IrAKSLATED FBOM THE I-RENCHJ 
 
 BY 
 
 ^j.J.MURPHY 
 
 m.lFj end, r.Q. 
 IINSTITITTION FOR DKaF MUTES 
 
 • f I 
 
 ♦ ' * V* " ' . , • • * 
 
* ) 
 
 • • t 
 
PREFACE 
 
 ^fN the beginning of the month of February 
 1 886, while I was chaplain at the convent 
 
 
 \ 
 
 of the Sisters of the Good Shepherd, 182 
 Fuilura street, Montreal, a strange gentleman 
 called upon me one day and said : "they tell 
 me, Sir, that you write books." I modestly re- 
 plied that I did so occasionally and he then 
 added : "Well, father, I have been a lost child ; 
 my father was Mr. Hyacinthe Cholet and my 
 native parish was St. Policarpe. When only 
 five years of age I was kidnapped and the 
 early portion of my life was spent upon the 
 sea. I finally managed to desert from my ves- 
 sel and at once started out determined to find 
 my parents ; an effort in which I was not suc- 
 cessful until after ten long years of travel. My 
 life was such an eventful one that I deter- 
 mined to write a short auto -biography. I 
 brought it to a publisher, who, after submitting 
 
 fe977G 
 
 •./at.. 
 
▼1 PR K FACE 
 
 it to a most careful examination, frankly 
 told me that my composition was not worth 
 reading. He however referred me to you, Sir, 
 and I now have come to ask you if you would 
 not kindly touch thi? up a little for me. " The 
 man's candour and simplicity at once struck 
 me most forcibly and, after promising him that 
 I would do what I could, I took his manus- 
 cript and told him to visit me again in three 
 days. 
 
 I saw at a glance that there was enough 
 matter to fill a small book, and what was more 
 that it was altogether original, comprising 
 the most romantic adventures and touching 
 reverses of fortune, something after the style 
 of St. Genevieve of Brabant, but with this dif- 
 ference, that the story of Canon Schmid was 
 merely a fable, while the narration of Mr Cho- 
 jfet was the plain, unvarnished truth. 
 
 Meanwhile, on February 17th, I was ap- 
 pointed curate at He Bizard. The troubles and 
 embarrassements attending my installation, 
 the different occupations which devolved upon 
 me as pastor, the increase in work, generally, 
 which a jubilee year brings on, and the other 
 literary efforts to which I had to put the finish- 
 ing touches had the effect of preventing me 
 
PREFACE VII 
 
 from giving any attention to the manuscript of 
 the lost child, and the result was that it lay in 
 my library untouched. Finally, in the month 
 of November, I managed to devote a little 
 time to the work. At once I saw the sequel 
 fairly swarmed with errors and omissions and 
 what was more that many of the events were 
 not at all well worked in together ; in fact they 
 were the most crude of narratives, such as one 
 will find written by those who have no know- 
 ledge whatever of literary style. At times when, 
 at a loss to find the proper words to express 
 minute details, he almost passed them over, and 
 yet it was in these very details, handled and 
 developped as they were, that there lay all the 
 charm of the work. 
 
 I sent for Mr. Cholet, and he passed ten days 
 with me at my pastoral residence. I question- 
 ed him at very great length ; in fact I fairly 
 puzzled him with questions. He gave an exact 
 account of all the peculiarities and phases of his 
 eventful existence. The errors and omissions 
 were corrected or filled in ; his narratives as- 
 sured a more connected form, his adventures 
 became imbued with new life, and everything^ 
 appeared more simple and pungent as told by 
 himself than they did in his manuscript. Then 
 
VIII PREACE 
 
 I was in a position to stait to \vo?k, being free 
 as to how I should proceed, possessed of a full 
 knowledcre of the facts, and without beintrham- 
 percd coiitiiiually by insolvable problem > or 
 imc»»mplete data. 
 
 In the month of March of this year, 1887, 
 when the work was complete, I asked Mr Cholet 
 to visit me before handin^j over the copy to 
 the printers. With pen in hand I read him 
 the entire volume, correcting any little errors 
 which, ihroiif^h oversight niight have occurred. 
 So I can say that, with the exception of the few 
 foot notes which appear, the book does not 
 contain a single idea which originated in my 
 own brain. The frank and open countenance of 
 the hero of ihis story, his manner so full of sim- 
 plicity, his natural timidity and the correctness 
 with which the different parts of his narrative 
 concided — all these facts combined to dispell 
 any supposition that the man was an im- 
 posler. I visited St. Malo where he said he 
 >pcnt his boyhood days ; I travelled along the 
 Coasts (»f Labrador and the Baie des Chaleurs, 
 where he wandered after his invasion, and on 
 several occasions I subjected him to a more 
 rierid and minute cross-examination on the 
 geographical and topographical features of 
 
PREFACE IX 
 
 these places, but he always came out of the 
 ordeal vvilh honor. 
 
 In the course of the summer, while on a vis- 
 it to the curate of St. Polycarpe, I called upon 
 Mr. and Mrs. Cholet. The father was absent 
 but I was struck by the wonderful resemblance 
 which existed between mother and son in the 
 cast of the features, the complexion of the skin 
 and especially in the tone of the voice. The 
 good woman was convinced that God, in his 
 goodness, had brought her son back to her. 
 "There is not a single one in the family," she 
 said, " who doubts it." Her details and expla- 
 nations both regarding the kidnapping of lit- 
 tle Pierre and his return tallied perfectly with 
 those which I had written in my book. 
 
 I found the certificate of baptism of the child 
 Pierre Cholet, and his age was the same as 
 that which Mr. Cholet to-day gives. Here is 
 the document in full. " This fourth day of Oc- 
 tober, one thousand eight hundred and forty, 
 we the undersigned priest baptized Pierre, 
 born, the twenty eight day of last month, of 
 the legitimate marriage of Hyacinthe Cholet^ 
 farmer of this parish, and Angelique Andre 
 dit St-Amand. god-father, Pierre Andre dit 
 
PREFACE 
 
 St-Amand, god-mother, Justine Cholet, who 
 as well as the father, could not sign. 
 
 T. Brassard, Priest. 
 
 I then wrote a circular letter to a number 
 of well-to-do persons, who resided near Mr. 
 
 liyacinthe Cholet at the time of the kidnapping 
 and who were worthy of confidence. Their ret 
 plies all confirmed the story of our hero. Here 
 are a few of the letters in all their charming 
 simplicity. 
 
 Mr. IIYACINTIIE CiioLET : " I the undersi- 
 gned, Hyacinthe Cholet, father of Pierre 
 Cholet, once a lost child, certify that on the 
 7th of July, 1845, one Friday afternoon, my 
 two sons Pierre and Tous-aint, together with 
 Pierre Doucet, the son of a neighbor of 
 mine, disappeared from home, unknown to 
 me, just after a peddler had passed, who I 
 believe made them some promises. We im- 
 mediatly started to look for them and with 
 ihe aid of the neighbors searched everywhere' 
 Jut without success. The following Sunday Rev. 
 Mr Robert, the then curate at St. Polycarpe,* 
 Dnlysaidalow Mass and recommended all 
 lis parishioners to aid in the search. Over five 
 lundred persons complied with his request and 
 
PREFACE XI 
 
 began to scour the woods. From time to time 
 the old bell, which was utilized to guide us 
 in the forest would ring out its slow doleful tolls 
 to warn us against seperating from one ano- 
 ther. During fifteen consecutive days we kept 
 up a diligent search, pushing our way as far 
 as Beauharnois and Chateauguay but we never 
 met with any better success. Finally we aban- 
 doned all hope of succeeding and became 
 overcome vnth grief. Thirty five years later, 
 in September 1880, Pierre was found. In proof 
 of which I affix my signature. " 
 
 Mme. Antoine Doucet, mother of Pierre 
 Doucet, who was kidnapped when six years 
 of age, at the same time as his cousin, Pierre 
 Cholet. " I certify that my son was lost under 
 the same circumstances, and was looked after 
 with the same diligence as mentioned in the 
 letter of Mr. Hyacinthe Cholet, which has 
 just been read to me. It would be useless for 
 me to attempt to depict to you the grief with 
 which I was afflicted at the time that such a 
 misfortune befell me ; suffice it to say that I 
 remained inconsolable for thirty five years and 
 that I was only comforted when I heard from 
 the lips of Mr. Pierre Cholet how my poor little 
 son died. " 
 
XII PREFACE 
 
 Mr. Isaiah Hamelin : '* I was one of those 
 who made up the party that searched for the 
 lost children. As soon as I was apprized of their 
 dissappearance I started, with their parents, to 
 look for them, and then willing people came 
 from all sides to aid us in our mission. At 
 that time the woods were large but we arran- 
 ged ourselves in line, about five feet apart, 
 and £'-arted through iv. Some of us carried guns 
 which were occasionnally discharged, while 
 others were provided with speaking trumpets. 
 This, augmented by our calls and shouts, ser- 
 ved to create a din, which lasted throughout 
 the day and far into the night, and when it be- 
 came dark, we burned fires at different pla- 
 ces. We scoured the woods from one end to 
 the other, taking our meals at whatever houses 
 we came across, and kept up our steady 
 and diligent search during fifteen days. If my 
 memory serves me right, this occurred forty 
 two years ago. It created such intense and 
 widespread grief at the time that I could never 
 forget it. " 
 
PREFACE XIII 
 
 Mme. Isaiah Hamelin, Sophia Cedilot : 
 " When the little children were lost I wa3 
 stopping with a neighbor of Mr. Hyacinthe 
 Cholet, and saw how they were brought up 
 during the time they lived with their parents. 
 They were missed one afternoon but their 
 mothers thought they had gone to pick berries^ 
 During the day a little peddler came along 
 and Madame Cholet priced some of his goods 
 but did not buy anything. This evidently dis- 
 pleased the peddler as he said to her "I'll make 
 you remember me." At that time the mother 
 did not pay much attention to the absence 
 of her children but when nightfall came 
 and they did not return she became anxious. 
 Mr. Antoine Doucet, father of the boy, Doucet, 
 who disappeared with the two little Cholets, 
 called to me from his house and asked if the 
 children were at my place. Although they 
 were in the iiabit of playing about my residence, 
 they were not there that afternoon and I 
 answered him in the negative. Inquires were 
 then made among the different neii^hbors but 
 no one had seen the children. I\Ir. Antoine 
 Doucet even went to the residence of his bro- 
 ther, Pierre Doucet, at Riviere a Dclile, think- 
 ing that they might have wandered thither 
 
XIV PREFACE 
 
 but he returned alone. The two mothers then 
 burst into tears and wept bitterly. We started 
 out in company with the other neighbors and 
 began a search for the little ones. Later on the 
 same evening my father returned from the lake 
 and said to us when he entered : " I don't know 
 "what's up on the hillside ; every one is running 
 about bareheaded crying out about something.** 
 We then told him about the children being 
 lost. " 
 
 Mr. Honors Lauzon : I, the undersigned, 
 certify that on the recommendation of Rev. 
 Mr Roux, curate of St. Joseph des Cedres, I 
 left there for the parish of St. Polycarpe, which 
 was then quite small, to aid in the search for 
 the three children who had been lost, viz : 
 Pierre Cholet, Toussaint Cholet and Pierre 
 Doucet ; that was in the month of July 1845. ** 
 
 Mr. AUGUSTIN BALANCER : I certify that I 
 assisted in the search for the children ; I heard 
 the bell ringing the alarm of distress and can 
 remember that the band of searchers, of which 
 I formed part, comprised no less than two hun- 
 dred men. The last time that I saw the chil- 
 dren, the day they disappeared, they were all 
 
PREFACE XT 
 
 three on the roadside passing the time making 
 mud pies. Mr. Pierre Giroux was with me. 
 
 Mr. Rodger Duckett, postmaster of Co- 
 teau-Station : " I remember very well that, in 
 1845, three children named Cholet and Dou- 
 cet Were lost at Cote de Ste. Marie, St. Pr 'y- 
 carpe parish ; that I heard the bell of the parish 
 church ringing, undoubtly to summon every- 
 body to aid in the search ; and that my fa- 
 ther sent his men to form part of the search 
 party. " 
 
 Mr Antoine Giroux : "I am an old inhab- 
 itant, who have never left the place, dnd am 
 the fourth neighbor of Mr. Hyacinthe Cholet. 
 When the children were lost we began search- 
 ing on the south side of the hill, coming a- 
 round later to the north side. More than four 
 hundred persons marching in line at a di-.tance 
 from each other of about four feet conducted 
 the search for more than fifteen days." 
 
 But these will suffice for such quotations. I 
 could multiply them almost without limit:. 
 From what precedes, however, it is to be con- 
 cluded, I believe, that this story is not mere fic- 
 tion nor a simple tale, nor even what we might 
 call an historical romance but plainly and un- 
 
XVI 
 
 PREACE 
 
 controvertlbly an exact recital of real events, 
 without coloring or dissimulation. I scrupu- 
 lously obtained from either adding to, or de- 
 tracting from, the naked truth, having no de- 
 sire to appeal to the emotions of an over-exci- 
 table imagination, and feeling fully convinced 
 that the simple statement of these sad adven- 
 tures would prove sufficent to appeal to and 
 touch all hearts. 
 
 I have even left the words of the hero, him- 
 self, contenting myself simply with develo- 
 ping the facts and assuring myself that the 
 phraseology v^ras grammatically correct. I 
 even deemed it proper to let him retain 
 throughout his tale several French Canadian 
 expressions and I hope, kind reader, that you 
 will not feel displeased with me for not havino* 
 deprived the narrative of that local color 
 which designates its emanation from the Laur- 
 entian hills. Yet for the benefit of those 
 strangers who will not be able to seize the 
 meaning of such words I have given in a se- 
 ries of short foot notes the explanation or 
 'Origin of such expressions. 
 
 Dear reader, be indulgent with me ; for 
 your recreation I have frequently worked far 
 into the night, and if you find any errors in 
 
PREFACE XVII 
 
 these pages do not be too severe on me. It (s 
 an author's desire to make all corrections as the 
 leaves of his book come from the printers, but 
 when my book will be printed I will be far Lway 
 from here, traversing, in company with Mgr. 
 Lornin, the wild forests between the province 
 of Quebec and Hudson's Bay. 
 
 Given at St. Raphael of I'Isle Bizard, this 
 24th day of May 1887, Jubilee year of Queen 
 Victoria, and feast day even more solemn of 
 Mary, Queen of angels and of men. Auxilium 
 christiaiiorunit ora pro nobis, 
 
 I. B. PROULX. Priest 
 
PIERRE CHOLET 
 
 <m 
 
 THE RECOVERED KIDNAPPED CHILD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HOW I WAS TAKEN AWAY, 
 
 § I 
 AT BOHE. 
 
 'Y name is Pierre Cholet. I was born 
 in 1840. My father's name was 
 Hyacinthe Cholet and my mother's 
 Marie St-Amand. 
 
 I first saw the Hght of day on St. Ma- 
 ry hills, St. Polycanpe, Soulang-es County. 
 Our house was situated aboutaleaeue from 
 the church and was the second from the 
 
a THE RECOVERED 
 
 3chool-house. I was kidnapped at the ago 
 of five years or rather, to be more precise, 
 when I was just four years, nine months 
 and ten days old, together with my little 
 brother,Toussaint, aged a little over three 
 years, and a little cousin, Pierre Doucet, 
 aged six years. I thought so frequently, 
 when in strange lands, of my kidnapping 
 that I can remember all the details the 
 same as if it occurred only yesterday. 
 
 It happened during the summer, on 
 July 7th. 1845, according to what I have 
 since been told. About ten o'clock, after 
 returning from the raspberry bushes, my 
 brother and I entered the house and ask- 
 ed mama, who was rushing in and out of 
 the house, all intent on business, for a piece 
 of bread and butter. She told me to 
 wait a minute but, I continued asking for 
 it in a whining sort of a way. She then gave 
 me a little slap, saying, " Clear out of this, 
 you little brat." I got angry and pulling off 
 my little frock coat threw it on the ground. ( 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 
 
 «« 
 
 All right " I replied, '* I will go and 
 never come back again '* Q. 
 
 AHONQ THE BEBBT BUSHES; 
 
 f looked out of the window to see if I could 
 not get a glimpse of my cousin, who 
 lived on the other side of the road, and as I 
 did so he just came out of the house. I join- 
 ed him quickly and soon my little brother, 
 Toussaint, came running after us crying 
 out, " Wait for me, wait for me." We stop- 
 ped and when he came up to us we noticed 
 that he had a piece of bread and butter, 
 
 (1) It is not altogether useless to rerall this little incident. 
 Madame Cholet, as fivfjuently haiipens wilh all teiuU'r heart- 
 ted nioth«i-s, after her child was kiduappcd, severerly re- 
 proaclied herself for adniiiiisterinpf thiit little flap, wliich 
 brought abwut the loss other kou- She spoke to no one of this 
 little incident, but concealed her anr;uisli within her owa 
 breast, and when, thirty five years afteiwiirils, Pierre retur- 
 ned and he, himself, reniembeied the event it was for her a 
 strong proof of his ideutity. If lie had not been her son, how 
 could he have found out this cucuuistuiice which ake li<ul 
 80 carefully concealed herself. I 
 
THE RECOVERED 
 
 which he divided with us. We then started 
 out, following at first the main road, to 
 look for berries on the ground of the 
 second neighbor of Mr. Doucet. We kept 
 close to the fence along the line which 
 leads, toward the west, in the direction of 
 the land around Riviere-i-Delile. At that 
 time the lands of the parish were not 
 as extensively tilled as they are to-day, 
 for, not very far from the houses, could be 
 seen bushes and brambles and the black- 
 ened and half burned stumps of felled 
 trees. We amused ourselves for a long 
 time, on the borders of a creek, cutting 
 down cat-tails, when suddenly we saw a 
 man approaching, carrying a bag upon 
 his back. Thoroughly frightened we want- 
 ed to run away, but he cried out to us to 
 stop. " What are you doing there, my 
 little fellows," he said ? " We are playing, 
 sir." " Well come here," he added, " and 
 I will show you some pretty playthings." 
 We looked at one another first in astonish- 
 ment and then with fear, but suddenly 
 
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 ^ 
 
 C 
 
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 C 
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 /- 
 
 t 
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KIDNAPPED CHILD 
 
 plucked up courage enough to say to our- 
 sel/es :" Let usgo and see that box he 
 'has on his back. " The man put his bag 
 upon the ground and allowed us to exa- 
 mine all the toys. Finally he said " Come 
 to my wagon and I will show you some- 
 thing even more pretty." We walked a 
 good distance, Pierre Doucet and I, hand- 
 in-hand, and feeling happy, while litde 
 Toussaint, who had considerable difficul- 
 ty in following us, was crying bitterly. 
 
 The wagon was surmounted by a large 
 box after the style of bakers* and ped- 
 dlers' carts. In front of the box, just behind 
 the horse, sat an old woman and a litde girl 
 about six years of age. " Get inside," the 
 little peddler said to us, ''and I will bring 
 you to your parents " We had no desire 
 to do this and began to cry but he caught 
 hold of us and lifted us into the wagon. 
 After a while Pierre Doucet said : " Our 
 house seems a long way off." "Yes, yes/* 
 replied the peddler, "but we are getting 
 near there now. Are you going to sleep }'* 
 
^ THE RECOVERED 
 
 " No," said Pierre, " We want to get out, 
 put us on the ground." Toussaint, mean- 
 while, was almost crying his eyes out. 
 The peddler became enraged ; he stopped 
 his horse abrupdy and swearing like an 
 unchained devil hustled us into the large 
 box, which contained old iron and rao-s. 
 Then he whipped up his horse, which 
 started off at a rapid gait, the sudden 
 shock causing our heads to strick hardly 
 against the side of the box. Almost im- 
 mediately afterwards Toussaint fell asleep 
 but Pierre and I did nothing but cry all 
 the way. 
 
 Who was it that kidnapped us ? In 
 the morning a peddler had passed our 
 way with a wagon something after the 
 style which I have described. Mrs. Dou- 
 cet,mother of Pierre, who was at our house, 
 caused him to unroll some of his mer~ 
 chandise and then told him she did not 
 want anything at all. He became offended 
 but the women only laughed at him. Then 
 he said " You will remember me before 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 7 
 
 night." Could it be possible that, seeing 
 us playing about the house, he decided 
 to choose us for his victims and the tools 
 with which to revenge himself ? It is very 
 probable (^). 
 
 Had we been kidnapped on St. Mary 
 hill, where our parents resided, or had we, 
 while amusing ourselves, followed the 
 fence along the road as much as the length 
 of two properties, about six acres, to the 
 side of the Riviere-a-Delisle ? What time 
 of the day was it when the little peddler 
 enticed us to his wagon ? These are so ma- 
 ny questions for which my indistinct me- 
 mory can find no answers. All that I can 
 say is that we were a pretty long time 
 away from home and that we had 
 walked a good distance. 
 
 § m 
 
 ON AN ISIiAND* 
 
 E travelled for the rest of the day 
 and all night without stopping. At day 
 
 (1) See the letters of Mr. Hyacinthe Cholet and Madam© 
 Isaie Hamelin in the preface. 
 
8 THE RECOVERED 
 
 break we came to a hait and got out on a 
 desert shore and were terribly hungry. 
 The peddler placed me in a canoe saying : 
 *'Keep very quiet until I go to the wagon 
 to get your litde companions." Little Dou- 
 cet cried out to me "Pierre, Pierre, where 
 are you ? " Between my sobs I ans- 
 wered, "Oh! where are our parents ?" The 
 little peddler then said to us, menacingly • 
 "Shut up, you, shut up at once. " This 
 only made Doucet cry out more loudly 
 and the peddler hit him on the head say- 
 ing : " Keep quiet, that is enough of cry- 
 ing for nothing. " Pierre kept quiet for a 
 moment and I said to my little brother : 
 "Don't cry, for if you do the man will beat 
 you. " He stopped but he snuffled a great 
 deal. The three of us were lying in the 
 bottom of the boat, the woman and 
 the little girl were squatted in the 
 bow and the man himself in the 
 stern. He said to us: "Console yourselves, 
 you will soon be with your parents " " Are 
 we going home ? " asked little Doucet. 
 " Yes, you are going home, " returned 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 9 
 
 the peddler. ** It Is a very long way off" 
 I added. And I lifted my head just the 
 least bit to look. As I did so, however, the 
 peddler yelled at me in an enraged tone : 
 ** Hide yourself. " We landed on an island, 
 not a very large one, and the side we were 
 on was covered with bushes, bulrushes 
 and tall weeds. We remained here three 
 days, under a tent, with the old woman 
 and little girl, the man being absent all 
 that time. We slept at nights under buffalo 
 robes. The woman did the cooking in the 
 open air on a temporary stove made of 
 stones, while we, totally forgetful of our 
 misfortune, amused ourselves by gathe- 
 ring wood to keep the fire going. I often 
 ask myself now where that island could 
 have been situated. Was it at the foot of 
 Lachine Rapids, or was it at the foot of 
 the island of Montreal on the way to Bou- 
 cherville ? Inour uninterrupted journey of 
 a day and a night we could have easily 
 reached either one or the other place. All 
 that I can remember is that it was not lar- 
 ge, that it was without any tall trees and 
 
10 THE RECOVERED 
 
 that the main land was a good distance 
 away 
 
 §IV 
 
 ABOABD AN OCEAN STEASIEB. 
 
