Chapitre 14
August 7, 1777
"Daniel, I have always been respectful of other people's faith. But if Mère Marie-Jeanne tries once more to get Rain Cloud or me to become Christian, and Catholic at that, I swear to you, my friend, I will burn her convent to the ground. The flames will keep her busy, and she will see me as the son of Satan and leave me alone. Do something, Daniel!" pleaded Mingo, with a heavy dose of anger in his voice.
Daniel was laughing so hard, his ribs hurt. Mère Marie-Jeanne was a formidable ally but an even more powerful enemy. Daniel thought the faith of the Quakers was unshakeable; he wondered again what a meeting of Ursulines with Quakers would bring.
Mère Marie-Jeanne had put Rain Cloud and Mingo in the same small room; both Cherokees found the lack of space stifling. Rain Cloud tried to build himself a lean-to in the garden but the Sisters had gone out buzzing like a bee hive and had put him in his place.
As the nuns walked the streets of the city, rosaries out, praying constantly, they came back to the convent with fresh news. The nuns were a font of information.
For every bit of badly needed information, the nuns had Rain Cloud sit to learn his letters. This did not bother Mingo; he knew the Ursulines had an extraordinary vocation for teaching, and he knew that whatever learning Rain Cloud retained would be useful when the Cherokee needed to deal with settlers regarding land or treaties. Mingo considered it a fair exchange.
But when Mère Marie-Jeanne insisted that both of them sit in on basic Catholicism lessons, with a few Hurons who came daily, Mingo knew the reverend mother was going too far.
Daniel calmed him down, reminding him that if the teachers of London and Oxford hadn't changed Mingo's view about the faith of his people, how could one middle-age Frenchwoman do any better?
Mingo was spared some of the lessons; he still worked on the docks with Mathurin. But when the work ended, Mingo split the money between Jean-Marie and Mathurin, and he could no longer escape the convent or Mère Marie-Jeanne.
So it was that Mingo sat for lessons on Monday and Wednesday, and under Father Avila's strict lectures on Friday. The two Cherokees were blackmailed into attending Sunday morning services as well. In Latin of all things!
Daniel realized the Cherokees' patience was reaching its limit. He asked Thomas to speak to the nun and have her let go of this special interest of hers.
A week after Mingo had been spotted by Sister Bernadette, Sister Geneviève came into the parlor where Daniel, Thomas and Mingo were having tea. Rain Cloud had managed to free himself; he was walking along the St-Charles River, with Mathurin and Jean-Marie. They wanted to go fishing.
Rain Cloud had formed a fast friendship with the two Canadians, as Mingo had. They were much alike. And they had saved Mingo's life.
Sister Geneviève was blushing with excitement, and she came directly to the table. Sister Angélique was quiet in a corner, refilling cups or plates; she nodded at the sister who shared a room with her.
"Mère a invité le capitaine de la Citadelle pour souper ce soir et il a accepté. Sister Geneviève, we must warn the kitchen to cook more meat for tonight." the sister tended to forget to speak slowly when in the presence of the Americans.
Thomas quickly translated and told them the Captain of the Citadel was coming for supper tonight at the convent. He told them that British military accepted these invitations as a show of goodwill toward the Canadians.
Daniel smiled a predatory smile. Mother Marie-Jeanne was indeed a powerful ally. Now they would use the Captain's presence for their own purposes.
Mingo frowned, and whispered in Cherokee, "Daniel, if Mère Marie-Jeanne wants me to be christened in exchange for this information, forget it! I will walk into the noose and pull the rope myself!"
Captain Philip William Doyle, of the 84th regiment, arrived sharply at six o'clock that evening. His uniform was as impeccable as he was. His manner was polite yet reserved. He rang the bell by the gate and was immediately let in by the gardener.
As soon as he was ushered inside, Mère Marie-Jeanne greeted him and waved him into the parlor.
"Capitaine, laissez-moi vous présenter un ami personnel de Madame de Bellefeuille, notre patronne de Lyon. Il est arrivé à Québec au début de l'été mais il a immédiatement quitté notre belle cité pour aller visiter l'Hotel-Dieu de Montréal et vérifier les besoins de notre ordre dans cette ville. Il est de retour depuis hier soir. Monsieur Christophe DeMaurier." Mère Marie-Jeanne introduced a patron of their order who, after having spent the summer in Montréal, had arrived in Quebec the night before.
"Monsieur, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Mère Marie-Jeanne had mentioned the goodwill of the governor, Monsieur Carleton, and of your regiment, regarding our faith and the needs of our people." The Mother Superior's guest extended a courteous hand.
"My pleasure, sir. Is this your first time in North American, Monsieur DeMaurier?" the captain asked.
"I apologize, Captain. Monsieur DeMaurier, this is le Capitaine Philip William Doyle, of the 84th Regiment. Captain Doyle fought the American tentative invasion of last fall. He leads a militia of Canadians in Montreal." The Reverend Mother made the introduction.
"Capitaine, my compliments. I was informed of this in Montreal, by Father Marie-Michel himself. The priests in Montréal told me of the harsh winter that followed. I hope to be able to leave Quebec before the cold sets in; I have been hearing the most horrible things about winter in this city," shivered the tall Frenchman with the perfect accent.
"And the food! I tell you, I miss Lyon and the fine cooking in my home. The rudeness of the inhabitants and all those savages everywhere. I know Madame de Bellefeuille wants all these savages educated and converted, and she is spending so much of her money helping these … these .. these … " he sniffed. Monsieur DeMaurier didn't finish his sentence, waving his hands in distaste.
