure, but what about the and?"
    "Sir, Grandfontain granted me a license to trade with the Indians here and permission to do business with an agent of Sir Thomas Temple of Boston.  I'd like permission to continue these activities."
    A long silence followed, and Pierre stared at the deep furrows in the older man's brow.
    "These activities were...How shall I say it?  er...between you and Grandfontaine.  I find no record of it here in the documents he left behind."
    Pierre paused.  He was not sure of Chambly's attitude.  Should he admit to the private arrangement, or should he pretend surprise?  Finally he said, "My agreement with the captain was private.  It was in recompense for services I rendered to him."
    "Ah, I understand.  Now you would like a similar arrangement with me?"
    "Yes, sir. I'm sure I can be of much help to you.  I know Fort Pentagouet, and I know Lieutenant St.Castin.  We were there together when the fort was turned over to Captain Grandfontaine.  I helped prepare the inventory of Sir Thomas Temple's property there.  I served as Captain Grandfontaine's personal body guard in a civilian capacity.  I was with him in Boston, and I have contacts there yet.  So you see, I think I can be a valuable servant, and all I ask in return are wages and a license."
    "Do you know how I feel about the English?"  His voice vibrated with emotion.
    "I've heard, sir, but we're not at war with the English.  We're at war with the Dutch, sir."
    "But, young man, we will be at war with the English.  It's only a matter of time.  They try to steal our trade with the Indians...here, in the West, and around the bay to the north, the bay they call 'Hudson's Bay'.  They encourage the Iroquois to attack us in New France.  They encourage them to attack the Indians friendly to us--the Hurons and the Algonkins.  I do not trust the English."
    "But, sir, King Charles is friendly with our illustrious Louis."
    "That is true, but he's not popular in his own country, and it's common knowledge that the English are not happy with this war with the Dutch.  They support it half-heartedly.  I tell you, it won't be long before we'll be again at war with the English.  They're still fighting us here."
    Pierre hoped he was wrong.  He knew how much the colonists depended upon trade with the New England colonies, particularly the town of Boston.  Chambly seemed so sure of himself that Pierre thought he might be right.  The man's intensity caused Pierre to hesitate; he felt Chambly's assessment was wrong.  Charles II was on the English throne, and he supported Louis XIV, their king, even though most of Charles's subjects were anti-French, including the Bostonians who believed that Acadia belonged to them.
    Chambly stared at him without smiling; he appeared to be assessing him and his grimness made Pierre uncomfortable.  Finally he continued, "Monsieur Marin,..."
    Pierre interrupted him.  "Please, sir, call me Pierre."
    "Very well, Pierre.  I can use your service, and the pay is ten sous a day.  We'll be leaving Wednesday morning at first light.  Be on board my ship and ready to sail."
    "But, sir, I..."
    "What's the problem, my good man?  Can you not arrange to be aboard at that time?  You have the rest of today and all of tomorrow.  I can't wait any longer."
    Pierre wondered if Chambly was married and had a wife he loved.  Pierre shuddered.  What would Françoise say?  All his spring planting was done, and his animals had birthed--all that was left to do was the chores, and he would hire the young Doucet boy to stay with Françoise and Louis Joseph.  Young Albert was a sturdy thirteen year old, almost a man.  And the family could certainly use the money.  Well, he would try.  Somehow he would convince Françoise that his absence would be worth it.
    Pierre was unprepared for Françoise's vehement opposition to his trip to Pentagouet.  That afternoon, when he told her of his plans, the hurt and confusion on her face made him almost decide to abandon them.
    She looked at him and the line along her chin hardened.  "Pierre, why have you decided to abandon me?  Louis and I need you here.  I can't stay here without you."
    "But, darling, it's only for a few weeks.  It will provide us with coin so we may acquire tools and a stove...and other important articles.  It will help us to make a better life quicker."