 •HEN the peddler returned, it was dark. 
 W& He put us in a canoe and we crossed 
 to a sandy shore where we got out, 
 leaving- the woman and little girl behind. 
 We wanted to amuse ourselves by ga- 
 thering shells, but he rudely prevented 
 us. He put Toussaint on his shoulders 
 and took Pierre Doucet and myself by 
 the hand. Doucet began to cry and the 
 peddler halted abruptly : " Are you 
 going to stop your crying, yes or no ? " 
 he asked. Pierre stopped for two or three 
 minutes but then broke out again even 
 worse than before. " Either you'll stop 
 your crying," said the peddler, " or you'll 
 get something to cry for." So saying he 
 put Toussaint on the ground and secur- 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 11 
 
 Ing a switch, gave Pierre three or four 
 sound cracks across the shoulders saying : 
 " Now you will shut up, you good for 
 nothing little brat ? " 
 
 The peddler then brought us to a hou- 
 se where there was only a woman, and 
 we slept there two nights. She gave us 
 supper, but Pierre only took a mouthful ; 
 he said he was sick. It was not so with 
 my brother and I ; we had good appe- 
 tites and besides we were younger and 
 did not think so much, as did our little 
 cousin, of our misfortune. 
 
 The following morning the peddler, 
 in company with two big tall men, came 
 to see us. They examined us without 
 speaking and we were afraid of them. 
 They returned the same evening and put 
 on each of us a blue suit. The little ped- 
 dler told us to henceforth follow the two 
 strangers. He had sold us and was hand- 
 ing over his merchandise. These two 
 men brought us to a boat, which con- 
 tained five sailors. It was as dark as 
 pitch and it was raining in torrents. 
 
12 THE RECOVERED 
 
 After navigating about for a good length 
 of time we boarded a large vessel on 
 which there were about fifty men. 
 
 The captain was very old and his beard 
 was silvery grey. He let us rest ourselves 
 in his cabin and questioned us at great 
 length about our fathers, mothers and 
 other relatives. Little Doucet began 
 crying and he said to him : " Don't cry, 
 little lad, I am going to give you some 
 candies and apples." Pierre kept quiet 
 for the rest of the night. 
 
 The son of the captain, who was se- 
 cond in command, asked us our names. 
 He then said to Pierre Doucet : " Hence- 
 forth you shall call yourself Pierre Ma- 
 rin"; to me: "You shall call yourself, 
 Louis Marin," and to Toussaint : " You 
 shall call yourself Toussaint Marin." I 
 will remember this circumstance, when 
 they gave us new names under which we 
 were known afterwards. We forgot our 
 real names and it was only several years 
 later that I found out I was called Cho- 
 let, and my little cousin, Doucet. 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD lt> 
 
 §v. 
 
 FRUITLESS SEARCHES. 
 
 §UT let us return for a moment to the 
 parental domicile and consider what 
 was going on there. These details, how- 
 ever,as can easily be imagined, I only beca- 
 me acquainted with on my return to St. 
 Polycarpe, w^here 1 found my parents. 
 Our mothers only became aware of our 
 disappearance late in the afternoon and 
 their first move was to rush around to 
 the neighbors' houses, expecting to find 
 us in some one of them, but they were 
 * naturally astonished when they met with 
 disappointment. Some of them had no 
 information whatever to give concerning 
 us, while others could only say that they 
 had seen us on the road side, amusing 
 ourselves in making little mud pies/Thc 
 father of Pierre Doucet, about sunset, 
 
 2 
 
14 THE RECOVERED 
 
 proceeded to his fathers residence at 
 Rivi^re-a-Delisle, thinking that we might 
 have wandered off that distance, but he 
 returned discouraged. The two bereaved 
 families, with the assistance of some of 
 their neighbors, lost no time in organizing 
 search parties and the woods were scour- 
 ed in expectation of finding us. The night 
 passed and all the following day, which 
 was Saturday, but although they searched 
 assidously and cried out our names 
 continuously, their labors proved fruitless. 
 The next day, Sunday, the curate of 
 St. Polycarpe, Rev. Mr. Robert, only 
 said a low mass, and announced from the 
 pulpit that there would be no vespers ; 
 but he exhorted his congregation to join 
 with the afflicted parents in their search 
 for us. Rev. Mr. Roux, of The Cedars, 
 instructed his parishioners likewise. Hun- 
 dreds of persons assembled on St. Mary 
 hill. At first they traversed the fields and 
 woods, which extended to the south of 
 the concession on the shore of Riviere-^- 
 Delisle, and then the lands to the north 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 16 
 
 in the vicinity of the domain (i) of Mr. 
 de Beaujeu. 
 
 The party advanced in one extended 
 line, after the style of an army drawn up 
 for battle, only each man was about four 
 or five feet from his neighbor, so that no 
 path might be passed unnoticed, no quiet 
 retreat not visited and no thicket not tho- 
 roughly searched. The church bell was 
 kept ringing continuously to guide the 
 little children if they were still alive and 
 to prevent the searching party from 
 losing themselves in the forest, which 
 at that time was very dense. Some dis- 
 charged fire-arms, others utilized horns, 
 and the echo of this continual din could be 
 heard from one end of the parish to the 
 othei These searches were kept up in 
 this way for fifteen days and were even 
 pushed into the neighboring parishes. At 
 first they were anxious to find us alive, 
 but when this hope was dashed to the 
 ground, they would have been glad 
 
 (1) The term "domain" is used to designate that part 
 of a seigQory occupied by the seigneur himself. 
 
IG THE RECOVERED 
 
 enouc^h to have come across our cold 
 remains in order to inter them in conse- 
 crated ground and thus put an end to 
 that uncertainty and unrest which afflict- 
 ed our parents. Our mothers, especially, 
 were inconsolable. " If they had only 
 drawn their last breath in their beds," 
 they used to say. " we could the more 
 easily submit to the will of God. Alas 1 
 did they die after great suffering ? Were 
 they devoured by wolves or did they 
 become food f<T birds of prey. Oh, cruel 
 incertitude wh :h is slowly breaking our 
 hearts ! . . " 
 
 It was for them a pang which they 
 could never entirely efface from their 
 memories. Long years afterwards, when, 
 the only one < f the three lost children, I 
 returned to niy native place I found that 
 the wound siill remained unhealed in the 
 bottom of iheir hearts (i). 
 
 (1) For further details s"y in the Preface, the letters of 
 Mesdanies H. ( liolet, I. liaiuelin, K. Duquette, A. Belan- 
 ger, A. Giroux, II. Lauzou, also those of Messrs. P. Doucet^ 
 audi- Ilaineliii. 
 
KID^•APPEP CHILD 17 
 
 § VI 
 
 ▲ TBTP OVER TOE OOBAW. 
 
 EANWHiLE we wcre on our way to 
 France. In all probability we remain- 
 for a few weeks in the gulf of St- Law- 
 ranee, where our vessel had interests in 
 connection with the fisheries. 
 
 My little brother and I liad become 
 more gay, being totally ignorant of the 
 greatness of our misfortune. Little Dou- 
 cet did not care to eat and soon became 
 seriously ill. He lingered for several 
 days in his hammock and then after a 
 short but painful sickness he expired. 
 When he was dead, the Captain's son 
 said to us " Come and see us throw your 
 little friend into the sea." They placed his 
 body on a long plank, from which they 
 launched him into the briny waves, and 
 Pierre Doucet disappeared forever from 
 
18 THE RECOVERED 
 
 view. I was holding foussaint by the 
 hand and I began to cry. "Shut up," said 
 Captain's son to us, " for we will do the 
 same thing with you. " The Captain 
 called us into his cabin and gave us all 
 the cakes and candies we wanted. His 
 object was to console us in our loss and 
 children of five years of age can become 
 quickly reconciled. I forgot for the time 
 my little friend, but some years later 
 when my intelligence was more deve- 
 loped his image loomed up in my dreams 
 and I recrretted his loss. How I would 
 gladly share with him to-day my good 
 fortune ! The old Captain heaped toys 
 and weeties upon us and amused him- 
 self with us. He was a kind father to us, 
 but his son was no counterpart of him, 
 and was in the habit of slapping us and 
 pulling our ears when his father was sa- 
 leep. One day while he was thus abusing 
 us his father said to him : " Stop that, 
 what harm have they one you .'* " 
 "They are disturbing every thing on the 
 bridge," the son replied, but the father 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 19 
 
 simply said : " they are only doing just 
 as vou did when a little child. " 
 
 The good old Captain fell sick in his 
 turn and the news soon spread that he 
 could not live long. Every body on board 
 ship was astonished and all the sailors 
 spoke only in whispers. He sent for his 
 son and said to him : " God calls me to him; 
 take good care of these two little boys 
 and do not abuse them." 
 
 He called me to his side. " Louis, said 
 he, I have something to tell you, I sup- 
 pose you are aware that I am not your 
 father, but if you are not I will tell you, 
 because you can understand better than 
 your little brother. It was some men 
 whom I do not know,who kidnapped you. 
 They brought you to me and sold you. I 
 have often pitied you both. I trust that 
 God will not punish me too severely for 
 that action, for the robbery was not mine. 
 Come closer to me, dear Louis, that I 
 may kiss you. Love your brother well ; 
 heed my son, and be a good boy. Come 
 and kiss me, you too, Toussaint. He 
 
20 THE RECOVERED 
 
 then began crying and we wept alscx 
 Some days afterwards the Captain died 
 and we brought his remains to St. Malo, 
 where he formerly resided. We regretted 
 his loss very much, for he had been very 
 kind and tender to us, litde orphans. 
 May God have mercy on his soul. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOW THE YEARS OF MY CAPTIVITy 
 WERE PASSED. 
 
 §1 
 
 MY EDUCATION. 
 
 ^ITY brothenand I spent our boyhood 
 1 1 days at St. Malo under the care of an 
 ;|>elderly irentleman named Cottin. He 
 was brother of the Captain who died at sea, 
 as also uncle of the first mate ; which 
 latter became Captain in the place of his 
 father. liis house stood opposite the 
 dock a little outside the city. We 
 
22 THE RECpVEREr/ 
 
 remained with him for a space of eight or 
 nine years during which time he treated 
 us in a very kind manner, though his aged 
 spouse was an extremely cross old lady. 
 
 His occupation consisted in teaching 
 twenty small boys. Seven or eight of 
 those belonged, as did ourselves, to the 
 company and were lodged in his house ; 
 the others consisting of the sons of offi- 
 cers on board remained outside joining 
 us during class hours only. We were clo- 
 sely watched ; not being allowed to cross 
 the limits of the playground, except for the 
 purpose of visiting the vessels when they 
 happened to be in port. It frequently oc- 
 curred that we dined and slept on board. 
 But twice only during the space of eight 
 years did I chance to enter the city, and 
 then under the supervisor of old Cottin. 
 Now and then the Captain would come to 
 see us and make inquires concerning our 
 health and progress. 
 
 The school curriculum comprised, in 
 addition to readin<i^, a certain amount of 
 spelling, arithmetic, geography and our 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 2S 
 
 catechism. I received my first Commu- 
 nion on board one of the Company's stea- 
 mers from the hands of the Rev. Mr. Ar- 
 pin, the Chaplain on board. Occasionnally 
 we went to hear mass on the ship's deck, 
 but never within the city churches. We 
 were Httle prisonners in all the force 
 of the term. Our abduction from home 
 was a thing already known to us. 
 Certain remarks now and then falling- 
 from our guardians pointed to Canada as 
 the residence of our parents ; but neither 
 then nor later did we dare speak about 
 the subject to the Captain, well aware 
 that it would be most unwelcome. 
 
 SII 
 
 SHIPRECKED FOR THE FIRST TISIE. 
 
 my 
 
 hen I was between fourteen and fif^ 
 iJW teen years of at^^e and mv brothei 
 between thirteen and fourteen we sel 
 out upon length voyages encountering. 
 
2-1 THE RECOVERED 
 
 much hardship therein. Seafaring was a 
 more difficult task for my brother than 
 for me for he was not endowed with as 
 much strength as I and was less accus- 
 tomed to hard knocks ; for, be it known, 
 that In the first days of our navigation we 
 received more blows than bread. Clea- 
 ning knives, washing dishes, sweeping 
 the deck, blacking boots and climbing 
 the rigging filled up our daily round of 
 duty. We shed tears enough than the 
 Company possessed a great number of 
 ships which it was accustomed to rent ; 
 some to the government for transportation 
 of troops, others to merchants for the con- 
 veyance of their goods, while others \vere 
 destined to companies interested in cod 
 fishing. Ours, laden with provisiDus and 
 fishing nets was commissioned to protect 
 tlie French fishing stations ne;ir the bank 
 of New-Foundland by keeping out of 
 French water AnKricr'/. ssels and those 
 of Nova Scotia r,:..i ;)-. vent them from 
 taking capela:i iis' n K.r bait. We set sail 
 amid the sh'jjts cf applause on shore and 
 
;--. -I-.-- w- 
 
 A sailor cried out to Toussaint : " Make haste ! make 
 haste ! " (page 25). 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 25 
 
 the roaring of cannon on board. This was 
 on the first of April. Towards the 1 7th we 
 were wrecked a short distance from Pic- 
 tou during a violent gale from the south- 
 west and a heavy snow storm. The Cap- 
 tain summoning all the crew ordered them 
 to lower the sails with despatch. But his 
 words come too late, for already the ship 
 was upon the rocks, the beams bursting 
 in every quarter. He called upon the 
 saints to protect his cargo. On every side 
 was heard the cry : " we are lost, we are 
 lost. " Many betook themselves to the 
 water as girdled "with life preservers. 
 
 In an instant the five jolly boats are 
 lowered. The first ready to start with 
 twelve men is submerged by an advan- 
 cing wave and all are lost. The captain cries 
 out for me to enter his boat. A sailor was 
 obliged to warn Toussaint three times to 
 make haste and then the poor fellow drop- 
 ped himself into the craft loudly bewail- 
 ing. Mountains of waves were rollino- a- 
 bout, we rowed with all our might. When 
 about three acres from land we were lift- 
 
26 THE RECOVERED 
 
 ed upon the crest of a long wave which 
 at one bound broug^ht us upon the shore, 
 if umping upon the sands up to the waist 
 in water we mrnay;ed to push our 
 boat upon the shore. Thanks to God 
 the others also were saved. There we 
 were shivering- upon a lonely shore for 
 from any place of habitation. 
 
 The crew numbered fifty five men, for- 
 ty three had escaped ; twelve bodies lltsat- 
 ing into the shore were all that remained 
 of the others. With heavy hearts we ga- 
 thered the remains of our unhappy com- 
 rades. They were deformed beyond re- 
 coenition and their bodies torn to shreds 
 by cruel sliarp pointed rocks. They form- 
 ed a sad sight indeed to behoH. We had 
 much difficulty in preparing their graves, 
 having no other means of dio^crincrthan our 
 hands and a sharp pointed stick. We we- 
 re penatrated with cold and our hearts 
 bursting with grief. 
 
 This painful duty terminated, our kind 
 captain suggested that we should endea- 
 vor to get sight of some vessels that 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 27 
 
 might perchance appear in the neighbor- 
 hood. As eight men were to enter a 
 boat we perceived a vessel veering a 
 point out in the distance. " Make haste, 
 make haste, " exclaimed the captain, 
 "Strain every muscle to reach it. " Signals 
 were hoisted and soon answered by the 
 ships steaming towards us. On approa- 
 ching the captain begged a passage for 
 himself and his crew addingr that we had 
 been shiprecked during that morning's 
 storm and cast ashore without any relief 
 whatever. Captain Duquet, (such was 
 his name) was easily persuaded to take 
 us on boaf d but announced that Beinof short 
 of provisions he would be compelled to 
 put us on short rations. During the nine 
 days we remained upon his vessel, our 
 diet was limited to a few ounces of salt 
 beef in the evening, but we were kindly 
 treated otherwise. Captain Duquet belon- 
 ged to Quebec. 
 
 The followin^g year, whilston his way 
 to Brazil with a consignment of codfish 
 his ship went down with all on board. 
 
28 THE RECOVERED 
 
 May God reward him for hi skindnesi 
 to us. 
 
 Ten days later in mid-ocean we met 
 an English vessel bound for Boston. We 
 went on board the ship where surroun- 
 ded with an aboundance of everything 
 we feasted like kings. On landing at 
 St. John, Newfoundland, we took a 
 French vessel for St. Malo. As you may 
 easily perceive my first voyage was far 
 from being an excursion of pleasure. It 
 was, however, but the forecast of a still 
 more gloomy future. 
 
 § III 
 
 HT irUlIEROITS SUBSEaUEITT TOTAGCS. 
 
 lAPTAiN Cottin entered Toussaint as a 
 boarder in a school in the city of St. 
 Malo. As yet he was too weak to bear 
 the drudgery of a seaman's life and was 
 morever disposed to be sickly. Though 
 not very stoudy built I stood five feet ten 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 29 
 
 inches ; Toussaint without being as tall 
 was more thickly set than I. He remained 
 three years at college and left with a very 
 good education. 
 
 I was obliged, however, to embark 
 for China. I was ever following in the 
 steps of Captain Cottin, now attaching 
 self to one of the Company's vessels, now 
 to another and the rest of the crew did 
 likewise. This time we had a cargo of 
 dry goods and liquor for the Chinese and 
 were to bring back a consignment of tea. 
 My thoughts were ever reverting to Tous- 
 saint, the inseparable companion of my 
 youth. On retiring late at night I was 
 accustomed to shed a tear over the hap- 
 piness we once enjoyed together. Now 
 each moment was filled with toil ; I was 
 obliged to take part in gun exercise 
 with the other sailors, was a boatman, 
 and in the event of a serious assault was 
 sure to be engaged. 
 
 During the ten years I was under Cap- 
 tain Cottin, I made many a voyage. I 
 sailed to Jamaica with liour brinoin'^ back 
 
30 THE RECOVERED 
 
 sugar and molasses, to the banks of PJew- 
 Foundland and Labrador to protect tho 
 French fishing stations, to Boston and 
 Portland U. S., to Liverpool, Eng., to 
 Bordeaux and La Rochelle France. 
 
 §iy 
 
 SniPBECKED FOR THE SECOND TIME 
 
 In the autumn of 1869 we embarked at 
 i St. Pierre Miquelon for Quebec on a 
 
 vessel laden with fish. In addition to 
 
 Captain Cottin there were thirteen sailors 
 
 on board. At Bic we took a pilot and as 
 
 the wind was favorable we spread all our 
 
 can vass. It might have been seven o'clock 
 
 in the evening, the neset nurning we cast 
 
 anchor in front of the Quai des Indes. 
 
 As the season was advanced we made 
 
 haste to discharge our cargo and reload 
 
 with sawn timber, boards and planks. 
 
 We set sail on All Saints Day. How near 
 
 had I drawn to my home and was now 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 31 
 
 leavings without any hope of returning ! ■ 
 Toiissaint and I entertained a vague no- 
 tion that our parents resided somewhere 
 in the neighborhood and this thought fill- 
 ed us with sadness. 
 
 A breeze was blowing from the South- 
 West, the shipyards stretched every inch 
 of sail and our journey continued plea- 
 sant till we reached the spot where the 
 pilot was sent ashore. 
 
 Three days later the wind veered 
 south accompanied* by a violei^^t snow 
 storm. It was impossible to rour.l the 
 south of New-Foudland, and in i-:\ te of 
 ourselves we ere compelled to ente. •• -w 
 Straits of Belle Isle. The more it i . :vv' 
 the faster fell the snow. OnV -i ..iiciht 
 portion of our sail was set. One ri'.nfr^ 
 the Captain ordered the. first irW v 
 steer for the Cape. T:at night \vas a 
 sleepless one for us. Next day a foot o 
 snow covered the deck and the rigglni^. 
 stitt and :r.nc::.!:Ie was encased in an inch 
 of ice ; what a difficult task it was to car- 
 ry out our duty under those circumstan- 
 
32 THE RECOVERED 
 
 ces ! About four in the afternoon the 
 wind changed to south west. The Cap- 
 tain was pacing- the stem, with hands 
 thrust in his pockets anxiously scanning 
 the horizon. " The day is closing " he ex- 
 claimed, " night is coming on, the current 
 is against us, I have lost my way and our 
 compasses are all deranged. If the good 
 Virgin would favor us with the presence 
 of the sun but for one hour, we could esca- 
 pe all danger ; butit is not to be, the 
 stormis master, what will become of 
 us " Howcould we escape discourage- 
 ment ? 
 
 Toussaint was seated on the ore part 
 of the vessel on the lookout. Suddenly 
 he exclaims " Right near I see a dark ob- 
 ject " pushing up the first mate, cries out 
 " a reef !a reef! " the Captain follows dis- 
 tracted. " Alas, my fears have proved 
 true " were the words elicited from him by 
 the scene. 
 
 In another moment the vessel mounts 
 upon a large rock, splits in two, is half 
 filled with water and becomes firmly fixed. 
 

KIDNAPPED CHILD 33 
 
 The rock upon which we had stranded 
 was several acres in area. With much 
 difficulty we saved one of our boats. The 
 hour might have been midnight. Dense 
 flakes of snow were falling and the waves 
 continued to roll about like hills. The 
 Captain decided to withold till daybreak 
 any attempt to go ashore. We spent a 
 cheerless night trembling beneath the 
 cold and with the sleet beating against 
 our force. 
 
 Next morning the snow was still 
 descending but the wind had almost cea- 
 sed and the sea was becoming more calm. 
 The first mate set out with nine sailors 
 for the hore which could be seen eight or 
 nine miles away ; the boat had been filled 
 to its utmost. Two of us remained on 
 board namely, the captain, my brother and 
 I together with two others, Asselin and 
 Santerre. " As soon as you reach a place 
 of habitation, send us relief" — " we will, 
 good day." — '* A pleasant journey toyou 
 and good luck ! " Such were the words in- 
 terchanged as they were departing. The 
 
34 THE RECOVERED 
 
 farewell was a sad ha ; we one thought 
 we should never meet again. 
 
 An hour later the wind changed to 
 north east with great violence. The 
 ocean became one mass of foam and the 
 snow fell so densely that our view was 
 limited to about three feet. Every mo- 
 ment we looked to see if our comrades 
 had not tumed back. The day goes on 
 and night spends itself without any sign 
 of them. The captain sunk in gloom began 
 to weep and his exemple was followed 
 by us. It was indeed for from pleasant. 
 
 The dawn brought with it beautiful 
 weather, a calm sea and a brilliant sun; 
 there was nothing to obstruct the view 
 as for as the eye could see. But during 
 the whole day no one returned. *' Alas, said 
 the captain, " it is all over for the rest of 
 the crew, we can do nothing but pray for 
 the repose of their souls. " They must 
 have all perished, for no tidings have ever 
 been heard of them. " " They are very 
 lucky " rejoined Toussaint. " They are 
 better off than we. God has withdrawn 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 86 
 
 them from the world ; would that he had 
 done the same by us." — " You should not 
 speak thus " returned the Captain. " God 
 knows best what is to be done ; if he 
 has sent this shipreck as a punishment, 
 let us endeavor by our resignation to ap- 
 pease his anger. May His holy will be 
 done ! " " But what is to become of us 
 here ? How are we to spend the winter 
 upon this rock ?" asked another. " Des- 
 pair will not better our case. Though 
 we were to pull every hair out of our 
 heads what good would follow. Let us 
 take courage and trust in Providence." 
 counselled another. 
 
