Five months had passed since Joseph’s arrival in Ruisseau. The hot season was not yet over, and it was already time to begin preparations for winter. But the most urgent task was finding shelter since the newlyweds did not want to spend the winter in a tent. Joseph and Saint-Jean put the tribe to work digging a cellar, a lesson learned early in the colony’s life when the first arrivals froze royally. Cedar trees grew abundantly in the wetlands upstream of Ruisseau, and Saint-Jean had cut several cords of cedar the preceding winter. The Mi’kmaq began squaring the wood with an axe from New England that was thicker and heavier than the trading axes manufactured in France. Notches were cut into the logs so they fit one on top of the other to form the walls. Pegs made of maple or larchwood helped reinforce the construction. The rest – the crossbeams and joists – was made of eastern white pine. White birchbark between the walls served to keep out the wind. In no time at all, the tribe had erected a one-room cabin measuring approximately fifteen feet by twenty-five. Little Membertou used his hatchet to chop off any knots that jutted out. Since the cabin was no Château de Versailles, the boy was allowed a few mistakes. Angélique and the women prepared the moss and clay to caulk the frame, while the rest of the tribe assembled embankments of dried seaweed to a height of approximately one foot to insulate the foundation properly. Finally, the sloping roof was covered with moss. With a stonecarver’s enthusiasm, Joseph tackled building the hearth, a fireplace to be used for cooking, lighting, and heating purposes, although it mostly heated the great outdoors! He was euphoric as he worked, already imagining how, on nights when snow gently fell to the ground outside, he would be able to warm himself sitting on his bed of fur in front of the fire – the crackling wood knots, the scent of maple logs, the dancing sparks, and Angéliques gentle presence.
That fall the camp was invaded by mosquitoes. Joseph had to keep feeding the grass fire he’d lit in a metal barrel in his cabin; compared to mosquito bites, smoke was the lesser of two evils. Joseph was impressed by the Mi’kmaq spirit of ingenuity; for every problem there was a solution, for every season there was a form of entertainment. During the hot season, they built a sweat lodge. In a tent lying low to the ground, the Mi’kmaq arranged heated rocks in a circle in the centre, which were then covered with spruce leaves and sprinkled with a bit of cold water. Afterwards, the Mi’kmaq sat naked, shoulders touching, in a tight circle around the rocks. Sometimes, to feel the heat even more, they sang and tapped their heels. Then they ran outside and threw themselves into the creek. It was a ritual with therapeutic virtues since it facilitated the cleansing of the body.
But this was no time to dwell on fond memories of the good times in the hot season because there was still much that had to be done before winter set in: wood to cut, hay to gather, crops to store away, fish and meat to be smoked and cured. Nothing could be neglected when everything had to be produced. Angélique prepared the flax with which she would make clothes, a lengthy operation that involved drying, crushing, carding, and spinning the flax. She also prepared the furs; she liked the beaver hides that she sewed together to make clothes or blankets. She still had to make soap; pick blueberries, wild strawberries, and raspberries; and bake apples. The work was exhausting, but she wouldn’t have traded places with anyone. She soon forgot the long days once she was curled up in Joseph’s arms, and the two of them drifted off to sleep in the warmth of their cabin.
The Mi’kmaq were more a trapping than a farming people, and therefore more nomadic than sedentary. But Angélique had insisted that next to the creek the clan clear a plot of land on which to raise a few oxen, sheep, hens, and one cow and to cultivate a small garden that produced turnips, squash, beans, corn, and other delicious vegetables for their table.
Saint-Jean had little to do with the farmwork. His passion was trapping, furs, and the forest. So he laid traps and, of course, kept up his weekly treks to his refuge on the island. Each week, he made the league-long trip in his sailboat. One fine morning that Indian summer, he invited Joseph along. At first, they said nothing. Finally, Saint-Jean confided, “Before I left France from the port of La Rochelle, I had to spend several months hiding out on the Ile de Ré nearby. The island’s inhabitants saved my life. Since then, I’ve always wanted to have my own island, a sanctuary where I can rest and forget about the men who were on the galleys with me. I’ve built a fine observation tower there.”
He had created a hideout at the western end of the island, at the top of a triangle formed by three huge spruce trees.
“What a wonderful view!” Joseph exclaimed.
They could see for great distances. The Gaspé coast was visible across the way as were, at the entrance to the Baye des Chaleurs, the Chipagan1 and Miscou islands.
“Cartier pinned his hopes on Miscou. He thought he would find a passage on the other side leading to the sought-after Indies,” Saint-Jean said. “He believed so fervently that when he rounded the northwest point of Miscou, he named the point Cap de l’Espérance, Cape of Good Hope. As a sentinel guarding the entrance to the continent, the island has been witness, and sometimes even home, to many flags: Viking, Basque, French, English, Spanish, and Dutch as well as to pirates and buccaneers who, from the tales that are told, would stop off there to bury their loot and treasure.”
Near the Mi’kmaq camp farther down the coast was a small island the Mi’kmaq called Pokesudie; it was a sacred site sometimes used for religious ceremonies.
“I often come to my hideout to sit and smoke my pipe… I watch the European ships sailing by. It’s too late this year for the English fleet and the privateers: the frost is coming. You won’t have to go to Quebec.”
Deep down, Joseph was relieved. As much as he hoped for news of Emilie, he dreaded it, too. Sometimes, he wished he could close that chapter of his life and have done with it because he was happy with Angélique. She offered everything a man could ever want – beauty, warmth, generosity, intelligence, sensuality. Saint-Jean had lit his pipe and was reliving the past. “I’ve come a long way since my days on the galleys!”
He remembered his early years in Miramichi fur trading for the Comte de St. Pierre, who held trading rights between Ile Saint-Jean2 and Miscou. He was on board the Count’s ship that ran aground in the Caraquet region in 1723. The Count hadn’t taken the loss of his furs well. Out of disgust with the Count’s temper, Saint-Jean decided to settle down in Ruisseau… and work for himself.
Having reminisced enough, he turned to Joseph and said, “Some day I dream I will see along these coasts houses full of people, busy villages, tradespeople: carpenters, blacksmiths, locksmiths, ferriers, tailors, shoemakers…
Joseph let himself be caught up in Saint-Jeans dream. “I think I can see husbandmen and vintners, too. I can hear seamen outfitting the ships.”
“There will be goldsmiths, apothecaries, fishermen, barbers…” Saint-Jean continued.
“Men of the church,” Joseph added.
“Not them,” Saint-Jean exclaimed, irritated. “They ruin it all. The Indian customs are good enough for us.”
Joseph understood the bitterness expressed by Saint-Jean, still hurting from past scars.
“I dont want any arquebusiers or gunners either,” Saint-Jean continued, “but I’m afraid for the future. France isn’t looking after us properly, and the most enterprising French who want to come to America, the Huguenots, have to settle in the colonies of Virginia, Boston, and Delaware. One fine day, the colonies won’t put up with having a foreign empire on their doorstep anymore.”
“But Pierre du Gua, one of Acadia’s founders, was Protestant,” Joseph pointed out.
“That’s
