Amusement could hardly be lacking in any gathering of French people not assembled for ceremonies of religion. In Quebec the governor’s court were inclined to entertain themselves with their own performance of spectacles. But Montreal had beheld too many spectacles of a tragic sort, had grasped too much the gun and spade, to have any facility in mimic play.
Still the beaver fair was enlivened by music and tricksy gambols. Through all the ever opening and closing avenues a pageant went up and down, at which no colonist of New France could restrain his shouts of laughter,—a Dutchman with enormous stomach, long pipe, and short breeches, walking beside a lank and solemn Bostonnais. The two youths who had attired themselves for this masking were of Saint-Castin’s train. That one who acted Puritan had drawn austere seams in his face with charcoal. His plain collar was severely turned down over a black doublet, which, with the sombre breeches and hose, had perhaps been stripped from some enemy that troubled Saint-Castin’s border. The Bostonnais sung high shrill airs from a book he carried in one hand, only looking up to shake his head with cadaverous warning at his roaring spectators. One arm was linked in the Dutchman’s, who took his pipe out of his mouth to say good-humoredly, “Ya-ya, ya-ya,” to every sort of taunt.
These types of rival colonies were such an exhilaration to the traders of New France that they pointed out the show to each other and pelted it with epithets all day.
La Salle came out of the palisade gate of the town, leading by the hand a frisking little girl. He restrained her from farther progress into the moving swarm, although she dragged his arm.
“Thou canst here see all there is of it, Barbe. The nuns did well to oppose your looking on this roaring commerce. You should be housed within the Hôtel Dieu all this day, had I not spoken a careless word yesterday. You saw the governor’s procession. To-morrow he will start on his return. And I with my men go to Fort Frontenac.”
“The beaver fair was enlivened by music and tricksy gambols.”—Page 59.
“And at day dawn naught of the Indians can be found,” added Barbe, “except their ashes and litter and the broken flasks they leave. The trader’s booths will also be empty and dirty.”
“Come then, tiger-cat, return to thy cage.”