 §V. 
 
 A WINTER SPKNT UPON A BOOK. 
 
 [e spent the winter on the vessel, 
 the ice had formed around its sides 
 and firmly attaching it to the rock 
 rendered it as solid as a bridge. The 
 
86 THE RECOVERED 
 
 water which had gained entrance became 
 congealed here and there without having 
 reached the cabin astern where we took 
 shelter from the violence of the winds. 
 All our provisions consisted of a barrel 
 of dry flour, not the most delicate dish, 
 I assure you ; while for drink we had 
 only the snows of heaven, without the 
 luxury of a melting pan. We had neither 
 matches, flint, stone or brick, and as a 
 result we were compelled to remain in 
 bed, being unable to start a fire. At 
 times the numbness in our limb? forced 
 us to go on deck to take a little exercise 
 and put our blood in circulation. Like a 
 vast desert the sea surrounded us on 
 three sides while a long blue line to the 
 north marked out the Labrador coast. 
 Three times during this sad winter the 
 tempest raged with fury, cracking the 
 already frail woodwork of our vessel 
 and threatening to SAveep away the rock 
 and island of ice, which had formed 
 around us. At first we were very melan- 
 choly and taciturn but gradually becom- 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 37 
 
 ing accustomed to our miserable lot, we 
 chatted from under the bedclothes and 
 at times a laugh would break the mono- 
 tony of our terrible situation. To what 
 condition of things can not man accustom 
 himself ? 
 
 Hunger and cold carried off Asselin 
 in January, and he was soon followed by 
 Sansterre. We looked at one another in 
 silence inwardly contemplating that our 
 turn would come next. Their frozen 
 corpses were laid upon their beds, con- 
 tinually before our eyes, as a horrible 
 reminder to us to prepare for our voyage 
 Into eternity. Toward the end of March 
 when we went on deck, the wind pene- 
 trated our frail forms so unmercifully 
 that we were forced to remain In our 
 cabin. It was with extreme difficulty 
 that we draofored ourselves to the barrel 
 of flour to get our daily rations. This 
 done we hurried back to our beds and 
 burled ourselves under the clothes In a 
 vain endeavor to keep a little heat in 
 our bodies. We were now thoroughly 
 
88 THE RECOVERED 
 
 resigned and death would have been a 
 relief to us. It is true that the captain 
 left behind him a wife and children, and 
 whenever he thought of them he was 
 greatly afflicted, but as for my brother 
 and I, orphans and friendless as we were, 
 the world had no attractions for us. We 
 expected death at every moment. 
 
 About the 8th of April three young 
 men boarded our ship and descended to 
 the cabin. They evidently considered 
 that they were aboard an abandoned 
 vessel, for when they set eyes on us 
 they drew back several paces, thorough- 
 ly frightened, believing that they were 
 in the presence of the dead come to life. 
 Pale death-like skeletons that we were, 
 it is not surprising that when we cast 
 the fixed gaze of our haggard eyes upon 
 them they were unable to speak for 
 some moments. " How did you come 
 here ? " at last asked one of them. Our 
 captain then briefly narrated to them the 
 circumstances connected with the ship- 
 wreck and concluded by asking them if 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 89 
 
 they would not bring us assistance. The 
 kind young fellows were deeply moved 
 and with tears trickling down their 
 weather-beaten faces they said : " You 
 are too weak and the ice is too unsafe 
 for us to take you away now. We will 
 go to our ship and return as speedily as 
 possible. Meanwhile have courage." 
 They were three Englishmen from New- 
 Foundland, who were out in search of 
 cat-fish. Sadly we watched them disap- 
 pear, as they jumped with the aid of 
 spiked poles from one cake of floating 
 ice to another and with tears in our eyes 
 we despairingly said to ourselves : 
 " Will they ever return. Ah ! no, they 
 will soon forget us. It is now all up with 
 us." 
 
 Nevertheless their visit had inspired 
 us with new hopes for it takes very little 
 to rekindle in the heart of man a love 
 for life. We looked for the fulfillment of 
 the promises of the three men with that 
 desperation with which a drowning man 
 grasps at a straw. Each day the sun 
 
40 THE RECOVERED 
 
 became warmer and we dragged our- 
 selves to the d*eck where we stood for 
 hours anxiously scanning the horizon. 
 
 Fifteen long, gloomy, restless days 
 we thus passed without seeing any one 
 and we bemoaned our fate. The captain 
 threw himself upon his knees and lifting 
 his hands toward heaven he implored : 
 " Oh ! Lord, we wail and weep in this 
 valley of tears. Have pity on us. Oh, 
 good, kind, pious Virgin give us strength 
 to bear our affliction to the end." 
 
 When the prayer was over, Toussaint 
 ascended to the bridge, while the captain 
 and I, thoroughly exhausted and dis- 
 couraged, remained in our cabin. Sud- 
 denly Toussaint gave out a cry, which, 
 to us, resembled one of despair and we 
 trembled greatly. " Captain," he said, 
 " do not fear, it is our good friends who 
 are returning." We were not much re- 
 assured by this ; we had been so long a 
 time without being able to speak or 
 move. The English fishermen carried 
 us in their arms like little children on 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 41 
 
 board their vessel where they fed us 
 on soup and Httle by little we reg-ained 
 our strength to such an extent that after 
 two weeks we were able, peg poles m 
 hand, to join our friends in the search for 
 cat-fish. 
 
 One month later they put us ashore 
 at St. John, New-Foundland, where we 
 took passage on an English steamer for 
 Bordeaux. St. Malo is but a short dis- 
 tance from Bordeaux and the surprise of 
 our friends in St. ?dalo at seeing us 
 alive can well be imagined. They thought 
 we had long since been at the bottom 
 of the sea and yet here wc unexpectedly 
 returned like apparitions IVom beyond 
 the grave. 
 
i 
 
 I CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DASH FOR LIBERTY 
 
 §1. 
 
 FIBST ATTEMPT AT DESERTIKO. 
 
 g HE sailor's life is a cheerless one ; we 
 a had no sooner arrived in St. Malo 
 ,\ than we were obh'ged to embark on 
 a frigate commissioned to protect the 
 rights of France on the coast of New- 
 Foundland. In addition to the crew the 
 vessel carried some fifty soldiers under 
 tne command of a superior officer ; but 
 
42 THE RECOVERED 
 
 the safety of the ship was, as usual, 
 entrusted to captain Cottin. In times of 
 emergency only the soldiers offered their 
 assistance ; aside from this they were 
 limited to drill and to basking in the 
 sun. At the end of June we entered 
 port St. John. It was here that I sug- 
 gested to my brother the idea of desert- 
 ing. " Let us quit the ship, I exclaimed ; 
 what a weary life is ours ! Can slavery 
 be worse ? We have no parents, no 
 friends, our nights are spent on the water 
 and we are compelled to work in all 
 kinds of weather ; blows, shipwreck and 
 death threatening us each moment, such 
 is our lot ! Let us go to Canada and 
 make a search for our parents ; we can 
 then live on land like the rest of men." 
 " Let us do so," was the answer. 
 
 We set off in the. evening. Already 
 the streets of the city had disappeared 
 behind us and we had advanced a good 
 distance into the country, when three 
 inhabitants informed the police that two 
 sailors were deserting from the frigate. 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 43 
 
 We were brought back under arms, 
 thrown into a dungeon for the night, 
 and there spent six days on black bis- 
 cuit and water. Brought for trial before 
 a court martial I wa- condemned to 
 receive twenty lashes and my brother 
 twelve. My punishment was more severe 
 as I had suggested the desertion. The 
 day following our trial, about one o'clock 
 in the afternoon, a sergeant opened the 
 door of our dungeon and in a solemn 
 tone said : " Prisoners, come forth to re- 
 ceive the lash." Trembling from head to 
 foot, we were led to the base of a large 
 mast and ordered to remove our shirts. 
 Our feet were placed in irons and at 
 arms length our hands were attached to 
 two rings above our heads. The soldiers 
 were ranofed on both sides and each 
 blow resounded amid the silence. Writh- 
 ing like a worm I was unable to suppress 
 cries of pain. 
 
 Each stroke lessened my strength 
 and at the eighteenth blow I fainted. 
 The doctor proclaimed me unable to 
 
44 
 
 THE RECOVERED 
 
 bear any more. Without llinching my 
 brother bore his twelve stripes. I remain- 
 ed for six weeks in bed without being 
 able to move scarcely. The salve which 
 the doctor applied to my wounds was 
 almost as painful as the lash. When 
 sufficiendy recovered I received the two 
 remaining blows and thus did I solve 
 my debt to the last farthine. 
 
 §11. 
 
 t 
 
 I DESERT A SECOND TIME. 
 
 TpTT the end of July of the year 1870, 
 i/#l after coaling at Pictou, our vessel 
 went to the northern coast of New- 
 Foundland to fulfill the object of its mis- 
 sion. Scarcely had we reached this place 
 when, on the first of August, the captain 
 assembling the whole crew on deck, 
 exclaimed in a voice of emotion : " I 
 have great news to communicate. War 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 45 
 
 has been declared between France and 
 Prussia. I have just received a telegram 
 summoning us to a place of both danger 
 and honor. We sail on the 6th of this 
 month." These words were received 
 with applause, each one burning with a 
 patriotic ardor to cross swords with the 
 Prussians. 
 
 On our way to Black Bay on the coast 
 of Labrador, the captain gave us per- 
 mission to go ashore and enjoy a day's 
 fun. Our six boats were lowered in a 
 moment and in jumped sailors, soldiers, 
 sergeants and captains. We indulged in 
 shooting, racing on the beach, a hearty 
 meal and lying upon the grass. We had 
 a gay time. 
 
 The sercreant who was accustomed to 
 drill us proposed a second desertion. 
 I answered that it would be very difficult 
 to start again as I had not yet recovered 
 from my wounds ; and, I continued, 
 *' should we be taken again, it would be 
 impossible for me to bear the lash in my 
 present condition." — " There is no 
 
46 
 
 THE RECOVERED 
 
 question of the lash, " he replied, "it is 
 a matter of Hberty or death. We are 
 now in a time of war ; any one caught 
 deserting is shot ; what have you'^to 
 say ? " — - Well, test the others," I re- 
 plied, " if they decide upon leaving I 
 will follow." 
 
 The five others composing our little 
 knot, ploclaimed themselves ready for 
 any thing. Waiting for a favorable 
 opportunity we left the field about four 
 o'clock in the afternoon, following the 
 shore of Black Bay to the source of a 
 stream bordered by pine trees. South- 
 west of our left arose a mountain ; on our 
 right was extended a flat piece of land, 
 covered here and there with dwarf pines 
 and bounded half a mile in the distance 
 by a range of hills. We followed in 
 each others footsteps in silence and 
 with our eyes ca the look out. My heart 
 beat furiously within me. 
 
 After half an hour's march, the ser- 
 geant said to us : " Follpw my brave 
 lads to the top of that rock." We clam- 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 47 
 
 bered up as best we could to the summit 
 which was covered with snow. " We 
 must now deceive those who may be in 
 pursuit," he said. " Remove your shoes 
 and attach them to your feet, heels in 
 front." The order was promptly obeyed. 
 Fifteen minutes later we had crossed the 
 line of snow and were descendinof the 
 opposite side of the mountain. ** Put on 
 your shoes again," spoke the sergeant, 
 " here we must disband. Togrether we 
 might perish from hunger and again, if 
 a portion of the band is taken, the others 
 at least will have a chance to escape." 
 
 Tears came into our eyes," the more 
 we gazed upon each other the more we 
 wept. Finally, taking each other by the 
 hand we bid farewell for life. Separated 
 into three parties we set off in three di- 
 rections. Some went south-west, some 
 north and the others north-west, parting 
 with such expressions as : " May God 
 help you ! May He lead you to your 
 home and your family ! " 
 
 I had for companion my brother 
 
48 THE RECOVERED 
 
 ToLissafnt Marin. We journeyed on till 
 eveninor. About six o'clock Toussaint 
 said to me : " If we could reach that 
 second mountain we could erect a hut 
 for the ni<Tht." With God's help we 
 succeeded in reaching- it, worn out with 
 fatiofue. Selectinof a rent in a rock, we 
 closed the entrance with different sized 
 stones and thus obtained shelter against 
 the wild beasts and severe weather, and, 
 moreover, in the event of a pursuit no 
 one would suspect that behind those 
 rocks, piled in disorder, were two human 
 beincrs. Our rou<Th wall resembled a 
 heap of stones which had fallen from 
 above. 
 
 We retired without any supper. About 
 nine o'clock we beoan to hear the firing 
 of the cannon on board and from time to 
 time caug-ht sight of the glow of bombs 
 burstinof in the air. The noise echoed 
 from mount to mount like thunder and 
 shook the surrounding- ground. For the 
 space of two days the firing was con- 
 tinued. Without doubt this was intended 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 49 
 
 as a signal to return if by chance we 
 had become lost, or else a pursuit had 
 been oro-anized and the voice of the 
 cannon indicated the place where the 
 deserters if caught were to be led back. 
 That niorht we trembled much for our 
 safety but owing to fatigue we were 
 enabled to sleep. I watched till mid- 
 night over Toussaint, when he performed 
 the same service for me till morning. 
 
 § III 
 
 THE €OAST OF LABRADOR. 
 
 3|»W?E remained in this place five days 
 Vifc/ not daring to go farther lest we should 
 meet anv of the soldiers who mi<ditt be 
 engaged in our pursuit, hrom our 
 species of observatory we could see the 
 sea about four miles distant, as also the 
 cohniin of smoke which iiscendcd fi-om 
 
50 THE RECOVERED 
 
 the spot where the vessel lay at anchor. 
 The dwarf trees in the vicinity were so 
 low that a man could look over them. 
 We crawled about the neighborhood to 
 gather a few wild fruits and roots. We 
 were provided with a gun and amunition 
 but no game passed within range. At 
 night indeed we could hear the wolves 
 that prowled about but fear prevented 
 us from going out, and moreover how 
 could we shoot them in the dark ? In 
 truth we were reduced to a very meagre 
 diet. 
 
 On the sixth day I said to Toussaint : 
 " The ship must have set sail, perhaps 
 we may obtain some means of subsis- 
 tence. — At all events let us keep clear 
 of the sea shore ; they may yet be after 
 us and have ceased firing to ensnare us. 
 Moreover, before leaving they may have 
 commissioned someone to detain us and 
 the Jersais would sell us for a barrel of 
 pork." We adopted the following plan : 
 We were to ascend the coast of La- 
 brador always towards the interior to a 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 51 
 
 Canadian establishment far enoug-h re- 
 moved not to have heard of our deser- 
 tion. Natashquan of Mingan would do, 
 then we could take some vessel for 
 Quebec and afterwards set about finding 
 our parents. This was a bright idea. 
 What happiness it would be to find a 
 father or mother, a sister or a brother ! 
 Then we could enjoy a hearth sur- 
 rounded by peace and friendship. 
 
 "Alas ! " objected Toussaint, '' how can 
 we expect to find our parents in such a 
 vast country ? It were as easy to find a 
 needle in a stack of hay." — " Our abduc- 
 tion, " I replied, " must have occasioned 
 some report at the time. By proclaiming 
 ourselves lost children, the public will 
 at once indicate the parish whither we 
 must direct our steps."—" Perhaps," he 
 answered, "we may make enquiry very 
 far from the place of our birth, where 
 none will have heard of our misfortune." 
 — I replied that we would travel over 
 Canada in every direction; and have 
 recourse moreover to the papers. — " But 
 
52 THE RECOVERED 
 
 our parents may not recognize us after 
 such a long absence ? We were so young 
 when we were stolen from their arms," 
 remarked Toussaint. — *' Who knows," I 
 replied, " but we may have preserved 
 some family trait. Any way our age will 
 coincide with the date of our abduction. 
 After all let us trust in Providence, the 
 most essential thing is to leave here." — 
 "Yes, yes," he exclaimed, ''let us place all 
 our confidence in the hands of that kind 
 Providence Who has never abandoned 
 us, and may He preserve our old pa- 
 rents." 
 
 With such words we sustained each 
 other s courage and deceived the pangs 
 of hunger. 
 
 We kept on foot the whole day tra- 
 versing- moss and stones, climbino- and 
 descending, without any other food but 
 the raspberries and wild fruits to be met 
 with on our way ; and when night came 
 on our limbs were stiff and sore. We 
 erected another hut on the model of the 
 iVi'Gt and wiihin we stretched ourselves 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 53 
 
 at full length. Our couch was made oi 
 the thick moss that covers all those 
 rocks ; it takes the place of earth, shrubs 
 and frequently of trees. Though it offers 
 a downy bed to sleep upon, it is not the 
 less inconvenient to the pedestrian who 
 sinks halfway into it as if it were sponge. 
 
 I said to Toussaint : " I am very 
 hungry." " And so am I," he replied, •* I 
 wish God would provide us with a small 
 slice of bread ; with what a relish we 
 would devour it." An hour later two 
 partridges alighted about twenty feet 
 from our hut. Toussaint raised his gun 
 and brouofht both down at a blow. I 
 hastened to gather them and we imme- 
 diately devoured them without cooking 
 them. How sweet they tasted. It was 
 the first meat we had tasted since our 
 desertion from the ship. 
 
 The ensuing day we were very sick, 
 the raw partridges had gone against us. 
 We were unable to walk for the next 
 four days, and fed ourselves on the fruits 
 of the vicinity. Occasionally we felt dis- 
 
^^ THE RECOVERED 
 
 coiira.o-ed but exteriorly I endeavoured 
 to seem cheerful so as not to depress 
 my brother. " We were very foolish," 
 he said, " to have left the vessel ; had we 
 remained we should not now be in such 
 trouble.— I replied that if we had been 
 foolish in leavin^qr the vessel, we should 
 take care not to grrow discouraged as we 
 would be still worse. Remember that 
 you have often told me that Providence 
 never yet abondoned us. And then, 
 
 think of our parents The thought of 
 
 our father and mother was ever a bright 
 one. 
 
 § IV 
 
 A BEAR. 
 
 ^OMEWHAT refreshed after a rest of 
 four days we resolved to continue on 
 our way. We were scarcely able to 
 walk. Toussaint had just said : " My 
 head is reeling, I can go no farther," 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 55 
 
 when I exclaimed : " Look at that laro^e 
 animal advancing- towards us." It was a 
 bear. We were right near a large rock 
 to which we fled. Placinof the Q-un end- 
 wise against the boulder, Toussaint put 
 his foot on the muzzle and scrambled to 
 the top. Then stretching his arms he 
 drew me up. We had hardly reached 
 the summit when the bear's paws were 
 placed on the rock. The brute's eyes 
 dartinor throuoh us and its mouth send- 
 ing forth g-runt after grunt. We stood 
 breathless and petrified. 
 
 Finally, Toussaint took aim and sent 
 a ball throuHi the iaw and shouhler of 
 the bear ; it fell to the Q^round with a 
 cry of pain. Taking the gun I discharged 
 a second ball whi ^ ente^red the heart 
 and left the anunal lifele.- s. Quickly 
 descendino- we cut a slice off the haunch 
 and greedily devoured the raw meat. 
 Never had we relished a meal so much. 
 
 " If God," exclaimed Toussaint, ''would 
 often send us fresh meat like that we 
 could hope to reach the end of our jour- 
 
.66 THE RECOVERED 
 
 ney." — " Yes," I replied, " but let us thank 
 Him for these favors if we desire Him to 
 renew them." Falling- upon our knees 
 beneath a bright warm sun, full of joy 
 and gratitude, removing our hats, we 
 recited our prayers aloud. All nature 
 seemed to rejoice and pray with us. It 
 is in times of need and danirer that man 
 best understands how much he depends 
 upon his Maker. 
 
 § V 
 
 SEAWARD. 
 
 *E Spent two days near the food 
 which God had given us and became 
 a little stronger. The carcass becoming 
 tainted, I said to my companion : *' Let 
 us cut a slice and be off. Suppose we 
 try to reach the sea, the ship must be far 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 57 
 
 away by this time ; it would not have 
 remained so long- for seven men of our 
 worth. Still it may have commissioned 
 some one to arrest us ; in any case let us 
 die if we must ; it is better to breathe 
 our last in the midst of men than among 
 the wild beasts. What have you to say ? " 
 — " Agreed," was the reply. 
 
 We started with a firm step and walk- 
 ed more steadily than we had hitherto. 
 On our way we talked of the pleasure 
 of once more seeing our parents. But a 
 sad thought often recurred to dampen 
 Toussaint's i.opes. " Alas ! " he would 
 say, "our parents are perhaps dead by 
 this time, and-soon we too will'be in our 
 grave." — " Let us hope for the best," I 
 rejoined. *' It is now twenty-five years 
 since the time of our abduction ; our 
 parents cannot have died of old age. In 
 any case we must still have some bro- 
 thers and sisters ; we will surely find 
 some member of our family." — " I hope," 
 he would add, ** and desire it but I doubt ; 
 something- whispers that my bones will 
 
58 THE RECOVERED 
 
 lie upon this wild land." This he kept 
 Gayinq- every day. 
 
 For five long- weeks we journeyed on 
 witlioiit reachinof the ocean. A black and 
 covered sky huno- continually above us, 
 the sun appearing- at rare intervals only. 
 We had evidently g-one astray. Now 
 and then we chanced to shoot a part- 
 ridcre or two or some more succulent 
 hltd ; but for the past fifteen days we 
 had been unable to obtain any kind of 
 meat. Our strenQth had become much 
 reduced. Toussaint exclaimed : ** We 
 mjjst pitch our camp here and take some 
 days rest, for I am unable to drag my- 
 self farther." W'e had reached the shores 
 of a lake, some hfteen miles in leng'th, by 
 four and a half in breadth ; on one side 
 of which lie about three miles of Hat 
 QTOund bordered bv a hi.i'h mountain. 
 ** Let us i.''o," suLTii'ested Toussaint, ** and 
 rest ourselves at its base." We preferred 
 spending the night on el;evated to low 
 ground, as caverns, excavations or stones 
 to form II shelter were more easily ob- 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD "59 
 
 tained ; on descending" from their summit 
 we generally found a stream of water on 
 the bank of which we pitched our tent. 
 
 When we had advanced half way, 
 Toussaint threw himself exhausted upon 
 the ground, exclaiming : " I am dying 
 of hunger." We had not discovered 
 any kind of fruit since morning. Bend- 
 ing down upon my knees I recited the 
 following prayer which had more than 
 once comforted us : " Remember, O most 
 holy Virgin Mary, that it has never 
 been heard that any one having recourse 
 to thy protection, imploring thy aid and 
 asking thy assistance, has been aban- 
 doned. Animated with a like confidence 
 and groaning beneath the weight of my 
 sins, I prostrate myself at thy feet. 
 O Mother of God, despise not my peti- 
 tions, but vouchsafe to hear and grant 
 them." 
 