    "Pierre, what good is a better life if we can't be together.  I married you to be with you, to work with you, to live with you, to love you, and you want to be gone most of the time.  I said nothing when you went with Grandfontaine, and later to New France.  I let you have your way, but it hasn't made our life any better--in fact, it's worse.  You spend more time with your Indian friends than you do with me."  Her remark hurt him.  She still had not forgiven him for his indiscretion with Debitkat Iskisy.  He didn't blame her.
    "Darling, I must go.  I promised Captain de Chambly I would accompany him and help him to get established at the fort."  He did not mention how he had impetuously committed himself to the venture.  He did not tell her how he had ingratiated himself with Chambly in hope of retaining his license to trade with the Indians and Bostonians.  He knew she did not approve of either of these activities, but he felt they would help him to acquire the wealth and prestige of his dream.  He continued, "Darling, you'll see.  It'll turn out for the best."
    Her eyes sparkled brightly, and her mouth twisted grimly.  "Pierre, I don't want you to go.  We need you here.  You'll prosper more if you attend to your land and animals.  You promised me a new home.  It'll never be built if you are always running around the country.  You must stay and work you land--build more dikes, acquire more animals, build better barns...and a new house."
    He realized her arguments were formidable.  She was right.  He had to tell Chambly that he changed his mind.  He could not go.  His family needed him more.  Chambly would have to find someone else to help him establish at Fort Pentagouet.  Surely St. Castin would be able to provide all the help Chambly would need, although Pierre knew the young lieutenant was intent on his own fortune.
    Pierre stepped toward her.  He clasped her in his arms.  "You're right, my darling.  Again I've been selfish, thinking only of my own desires.  I'll tell Chambly he must find someone else to help him."
    Françoise looked up into his blue eyes, but she did not see the dream disappear from them; she saw only that he capitulated to her wishes, and she and Louis would have him to themselves.  She reached up and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.  Pierre squeezed her gently.  "I must tell the captain I won't be able to accompany him."
    Françoise smiled brightly.  "Yes, you do that."

    The captain stared at him as if he did not believe what he was hearing.  "You're telling me that you can't accompany me because your wife doesn't want you to go?  I can't believe a man would allow a woman to dictated to him.  Are you not the master in your own house?"  His voice dripped with scorn.
    Pierre bowed his head slightly.  He tried to hide his face.  He was sure his embarrassment showed, yet he thought the captain would understand.  Then the captain's voice softened, and he smiled oddly.  "My good man, I understand completely.  I have a wife such as yours in my home in France.  That's why I'm here and she's there."  He chuckled.  "Do you think it would be of any use if I were to speak to her?"
    The surprised look on Pierre's face made the tall captain chuckle noisily.  Pierre stared in disbelief.  Why would a captain concern himself with a poor peasant's problem?  Before he could recover his composure, the soldier continued in a low voice, "Pierre, I need your help.  You have the qualities that I need most.  You're friendly with the Indians, I'm told.  You know the fort, and I understand you're friendly with the lieutenant in charge at the moment--Lieutenant St. Castin.  So, do you think it would help if I were to plead our case with your good wife?"
    "Oh, I'm sure she would be impressed if you were to visit our humble abode."
    "I was hoping you would bring her to the fort.  Perhaps that would impress her more.  As well, I'm too busy to take the time.  I tell you what I'll do.  I'll send some of my men to fetch her.  That will surely have the desired effect."
    Pierre stared at the captain.  "Sir, that will probably frighten her.  She'll think I'm in serious trouble."
    "My good man, that may be a good idea.  Then she'll be so relieved she'll consent to you coming without any arguments."
    Pierre's mouth dropped open.  This man was shrewd; he would use any means to get his way.  But Pierre saw the practicality of what he said.  No doubt Françoise would give her consent.  Pierre felt uncomfortable; he did not like to deceive Françoise in this way, but, he mused, a man has to do what he thinks is right, even if he has to trick his wife sometimes.
