Phil-o-rum's Canoe, and Madeleine Vercheres: Two Poems

by William Henry Drummond

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MADELEINE VERCHERES.

I've told you many a tale, my child, of the

old heroic days,

Of Indian wars and massacre, of villages ablaze

With savage torch, from Ville Marie to the

Mission of Trois Rivieres;

But never have I told you yet of Madeleine Vercheres.

Summer had come with its blossoms, and gaily

the robin sang,

And deep in the forest arches, the axe of the

woodman rang;

Again in the waving meadows, the sun-browned

farmers met

And out on the green St. Lawrence, the fisherman

spread his net.

And so through the pleasant season, till the

days of October came

When children wrought with their parents, and

even the old and lame

With tottering frames and footsteps, their

feeble labors lent

At the gathering of the harvest le bon Dieu

himself had sent.

For news there was none of battle, from the

forts on the Richelieu

To the gates of the ancient city, where the flag

of King Louis flew;

All peaceful the skies hung over the seigneurie

of Vercheres,

Like the calm that so often cometh ere the

hurricane rends the air.

And never a thought of danger had the Seigneur,

sailing away

To join the soldiers of Carignan, where down

at Quebec they lay,

But smiled on his little daughter, the maiden

Madeleine,

And a necklet of jewels promised her, when

home he should come again.

And ever the days passed swiftly, and careless

the workmen grew,

For the months they seemed a hundred since

the last war-bugle blew.

Ah, little they dreamt on their pillows the

farmers of Vercheres,

That the wolves of the southern forest had

scented the harvest fair.

Like ravens they quickly gather, like tigers

they watch their prey.

Poor people! with hearts so happy, they sang

as they toiled away!

Till the murderous eyeballs glistened, and the

tomahawk leaped out

And the banks of the green St. Lawrence

echoed the savage shout.

Like tigers they watch their prey.

"O mother of Christ, have pity!" shrieked the

women in despair;

"This is no time for praying," cried the young

Madeleine Vercheres;

"Aux armes! aux armes! les Iroquois! quick

to your arms and guns,

Fight for your God and country, and the lives

of the innocent ones."

And she sped like a deer of the mountain, when

beagles press close behind,

And the feet that would follow after must be

swift as the prairie wind.

Alas! for the men and women and little ones

that day,

For the road it was long and weary, and the

fort it was far away.

But the fawn had outstripped the hunters, and

the palisades drew near,

And soon from the inner gateway the war-bugle

rang out clear,

Gallant and clear it sounded, with never a note

of despair--

'T was a soldier of France's challenge, from

the young Madeleine Vercheres!

"And this is my little garrison, my brothers

Louis and Paul?

With soldiers two, and a cripple? may the

Virgin pray for us all!

But we 've powder and guns in plenty, and

we 'll fight to the latest breath,

And if need be, for God and country, die a

brave soldier's death.

"Load all the carabines quickly, and whenever

you sight the foe

Fire from the upper turret and loopholes down below,

Keep up the fire, brave soldiers, though the

fight may be fierce and long,

And they 'll think our little garrison is more

than a hundred strong."

So spake the maiden Madeleine, and she roused

the Norman blood

That seemed for a moment sleeping, and sent

it like a flood

Through every heart around her, and they

fought the red Iroquois

As fought in the old-time battles the soldiers

of Carignan.

And they say the black clouds gathered, and a

tempest swept the sky,

And the roar of the thunder mingled with the

forest tiger's cry,

But still the garrison fought on, while the lightning's

jagged spear

Tore a hole in the night's dark curtain, and

showed them a foeman near.

And the sun rose up in the morning, and the

color of blood was he,

Gazing down from the heavens on the little

company

"Behold, my friends," cried the maiden,

"'t is a warning lest we forget,

Though the night saw us do our duty, our

work is not finished yet."

And six days followed each other, and feeble

her limbs became

Yet the maid never sought her pillow, and the

flash of the carabine's flame

Illumined the powder-smoked faces, aye, even

when hope seemed gone,

And she only smiled on her comrades, and told

them to fight, fight on.

And she blew a blast on the bugle, and lo!

from the forest black.

Merrily, merrily ringing, an answer came

pealing back.

Oh, pleasant and sweet it sounded, borne on

the morning air,

For it heralded fifty soldiers, with gallant De

la Monnière.