 Scarcely had I terminated this prayer 
 when moving on a few steps I found a 
 great quantity of atacas. Calling my 
 brother to join me, we devoured them 
 
60 
 
 THE RECOVERED 
 
 with cag-criiess. After satisfying- our 
 hunger we counselled one another to 
 thank the kind Virgin, which we did 
 v/ith all our heart. 
 
 A quarter of aa hour later we gained 
 the /base of the mountain and there con- 
 structed our hut for the night. We had 
 been unable to find any water in the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 Our work advanced slowly ; our limbs 
 were stiff and sore and we had to sink 
 in the gristly moss that covered the 
 ground ; Toussaint espc-cially was more 
 often seated than standing ; never had he 
 appeared so worn looking. The ni^dit 
 presented a threatening aspect, the s1vy 
 being covered with clouds, and my heart 
 was steeped in anxiety. 
 
 § VI 
 
 ^wo hours after w,e had stretched 
 
 »^ ourselves on the bed of moss, having- 
 
 enjoyed a short sleep, I awoke and 
 
KIDNArPED CHILD 61 
 
 assuminq;' a sitting- posture gazed upon 
 my brother. His face was pale and 
 livid ; he was ravin;^, whilst his lips were 
 parted. **Are you ill ? " I asked. — " Yes, 
 very 111," he replied. He soon began 
 to tremble throughout his whole frame 
 and so violently that his teeth chattered 
 in his mouth. He writhed In pain, a prey 
 to cramps and rent the air with terrible 
 groans. " I suffer," he exclaimed, "all that 
 it is possible for one to suffer. Unless 
 relief soon comes I must die." There I 
 sat with my arms crossed, mute and 
 confounded, without a word to say ; my 
 poor brother tossed madly with Internal 
 pain, I was unable to offer the slighted 
 relief though he complained of his 
 
 sufferlne. 
 
 He was parched with thirst. " Louis, 
 Louis," he cried In a voice that rent my 
 heart, " my dear Louis, get me one drop 
 of water, only one ; my throat Is dry and 
 my bowels are on e." It was fully three 
 miles from the laKe, the nip-ht was dark 
 and the wolves howled about our hut. 
 
62 THE RECOVERED 
 
 " Dear brother," I answered, " it grieves 
 me much to see you suffer thus and to 
 Hsten to your moans without being- able 
 to relieve you. You know I cannot go 
 out at this hour ; the lake is too far off, I 
 could not find my way in the darkness, 
 and before I could go fifty feet the 
 wolves would tear me to pieces. If you** 
 could only wait until daylight, how 
 gladly I would go for wat*er ! " — " Is the 
 day far off now ? " he asked. — ** An hour 
 and a half or two hours at most," I 
 replied. — " How slowly the time passes ! 
 How I suffer, Louis, oh ! how I suffer ! 
 I beg of God to let me die lest I should 
 become impatient. How sweet death 
 would be. " In the presence of such 
 agony my heart was almost breaking ; 
 I kept silence, not having any words 
 strong enough to console such suffering. 
 Day was beginning to dawn and I said 
 to Toussaint : *' Are you still thirsty ? " 
 — ''Yes, yes, very thirsty." — " Well, I am 
 going to fetch you some water. If I be a 
 little long do not get discouraged, you 
 
KIDNAPrED CHILD 63 
 
 know the lake is a good piece away." I 
 set out with the carabine on my shoulder, 
 having- no other receptacle for the water 
 than the barrel of the gun. My legs 
 were very lame and I stumbled almost 
 at each step ; my head was reeling and 
 the trees seemed to turn about me. Five 
 acres from the lake I sat down upon a 
 large flat stone, unable to go any farther : 
 " Holy Mother," I cried, " come to my 
 help, give me something to eat ; if not, 
 I cannot hope to reascend the mountain ; 
 I am dying here whilst my brother is 
 fast sinking over yonder." 
 
 With an effort I with much difficulty 
 reached the lake. As I was in the act of 
 stooping down to fill the muzzle of my 
 gun I heard a splatter amid the weeds, 
 which sent a shock through my nerves. 
 What should I discover on turning about 
 but a large trout which had become en- 
 tangled. In a moment I seized it and 
 flung it ashore. Then with the fish in 
 one hand and the gun in the other I 
 turned back towards the mountain. 
 
C4 THE RECOVERED 
 
 Having reached the large rock, before 
 mentioned, I seated myself again and 
 consumed with relish half the trout. My 
 strength became somewhat restored as 
 also my courage. Bending on my knees 
 upon the stone which had served as a 
 resting place and dining table, with head 
 uncovered and mv face turned 'towards 
 the lake I thanked the kind Viroin for 
 the gift she had bestowed. 
 
 I walked with a firmer step but was 
 covered Avith perspiration. I looked 
 anxiously about with my eyes wide open. 
 It seemed as if I saw the ghost of my 
 poor brother in every bush of that forest 
 of dwarf trees. 0\\ reaching the hut I 
 shook in every fibre and a cold perspi- 
 ration overspread me. I asked myself 
 in agony : " Is he dead or is he alive ? " 
 Before entering 1 looked through an 
 opening in the rock and saw Toussaint 
 rolling about mechanically on his couch. 
 
 I entered and asked : *' How arc \ou 
 now. brother } " — " Very weak."—" Are 
 you ihirsty?"— " Yes." ^ n^sentcd the 
 
I presented him the end of my gun, and he drank few 
 drops ot water (page C ). 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 65 
 
 end of the g^un to him ; he was no longer 
 able to lift himself, but he drank a few 
 drops only, and said : " That's good, I've 
 enough, thanks." He added in a weak 
 voice : *' I'm very hungry." — " If you had 
 food," I asked, " do you think that you 
 would have enough strength to eat it ? " 
 — ** Yes, with great relish." I cut a slice 
 and gave it to him ; he took my hand 
 and pressed it. He wished to smile but 
 his stiffened cheeks could only render a 
 grimace. I inferred that his end was ap- 
 proaching. After eating he said : *' I am 
 better. It is not strange, it does not 
 seem to have been the thirst so much 
 as hunger that occasioned my suffering. 
 Had it not been for the trout I could 
 not have survived the day. I no longer 
 feel any pain, I am sleepy and my eyes 
 close in spite of me." His eye was glassy 
 and fixed upon me. I said to him : 
 •' Before going to sleep, I wish you, my 
 brother, to recommend your soul to 
 God." — " Why do you recommend this ; 
 do you find me worse ? " — ** Alas ! poor 
 
66 THE RECOVERED 
 
 brother, I fear you are." — " No, no, I feel 
 better." He fell asleep as I knelt beside 
 him in prayer and overcome with sad- 
 ness. I thought of Jesus who said at the 
 hour of his agony : " I'm sad even unto 
 death." 
 
 Half an hour later he awoke with 
 pains in his right side and cramps all 
 over. I rubbed him vigorously to give 
 him some relief. His cries were heart- 
 rending as he writhed in suffering. Often 
 he exclaimed : " I am going to die, I 
 beg to die, I can bear the pain no longer. 
 I regret only that I must leave you 
 alone in this desert ; what will become 
 of you ? Should you fall sick, who will 
 attend you ? If you die who will bury 
 you ? You will become a prey for wild 
 beasts. As for me I have a brother to 
 consign my bones to the earth. " I 
 replied : " Banish those sad thoughts, 
 brother. Trust in God's mercv, and 
 recite once more with me the prayer 
 which we never forget to say each 
 evening : " O Mary, my mother and my 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD G7 
 
 Queen, I throw myself upon the bosom 
 of your mercy ; from this moment, for all 
 the rest of my life and at the hour of my 
 death I conhde my body and soul to 
 your especial protection. I confide and 
 |)lace in your hands all my hopes and 
 my consolations, all my joys and pains, 
 the course and the end of my life, in 
 order that by thy intercession, my works 
 and intentions may be rei^ulated accord- 
 in^'" to the desires of your divine Son." 
 
 About half past eleven, Toussaint o-rew 
 more calm ; his strength was sinkinr^'*, 
 his face became pale and livid and hir> 
 Ijok anxious and bewildered. I felt his 
 ])ulse, it beat feebly and unevenly. 
 '• Dear Louis," he said in a scarce au- 
 dible voice, " I'-ood bye! 1 am dvinL:-. It 
 you hnd our parents, tell them how we 
 have suffered far from them ; how I 
 would like to have seen them once 
 more. But God does not will it so, we 
 will meet in heaven. Come here till I 
 kiss you once more. May God help 
 you in your trouble! Good bye, my 
 
 4 
 
68 THE RECOVERED 
 
 brother. These are my last words to 
 you, I feel my heart sinking", farewell." 
 
 His agony lasted about twenty mi- 
 nutes. I remained quiet upon his couch, 
 but his breast heaved laboriously. I 
 watched over him and covered him with 
 my tears. About noon he quietly passed 
 away ; I could not state exactly when 
 life ceased. I remained seated by him, 
 overcome with grief. My heart was 
 loaded down and bursting with sorrow, 
 yet not a tear could fall from my eyes. 
 
 Without as well as within me darkness 
 prevailed. The sky was covered and 
 great clouds enveloped the mountain. 
 Between hail and a wind that bent the 
 trees, and cold combined, I shivered at 
 the same time that I wept. The fount of 
 my tears opened and I sobbed over my 
 brother's remains. " I wish to die here, 
 I cried out, I can drag my form no far- 
 ther ; never will I get out of this forest. 
 In life, dear brother, we have been united, 
 let us be so in death." Tliere I spent the 
 afternoon stretched beside the corpse 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD CG 
 
 rcsolvincr to orcithcr no moro fruit but to 
 allow the little of life I still retained 
 to ebb away by dei,^rees within the hut. 
 
 When evenini;' came, I knelt down 
 and with my hands dug out of the moss, 
 in a breadth of two feet a sort of erave 
 and there deposited the ashes of the 
 dead ; then gathering- stones I endeavor- 
 ed to pile them around the sides when 
 I felt as if my strength was leaving me 
 forever. Then I closed the opening 
 with a large Hat stone, with the words : 
 " Farewell light of day, this hut will be 
 my tomb." 
 
 The snow had ceased to fall, but the 
 wind continued its mournful sound. The 
 wolves, attracted no doubt by the odor 
 of the body, raged about in a body tear- 
 inof the ground around mv miserable 
 habitation. Takini^ the isun I fired three 
 or four discharofes ; the noise of these 
 detonations echoing against the moun- 
 tain made my hair rise on end. That 
 night was a sleepless one. I spent the 
 hours praying over the body, now ad- 
 
70 THE RI'XOVERED 
 
 dressing Jesus and at another time calling 
 upon his Holy Mother. " Turn thy heart 
 to me, O Jesus, for I wish this to be my 
 last resting place, and here I desire to 
 breathe my last. Do not abandon me, 
 Mother of mercy ; help me during the 
 days of my pilgrimage and preserve my 
 soul at the hour of my deach." Then 
 r membering my brother I cried from 
 the depth of my misery : ''Dc pvofiindis 
 clmnavi ad tc, Domine ; Dovii)u\ cxaiidi 
 voccm mcainy 
 
 I spent three days over him that had 
 ceased to be. The love of life is deeply 
 rooted in man, and I felt it coming back 
 feebly at first, but gradually increasing 
 its strength and I resolved to try to 
 prolong my painful existence. Moreover 
 I was reminded on reflection that it was 
 not lawful to die willingly from inertia ; 
 and I did not wish to stand before the 
 tribunal of the Almighty Judge with the 
 guilt of suicide on my hands. Three or 
 fom* times a day I gathered in the 
 neighborhood a meal oi atacas and roots. 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 71 
 
 GricT and weakness had greatly dimi- 
 nished my appetite. 
 
 On the morninor of the fourth day, I 
 heaped the stones which I had i^^athered 
 on the body of my brother, and demohsh- 
 ed the liut over these, so that his mortal 
 remains were free from the reach and 
 profanation of the wolves. With my 
 knife I cut out a cross and placed it on 
 the summit of this rustic torn!), to mark, 
 should tliere ever pass by this sorrowful 
 place a livini^^ man, that there a christian 
 was sleepin<4 his last sleep. On my knees 
 and with m\' hiad uncovered I i)ra\'ed 
 long- for him I was about to leave. " Lord, 
 jjrant him eternal rest. He suffered so 
 much during- his short and painful life, 
 his joys were so few and his load so 
 heavy, that he must have made m©st of 
 his penance here below. Rcqiiicscat in 
 pace. Adieu ! poor brother, dear friend, 
 inseparable companion of my life ! I leave 
 you with regret ! If you ha\e reached 
 your celestial home, listen to me, protect 
 me, guide me in the midst of the diffi- 
 
72 THE RECOVERED 
 
 culties which still remain on this earth 
 until the enc of my misery is reached." 
 In tears I withdrew. My soul was rent, 
 as if I had left a portion of my heart 
 beneath that heap of stones. I walked 
 a few acres, then stopped to retrace my 
 way to the mountain and shed new floods 
 of tears. His whole life came back to my 
 memory ; I recalled Toussaint's kind- 
 ness, his friendship towards me, all that 
 we had borne too^ether of j/ood and ill. I 
 asked myself: "What will become of 
 me without my brother ? He only has 
 loved me. I am alone in this forest ; 
 thouL,di 1 should succeed in again reach- 
 ing the company of men, I will yet be 
 alone. I cannot be hai)py without him." 
 I was weak and ad winced but slowly, 
 and kept looking behind me as often as 
 before. What a da) of sadness was it! 
 
KIDNAPPEU CHILD 73 
 
 § VII 
 AN Ksaui-^iAU mi:tis. 
 
 n^iiAT evening- I was too tired and too 
 '!•' much a prey to gloom to undertake 
 the construction of a hut, but stretched 
 myself beneath the stars in the fissure 
 of a rock which I roofed with i)ine bran- 
 ches. I scarcely enjoyed a moment's rest 
 the entire night from fear, for the iiirige 
 of my brother was ever present to my 
 imaofination ; I thouL'ht I saw him which- 
 ever way I turned. 
 
 At dawn I resumed my journey, re- 
 solved upon reaching the occ-.n and 
 entering th(i first fisherman's hut I should 
 chance to meet. The fear of being cap- 
 tured and surrendered to the ship, of 
 suffering twenty blows of the lish, or of 
 being shot dead, no longer inilucnced me ; 
 death, on the contrary, seemed a fate to 
 be envied. 
 
74 THE RFXOVERED 
 
 I had been walkincr for some hours 
 when sucldenly in the distance appeared 
 an unusual sii^ht. Was it a man or beast ? 
 or was it a soldier in disguise from the 
 ship eni^ai^^ed in pursuit of me ? I stepped 
 behind a rock, tremblincr from head to 
 foot; and once more the desire to live 
 was revived. 
 
 Whether man or beast it continued to 
 advance, and was now but a few hundred 
 feet away. I ventured to peep but was 
 discovered and accosted with the words 
 in broken iM-cnch : " You, fear not ; I am 
 a friend." It was a Metis that addressed 
 me, partly of Acadian descent, partly 
 Esquimaux, occu[)ied hunting- caribou in 
 the surrounding- mountains. He was 
 completely covered with fur ; boots, 
 trousers, coat and cap, all were made of 
 seal skin, lie started back in surprise 
 on beholding- my lean and ghostly ap- 
 pearance. " W^herc do )ou come from ? " 
 — I spok(^ an untruth in reply, which may 
 God lor''ivc. " I am a sailor bel(-n<unpf 
 to a French vessel ; the caiHain allowed 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 75 
 
 his crew to land for a clay's pleasure ; 
 when eveninof came he raised anchor 
 before I had returned, thinking that all the 
 men were on board ; since then I have 
 been wandering amoni^ these rocks." — 
 " For how many days ? " — " It must be 
 more than two months." — " On what 
 have you subsisted ? " — " Pardon me if 
 I say on fifty kinds of unsavoury meals; 
 on roots, wild fruit and decayed fish. It 
 is wonderful how little will keep a man 
 alive ! Pity me, friend, and s^ive me 
 somethini: to eat." — " Well, follow me to 
 my hut." 
 
 He had raised a verv comfortable 
 ^vooden cabin, which possessed the lux- 
 ury of a stove and a brass kettle. He 
 roasted a larire slice of caribou for me 
 which sent a most delicious odor about. 
 1 could not refrain from smiling" ; it was 
 now three weeks since I had tasted a 
 mouthful of meat. The meal irave me 
 some strength. I remained three days 
 with this kind fellow who treated me in 
 a brotherly way ; I could sleep deeply 
 
76 • THE RECOVERED 
 
 and peacefully at night, and gradually 
 grew stronger. What happiness in mis- 
 fortune to meet a sympathising heart 1 
 May He who records a glass of water 
 given in His name record that unknown 
 indian who restored me to life and started 
 me on the road to the inhabited world. 
 
 " Have I far to go," I inquired, " before 
 reachin^f the sea ? " — " Six leagues." — 
 ** In which direction does it lie?" — 
 " Behind that mountain." He pointed to 
 the south-west. ** Before separating will 
 you grant me a favor ? " I asked. — 
 '' What ? "— '' Chanoe clothes."— " ^ 
 are jesting, your garments are beiL. 
 than mine." — " No matter, I have no 
 other means of showino- my thankful- 
 ness." I insisted, for they would be very 
 useful ; no one could recognise me in 
 such a habit. Finally he consented. We 
 parted with a shake hands, he for the 
 chase, I for the sea, he dressed like a 
 French sailor, and I as an Esquimaux, 
 with a suit of skin made from a single 
 piece, boots, trousers, coat and cap, that 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 7< 
 
 made me bristle like a seal. Catchino^ 
 sight of myself in a crystal lake I had 
 to laugh at my comical appearance. 
 
 I made good way, with a piece of ca- 
 ribou on my shoulder and a cheerful 
 heart. The hope grew stronger that I 
 should yet be amongst men and perhaps 
 meet my parents. In any case I should 
 reach the land of my birth and find 
 friends amongst my countrymen, a plea- 
 sure 1 had never yet enjoyed but which 
 must be very sweet. This thought en- 
 abled me to ascend the rocks and made 
 my garments supportable which apart 
 from the heat they occasioned were in- 
 fested with vermin. I was covered with 
 perspiration but hope sustained me. I 
 was already inhaling the sea air and its 
 saline moisture brought with it a scent 
 of liberty. In a word, were it not that 
 the thought of my brother came now 
 and then to sadden me I would have 
 been quite happy. In the distance, 
 loomed up in the shape of a mirage the 
 land of my forefathers. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HOME^W^RD BOUND. 
 
 I^AKRADOR TO ATICOSTI. 
 
 0. 
 
 \l TRAVEiXED Oil for the space of two 
 ^ [ clays, spending- the first night in the 
 fe§ cavern of a rock. Late on the even- 
 ing of the second I arrived on the banks 
 of Thunder River, a small fishing station 
 comprising three houses, from which I 
 kept some distance lest any agents in 
 the pay of the vessel or from motives of 
 
KlDNArrED CHILD 79 
 
 offlclousness might apprehend me. This 
 took place on a Saturday, about the 
 middle of October. 
 
 A yawl lay at anchor near a buoy two 
 acres from shore. This I resolved to 
 take possession of and place my life in 
 safety. I had more than oiice heard that 
 in cases of necessity one has a right to 
 another's goods. But was I in extreme 
 necessity ? I can only affirm that He 
 who sounds the depths of the heart was 
 witness at that moment of my good faith 
 and the sincerity of my intention. 
 
 Perceiving a favorable opportunity I 
 jumped into a small boat which was 
 drawn upon the sands. Unwilling to take 
 more risk than necessary 1 took care, 
 before starting to attach this latter to 
 the buoy. In the yawl, I discovered 
 folded beneath the seats two large sails, 
 which were of absolute necessity for my 
 escape ; I thus comprehended that kind 
 Providence had heard my supplications 
 and desired my safety. This manifesta- 
 tion encouraged me to trust myself to 
 
80 THE RECOVERED 
 
 the ocean. Moreover in the stern of the 
 boat I found a candle which furnished 
 me with a meal on the following day. 
 Hunger rebels at nothing. 
 
 The kind Virgin occasioned a strong 
 breeze, before which I spread all my 
 canvas and steered towards Anticosti. 
 The weather was mild and, though my 
 stomach was empty, my heart was full 
 of hope and the yawl sped through the 
 waves. 
 
 At day break I lowered the sails for 
 fear of beinor seen from shore and thus 
 deteri^iine a pursuit. At noon I again 
 fearlessly hoisted them. 
 
 I had made sufficient headway to 
 allow the convexity of the ocean to 
 secrete me from the most penetrating 
 eye or the most powerful glass. 
 
 About two o'clock the shore of the 
 island of Anticosti began to emerge from 
 the waters ; my heart almost burst with 
 joy. Steering right for the light on the 
 north-eastern portion of the island I 
 reached the shore on the first shades of 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 81 
 
 evenlnor falling. The light house was 
 attended by a Canadian, who, together 
 with his family, treated me kindly, ofter- 
 ing me food and lodging and the present 
 of a loaf on starting again next morning. 
 I thought within myself: "What kind 
 people the Canadians are ; how I long to 
 be in their midst and end my misery." 
 
 § II 
 
 ANTICOSTI TO OASPE. 
 
 I^HE whole of that day, and night and part 
 of the following day I kept rocking 
 on the waves. Cape Desrosiers appeared 
 in the distance but I scarcely moved on 
 account of a wind that blew across my 
 way. The temperature had lowered, and 
 I remained stiff and shivering in the 
 bottom of the vawl with one hand on 
 
B2 Tin: RFXOVERED 
 
 the rudder ; with my loaf In the other I 
 splaced myself with eating- an unusual 
 dainty. At Labrador I was almost 
 starved. On the siiip we had to be 
 satisfied wath a black biscuit ihat had 
 to be softened in water before a tooth 
 could penetrate it. 
 
 Night was fallino- as I entered Gaspe 
 Basin. I composed myself in the bottom 
 of the yawl covered by one of the sails. 
 At sunrise I sailed farther into the bay 
 and made ni)' way to the residence of 
 Mr Georges Bouthillier, a legislative 
 councillor. An old woman answered my 
 summons, but my costume forced her to 
 utter a cry of alarm. " Fear nothing, 
 Madam. I am a poor man without any- 
 thincr ; I come to beo- a morsel for the 
 love of God." Mr Bouthillier arriving in 
 the mean time told tlie woman to set me 
 at the table. He questioned me as to 
 where I was orohio- where 1 came from 
 and what 1 was seeking. I returned 
 evasive answers, for fear of recognition, 
 for our vessel had often passed Port 
 
KIDNAPPED ClilLL) 83 
 
 Gaspc. At the termination of the meal, 
 I bade him good b>e, and set sail for 
 
 erce. 
 
 § III 
 
 PERCJfi, 
 
 favorable breeze was blowing-. At 
 ^^^ SIX in the evenino-, my boat sailed at 
 equal distance between the small villao-e 
 of Perce, which lay at the foot of a hill, 
 and the irreat steep rock around the 
 summit of which the sea g-ulLs kept in 
 contmual flutter. 
 