    An hour later, Françoise arrived looking scared and concerned as one of Chambly's soldiers ushered her into the sparse room where Pierre and Chambly waited.  As she entered, carrying the young Louis in her arms, she looked anxiously about the room.  When she spotted Pierre advancing toward her, relief flooded her face and the tenseness flowed from her body.  Pierre approached with open arms and she melted against him with a sigh.  "I thought something terrible had happened to you.  The soldier who came wouldn't tell my anything.  I was so worried."
    "I'm sorry, my dear, but the captain thought it would be better this way.  I'm sorry you were frightened."
    The child struggled in her arms and nestled more firmly against her shoulder.  "I think Louis was also frightened," she muttered.
    "Madame," the firm voice of the captain interrupted her, "please take a chair.  I've something of the utmost importance to discuss with you."  His right hand pointed to the straight-backed chair that stood facing his table-desk.
    Françoise, with Pierre guiding her, came forward and sat on the chair, placing the child in her lap.  Pierre moved a similar chair beside hers.  When the small family was settled, the commandant said, "Madame, as you know, I've asked your husband to accompany me to Fort Pentagouet.  I believe he can be of valuable help to me there.  It would only be for a short time as I consolidate my position in the area.  But he tells me you disapprove of these plans.  I'm sorry to hear that."  He paused.
    Françoise looked at him with doleful eyes.  She said nothing.  The captain was about to commence again, then she interrupted him, "Sir, it's not that I don't want him to accompany you.  He has duties here too.  He has promised me he will build me a new home.  The present one's too small for a family of three."
    "Madame, I understand that, and I assure you I will see that he returns in plenty of time to construct that new home.  I'll need him for about a month.  Once we have the fort in proper shape and have established ourselves with the local Indians, I'll send him home.  Madame, you must understand that it's imperative we remain a force to reckon with.  True, we're not at war with the English, but we are at war with the Dutch, and I fear an attack by them is imminent.  I need Pierre, and any other men that can be spared to get our defences in good order.  You'd be doing your country and colony a service if you permit Pierre to come with me.  As well, my dear, he'll be well paid.  With that money he can build you the finest home in Port Royal.  Think of that.  All the other women will look up to you."  He stopped, glanced at Pierre, and then looked back to Françoise.
    Pierre marvelled at his eloquence.  Surely, Françoise would see the wisdom of his arguments.  Surely, she would change her mind and agree to the trip.  After all, it would only be for a month; then he would be home, and he could start on their new home.  He would be able to hire the best artisans in the colony and build a beautiful house.  The idea intrigued him: the other colonists would look up to him; he would be an important member of the community.  His dream of a better life would be approaching fulfilment.  Oh, Françoise, you must agree with the captain.
    Pierre glanced toward her.  He could not tell if she was changing her mind.  She looked at him for several moments, staring into his eyes.  "Pierre, so you still want to go?"  Her eyes were pleading.
    "Darling, you know that I do.  I think it's my duty.  If my country needs me, then I feel I must go.  You know, darling, we all have to make sacrifices.  Mine will be to be away from you and the boy--but it's not for long--only a month."
    "That's right, Madame.  After a month, I'll send all the men home.  It'll be time for the hay harvest, and all the other work that must be done--including building your house."

    Pierre stood on the main deck of the small warship "Hope", staring into the mist that veiled the landscape and made navigation up the Penobscot River worrisome.  From where he stood, he could see Captain de Chambly standing on the starboard side of the quarter-deck with the ship's master, Monsieur Le Barre.  The tide was flooding and there was a mild breeze from the south-east; everything was favourable for their entry into the harbour before Fort Pentagouet, except the mist.  They were under reduced sail so the ship moved slowly.
    The ship's master pointed to the west, and the commandant nodded his head and smiled; then he turned toward Pierre and beckoned him.  Pierre crossed the deck and mounted the stairs to the quarter-deck.
    "There's the fort, Pierre."