"And have you looked at me? I have sat in a canoe for endless days. My fine skin has burned as dark as any savage! I will tell Madame de Bellefeuille she must send someone else to do her bidding next time. These colonies are dreadful for the skin and for the body."
Captain Doyle's contempt for the Frenchman was plain. He disliked fools and fops, and this man certainly fit both descriptions.
Daniel snickered from his hiding place, behind a huge bookshelf. Mingo made a most obnoxious nobleman, French or English. Daniel didn't understand the conversation, but he had seen Mingo dress in elegant French clothing, and had cut Mingo's hair shorter himself. He knew Mingo had excellent manners. Mingo's role was to aggravate Captain Doyle as much as possible.
Now, now, Monsieur DeMaurier, your food and lodgings in Montreal were excellent. Our bishop stayed with you and enjoyed his stay. I am sure the nuns treated you very well," soothed the Reverend Mother. She was delighted to deceive Captain Doyle, but she was thrilled by the complete change in the Cherokee whom she wished to convert to the true faith. This Indian might be the one to carry the faith back to the American tribes, if only he would agree and see the light!
"If the Captain is ready, let us move into the dining room, gentlemen. Father Avila will join us later, after his evening mass," urged Mère Marie-Jeanne.
Daniel and Mingo wanted to grab and question the captain as quickly as possible but the Reverend Mother refused. Simply impossible, she said; the Catholic faith was too important to be endangered by having the British know that the the holy orders were working against them.
They would have to get their information more efficiently, she said firmly. She had a plan, and she explained it all. When Daniel heard Thomas's translation, he wholeheartedly agreed. Mingo simply nodded and closed his eyes in a silent prayer to the Creator.
Sister Geneviève and Sister Bernadette sat down at the table, entertaining both men with stories. Schooling Indians and settlers' children seemed to be a challenging endeavour. Mère Marie-Jeanne played her cards well, telling of the need of more money for books and Bibles.
Two older nuns served soup and bread. The main meal would be served when Father Avila arrived. He was a short man of deep faith. Though only in his early thirties, he was bald and his grey eyes were old.
As he arrived, both men rose and waited for the priest to sit. Sister Anne offered him some soup, which he declined. "Let us eat the main course, ma soeur," he told her.
Sister Anne and Sister Rose served the men first, then Mother Superior and the sisters. They poured some apple cider into their glasses and fresh water was available. Captain Doyle's nose wrinkled and he frowned.
"Sister Anne, have you forgotten that the Captain has never liked apple cider? Go and fetch him some Madeira from the cellar." Mother Reverend's tone was harsh toward the sister. Sister Anne knew of Captain Doyle's preference, and she had seemingly forgotten.
"Oui, ma mère. Excusez-moi Capitaine," apologized the sister, who left the room, hurrying down the cellar.
The men, the sisters and Mother ate slowly, keeping the conversation general.
Sister Anne came back with a dark bottle of cool Madeira, and she poured a glass for the Captain with her deepest apologies. When the Captain offered some to his dining companions, they refused politely, lifting their glasses of apple cider.
By the time dinner had been consumed, the Captain's pupils were dilated. His speech was slurred. He was shaking slightly. He appeared completely drunk, although he drank only one glass of the red wine.
Mingo suddenly stopped his pretense of being a foppish French noble. In his precise Oxford English, he asked the British officer bluntly, "Captain, would you share with me what you know of Henry Hartford?"
The four sisters left the room at this moment. Mother had told them that once the nice Cherokee would start to speak English and interrogate the Captain, it would be time for them to leave. They had done well by her and the Americans.
The Captain was seemingly dozing off.
Mingo turned to Mère Marie-Jeanne and asked, "Are you sure he won't remember my questions, ma mère?"
"Don't worry, Monsieur Mingo. Ask him all you want," she rose and left.
"Captain, I am going to repeat my question. What do you know of Henry Hartford?"
Ten minutes later, Mingo and Daniel, who had come inside the room to stand by his friend, were stunned.
They left the Captain to the care of Father Avila, who would make sure the Captain went back to his regiment after a hour or so of rest.
As they entered Mingo's small sleeping alcove, Daniel and Mingo were still silent and utterly astounded by the enormity of what they had learned.
The following morning, Mingo took the lead. He told everyone what they had learned.
Two days later, they left Quebec City.
Mother Marie-Jeanne was hugely disappointed that she hadn't managed to convert the two Indians. But as she watched them go toward the lower city and the trail that led to Le Chemin du Roy, she promised herself that everyone in the convent would recite ten rosaries a day for a month. The travelers would need all the protection available to make it back home; converted or not, they were good men.
Victims of a most devious plot and treason: the failing of friendship.
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Translation
"Capitaine, laissez-moi vous présenter un ami personnel de Madame de Bellefeuille, notre patronne de Lyon. Il est arrivé à Québec au début de l'été mais il a immédiatement quitté notre belle cité pour aller visiter l'Hotel-Dieu de Montréal et vérifier les besoins de notre ordre dans cette ville. Il est de retour depuis hier soir. Monsieur Christophe DeMaurier." Mère Marie-Jeanne introduced a patron of their order who, after having spent the summer in Montréal, had arrived in Quebec the night before.
(Translation : Captain, let me introduce a personal friend of Madame de Bellefeuille, our patron from Lyon. He came to Quebec earlier this summer but he immediately left our beautiful city to go and visit Montreal's Hotel-Dieu Hospital and convent. He was checking up on the requirements of our needy in that city. He got back in late last evening. Mr. Christophe DeMaurier)