 I approached the house of a man 
 named Deo-rouchie, an old yersm's with 
 a snow white beard. On perceiving me 
 through the door way, his three gmnd 
 daughters exclaimed : - Papa, do not 
 lodge that wild tramp."- He cried out 
 with a cross voice : - You cannot stop 
 here, continue on your way." I calmly 
 replied in good French : - My friend, you 
 
8-4 THE RECOVERED 
 
 need not be angry, I have asked a 
 favor not for love of me, but for the love 
 of God." 
 
 On reachino- the shore, he recalled 
 me : " One moment, stranger, are you 
 French or Jersais ? " — "I am called a 
 Canadian." — '* From what part of Ca- 
 nada ? " — " It is not easy for me to say. 
 When but a child I was stolen from home 
 and am now endeavoring to reach my 
 fatherland and find my parents. Good 
 eveninqr, sir. It is erowine late and I 
 must make haste to find a lodging." — 
 '* Return," he said, "and spend the night 
 here." On hearing my story large tears 
 fell down his cheeks, and he reproached 
 himself for having refused me shelter. 
 "It is the fault of the girls, who are 
 afraid of everything." — ** I do not blame 
 them," I rejoined, "such a one as I, with 
 such a suit, dirty, black and covered 
 with oil, would have forced me to act in 
 the same way, perhaps." Next morning 
 after breakfast, we parted the best of 
 friends. 
 
KiDNArrEu CHILD 85 
 
 § IV 
 
 CARLETON. 
 
 1^ skirted the county coasts from Gaspe to 
 • Bonaventure ; my design was to force 
 my way into the Baie des Chaleurs and 
 thence reach Quebec, where I hoped to 
 hear something- of my old parents. The 
 wind continued favorable and I made 
 seven or eight knots an hour. 
 
 At Carleton I knocked at the door of 
 a tanner, named Mr Cauchon. His wife 
 fainted at the sight of me. A young girl 
 yelled at the top of her voice : " Papa, 
 papa, come and see this horrible man." 
 The tanner rushed up, threw me upon 
 the ground, dealt me three or four kicks 
 upon the legs and annihilated any pride 
 I might have entertained with a stick. 
 In vain I protested that I was the most 
 
80 THE RECOVERED 
 
 innocent of men ; he still continued the 
 flagging-, accompanied with repeated 
 oaths. I got on my legs as well as pos- 
 sible and limped back to the boat with 
 my body covered with bruises. 
 
 Farewell, Carlton ! I should not soon 
 forget you nor Mr Cauchon. 
 
 § V 
 
 RESTIGOUCIIE. 
 
 JIt was midnight when my boat entered 
 ■ beneath full sail into the silent and de- 
 serted port of Restigouche ; the village is 
 built some distant farther up on the river 
 of the same name. I slept till dawn beneath 
 the seats. On awakening I perceived a 
 Micmac Indian standinsr on the shore. 
 " Friend, " he asked, ** where do you 
 come from ? " — *' From Labrador." — 
 
KIDNAPI'KD CHILD 87 
 
 " You speak the truth, because you arc 
 dressed h'ke the people of that place."— 
 "Will you buy my boat?" I enquired. 
 — " How much do you want for it ? "— 
 " Twenty-five dollars." — " It is not too 
 much ; I will return, wait for fifteen mi- 
 nutes." 
 
 I waited the whole day and ni^^rht but 
 the Indian failed to appear. I reoretted 
 havin.o- asked such a hi.crh price, thinkino- 
 that he miidit have been discouraged. 
 Twice I visited the houses a mile away 
 where Acadian hospitality offered me 
 food with great kindness. 
 
 Next day at sunrise a Jersais ap- 
 proached. Was he sent by the Indian ? 
 If so he concealed it. " Ls this boat for 
 sale ? " - " Yes." - " For what price ? " 
 — " Twenty dollars." — - Too much ; I 
 will give sixteen." — -Well, take it." 
 
 On obtaining the money I made en- 
 quiry about the road to Matane. The 
 Jersais replied : - Follow this road for a 
 league ; on reaching the last house, 
 before entering the forest, make new en- 
 
88 THE RECOVERED 
 
 quiries." I set off on foot, with my gun 
 on my shoulder, light and gay ; for once 
 in my life I felt at liberty ; I was beyond 
 the reach of the frigate and never did I 
 possess such a large sum of money. 
 
 My plan was to reach the banks of the 
 St. Lawrence, ascend as far as Quebec 
 and make a serious search for my parents. 
 " Poor brother," I thought, " if you had 
 been able to follow me to this place, how 
 happy we should have been together, 
 now that the journey is almost at the 
 end ! But God willed otherwise ! And 
 perhaps at this hour you prefer your lot 
 to mine." 
 
 § VI 
 
 ON THE ROAD TO IWATANE. 
 
 fORT Restigouche lies ninety miles 
 from Matane ; with the exception of 
 two small inns, one three miles from Res- 
 tigouche, the other a like distance from 
 Matane, no house was to be found on 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 89 
 
 the way. The road wends its way over 
 hills, down valleys, throui4"h forests and 
 marshes ; it is far from good, being litde 
 more than a guiding line, whereon 
 vehicles sink up to the huh. Now and 
 then one meets a camp used no doubt by 
 the workingmen who opened the road, by 
 laying round boulders covered with pine 
 bark ; in the interior of the dwelling 
 rises a chimney made of undressed 
 stones : these are the only hotels to be 
 met by travellers ; they are also used 
 as stables for beasts of burden. I slept 
 there three nights ; glad to take shelter 
 from the bad weather and the wolves. 
 This forest, rich and verdant, looked like 
 a paradise in comparison to the naked 
 rocks of Labrador. The pround was firm 
 and the provisions I had taken kept my 
 stomach free from hunger. Thrice I 
 met carriages, containing friendly tra- 
 vellers whom I questioned concerning 
 the right road to Matane and the dis- 
 tance I still had to o-o ; their answers 
 filled me with cou-age and energy. 
 
90 THE RECOVERED 
 
 However from continued walkinof on 
 the evening of the fourth day my feet 
 were sore and bleeding. I limped to that 
 solitary inn in the forest like the ad- 
 vanced guard of civilisation. It was eight 
 o'clock. I asked for lodging. ** It is im- 
 possible," answered the innkeeper, "there 
 is sickness in the house. " No doubt 
 my costume and appearance frightened 
 him. " How far is your nearest neigh- 
 bor ? " — " Nine miles." — " You can easily 
 see that my bleeding feet can carry me 
 no farther. I beg you to take pity on 
 me." He irave no answer and I remained 
 sittinof on a bench near the door. I 
 thought within me : " This man is En- 
 glish, his accent shows it. If I can only 
 p-et amonost Canadians mv sufterines 
 will end, I will be received with open 
 arms." Illusion ! Later I discovered that 
 there existed manv hard hearts amonest 
 Canadians and many kind ones amongst 
 the English : Neither nationality mono- 
 polises either. 
 
 Meanwhile, a stranger drew up his 
 
KIDNAPrED CHILD 91 
 
 carriage. The master of the house 
 whispered something in his ear. " Will 
 you come with me," inquired the tra- 
 veller; "I live fifteen miles from here, 
 a little above Matane."— " With pleasure, 
 sir; i4; will make the road to Quebec 
 easier." I enjoyed the ride ; we spoke 
 of different things, the time passed 
 quickly, but I concealed my history. We 
 reached his house after midnight. 
 
 § VII 
 
 A ROBBERY 
 
 fJpiiAT man, whose name I forget, invited 
 *^me to lodge within his house. " I am 
 thankful, sir," I replied. " You have 
 been very kind to me, and I would not 
 like to cause you any trouble. I must 
 
92 THE RECOVERED 
 
 tell you that my clothes are infested with 
 vermin, and God forbid that I should 
 introduce into your house the germ of 
 the foul itch that I suffer from. With 
 your permission I shall spend the night 
 in your barn." He led me to the place 
 and brought some blankets. Making a 
 whole in the hay I slept softly therein 
 covered with blankets. 
 
 Two hours later I was awakened by 
 a man making a noise in the barn. He 
 had a dozen bacrs under his arm, holdinpf 
 a candle in one hand and a measure in 
 the other. I thought he was employed 
 about the house and had come to get 
 grain for the next day. Placing the 
 candle on the floor, he commenced to 
 fill the bags from, a large heap of wheat 
 gathered in the end of the barn. He had 
 already filled five bags when he com- 
 menced to speak to himself : " Had I 
 known it, 1 might have brought my little 
 boy to help me." — " I will help you, sir." 
 At the sound of the words, he looked 
 about in confusion and without a word 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 93 
 
 rushed throuq"h the door Hke lio^htningr. 
 1 comprehended that he was a thief. 
 
 Getting up I extinguished the candle 
 and then lay down again, but excitement 
 prevented me from sleeping. I approach- 
 ed the house and rapped at the door 
 without receiving any answer. I sat upon 
 the step for an hour when the cold gained 
 upon me. I decided to knock again. 
 The master in a raire exclaimed : " If 
 you do not stop, Indian, I shall take the 
 whip to you and we will see." — " Excuse 
 me, sir, but I have come to inquire if it 
 was )'ou who came to measure wheat 
 to nioht in the barn." — " Measure the 
 wheat ! " He was amazed. Following 
 me to the barn we found five baes filled 
 and five empty, and on the bags was 
 written the visitor's name. " Thanks," 
 he exclaimed, " you have rendered me 
 a service, I suspected that was the 
 man who has been robbino- me for a lone 
 time, I now have the proof. This time 
 he will pay for all." After breakfast, I 
 v/ished to start. " No," urged the master, 
 
94 THE RI^COVERED 
 
 " you will remain till your feet shall have 
 completely healed. Take these clothes 
 and make a change in the barn." He 
 offered me an entire suit made of llannel 
 and other g-oods made in the country. 
 It was not new but still in oood order. 
 I remained twelve days with this kind 
 family, making- known who 1 was ; they 
 wished to take me into their employ, 
 makino- the most crenerous ofters. " No," 
 I replied, " now that heaven has restored 
 me to the land of my forefathers, I wish 
 to find my parents ; it is a sacred obli- 
 gation, a filial duty. My father and 
 mother must have g-reatly lamented over 
 rny abduction ; if they still live I will 
 console them. Adieu ! I am off and will 
 stop only when my efforts shall have 
 met with success." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 SEARCH FOR MY PARENTS. 
 
 § I 
 
 QUEBEl;. 
 
 * 
 
 B 
 
 '■ ASCENDED the banks of the river as far 
 as St. Denis, passings Metis, Ste.Flavie, 
 ^:; Ste. Luce, Rimouski, Bic,.St. Fabien, 
 St. Simon, Trois-Pistoles, Cacouna, Ri- 
 viere-du-Loup, Kamouraska,St. Paschal. 
 I journeyed mostly on foot, sometimes 
 I rode. I stopped at each church to 
 confide my journey to the protection of 
 
96 THE RECOVERED 
 
 the patron saint of the locah'ty and to 
 ask for strength and courage ; at the 
 foot of the altar I felt at ease, it was the 
 only place in the world that I was a little 
 at home. I spared my money for future 
 emergency ; everywhere I was furnished 
 for God's sake with food and a bed. 
 
 I reached St. Denis about the middle 
 of November. It was snowing, the roads 
 were bad and I resolved to take the 
 boat for Quebec. On my way I made 
 enquiries every day if there were any 
 people bearing the name of Marin : but 
 no one knew them. 
 
 At Quebec I made serious research. 
 I took lodging near the market in Lower 
 Town, at the house of a widow, together 
 with several sailors. She referred me to 
 parish priests of Upper Town as the 
 most likely place to obtain correct in- 
 formation. One of the priests told me 
 that he knew of none by the name of 
 Marin in Quebec, but added that he had 
 more than once heard that a man of that 
 
KlDXAPrED CHILD 97 
 
 name resldino- on the way to Riclimond 
 hfid lost a child, one only, however, not 
 three. "Come with me," he said, " we will 
 advertise your misfortune in the papers." 
 The day following- there appeared in a 
 Quebec journal : "Two young- brothers, 
 together with their cousin, Pierre, Louis 
 and Toussaint Marin were stolen from 
 home in 1845, their respective ages 
 were six, five and four years ; that one 
 of them was searching for his parents ; 
 that if any one had heard of one Marin 
 having lost children, he was respectfully 
 requested to give information at the 
 office of the journal." This insertion 
 cost me a dollar. As soon as the news 
 would be received it was to be sent to 
 the parish priest ; I was to write to the 
 curate and tell the place where he should 
 address the reply. The answer came but 
 without bringing satisfaction. 
 
98 THE RECOVERED 
 
 § 11 
 
 IMC'II.MONI>. 
 
 J- remained in Quebec for three days 
 ^ only, being- very impatient to visit Mr. 
 Marin of Richmond. " I am sure that 
 man is my uncle," I was about to say, 
 " he must be the father of Pierre who 
 died at sea ; he will furnish me with a 
 true account of my father who is his 
 brother." I thought that I should have 
 no more trouble in finding my parents 
 after twenty-five years. I was then un- 
 der the' impression that Pierre was my 
 second cousin, when in reality we were 
 the sons of second cousins. I considered 
 my success infallible. 
 
 Crossing over to Point Levis I set off, 
 sometimes taking the highway, some- 
 times the railroad of the Grand Trunk. 
 
KlDNArrED CHILD 99 
 
 One niolit, unable to obtain any lod^rlnqf, 
 I was obliged to take sheltc ; in a barn 
 where I sank up to the neck in a heap 
 of straw, I was very cokl. " No matter," 
 I said, "a h'tll;* patience. ]\Iy uncUj's 
 house will be warm and I Avill have a 
 good bed." Five days later, in the villai^e 
 of Richmond I knocked at tlie door of a 
 small white house, south-v;est of the 
 railroad. " Come in," replied a grey haired 
 old man ; his aged wife sat near a stove 
 rocking- herself and knittincr. I asked : 
 " Are you Mr. Marin ? " — " Yes, my 
 friend ; what can I do for you ? " — 
 "Have you lost a child?" — "Alas, 
 yes!" he replied, v/ith a deep sigh. My 
 blood rushed to mv head and 1 almost 
 fainted. " You are mv uncle I cried with 
 a voice of (.-motion, and r-ushed f )r\vard to 
 embrace him. The old man deeply .moved 
 grasped my hand within both of his ; the 
 old woman rose up in surprise and threw 
 herself between us villi tears in her ("ves. 
 I commenced to tell m}' stor\' when the 
 old man iiiterrupted mc : " I am sorry 
 
 i t 
 
100 THE RECOVERED 
 
 for your sake at being obliged to say 
 that I am not your uncle ; it was a little 
 girl I lost not so long as twenty-five 
 years ago." Big tears rolled down his 
 cheeks. " Poor child," he added, " I pity 
 you much and still more your parents. 
 It will soon be sixteen years since I lost 
 my little girl, and the misfortime is as 
 clearly before me as if it took place but 
 yesterday." The woman was almost 
 choked with sobs and retired within. 
 
 *' Remain with us for a while," said the 
 old man, ** and rest yourself, you can in 
 the mean time relate the story of your 
 life." 
 
 I was happy on receiving sucn a pro- 
 position, as my feet were yet full of 
 blisters on account of the long journey. 
 The old woman's salve offered much 
 relief to my feet, and the warm sympathy 
 of the good old people went to my 
 heart. 
 
KlDNAPrEn CIITT.D 
 
 101 
 
 ii III 
 
 ::i\ .!< :: \\i 
 
 J> remained tli'TC clr.:' in R* -^'.nvvul. 
 Onti of tlie iiumy n(;i;;Iil)')rs wt.o were 
 accustomed to spend the cvcninp; at the 
 Httle white house to hear the story of the 
 /os^ cJiild, said that he had known |V'o- 
 ple named Marin at St. Johns Dorclies- 
 ter. I started for that place. 
 
 I followed the raiload as far as IJeLeil, 
 and then took the road that leads aloniif 
 the Richelieu. Mr. IMarin resided in the 
 country a mile and a half from the 
 church. I knocked at his house just as 
 he was taking- dinner with the rest of his 
 family. ** I have lost no children/' he 
 replied, " and you have proof befoi?e 
 your eyes, by the presence of these 
 twelve around the table. I know of no 
 
102 THE RKCnVERED 
 
 such misforturKj having befallen any of 
 my relatives. " 
 
 I resolved upon golno- to Montreal. I 
 thouoflit that in a lar^^e city it would be 
 easier to obtain information. I walked 
 the entire ni^dit on the side of the canal ; 
 in th(i mornin<^ I reached Chambly Basin, 
 near which was an hotel kept by a woman. 
 J. asked her if she would be charitable 
 to me. *• No, I have no sympathy for 
 young beggars. Get some work." — 
 " Will you give me some work. Madam ? " 
 — " Yes, go into the yard and chop some 
 wood." Fasting as I was, 1 found it hard 
 to saw and chop. After half an hour, the 
 woman called out : " Very well, friend, 
 come and eat something." I found that 
 I had reached the centre of a dense po- 
 pulation, characterised by activity and 
 business. In country places chanty is ex- 
 tended without discrimination ; in large 
 cities however, and rich country places 
 all must be paid for, eye for eye, tooth 
 for tooth. 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 102 
 
 § IV 
 
 HONTBEAI*. 
 
 {crossed from Longueil to Montreal 
 on a steamboat ; it was very cold, ice 
 was formed about the docks and I heard 
 that tlie boat would soon stop running-. 
 
 For seven or eight days I traversed 
 Montreal in every direction, now lodging- 
 in ooe end of the city now in another ; 
 dining here, supping there ; my money 
 was growing scarce very rapidly. I 
 sought information from the police, mer- 
 chants, hotel -keepers, passers-by, and 
 the priests of Notre Dame church. After 
 consulting the directory I was referred 
 to a number of Marins residine on this 
 and that street. None of them could 
 
104 THE RECOVERED 
 
 give rne any information. When evening 
 came I was tired running about and dis- 
 couraged with my poor success. Montreal 
 is a beautiful city, but I saw none of its mo- 
 numents, pubHc places or churches ; one 
 single thought was before me, to find the 
 Mr. Marin who had lost two children. 
 
 Meetinof on the street a well dressed 
 gentleman w^hom I took to be a lawyer ; 
 I made my enquiry : " You should ad- 
 vertise in the papers ; follow me." I 
 accompanied him to a newspaper office, 
 and dictated a notice to one of the re- 
 porters. This done, he informed me that 
 I would have an insertion in next day's 
 edition. I handed a dollar in payment 
 as in Quebec but it was refused. " Your 
 story is too interesting, sir, we should | 
 pay you," the reporter said 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 
 
 105 
 
 § V 
 
 ON THE ROAD TO OTTAWA. 
 
 T; passed Bord - ^- Plouffe, St. IMnrtin, 
 •t St. Eustache, St. Benoit, English Point, 
 Carillon. It was cold and I wds pooi'Iy 
 clad ; I was obliged to knock at five or 
 six doors before succeeding in obtaining 
 a nio-ht's shelter. I became used to being: 
 called an idle, good for nothing, loafer; 
 thoueh mv old clothes, timid look and 
 hanging head did little to deny reproach. 
 Sometimes to gratify the people wha 
 desired to learn my story I remained 
 two or three days in the same house. I 
 was then enable to enjoy a good meal 
 and a comfortable bed. 
 
 On my way I enquired about Marni. 
 
106 THE RECOVERED 
 
 I was told one evening : " There is one 
 of that name not far from here, on the 
 road to Ottawa; he keeps a hotel." I 
 forget the exact place where I was at 
 the time, but think it was near Calumet ; a 
 small mountain rose to the right. Three 
 miles of the journey still remained ; a 
 storm of snow and wind was rao^inof • I 
 was unable to see a foot ahead. My 
 progress was slow, my boots were full 
 of holes and my feet almost frozen. 
 
 I entered the hotel covered with snow 
 and found the master seated and quietly 
 smoking his pipe. " Are you Mr. Marin, 
 sir ? " I asked. — ** Yes, my name is Jean- 
 i) iptiste Marin, witliout any " Mr." to it." 
 — '* I too am called Marin, and enora^ed 
 looking for my parents." I had hardly 
 begun the stor\^ of my abduction than 
 he interrupted me with the words : '* I 
 see the dodo-c. You are a man seekine 
 free board. I do not want you to remain 
 here." 
 
 I sat on the gallery and sobbed ; my 
 feet refused to carry me any farther. A lit- 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 107 
 
 tie boy of seven years came up and said : 
 " What are you crying for ? " — " Poor 
 child," I answered, " you would cry if 
 you had to bear what I have. When a 
 child I was stolen from home, I have no 
 mother, no father, no friend. Though 
 my feet are frozen, I am thrown out of 
 doors like a dog." 
 
 The little fellow went and told this to 
 his mother who was carrying a pail of 
 milk from the barn. She spoke to her 
 husband and the little boy returned to 
 say : - Come in, papa said so." The 
 woman placed a chair near the stove 
 for me, helped me to take my boots off, 
 then rubbed and dried my feet saying : 
 ** The poor man must be in great pain." 
 I felt the woman's kindness and asked 
 God to reward her. 
 
 After supper we gathered around the 
 stove, the man smoked his pipe while 
 the woman had on either side of her two 
 young boys, respectively seven and nine 
 years of age. " Where were you born } " 
 asked the hotel-keeper. — " I am unable 
 
108 THE RECOVERED 
 
 to say ; I was stolen at the age of five 
 and have forg-otten the name of my birth- 
 place if I ever knew it." I then related 
 my story from beginning- to end. I was 
 now oblio^ed to halt a mom.ent on ac- 
 count of the pain in my feet. The man lis- 
 tened in silence, whilst the woman would 
 every now and then wipe away her tears 
 with a table napkin. She then addressed 
 her children : " Were you like this poor 
 man, without father or mother, how un- 
 happy you would be ! what would you 
 do ! You have a good mother and do 
 not listen to her." 
 
 The little boys wept hot tears, and 
 many were shed that night in the house 
 of Mr. Jean-Baptiste Marin. 
 
 On the withdrawal of the company for 
 the wight I stretched myself exhausted 
 on the bed. The woman came to me 
 after her husband retired and said : ** Get 
 up, young man, and follow me." I obey- 
 ed and took up my boots and stockings. 
 I could scarcely walk, my feet were so 
 swollen. She brought me to a room 
 
KIDNAPPED CHTLD 109 
 
 over the kitchen where she had prepared 
 a soft bed near the chimney. When I 
 lay down she arran^red the clothes about 
 me as she would have done for a baby. 
 P^or once since my abduction, I was the 
 recipient of kind attention, and deeply 
 did 1 f(^ll it. " Woukl that she were mv 
 mother?" thought I, " she would be a 
 kind one indeed. Perhaps mine is de-^d !... 
 Perhaps she still laments her loss !...What 
 a painful fate is mine ! " 
 
 My feet ached the whole ni<;ht. The 
 following- morning I breakfasted with 
 them. The woman would willingly have 
 kept me a few days more, but the man 
 extended no invitation. I understood 
 that it Avould be better to start. I thank- 
 ed them for their kindness and left with 
 a bursting heart. The woman's eyes 
 were dim with tears while the two little 
 fellows held me by the hand. 
 
no 
 
 THE RECOVERED 
 
 § VI 
 
 OLOC£ST£R« 
 
 I soon reached Ottawa and spent two 
 f days in the Capital, The Houses of 
 Parliament, the Cathedral with its grand 
 proportions, the Chaudieres and Rideau 
 Falls offered but litde interest. I was 
 under the empire of a single idea. No 
 €>ne had any information to offer and I 
 felt discouraged. I finally came across a 
 gendeman who said : " There is cer- 
 tainly a person named Marin, residing 
 at Glocester ; I think I have heard that 
 he lost a child in a tragical manner, 
 though I am not positive." — '' How far 
 is Glocester fr^m here .^ " — ''About six- 
 teen miles."— '' Thanks, sir; it is just 
 noon, to-night I will sleep in Glocester." 
 