    Pierre stared in the direction the captain indicated.  Through the bluish haze he could make out the dark bulk of a structure, but he could not see any details of the fort.  Even so, it had not changed much since his previous visit.  It looked small and insignificant against the backdrop of the dark forest.  In almost four years, it appeared that not much was done to enlarge and improve it;  Pierre could see no additional buildings or fortifications.  But then they might not be apparent from this viewpoint.
    "Le Barre says we'll be anchoring shortly, and it's none too soon for me.  I'm not a sailor, I'm a soldier.  Give me the feel of solid earth, not the rolling and pitching of a ship's deck."
    Pierre smiled.  He knew Chambly was sick most of the four days it took to sail from Port Royal.  Even now he did not look too well.  Dark circles were under his eyes and his skin had a waxy pallor.
    "Maybe you'll be safer on this ship than in that miserable fort."
    "You may be right, Pierre."
    The ship made headway and was now situated directly opposite the landing which consisted of a frail log staging.  Tthree persons stood on it: two soldiers in the brown uniform of the Troupes de la Marine, and in front of them someone dressed in a striking bright blue coat, white breeches, and black leather boots that came to his knees.  On his head he wore a narrow brimmed, tall-crowned hat with a brilliant red plume waving in the slight breeze.  He removed his hat and waved it.  Pierre recognized Lieutenant Jean-Vincent d'Abbadie de St. Castin.  Pierre smiled to himself.  Jean-Vincent was trying to impress someone; it must be his new commandant, Pierre thought.
    "Is that Lieutenant St. Castin, Pierre?"
    "That's him.  He makes an impressive looking officer, does he not, sir?"
    "Well, Pierre," he muttered dryly, "if dress is any indication of his ability as a soldier and officer, I'm sure Lieutenant St. Castin is one of the best."
    The ship anchored and presently they joined the welcoming party on the makeshift dock.  After the formalities were finished, St. Castin greeted Pierre with the enthusiasm of an old friend.  He and Pierre led the way as they escorted the new commandant to his headquarters.
    "Pierre, it's nice to see you.  Your wife's well?  I heard she was ill after the birth of your son.  I must congratulate you.  The boy is well?"
    Pierre smiled.  "Yes, all's well, but I must say Françoise wasn't happy about my visit to your establishment."
    St. Castin grimaced.  Then he whispered, "This miserable place is an abomination to the honour of our king.  And furthermore it's his own fault.  He refuses to spend any money on fortifications and armaments.  The place is indefensible.  Any force of any size would force its capitulation...why, a pirate ship could do the job."
    Pierre chuckled and said, "I see you're a loyal Frenchman, ready to defend the king's honor and lands."
    "I'd be if he would provide me with the wherewithal.  Look, we're three soldiers, and now the commandant had brought twenty-five more, plus...what?...a dozen men to repair and rebuild this establishment.  It's not enough.  But enough of my griping.  How are you and your family?"
    The question triggered the departure scene in Pierre's mind.  Tears filled Françoise's eyes, but she tried bravely to hold them back.  Even though she gave in to the commandant's request, she was not convinced it was Pierre's duty to accompany the captain to Fort Pentagouet.  Pierre felt guilty about the way they persuaded Françoise to agree to his coming. As planned, he hired the young Doucet lad to stay with Françoise and Louis and to do the chores, but he still felt as if he was being unfaithful.  Although Françoise did not remonstrated further, he knew she felt he had broken his promise to her.  He hoped it would not ruin the relationship they had developed since she had made up her mind to accept Acadia as their home.  Maybe that was one of the reasons she accepted his decision to strengthen the colony's defences.
    Several moments passed before he answered.  "Françoise is well, and she's become an Acadian.  She's decided this will be her land forever.  I think that's why she agreed to my coming here to strengthen the fort."
    "Pierre, I hope her faith is justified.  It looks as if the king has forgotten Acadia.  New France seems to get all his attention.  He spends all the money there.  And very little here."

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