KIDNAPrED CHILD 111 
 
 Without any dinner, I immediately set 
 out. I had hardly gone half way when 
 I found myself on a hill far from any 
 house. I felt sore or, rather, sink. I 
 thought I would die. My legs tottered, 
 my head reeled and everything greAV 
 yellow. I fainted. 
 
 On regaining conciousness I found 
 m.yselt lying in a vehicle and a kind man 
 rubbing my face with snow. I gradually 
 felt better but my legs were cold and 
 my feet more icy than at first. " Who are 
 you ? " I was asked. " My name is Louis 
 Marin." — ** Where are you going ? " — 
 " To a Mr. Marin who, I am told, lives 
 in Glocester." — '* 4t is so, he lives near 
 by, I have to pass within fifteen acres of 
 his house." The Q-ood Samaritan desired 
 to bring me to the very door. "No, no," I 
 replied, **you must not lengthen your road 
 for me. Moreover a little walk will warm 
 me up and do me good. Thanks, dear 
 sir, but for you I should have perished." 
 
 I discovered Mr. Marin near the gable 
 end of his house, his face covered with 
 
112 THE RECOVERED 
 
 coal dust, chopping some burnt stumps 
 so plentiful on new lands. He was over 
 sixty years of age. " Are you Mr. Marin, 
 sir ? " — " Yes, my name is Louis Marin." 
 I almost choked. Louis was my name 
 too. " Have you lost any children ? " — 
 *' I have and have not. I had never a 
 child of my own ; but I raised a little 
 orphan whom I loved as my own child ; 
 he was fatally crushed by the fall of a 
 tree." — " Then you are not the person 
 I am looking for. I am a lost child, 
 stolen at the age of five years and am 
 now running about the country in search 
 of my father." — *' Come in anyway. It 
 is now night and you cannot sleep out- 
 side. You will tell me your story." 
 
 It was not difficult to persuade me. I 
 got near the stove shivering with cold 
 and my teeth chattering. The old woman 
 gave me a basin of water to thaw my 
 feet ; pain turned my face into a thou- 
 sand shapes. ^ 
 
 The old kind woman questioned me 
 much concerning my life and wished to 
 
KIDNAPrED CflILD 113 
 
 learn how I happened to come to her 
 house. In reply I said that a man in 
 Ottawa told me that her husband was 
 my father ; and that her second neighbor 
 where I stopped to warm myselftogether 
 with others said that Mr. Marin nuist be 
 my father, since I resembled him very 
 much. The old woman seemed vexed 
 and provoked. - True," she said, you 
 greatly resemble him. We have had no 
 family, but he has run about enough. 
 He was a raftsman and travelled all his 
 life."—- You should not endeavor," my 
 good woman, - to condemn your hus- 
 band as a mean man." The good na- 
 tured fellow kept silence on the other 
 side of the stove and laughed in his slee- 
 ve. - Come, friend," he said, - and let 
 us have supper. You are not in a fit 
 state to continue on your way, you will 
 spend some days here and we will see 
 how things will go." The old woman 
 was offended and turned to pouting ; and 
 grumbled in an undertone whilst washincr 
 the dishes." "* 
 
11-4 THE RFXOVERED 
 
 We retired to bed about nine o'clock. 
 I heard the old woman scold in[>- the old 
 man. " You have no sense ! why do you 
 house that stranger for nothing ? " " You 
 Avill never chani^e," he rei)lied," you never 
 can be charitable. — " " I can be such to 
 the poor but not to the idle." *' Who 
 told you that man is lazy," he replied, 
 ** it is easy to see that he cannot walk. 
 If you were in his place w^ould you like to 
 be thrown out of doors." — " liecause he 
 is your boy, that is the reason." The 
 old fellow said nothing-. 
 
 " I beg- you not to quarrel over me. 
 I can take shelter in the next house till 
 my feet will allow^ me to continue on my 
 way," said I. — '' Be easy, friend, " replied 
 the old man ; " it's a storm that will soon 
 blow over. I have been subject to this 
 for forty years ; and am none the worse 
 for it as you may see." The old woman 
 remained quiet. 
 
 I prolonged my stay after my feet 
 were healed helping the old man Marin 
 to clear his land, cut down trees and 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 115 
 
 make them into Icnortbs of ei^ht to ten 
 feet, pile them in heaps ami burn them. 
 On the return of sprin^j;, i helped to sow 
 seed between ,the stumps and harrow 
 the g*round. The old woman had become 
 better tempered and treated me as her 
 own child. 
 
 I never went to church so often. Every 
 two weeks a priest came to say his mass 
 on Sunday in a neighborincr house which 
 filled the duty of a temporary chapel. 
 As I could read, I read the responses 
 from my book and served mass. My 
 office of sacristan raised me in the 
 opinion of the grood people. 
 
 In the month of June I determined to 
 resume my search. Two days before my 
 departure, Mr. Marin was seated by the 
 chimney place with his head buried in 
 his hands, thinking. — " Why are you so 
 deeply in thought," I asked ? — " Louis," 
 he replied, raising his head and looking 
 me in the face, "why are you leaving us ? 
 are you not at home here ? Stay with us ; 
 I am not rich, but your labor will not be 
 
116 THE RECOVERED 
 
 lost. I am old and childless, and I will 
 give my lands to whoever wfll pay for the 
 renting of them. Remain, who knows 
 what may happen." I looked upon his 
 proposal as very fine and generous, but 
 not clear enough. " Thanks, Mr. Marin, 
 I must not remain any longer. I have 
 helped you to sow your seed as a slight 
 recognition for your kindness in offering 
 me shelter this winter when I was ill ; 
 but a secret voice within me commands 
 me to seek my parents." — You are 
 foolish," repeated the old woman, '* you 
 are losing your time and sacrificing your 
 future ; you would do better by attaching 
 your service to some good person and 
 gain something for your old days." 
 
 The old woman wept when I was 
 starting ; we had become perfectly recon- 
 ciled. She embraced me saying , " A 
 pleasant journey ! good luck ! remember 
 the Blessed Virgin." 
 
KIDXAPPED CHILD H? 
 
 § VII 
 
 WITH Mr. I.OOA.V. 
 
 I Started out on ni)' road ponderfnq- over 
 ^ the words of the old man : " You are 
 doing wron-" words wliich resounded In 
 my ears for several hours. I began to 
 think that he might ha.ve been vU^m af- 
 ter all ; my parents could have been dead 
 a long time ago, and then who was there 
 who cared to give a thought to a poor 
 orphan like myself. It was quite probable 
 that the kidnapping of us did not create 
 any very great sensation, and the news 
 of it, perhaps, did not spread further than 
 the limits of our parish. Three litde child- 
 ren got lost in the woods, they died of 
 hunger and were devoured by wolves. 
 And there the excitement ended. It was 
 
118 THE RECOVERED 
 
 true that our mother must have wept 
 bitterly over our death, but strangers 
 soon forgot us. Evidently the memory of 
 us had not lived during a quarter of a cen- 
 tury and therefore was not fostered by 
 the present generation. Here I was at 
 the western borders of French Canada, 
 while my parents might be living in the 
 east, on the borders of the sea even. 
 Decidedly, after so long a voyage, after 
 so many fruitless efforts, my conscience 
 should not reproach me ; and I should 
 not be considered wanting in filial piety 
 if I stopped for a few moments to think 
 about myself. I could not live forever 
 the life of a vag ibond. 
 
 At this moment a man drove along in 
 a wagon. " Will you jump in my friend?" 
 he asked. It was not necessary for him 
 to repeat his kind request. He was an 
 Englishman and spoke French very bad- 
 ly. While driving along the road he asked 
 me if I could read and write and I ans- 
 wered him in the affirmative. "Would you 
 like to teach my little boys ? " he questi- 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 119 
 
 oned. " Yes, certainly, " I repUecl. I 
 grasped at the opportunity as a drowning 
 man seizes a straw, for I considered it as 
 a gift from Providence. This man proved 
 to be a Mr. James Logan, a resident of 
 Bell's Corner. While with him I had quite 
 an easy life, having only three little lads 
 to attend school. In the intervals between 
 the classes, I harnessed up the horse, ran 
 errands or took Madame Logan out for a 
 drive. At the end of the year I found that 
 my knowledore of Latin had driven out. I 
 was not experienced enough in caligraphy 
 to allow them to make further progress 
 and my limited knowledge of orthogra- 
 phy prevented me from dragging them 
 further into the study of grammar. At all 
 events, I was satisfied that they had not 
 lost their time, for in twelve months I 
 had taught them to speak and read flu- 
 ently. After the vacations the three of 
 them left to attend the hi^rh school. 
 
 M. Logan had rented a first class hotel 
 at Morrisburg and said to me : " If you 
 wish to come with me, and take care 
 
120 THE RECOVERED 
 
 of the yard and horses, I will give you the 
 same salary as you received for teaching 
 school. " I consented and followed him 
 to Morrisburg, where I spent two years. 
 My daily labor consisted in harnessing 
 and unharnessing the horses of way-fa- 
 rers, and, four times a day, upon the arrival 
 of trains, I had to go to the depot to get 
 guests for the hotel. My salary was fixed 
 at ten dollars a month, but the presents 
 which I received from travellers brought 
 me in more. '* Where did all this money 
 go ? " Ah ! that is more than I can tell. 
 Nevertheless, I neither gambled nor 
 drank hard liquor ; but it is regrettable 
 that I had not a father and mother to 
 teach me economy from the day of my 
 youth. M. Logan and his wife were Pro- 
 testants. Frequently they spoke to me 
 about religion and wanted me to attend 
 their " meetings. " Through curiosity I 
 went to them twice, but did not like 
 them. I wis not at the time what one 
 might call a fervent Catholic, yet I never 
 went to sleep or rose in the morning 
 
KiDNArrED CHILD 121 
 
 without saylnor my daily prayers. As if by 
 instinct, I addressed my invocations to the 
 Blessed Viro-in, and I have no doubt that 
 to this kind Mother is due the fact that 
 I surmounted so many obstacles and diffi- 
 culties. The thought of my parents kept 
 continually recurring to me. During th^se 
 three years of comparative rest, it followed 
 me like a shadow and filli-d me with 
 remorse. At night when I had retired 
 to the privacy of my room, I could 
 imagine I heard a voice saying to me : 
 " Where is all your courage now ? Do 
 you purpose living the life of a stranger 
 in the world for ever? Where are^all your 
 fine resolutions ? You allow yourself to 
 become discouraged over the slightest 
 obstacles. Try once more and be assured 
 that success will crown your efforts. " 
 
 My mind was at once made up and 
 scarcely a day passed that I did not 
 make inquiries among the travellers. One 
 morning a gentleman said to me : " You 
 wont have far to go, you will find a family 
 named Marin at Castor or in its immediate 
 
122 THE RECOVERED 
 
 vicinity. My third year having finished 
 in the month of June I bid Mr. Logan 
 farewell and started once more on my 
 search. 
 
 § VIII 
 
 AT CASTOR. 
 
 tFTER a couple of days' walk, I found 
 myself in front of the parish church of 
 Castor. I lost no time in seeing the curate, 
 knowing him to be one of the best 
 informed in the village. '* My friend, " 
 said he, " you certainly have been mis- 
 informed, for there is really no Mr. Marin 
 in my parish. " At this moment the beadle 
 of the church, M. Onesime Langlois 
 entered, and insisted upon taking me to 
 his house, vvdiich was only a couple of 
 acres ^way. I spent eight days under his 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD , 123 
 
 roof. Every evening the villagers around 
 would assemble to hear my curious story ; 
 they sympathized most feelingly with me 
 in my affliction and I soon became 
 lionized in the vicinity. 
 
 Finally one of the neighbors, who had 
 never missed a single evening to come 
 and see me, and who generally listened 
 to me in silence, said to me in a solemn 
 voice, " my poor friend, I pity you. You 
 are only wasting your time running about 
 the world auiil making yourself more 
 unhappy. You appear to me to be a 
 brave young fellow, settle dow-n and you 
 will succeed. If you wish to come and 
 live with me I will treat you as one of my 
 own children." His advice appeared to be 
 a wise one and his frank and pleasing coun- 
 tenance touched my heart. *'A11 right," 
 I replied, " I will take you at your word. 
 But I may tell you that beyond under- 
 standinof how to harness a horse and 
 harrow 1 know very little." " That's all 
 right ; you are young and will learn." 
 
 This newly made friend was called 
 
124 THE RECOVERED 
 
 Mr. Pierre Sig-ouin. He had seven daugh- 
 ters, the eldest twenty years of age, the 
 youngest six, but not a single son. I 
 remained with him durinor the summer, 
 the fall and the winter, nearly a year. I 
 learned how to mow and trash the t^rain. 
 He was a through gentleman, honest, 
 always in good humor, and a regular 
 and fervent attendant at church. Every 
 evening we said prayers together ; every 
 Sunday two carriages brought the familly 
 to church, and a month was never allowed 
 to pass without each one of us going to 
 confession and communion. Judging from 
 the vafrabond's life which I had led all 
 my life it is not surprising that I was 
 more a Catholic by name than by practice. 
 While with Mr. Sigouin, however, light 
 dawned upon me and there I contracted 
 christian habits which I hope to retain 
 till my death. I can never thank the Lord 
 too much for throwing me among such a 
 devout familly. Of no place where I have 
 been have I fostered such fond remem- 
 brances. But here is a little incident 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 125 
 
 which I cannot allow to passuntold. It 
 happened on the first of April. Just as 
 we v/ere at breakfast, Mr. Lancrjois said 
 to me : " Louis, will you do me a favor ? 
 Yesterday I was in town with the curate 
 and I left a new tircpoke and hallcpuke 
 at his house and which I would like you 
 to call for. '' What did you called them r 
 I asked, *' A tircpoke and a hallcpokc. " I 
 looked at him but there was not a smile 
 on his face and I cast a scrutinising- glance 
 at the countenances around the table 
 but every one bore a serious look. Then 
 I thought they were some kind of instru- 
 ments whose name I hrxl not yet learned, 
 for brought up as I v;as on sea there 
 w^ere numerous things on land that I 
 knew nothing about. ^' All right " I finally 
 said, '* I will go with pleasure." He gave 
 me his little sleigh and his fine stout horse 
 and I started oiVat a raju'd nitc. I reached 
 the presbytery in the t\!^inkling of an c ye, 
 leaving the dust flying- on the road bc-lund 
 me. " Father, " I said, " I have come to 
 get the tircpoke :xni}. hcillc/oL that Ixlo.v-s 
 
120 THE RECOVERED 
 
 to Mr. Landois." Without qrlvinor mean 
 answer he rushed into an adjoining room 
 and I heard him laui/hincr as thou^rh his 
 sides would break. He returned ahiiost 
 immediately, however, with a solemn 
 countenance. *' It is true," he said, *' Mr. 
 Lano-lois did leave them here and it was 
 a bad mistake for him to make. He has 
 been forced to send his carriai/e, his horse 
 and you also, who will lose half a day 
 through his forgetfulness. " " Oh ! so far 
 as I am concerned that does not make 
 much difference ; my time is not pre- 
 cious." The curate smiled kindly and I 
 began to feel for poor M. Langlois, who 
 had made such a great blunder. 
 
 The priest called in his housekeeper 
 and they both wrapped up in newspapers 
 three pieces of kindling wood fastc ling 
 them with strings and then putting them 
 in a bag, which I had brought with me. 
 ** Carry them very carefully " the curate 
 said, *' as they are easily broken. "* I 
 started off holding the ti7'cpoke between 
 my two knees and I could hear them 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 127 
 
 roarlnor laughing after I had left. I was 
 as innocent as a new born child and 
 never suspected any thing. I experienced 
 great difficulty in returning, The road 
 was lull of holes and ruts and the infur- 
 iated horse leaped over them at a gallop. 
 He was very nearly running away ; my 
 arms were sore holding him in, and at 
 every jolt I was in fear that the hallepolce 
 would be smashed to pieces. When I 
 arrived the sweat was pouring off me and 
 I was completely worn out. Imagine of 
 my surprise, however, when I drove up 
 to find the whole household, men, women 
 and children, rush out of the house, 
 carrying a pan and knifes and forks to 
 roast " the April fish. " — "1 had been 
 made an April fool of. " — I pretended 
 that I was angry but in my heart I was 
 contented. Such tricks, I said to myself, 
 are only practised on friends. 
 
 One day I met a young man who pre- 
 vailed upon me to go to la Blanche to 
 work in the phosphate mines there and I 
 left the house where I had been treated so 
 
128 THE RECOVERED 
 
 •well. But there is a misfortunate hour in 
 every one's existence and that hour had 
 arrived for me. " You are doing wrong/' 
 Mr. Sigouin said to me, " here you live 
 well, you sleep well, you are quiet and earn 
 a good salary. Why then court misery and 
 misfortune ? " ** You are right. " I said, 
 " but what would you have me do ? The 
 thought of one's parents after having 
 slumbered for some time revives stronger 
 than ever and follows me wherever I go. 
 Who knows but by travelling around the 
 country for work I may receive good 
 news ? " When leaving, Mr. Sigouin 
 shook me warmly by the hand but said 
 nothing ; the little children held on to 
 my coat tails ; the mother and older 
 daughters wept hot tears, but of all that 
 little party I certainly cried the most 
 and the bitterest. 
 
KIDN'ArrED CHILD 129 
 
 ^, IX 
 
 <J 
 
 AT is A BLANCllH- 
 
 N?/'e received employment from a min 
 named Miller, who gave us a dollar 
 and a half a day. '' Can you cook ? " the 
 boss asked me. — " Yes," I replied, " I 
 learned that when quite a youth, travell- 
 ing about the sea." He gave me an apron, 
 which was once white, and I was soon 
 installed master of the kitchen. I had 
 to prepare meals for about a score of 
 men and naturally had very litde time 
 to myself; nevertheless my work was 
 not so hard as that of the men who had 
 to crush and load the ore. I was begin- 
 ning to rejoice over my good fortune, 
 when, fifteen days after my arrival, the 
 
130 THE RECOVERED 
 
 firm burst up. The laborers found them- 
 selves on the street, all without work, 
 and many of them minus their pay. I 
 was among the latter unfortunates. 
 
 I spent the rest of the summer in the 
 vicinity, near the shore of lake Maski- 
 noni/e, at the residence of a widow 
 named Montreuil, who had no one to 
 cultivate her land but a little boy and 
 girl. While there I did the harvesting 
 and ditching. As winter approached I 
 tried to collect some money from the 
 old woman but she denied that she 
 owed me anything. I took out an action 
 against her and lost ; the agreement 
 between us having been badly made. 
 Fortunately my lawyer had taken up 
 the case on the understandino- that if he 
 won he would receive half of what I 
 obtained. I had not a cent to give him ; 
 my purse had been empty from the time 
 that I left Mr. Sigouin's hous'e. After 
 I had lost my case, I walked aimlessly 
 about the village, sad and dejected, 
 until I met a young man : " Are you 
 
KlDNAPrED CHILD 131 
 
 Still looking for your parents ? " he asked. 
 
 — " Yes," I replied. — " Did you see a 
 Mr. Marin that lives in the upper Ga- 
 tincau." — " No. Is it far from here ? " 
 
 — " Thirty leagues." — " Thank you, 
 sir. I will start to-morrow." When I 
 thought that I had to travel ninety miles 
 on foot in the snow and across the moun- 
 tains I began to feci heartsore. " Bah ! 
 after all," I said to myself, *' I will gain as 
 much as I did this summer at any rate." 
 
 §X 
 
 IN THE OATISTEAF. 
 
 |t took me three weeks to make those 
 ^i ninety miles. The roads were horribly 
 bad, the snow drifts were as high in some 
 places as the houses and the storm im- 
 peded my way at every corner. About 
 noon I stopped at the door of Mr. Marin's 
 
 6 
 
132 THE RECOVERED 
 
 house and knocked. " Come in, " said a 
 voice within. — '•' Does Mr. Marin Hve 
 here .'* " I asked. — " Yes, Marin is my 
 name. " — *' Have you ever lost any 
 children ? " And as I asked the question 
 I sank into a chair and the house seemed 
 to turn around. — ** You look pale, stran- 
 ger, are you sick ? " — " No, " said I, 
 ** but I am g-reatly fatigued. It is very 
 tiresome, I assure you, walking along 
 the roads in this part of the country. The 
 further north one goes also, the poorer 
 the families seem to become. Last night 
 I knocked at eight different doors,' with- 
 out receiving anything to eat, and at the 
 ninth I was allowed to sleep In the barn.'' 
 " Then you went to bed without any 
 supper ? " — " No, the lady of the house 
 said they had no bread In the pantry, 
 but that they were about to bake some. 
 I waited until the dough was nearly 
 cooked ; then stealing around behind 
 the oven In the darkness I secured a 
 fresh warm cake which I devoured with 
 avidity, on my bed of straw. I had not 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 133 
 
 made such a good meal for three weeks." 
 " Where are you wandering to now ? " 
 — " I am in search of my parents. My 
 name is Marin and I was kidnapped at 
 the .ge of five years. If you are my 
 father, tell me so at once for I have 
 marched a long distance to find you. " 
 " I am certainly not your father. But I 
 know a man named Marin, who keeps a 
 hotel at the portage of la Lievre, about 
 six leagues north of Buckingham ; he may 
 prove a relation of yours. " " Alas " said 
 I to myself, " how misfortunate I am. I 
 will surely never own a foot of ground 
 in this world." '' My friend," said Mr. 
 Marin, " you can remain here as long as 
 you wish. The table is set, come in and 
 have dinner. You will sup with us and 
 sleep here to-night. In short rest yourself 
 completely after your fatiging journey." 
 I remained with this kind gentleman for 
 nearly two days. 
 
134 THE RECOVERED 
 
 §XI 
 
 AT THE PORTAOf: OF liA Iilt:TBE. 
 
 PHREE weeks later, during the most 
 vigorous portion of the winter season, 
 toward the end of January, I arrived at 
 the portage of La Lievre, thoroughly 
 worn out with fatigue. Night enveloped 
 the forest in darkness but I perceived at 
 intervals through the rapidly descending 
 flakes of snow the lights of the hotel ; 
 then aeain I would be blinded by the 
 drifting sheets of snow. I could hear 
 plainly the angry voices of men as though 
 a quarrel was going on within the hotel. 
 I entered, and as I did so seven or eight 
 travellers who were drinking at the bar, 
 turned around sullenly and looked at me 
 with brazen countenances. I shook like a 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 135 
 
 leaf. A big fellow, six feet tall with large 
 shoulders, came toward me and asked in 
 a gruff voice " What do you want ? " '* Is 
 there a man named Marin living here? " 
 " Yes, that's my name and I was never 
 afraid of any man. " I at once saw that 
 they were all more or less intoxicated. 
 '' I also," I said, "am a Marin by name. 
 I was kidnapped when I was five years 
 old and am now looking for my parents. " 
 " You will not find them here. You are 
 not the first to give me such yarns as 
 this for the purpose of obtaining food and 
 shelter. When a man asks me for charity 
 for God's sake I give it to him, but when 
 he attempts to impose upon me I just turn 
 him out. My friend do you know how 
 you came in. You can get out the same 
 way." **Sir,but please think that nobody 
 can live in such weather as prevails with- 
 out." — '* Go out, I tell you, go out. " I 
 did not move. He then sprang towards 
 me, seized me with both hands and de- 
 livering me a severe kick, threw me down 
 the gallery as if I had been a mitten. 
 
136 THE RECOVERED 
 
 For several minutes I lay on my side, 
 unable to rise ; I could hear them within 
 laughing, shouting, swearing and wrest- 
 ling. Great God what a destiny was mine I 
 On rising I proceeded as best I could 
 along the road leading to the bush ; I had 
 three leagues to cover to reach the nearest 
 house. Beinp- afraid of wolves I imagined 
 that each moment I could see balls of 
 fire in the brushwood and I would stop 
 and listen. All that I could hear was 
 the moaning of the wind in the tall trees 
 and from time to time the feeble echoes 
 of the shouts and curses of the inebriated 
 leaving the hotel. Discouraged^ disheart- 
 ened, the hair standing up on my head, 
 I fell to the snow on my knees and said 
 my prayers, " My God, my God !" said 
 I, " do not abandon me less I perish 
 alone in this forest and even the passers- 
 by will not find my body as it will be 
 covered up by the snow. " I had hardly 
 struggled along three miles when I heard 
 some noise from behind me. I stopped 
 short and listened ; I soon heard the 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 137 
 
 jingling- of silver bells and a few moments 
 later a man drove up to me in a sleigh. 
 I asked him if he would carry me a 
 distance and he said *' yes, jump on." 
 Some six arpents further the road des- 
 cended towards the river. Our horse was 
 galloping, and before we knew where we 
 were we found ourselves in the water. The 
 strong current had eaten away the ice, 
 nothing but snow remaining on the sur- 
 face of the water. The horse and sleigh 
 immediately disappeared, and the man 
 and myself were struggling amidst the 
 broken ice. The water was cold but not 
 so much as one would have imagined. 
 I felt my fingers were freezingas I placed 
 them on the floating ice. Finally after a 
 great struggle I succeeded in landing 
 on the solid ice, and catching my com- 
 panion by the hair I saved him also. It 
 was high time, because he was very weak 
 and about sinking. At this moment we 
 heard another sleigh coming. I ran 
 towards it and shouted out, " Do not pass . 
 here ; we have just lost our horse. " 
 
138 THE RECOVERED 
 
 There were two horses attached to this 
 sleigh. Unhitching the horses and taking 
 them by a long circuit we reached the 
 opposite shore. Then we pulled the 
 sleigh over ourselves. During this time 
 the man who had lost his horse was 
 crying and running about pulling his hair 
 and wantinor to throw himself Into the 
 water. " Come on with us " said the man 
 with the team, " it is useless to search 
 any longer ; the current has carried away 
 everything. No doubt your misfortune 
 is a great one but you should be happy 
 that you saved your own life." We were 
 on the road all night. I thought I would 
 be frozen. From time to time we ran 
 behind the sleigh to warm ourselves up. 
 Our clothes were as stiff as shingles and 
 it was with the greatest difficulty that 
 we could get along. At six o'clock we 
 entered the village of Buckingham. I 
 thanked the teamster for having taken 
 us along. The other man thanked me 
 ' for having fished him out of the river, 
 and both wished me all succes in my 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 139 
 
 researches. We parted after a hearty 
 shake of the hand. A common dano-er 
 and mutual services had made staunch 
 friends of us in a few hours. 
 
 § XII 
 
 AT BUCKIlVGIIASi; 
 
 I went straight to the presbytery ; the 
 ^ priest was just leaving it to say his 
 mass. In a few words I told him of the 
 accident which had befallen me during the 
 night and I asked him for certain infor- 
 mation. - It is well," said he, '' go to the 
 kitchen. They will give you a change of 
 clothing; warm yourself,have your break- 
 fast,and after mass we will talk over your 
 affair." 
 
140 THE RECOVERED 
 
 About nine o'clock he called me into his 
 office and submitted me to all kinds of 
 questions and cross questions. I wanted to 
 retire, saying " I cannot thus take up your 
 time and abuse your patience, " — ** No, 
 do not fear, all you say is interesting to 
 me. Anyhow you cannot leave now see- 
 ing you have to wait until your clothes 
 are dry, because, " he added with a smile, 
 ** I am not giving you mine. After dinner 
 if you are willing you may continue your 
 journey ; until then you are my prisoner. " 
 He seemed to take a real interest in me. 
 " There are certainly no Marinsin Buck- 
 ingham, though, perhaps, you may find 
 some in Ripon ; that township is peopled 
 by families hailing from different parishes 
 in Canada. I will give you a letter of in- 
 troduction to the curate of the locality." 
 I was very much impressed with this 
 kindness and when I was about to leave 
 I fell upon m)/ knees to thank him and 
 to ask his blessing. Taking me by the 
 arm, he bid me rise and embracing me 
 said ; " You are a brave young man and 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 141 
 
 God will bless you. You will find 
 parents when you least expect it." 
 
 your 
 
 § XIII 
 
 AT RIPOX. 
 
 I then started for RIpon. " You will find 
 ^ your parents. " These words sounded 
 in my ears as the prediction of a prophet. 
 1 his priest, it seemed to me, was inspired 
 by God ; he spoke with such firmness 
 and with such sincerity. In the belief 
 that I would find my parents, I felt reliev- 
 ed and already rewarded for all my fa- 
 tigues. With unshakeable hope I'was 
 waiting for an immediate realization of 
 this promise ; it was to be realised, but 
 to Its fullest extent, when I least expected 
 it. 
 
 I was proceeding along with a light 
 heart but fatigued limbs. I had spent 
 
142 THE RECOVERED 
 
 the niorht without sleep, the accident 
 which had happened to me, the cold I 
 had endured,the different emotions which 
 I had undergone, all this combined to 
 weaken my strength. In the gloaming I 
 wrapped at a small house where I asked 
 for shelter for God's sake. " Yes," replied 
 a young woman, '* with pleasure, I will 
 give you a bed but I cannot give you 
 any thing to eat because there is nothing 
 in the house." I walked up to the fire- 
 place where a bright fire was burning. 
 Five small children, the eldest 12 years 
 old, surrounded it, all pale, lean and poorly 
 dressed. It is impossible to be poorer 
 than was this family ; in the sole apart- 
 ment of the house there were neither 
 tables, beds or chairs. The three young- 
 est children, who were crying, were also 
 saying " mamma I am hungry, mamma 
 give me some bread." It was enough to 
 break one's heart. I slept all the same 
 on the rough floor. I awoke in the morn- 
 ing with a ravenous appetite. During the 
 whole forenoon I was unable to find any 
 
KIDNAPPED CTTTLD 143 
 
 thing- to eat. On my road, the houses 
 were far apart and were log huts, as 
 miserable as the one in which I had slept. 
 At noon I was completely broken down.' 
 The trees were dancing before my eyes. 
 I wrapped at the door of an English far- 
 mer's house which was comfortable look- 
 ing. On entering I fell to the floor. The 
 Englishman helped me to rise and asked 
 me if I was sick. " I beleive, " said i, 
 •' that I am weak in the stomach as I 
 
 havenoteatenanything since noon yester- 
 day. They gave me a good meal. " Now" 
 said he " do you wish to lie down and 
 rest ? " I will do so if you please. I be- 
 leive a litde rest will do me good " A 
 bed was placed near the stove. I went 
 to sleep immediatly. When I awoke it 
 was dark. I felt better but not much 
 stronger. " Will you allow me to pass 
 the night under your roof.? " said I, "Cer- 
 tainly, we turn nobody out especially when 
 they are sick. French, English, Catholics 
 Protestants, we are all brothers in Jesus- 
 Christ." - " Thank you, " I replied, 
 
144 THE RECOVERED 
 
 ** your charity strengthens me. " God 
 has his own every where. 
 
 For eight days I was the Englishman's 
 guest. When I was better he said : " I 
 have some business at the house of one 
 of my brothers ; will you come with me ? 
 We will go around the lake of Ripon and 
 you may perhaps learn something about 
 your parents, without any miracle being 
 effected." — " On the contrary," said I, "it 
 would be a great miracle. " We went 
 around the lake and stopped at a dozen 
 places but no Marins were to be found. 
 I was not surprised ; I expected it. The 
 following day I bid my benefactors fare- 
 well. *' Good bye, sir and madame, I owe 
 you a great deal. I am going away cured 
 in two ways; here I found wisdom and 
 health." -- "How is that, what do you 
 mean ? " they asked. " I have resolved to 
 abandon forever my useless researches " 
 " I think you do well " — " Good bye." 
 " Good bye." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I DECIDE TO SEARCH FOR My PARENTS 
 NO MORE. 
 
 il. 
 
 RETUBX OF THE PUODIQAL SON. 
 
 proceeded, by way of Clarence, along 
 I the south shore of the Ottawa, reflec- 
 ^ ting as I went on the comfort enjoyed 
 under the roof of kind Mr. Pierre Sigouin, 
 and reproaching myself with the folly of 
 having left him ! Castor is not very far 
 off; suppose I return and address him 
 thus : dear sir ; I have been mistaken : 
 
14G THE RFXOVERED 
 
 can I hope for forgiveness ; will you 
 receive me once more as one of your 
 children ? Perhaps he would reply : 
 your mania to roam about the world 
 will revive and you will start off again. 
 In such a case I should try to convince 
 him that my resolution differed from all 
 nrecedinof ones. Till now I had been 
 hopefull and felt a desire to resume my 
 search whenever a favorable opportunity 
 presented itself. But weariness has seized 
 upon me, I have become disheartened and 
 disofusted. I know not what induced 
 to look upon the curate of Buckingham's 
 words as prophetic ; they were nothing 
 but the expression of a kind wish. The 
 cold ducking I had experienced must 
 have upset my ideas. . . No, my parents 
 are dead or else they live far away from 
 here. Evidently God does not desire I 
 should find them ; may His holy will be 
 done ! After all, I thank him for my 
 liberty, the first of blessings. May His 
 name be blessed. 
 
 Nevertheless I did not go to Castor ; 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 147 
 
 I was ashamed. My clothes were in 
 tatters, and I had no wish to return 
 among the Sigouins in worse trim than 
 I had left them. I worked for clothing 
 for five months, and felt the time very 
 long, first at Clarence in a saw mill, then 
 at Costelman with a rich person who 
 gave me the care of four stallions. Then 
 I started newly clad from head to foot. 
 
 It was a beautiful summer day. I 
 walked on with a light heart, serenaded 
 by the joyful notes of the songsters in 
 the trees. All the golden dreams of the 
 past returned to memory ; I was then 
 to live in peace and surrounded by 
 friendship. 
 
 On perceiving the house from afar my 
 eart almost broke with joy . My summons 
 brought a stranger to the door. " Does 
 Mr. Sigouin live here ? " I asked.— '- He 
 did, but has left." — '' Since when f ' — 
 " Since Spring."— " Why did he sell his 
 land, he seemed to be getting on well ? " 
 — " Not having any son, and his health 
 not being very good, he decided to give 
 
148 THE RECOVERED 
 
 up farmingr." — '• Where has he gone ? " 
 — " To Cornwall. His grand daughters 
 work, in a cotton factory, and he with 
 his horse works at carting loads." A 
 pang of remorse shot through me. Had 
 I remained, Mr. Sigouin would not have 
 sold his land. I withdrew in sadness. It 
 was noon. I went to Mr. Langlois who 
 was glad to see me and begged me to 
 stop with him till next morning. I 
 thanked him for the kind invitation, pro- 
 mising to visit him again, and making 
 known how soon I desired to reach my 
 benefactor. I set out immediately after 
 dinner. 
 
 One evening, I found much difficulty 
 in obtaining shelter. I was warned at 
 the first door I approached that there 
 was small-pox in the house. The same 
 announcement was made at each suc- 
 ceeding house. Grown impatient I knock- 
 ed again, to hear the same story. ** No 
 matter, if you allow me to enter, I will 
 remain," I replied. — " You may come 
 in." When I saw the sick person, I grew 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 149 
 
 as cold as ice, the sight was so terrible. 
 Great God, if I should become attacked, 
 what parents would attend me ! 
 
 The table was set and the master of 
 the house invited me to be seated. 
 *' Thanks," I replied, "I am not very 
 \vdl I fell more sleepy than hungry." 
 He asked his wife to prepare a bed for 
 me, but I said that I was more accus- ' 
 tomed to lying on the ground with my 
 coat for a pillow. After reciting my 
 prayers with unusual devotion ancfbeg- 
 ging God to preserve me from the small- 
 pox, I stretched myself on the floor 
 near the chimney place. 
 
 I rose at five in the morning and 
 advancing towards the door on tiptoe 
 and noiselessly opening it set off without 
 as much as saying good day. How I 
 enjoyed the clear, fresh air ! Gaining 
 a small wood, with the morning breeze 
 floating around, I knjlt down upon the 
 dewy leaves and said my morning pray- 
 ers. '* Thanks, my God, for thy kindness. 
 If I have at times been overcome with 
 
150 THE RECOVERED 
 
 sadness, you have also provided me 
 with delicious moments." The thought 
 of soon seeing Mr. Sigouin filled my 
 heart with sentiments of gratitude. 
 
 § II 
 
 MY FIRST TRIP TO CORNWALL. 
 
 {T was seven o'clock in the evening 
 when I entered Cornwall as a stranger. 
 Having been directed to Plamondon's 
 HGtel,and my heart divided between hope 
 and fear, I asked the hotel-keeper if he 
 knew a Mr. Sigouin residing in the 
 neighborhood. '' I know a person bear- 
 ing that name," he replied, '' building a 
 house for himself in the eastern portion 
 of the city." — " Do you know where he 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 151 
 
 came from ? "— - From Castor."—- He 
 is exactly the man I am lookin.o- for." 
 The hotel-keeper commissioned his 
 young- son to guide me to the place. 
 ^ My summons at the door brought a 
 little girl of twelve years, and,as she did 
 not recognise me, I asked if her father 
 was at home. '' Yes sir." Mr. Sigouin, 
 as soon as he heard my voice came forth, 
 and at sight of me, cried out : " Here is 
 Louis Marin, wife, Louis has come 
 to see us." The woman soon followed 
 to greet me. Then the daughters rushed 
 m throwing their arms around my neck, 
 whilst the youngest took possession of 
 my lap. The entire family were as 
 pleased as if a lost child or a brother 
 had returned. - Where have you come 
 from ? " asked Mrs. Sigouin. — - From 
 la Blanche," I replied, '' Gatineau, la 
 Li^vre, Buckingham, Clarence, and 
 twenty other places I have forgotten the 
 names of." - '' You have roamed about 
 like the wandering Jew." — « Yes, and 
 often without a cent in my pocket." — 
 
152 THE RECOVERED 
 
 " You must have suffered a great deal." 
 — " More, dear woman, than I can tell." 
 — " Had you remained with us you 
 would have been better off." — "I often 
 regretted having left." — ** When you 
 went I often started from my sleep at 
 night and woke my husband to say : 
 " Perhaps poor Louis is sleeping out of 
 doors to niMit, he so dislikes asking for 
 shelter." — " Very true," I added, " I 
 have more than once stretched myself 
 beneath the stars, and more than once 
 have I spent the day without a meal. 
 Then I thought of you and said to my- 
 self : how foolish have I been to leave 
 such a good place and such kind people." 
 These words brouofht tears to Mrs. Si- 
 gouin's eyes ; then Mr. Sigouin followed 
 by the rest of us, alternately laughed 
 and cried. Mrs. Sigouin resumed : " We 
 warned you of what would happen, not 
 indeed that we wished it to be so, for 
 we had no reason to do so after the 
 great help you afforded us whilst you 
 were with us. ** Remain with us, now. 
 
KIDNAPrED CHILD 153 
 
 then," broke in Mr. Sigouln. — " I hope 
 I may be able to do so. If I can ^et a 
 place in the factory, I will o-q no farther 
 than Cornwall and, if you will permit me, 
 become your boarder." We chatted till 
 after midnight. I never dreamt of the 
 pleasure one feels on returning into the 
 midst of a family one loves. 
 
 Next morning, Mr. Sigouin returned 
 from the factory, saying : " I have ob- 
 tained for you the work of minding a 
 horse outside the mill ; you will have to 
 pick off and card the residue of cotton 
 remaining attached to the spindles, in 
 order to manufacture a coarse material 
 for bags. It is not very hard." The first 
 day I was on trial, I feared very much 
 that I should not do the work properly, 
 but several times during the day, my 
 foreman, Mr. Podus, would say : " I 
 never had a boy who performed the 
 work so well." 
 
 I retained this place, which I liked 
 very well,for the space of fifteen months, 
 till November 1878, during which time 
 
154 THE RECOVERED 
 
 I continued to lodn^e at the house of 
 Mr. Sigouin. Then the factory reduced 
 the number of hands, I was amongst 
 those whose services were not needed, 
 but was assured of obtaininor work at 
 the commencement of the Spring. 
 
 § III 
 
 SOVTHWOOD. 
 
 fiNDTNG myself out of work, I resolved 
 to spend the winter in the forests of 
 the state of New York, at a place called 
 Southwooi, about sixty miles south of 
 Ogdensburg. Once more I left the good 
 Mr. Sigouin, but this time our separa- 
 tion was not as painful as the first one 
 as I promised to return. Alas ! how little 
 we know, even of the near future. It is 
 well it IS so, otherwise we would be 
 
KIDNAPrED CHILD 155 
 
 unable to bear the present trials as well 
 as those to come. 
 
 I entered the employ of Mr. Hogware, 
 and took charge of hors ^ for Mr. John 
 Jasmay. We passed by Prescott and Og- 
 densburg. At this latter place we stop- 
 ped at the house of a Canadian. During 
 our evenine's conversation around the 
 stove, I related my story and asked him 
 if he was acquainted with any one called 
 Marin. *' No," he replied, *' but I see 
 many persons here from whom I can 
 make enquiry. Call here on your return 
 in the spring ; I may have some news 
 for yoti. " These words revived my 
 hopes. I was firmly decided against 
 renewing any search for my parents, but 
 wou4d gladly receive any information 
 concerning them. 
 
 We spent the winter drawing pine 
 bark. It was collected durinof the sum- 
 mer, from the top of mountains, from 
 vallies and from places almost inacces- 
 sible ; and when snow covered the 
 ground it was taken to the tanner. 
 
156 THE RECOVERED 
 
 I was almost losing- my feet in those 
 mountains as they were frozen for the 
 third time. I hope it will be the last 
 time. One of my sleighs ran into a 
 stump, and in order to find what the 
 matter was, I jumped out and discovered 
 myself in fifteen inches of water. It took 
 some time to return to the camp, which 
 I reached durin^^ an intense frost, almost 
 frozen. The overseer spoke of sending 
 me to a neighboring villag^e to be cared 
 for. '' I beg- of you to keep me here," I 
 exclaimed. " Where do you want me 
 to go. I have neither parents nor friends 
 in this country. I will be as little trouble 
 as possible. I will pay you for your 
 pains." They had pity on me and allowed 
 me to remain. Three fourths of my wages 
 remained in their hands. Thus you see 
 I did not amass a great fortune. 
 
 At the commencement of March a 
 great deal of rain fell and the men were 
 sent off. I stopped according to promise 
 at the hotel-keeper's of Ogdensburg ; he 
 had much useless information to give. 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 157 
 
 £ IV 
 
 MY SECOND TRIP TO CORNWALL. 
 
 I resolved to make my return to Mr. 
 * Sigouin's a festive occasion. But alas ! 
 I found his corpse laid out and his fu- 
 neral service set for the following day. 
 ]V?y reappearance in the family caused 
 the sobs and lamentations to be increased. 
 This unexpected scene came upon me 
 like a thunder bolt, and I remained 
 stunned for months. In place of a kind 
 friend, I found a piece of cold clay. 
 Once more I became an orphan. 
 
 Mrs. Sigouin had become financially 
 embarrassed. She was obliged to sell 
 her house and too-ether with her dauo-h- 
 ters had rented rooms elscAvhere. I took 
 lodging with a Mr. Robidoux, a kind 
 
158 THE RECOVERED 
 
 hearted person with whom I became ac- 
 quainted on my first trip to Cornwall. 
 Now and then I visited her whom I 
 looked upon as a mother and those 
 young girls whom I considered in the 
 light of sisters. Our meetiog was always 
 a pleasant occasion, but the gaiety and 
 careless tone of former days had died 
 with the head of the family. 
 
 I remained two years and three mopths 
 with Mr. Robidoux, constantly employed 
 in the factory. Though I* enjoyed the 
 best of treatment, I grew sad and 
 pensive ; my cheeks became sunken 
 and my sight weak. Often, shut up in 
 my small room, I passed the night without 
 sleep, I no longer desired to search for 
 my parents ; the idea had become dis- 
 agreable ; discouragement had taken 
 possession of me. How many grand 
 hopes had I entertained, how few did I 
 realize ! I had roamed the earth all the 
 days of my life in the form of a stranger, 
 and during that time had enjoyed but 
 two years of comfort and peace. Now 
 
VTDNAPPED CHILD 
 
 159 
 
 tjie death of an only friend had come to 
 strike another blow. 
 
 I was about to attain the object of 
 my search ; I felt certain of it ; but still 
 I longed for the grave. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 T^OUND AT LAST 
 
 §1 
 
 A SCBPBISK INDEED* 
 
 _ iNCE the Spring there had been em- 
 11 ployed in the factory and boarding 
 ^ with me at the house of Mr. Robi- 
 doiix a young^girl, about twenty years 
 of age, named MathtJde Gauthier ; her 
 parents resided in the parish of St. Ra- 
 phael, on the eighth concession of* Lan- 
 caster ; consequently not far from the 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD IGI 
 
 boundaries of the province of Quebec 
 and the parish of St. Polycarpe. She 
 listened to my story with much attention, 
 often asking me to repeat this or that 
 circumstance which she might have for- 
 gotten ; she seemed to be greatly in- 
 terested. 
 
 In the month of August Miss Gau- 
 thier visited her father, Joseph Gauthier. 
 She was asked if Mr. Robidoux had 
 many boarders. " Six ; three girls and 
 three men," was the answer. " One of 
 them I can assure you deserves to be 
 pitied. He was stolen away from home 
 at the age of five years, together with a 
 young brother and a second cousin, the 
 former four and the latter six years of 
 age. He has looked for his parents in 
 every direction but without success. He 
 has given up his search ; night often 
 finds him alone in tears ; it is sad to see 
 him." — "How old is he?" — "About 
 forty." — " From the story I should say 
 that he might be the brother of Mrs. 
 Isidore Hamelin, the daughter of Mr. 
 
1G2 THE RECOVERED 
 
 Hyaclnthe Cholet, of St. Polycarpe." 
 — ** Indeed," continued the girl, " he 
 resembles him very much." — " Well," 
 added the mother to her children, " Mr. 
 Isidore has gone in company with his 
 wife to see his father-in-law, he will 
 return to-morrow ; stop him when he is 
 passing by." 
 
 Mr. Hamelin lived on the same con- 
 cession, about twenty acres distant. The 
 day following he was returning at a brisk 
 pace, when Madame Gauthier hastened 
 to the road and called out : " One mo- 
 ment, Mr. Isidore, if you please." After 
 making enquiries concerning the people 
 of Lower Canada, old Mr. Cholet and 
 his wife, he replied that they were well. 
 *' You cannot guess, why I have stopped 
 you," said Mrs. Gauthier. " Have you 
 not lost a little brother, Mrs. Hamelin .'* 
 I think I have heard so." — "Alas! not 
 only one, but two with a second cousin. 
 We have never heard of them since their 
 disappearance." Then Mrs. Gauthier re- 
 peated the story which her daughter 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 1G3 
 
 brought from Cornwall. " Indeed,'' re- 
 plied Mrs. Hamelin, " the story agrees 
 well with the abduction of my two little 
 brothers. I greatly desire to see that 
 young man, the more so that you say 
 he resembles me. If my harvest were 
 gathered, I would visit him immediately." 
 — "If you wish," said Mrs. Gauthier, 
 " my husband will bring him from Corn- 
 wall, when he brings Mathilde next 
 week." — "Certainly, we will be very 
 grateful for the favor." Mrs. Hamelin 
 was transported with joy at this news, 
 and Mrs. Gauthier was very proud of 
 having been the first to communicate it. 
 
164 THE RECOVERED 
 
 li. 
 
 A GLEAM OF DOPK. 
 
 §OME days later, Mr. Gauthier reached 
 the house of Mr. Robidoux, about 
 noon, with his dauorhter. The month of 
 September was just commencing. On 
 entering he burst out : Where is the lost 
 child ? "— *' At the factory."—- Will he 
 soon return ? " — " In about an hour he 
 will come to dinner ; why are you in 
 such a hurry to see him ? " — " Well, we 
 have found his parents." I entered as 
 these words were being uttered. " Here 
 he is ; " — " Say nothing to him ; I wish 
 to effect a surprise." 
 
 " Hurry, Louis, hurry, " exclaimed Mr. 
 Robidoux. "make haste to the table, I'm 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 1C5 
 
 golnrr to tell your fortune out of the tea- 
 cup. This languag-e from a man ever so 
 serious as Mr. Robidoux surprised me. 
 "Hurry" said the other lod^rers. ''till 
 Mr. Robidoux makes known where your 
 parents are." I found them more merrier 
 than usual, whilst Mrs.Robidoux walked 
 about and dried her tears with a table 
 napkin. " You are crying Mrs. Robi- 
 doux ? " — - Yes, " she replied, - I am 
 crying with joy for you." I was sorely 
 puzzled. J 
 
 Hereupon Mr. Gauthier came out of 
 
 the room and said : *' My dear Sir, will 
 
 you come with me ? I will conduct you 
 
 to your parents. "— - Sir," I replied, " I 
 
 thank your kind offer very much ; but i( 
 
 my father be alive indeed, I think that 
 
 he ought to look for me, since I have so 
 
 long sought for him. " — - You have 
 
 grown very independant ! " burst out all 
 
 around me — " No, but I can scarcely 
 
 believe that my parents are so near." 
 
 " Never mind it is worth while miking 
 
 another attempt. " — - I have to j ofLen 
 
ICG THE RECOVERED 
 
 already been seduced from a good 
 place 1^^ false appearances. I have an 
 excellent position now ; I mean to keep 
 it."—" You may g-o," said Mr. Robidoux ; 
 " you will lose nothing by it. I promise. 
 When you return you will Find a warm 
 spot, and I will speak to your master. " 
 I was aware that Mr. Robidoux had 
 much influence with the directors of the 
 factory and my hesitation about leaving 
 was quieted. •* Thanks," I replied ; •• I will 
 follow your advice and start. " I set out 
 an hour later amid a shower of smiles, 
 good wishes and high hopes. 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 1{]J 
 
 §111. 
 
 flONEWARD. 
 
 r^. IDWAY on our route we put up at the 
 '^j^-'l house of Mrs. Robidoux's father and 
 stopped for the night. The journey 
 seemed interminable. I enquired about 
 my old parents ; asked their age and 
 their means of subsistence. Mr. Gauthier 
 said : " Your real name is not Louis Ma- 
 rin, but Pierre Cholet, your father s name 
 is Hyacinthe Cholet ; your cousin was 
 called Pierre Doucet. " — " Indeed I 
 remembered that one day on board ship 
 we were told : " You will henceforth 
 answer to the name of Pierre Marin, you 
 to that of Louis Marin and you to that of 
 Toussaint Marin."— "Naturally enough," 
 
168 THE RECOVERED 
 
 Mr. Gauthier remarked, '* the vilains wish- 
 ed to efface every trace of your origin ; 
 and as you were brought up on sea, they 
 determined to call you Marin. " — " That 
 is the reason why all my searches have 
 been a failure ; I have been travelling 
 under a false name. " 
 
 About noon next day w^e reached the 
 house of Mr. Hamelin. The residence 
 was built on a small hill, a good way 
 from the road. We left the waggon at a 
 gate and walked up the hill on foot. 
 When the youngsters perceived us they 
 began to clap their hands and cry out : 
 ** Maman, here is Mr. Gauthier and uncle 
 Polycarpe. " Polycarpe is my youngest 
 brother, we are about alike in stature and 
 looks and have the same eait when walk- 
 ing. W^ithout knowing it, these children 
 of five and six years were quick at perceiv- 
 ing a resemblance in our appearance. 
 1. My sister on hearing my voice was so 
 overcome that she almost fainted. My 
 brother-in-law coming out said : " Please 
 do not enter yet, my wife is not able to 
 
KIDNArrED CFIILD 169 
 
 bear any fresh emotion. " He conducted 
 us about an acre away from the house to 
 a shady spot behind the barn, and then 
 seated upon a pine logf, I started my 
 long- story from the beorinning-. At first 
 my audience only comprised Mr. Gau- 
 thier, Mr. Hamelin and his employee ; 
 soon after my sister arrived in company 
 with a woman of the neighborhood ; 
 they remained inside the barn, but I 
 could hear the sighs of exhaustion occa- 
 sioned by their continued sobbing-. 
 
 For two hours I spoke on. Mr. Hamelin 
 said : " Your words, my friend, do not 
 appear to be those of an imposter." 
 Thereupon my sister rushed from the 
 barn into my arms, exclaiming : " you 
 are my brother, I thought so at first 
 sight of you. " — " Since you believe me 
 to be your brother lead me to our parents, 
 I will rely upon their judgement." — 
 "With the greatest pleasure," added Mr. 
 Hamelin, " but you must wait for some 
 days. A portion of my grain has not 
 been gathered, I must insure it against 
 
170 THE RECOVERED 
 
 rain before leaving." — " Kind Sir ; take 
 all the time necessarj^ ; I will only be too 
 happy to give you my help. 
 
 After thanking Mr. Gauthier for hav- 
 ing brought me to the place, my brother- 
 in-law said to him : " Since it was you 
 who discovered him, you must accom- 
 pany us to my father-in-law, otherwise 
 the feast would not be complete." — 
 " Very well, when you are ready let me 
 know ; I never miss a pleasait opportu- 
 nity." On returning from the field at the 
 hour of repast, my sister did every thing 
 to make me confortable. She had never 
 seen me but had often heard my mother 
 speak of "that poor dead little Pierre." 
 She was nov/ at the head of a fine young 
 family, five boys and one girl. I took care 
 not to mention my sufferings before her 
 as they caused her to shed tears. Every 
 night the neighboring farmers came to 
 hear of my adventures ; amongst them 
 was one of my uncles, Etienne St-Amand, 
 my mother's brother, married to a lister 
 of Mr. St-Amand. Questions showered 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 171 
 
 from every side tc which I endeavoured 
 to reply as well as possible ; none doubt- 
 ed that I was the son of old Hyacinthe. 
 
 § IV 
 
 HomE. 
 
 f set -^"on the fourth day about eio-ht 
 * o *H the morning together with 
 
 my sisLCi and brother-in-law in the same 
 carriage, in the direction of St-Poly- 
 carpe, where my father resided. On the 
 way Mr. and Mrs. Gauthier, my uncle 
 and my aunt, joined us. The three ve- 
 hicles left a trail of dust behind as they 
 advanced. A spirit of gaity was in our 
 midst ; the tone of our conversation, our 
 holiday attire, the manes of our horses 
 
172 THE RECOVERED 
 
 floating on the breeze and the beautiful 
 shafts of sun that descended about us 
 proclaimed a happy hour. It seemed 
 as if the laborers in the fields we passed 
 stopped their toil for a moment to smile 
 at our bliss. 
 
 My uncle Latreille, drove in advance 
 to notify our aged parents of our arrival, 
 fearing that a sudden surprise might 
 shock them. He reached them three 
 hours before us. — ** Hyacinthe," said he, 
 " your son whom you thought was lost 
 for ever, has arrived." — ** Which boy ? " 
 — " Pierre, the older of the two you lost, 
 he is thirty years of age ! " — " What about 
 the other ? "— " He died, as did also little 
 Cay en." In few words my uncle related 
 the story of my abduction, my desertion 
 and my long searches. The aged couple 
 were at first plonged into a state of mys- 
 tification ; till at last conviction gained 
 mastery by the sincere proclamation 
 of Mr. Latreille who kept repeating : " I 
 tell you, Hyacinthe,your boy has return- 
 ed, he is coming with Mr. Hamelin, a 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 173 
 
 few hours will bring- him here. " Then 
 they were thrown into a transport of joy ; 
 my mother shed tears whilst my father 
 walked in hurried steps about the floor ; 
 now they approached this window now 
 that one to gaze out. " What keeps 
 them.'*" they would ask each other, 
 " they are very long- in coming. " 
 
 Mr. Gauthier said in referring to me : 
 " tell him nothing so that we may see if 
 he is able to recognise the place, when 
 we come up to it. " On arriving near 
 the school house about seven or eight 
 acres from my father's, I said : *' Stop a 
 moment ; I went to school here four or 
 five times. " They burst out laughing. 
 " Do you think so ? it has been rebuilt 
 since. " — " It is not the house it is the 
 cross I recogi ise, I explained. It was 
 blessed the year of my abduction. I 
 remember when the parish priest spoke 
 from a stump. It was a cross of cedar 
 wood. Such and such a circumstance 
 had slept in my memory ; now they 
 revived as I approached the scene where 
 
174 THE RFXOVKRF.D 
 
 they had occurred. " True, " replied my 
 uncle St-Amand, "the cross was blessed 
 about that time. " 
 
 We arrived about five in the evenincr. 
 Already the news of my return had 
 spread around and some fifty people 
 stood within or about th? house. I 
 refrained from enterinor until the horses 
 were secured, being some /hat abashed 
 at such a congregation of persons. I 
 entered the kitchen door amid a dead 
 silence and with every eye fixed upon 
 me. I was confused. Some one placed a 
 chair for me near a small table ; I seated 
 myself. My mother advanced and 
 placing her two hands upon the table 
 said in words broken by sobs : " Is it 
 true. . . that you have. . . been stolen ? " 
 She then almost fainted, whilst several 
 women led her to a sofa. I felt almost 
 suffocated and was obliged to go out- 
 side. Cold water was brought and after 
 bathing my face I felt better. My 
 mother also grew stronger. This incident 
 moved the whole assembly, the men 
 
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KIDNAPrED CHILD 175 
 
 lowered their voices whilst the women 
 burst into tears. 
 
 On entering the 1 ise I was conduct- 
 ed to the parlor. My father throwing 
 his arms around my neck embraced me 
 repeatedly. " Poor child ! " said he " let 
 us hear your story from beginning to 
 end. All sat down ; the house was 
 packed,whilst the crowd kept increasing 
 outside, heads were stretched inside the 
 windows, every tongue was silent and 
 every ear attentive. •* Dear parents and 
 relatives, it would be a pleasant task for 
 me to relate my history seated here ; but I 
 am too greatly moved to find utterance." 
 " Take your time," burst from every one. 
 I spoke for two hours ; now and then an 
 interruption occasioned by the women's 
 sobs afforded leisure to gain breath. My 
 old father would then wind his arm 
 about me and sav : " And is it true, 
 Pierre that you have come back ? " My 
 mother also, gazed up silently into my 
 face ; I seem to see her still devouring 
 me with her eyes. 
 
176 THE RFXOVERED 
 
 At eight o'clock we rose to take some 
 rest. Every one exclaimed : " It is he, 
 it is he. " — " Yes," added my father, " it 
 is indeed my son over whom I have 
 wept so lonor. " — " One moment" I said, 
 " I am going- to give a crowning proof 
 of my identity, we bore certain marks 
 upon us. Pierre Doucet had a small 
 lump upon his head; Toussaint bore 
 two small pox pits on his left temple ; I 
 have also two marks occasioned by 
 small-pox on the right groin. " — *' True" 
 responded my mother. " He could not 
 have divined these secrets. What greater 
 proof can we ask ? " — " I have no doubt, 
 kind Providence has restored our child ! " 
 added my father. " God has shown his 
 love for us to-day, let us express our 
 thanks." On his invitation we bent 
 down upon our knees and recited five 
 decades of the beads. 
 
KlDNArPED CHILD 177 
 
 § V 
 
 AUTUKATTIC TEKIFICATIon* 
 
 fHE sun is not spotless ; the brightest 
 day is not cloudless. In general every 
 one believed me ; my brother only, with 
 whom my parents resided, entertained 
 some doubt. He often repeated to them : 
 " Do not be too credulous, perhaps you 
 are dealing with a crafty knave who 
 seeks an opportunity to rob you. " 
 These words threw them into a state of 
 melancholy. 
 
 Fear nothing I said to my brother, I 
 have not come to inconvenience anyone 
 or exact a share of inheritance. All I 
 beg is to call the authors of my life by 
 the name of father and mother, since I 
 
 8 
 
178 TITF. RFCOVERED 
 
 at length enjoy the pleasure of seeing 
 them once more. My father kept silence 
 and a certain uneasiness continued to 
 rei<Tn amonofst us. 
 
 After dinner the following day my 
 father said : *' Suppose we go together 
 to the parish priest, to enquire what he 
 thinks about the affair." — " Willingly, " 
 I replied, " take all the precautions you 
 should ; it is an object of prudence for you, 
 whilst I ardently desire my identifical^on. 
 As I speak the truth it will only became 
 the more apparent the more my words 
 are tested." 
 
 As we all three entered the priest's 
 office he provided us with chairs saying : 
 '•Well, Mr. Cholet, what news ? "—"The 
 news I bring, Rev. Father, is the news 
 of a great miracle. " — " What may that 
 be " — " I have found my boy who was 
 lost thirty years ago. Here he is. " The 
 curate listened to me for a long^ time and 
 said : " I have no reason to doubt of 
 the veracity of this good man, especially 
 as he very much resembles you. You 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 179 
 
 miVht go to Mr. Lanthier and explain 
 your trouble to him and firmly trust 
 yourself to his decision. 
 
 Mr. Jacques Lanthier was member 
 for the county of Soulanges in the federal 
 chamber; he was a man of great expe- 
 rience and uncommon judgment and 
 greatly esteemed. His wife called him 
 fom his yard where he was employed. 
 He extended his hand on entering and 
 said: "Good-day Messrs. Cholet. " My 
 father exclaimed : " How do you know 
 this young man to be a Cholet ? " — 
 " How do I know ?. . . but. . . I think I 
 know all your children... from their 
 family resemblance at least, if I aif! not 
 acquainted with the christian name of 
 each. " — ** So you think that this one 
 bears a family resemblance ? " — " To 
 be sure I do. Do you tell me he is not 
 one of your children. " — '* I do, but he is 
 not the one you allude to I think. " We 
 then laid our case before him in all its 
 details. 
 
 Meantime, Mr^. Lanthier, who had 
 
180 THE RECOVERED 
 
 overheard all, came out of the parlor and 
 said : " Are you one of the three little 
 Marins of whom the papers spoke some 
 years ago ? " — " Yes, Madame, Marin 
 was then my name." She took from a heap 
 of newspapers a number dated several 
 years back and read the advertisement 
 I had inserted at Montreal. I was pleased 
 at this incident, the paper confirmed one 
 of my assertions as well as others. 
 
 After hearing all and weighing all, Mr. 
 Lanthier expressed himself as follows : 
 ** Mr. Cholet, are you satisfied ? It cannot 
 be doubted that this young man is your 
 son. Everything proclaims it; his story, 
 his age, his resemblance to you, the con- 
 cealed marks which he has mentioned 
 and the sincerity which mark his words. 
 
 If you do not consider him your son 
 look for no other." — " Thanks Mr. 
 Lanthier: " — *^ Since his arrival I ha^"^ 
 not doubted for one instant that God 
 has wished to console me in my old age 
 by the restoration of my son, but your 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 181 
 
 words rassure me. Come, my wife and 
 let us enjoy our happiness." 
 
 We entered the church to thank God ; 
 my parents for the return of a son after 
 so long an absence, I for the joy of 
 recovering a father and a mother. Grat- 
 itude dilates the heart ; we prayed for a 
 long time without growing weary. The 
 sun was sinking when happy, content 
 and light-hearted we retraced our steps 
 homeward. We could only say : how 
 good God has been! I added, it was 
 certainly the blessed Virgin who guided 
 me here. If you but knew how she has 
 protected me in my numerous dangers. " 
 *' As f9r me," added my mother, " since 
 you started not a day has passed without 
 offering up a prayer to her for my little 
 lost ones. " Thanks, my God, may your 
 name be ever blessed. 
 
182 THE RECOVERED 
 
 § VI 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 (ERHAPS the reader who has followed me 
 till now may desire to known what has 
 since become of me. I will satisfy his 
 curiosity in a few words. I remained in 
 my father's house for a month in such a 
 state of happiness that I could scarcely 
 realise. Each day on awaking I would 
 say : another fine day ! I never tired 
 conversing with my relatives and calling 
 them by the sweet names of father and 
 mother, sister and brother. 
 
 Unwilling to be a burden to them or 
 appear idle I returned in the month of 
 October to the factory in Cornwall. I 
 was very much touched by the part 
 
KIDNAPPED CHILD 183 
 
 which the Robidoux family but espec- 
 ially by that which Mrs. Sigouin and 
 her daughters took in my joy . Fifteen days 
 later one of my brothers residing in Og- 
 densburg came to bring me to his place. 
 As I mentioned before I had another 
 brother and three sisters at that place. I 
 s-pent the Autumn now with this one 
 now with that receiving from each and 
 everyone the most affectionate kindness. 
 Among others, Justine, my godmother, 
 did not wish me to leave. 
 
 On New Year's Day I returned home 
 for the first time since the age of reason 
 to ask the paternel blessing, enjoy the 
 feast and receive my presents. Being on 
 a visit to my brother-in-law, Hamelin, 
 the curate of St-Raphael gave me the 
 position of sex-ton. That same year of 
 1882 I renounced my tide of bachelor to 
 marry, a young girl of twenty two years 
 named Anna Levac. The benediction 
 of the God of Abraham descended upon 
 my house ; we have a little daughter of 
 fifteen, months. 
 
 
 » . V . (• » a 
 
184 , THE RECOVERED 
 
 For three years I ranjr the bell of 
 St-Raphael. Thinking I could do better 
 I entered the same position in St-Ann's 
 at Prescott ; but in this parish I received 
 less pay. I left in the month of March 
 to seek m the wide world something 
 that offered greater remuneration. My 
 wife spent the last year at St-Polycarpe 
 at the house of one of my brothers. 
 
 My book is ended, but I still live on 
 it I endure like the other members of 
 the family I still have many days before 
 me My mother is seventy years of ajre 
 and can work like a young girl. In fine 
 weather my father though eighty-eight 
 walks to mass three miles. May God 
 preserve for a long time those dear 
 parents I had been deprived of for so 
 many years. 
 
 iV 
 
 .;•. 
 
 ) • 
 • * • I 
 
 
 I ISr ID E3 2C 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 now I WAS TAKKN AWAY. 
 
 § I — At home -. 
 
 § II — Among the berry bushes '...... 3 
 
 g III — On au islaud .'..'.'....' 7 
 
 § IV — Aboard an ocean steanicr 10 
 
 § V— rruitle.«.s scai ohes 13 
 
 § VI — A trip over the ocean '.' [[[[ .",' [[]\ ly 
 
 CHArTER II 
 
 HOW TIIK YEARS OF MY CAPTIVITY WKRE PASSED. 
 
 § I — My education o] 
 
 II— Shiprecked for the first time *.'.*. . ,,, " ' ' ' 23 
 
 III — ;My numerous subsequent voyages , [, 23 
 
 IV— Shiprecked for the second time? . . .",**.' *. '. .' ' ' * 30 
 V— A winter spent upon a rock [\\ 35 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A DASU FOR LIBERTY. 
 
 § I — First attempt at deserting 43 
 
 § II — I desert a second time '/' 44 
 
 § III— The coast of Labrador *.','.*.'.'.*. 49 
 
 § 1 V — A bear .*.'.'].,.' 54 
 
 § V — Seaward ..'...' 56 
 
 § VI— iMy brother's death '.'.'.'...'.'.*.'. ', '. '. '. '. 60 
 
 § VII — Au Esquimau metis .'*.*.".' 73 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 § I — Labrador to Anticosti 73 
 
 ^§ II — Anticosti to Gaspe '....' ..'.'.'. 81 
 
 § III — Perce [[ gg 
 
 S I V— Carleton ' . . ......'.,' y,'.][ §5 
 
 § V — Restigouche .*.'!.'!.*.'!.* 86 
 
 § VI— On tht^ road to Mataue ............... 88 
 
 § Vll — A robbery .*.*.'.'.**.*.*.'." 91 
 
t04 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 SEARCH FOR MY PARENTS. 
 
 § T— Quebec ; ~~^ 95 
 
 § II — Richmond 98 
 
 § III— St- John's ."'.'..*.*..'.'!!!'. 101 
 
 § IV — Montreal 1 q3 
 
 § V — On the road to Ottawa 105 
 
 § VI— Glocester 110 
 
 § Vll-With Mr. Logiin 117 
 
 § VIII— At Castor '.;;.*; 122 
 
 § IX — At la Blanche 129 
 
 § X— 111 the Gatineau 132 
 
 § XI— At the Portaf;;(> of la Lievre 13 4 
 
 § XII — At Buckingham I39 
 
 § XIII— At Kipon ] * ' * 142 
 
 CHArTKR VI 
 
 I DKCIDE TO SEARCH MY PARENTS NO MORE 
 
 § I — Return of the prodigal son I45 
 
 § II — Jly first trip to Cornwall 150 
 
 g 111 — Soutlnvood 154 
 
 § IV — My second trip to Connvall I57 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 FOUND AT LAST. 
 
 § I — A surprise indeed jqq 
 
 § II — A gleam of hope 1(34 
 
 § III — Homeward , 1,57 
 
 § IV — Home at last I7I 
 
 § V — Authentic verification I77 
 
 § VI — Couclusion 132