Bride of New France Read online

  At four o’clock, following the Mass, the women trudge in silence along the same river path Laure took to get to the Hôtel-Dieu. A brigade of archers, some on horseback, follows them, making the journey feel like a prison escort. Just south of the Bièvre Bridge, they meet up with about thirty more girls from la Pitié. The governesses from the Salpêtrière who have accompanied them have given them strict orders to stay away from these filles de mauvaise vie. A few of the Pitié girls are weeping, but most stand waiting with stoic faces and don’t look very different from the Salpêtrière convoy, although these women are all chained together at the waist like prostitutes.

  It takes a long time for the men to prepare the barge on the Seine that will take the girls down the river to Rouen and beyond to the port at Le Havre, where they will board the ship to Canada. There is much shouting and shifting of supplies as they work to secure the load. The whole time the men scramble from the pier to the boat, heaving food for their journey and their marriage coffers onto the barge. The girls are ordered to remain quiet.

  Laure wonders why they are leaving so early in the morning, why there is so much secrecy behind their departure, and why nobody wants to speak to them about the trip to Canada. The officers from the Salpêtrière and from la Pitié, many of whom Laure has not seen before, say they don’t know anything about crossing the seas, about living in Canada—that it is men and foreigners who do these things. One of the girls in the line, with a vicious face and scraggly hair, says that they have been given something worse than a death sentence. An archer orders her to be quiet.

  Over an hour passes before the girls can finally board. It is May and still quite cold before the sun rises, especially when rain begins to fall in a cold mist over them. As they step onto the barge, the officers of the Salpêtrière lead them in singing Veni Creator. The boat has been divided into two sections by hay piled high, and covered in canvas: one side is for the girls from the Salpêtrière and the other for those from la Pitié. Their coffers have been placed at the centre of the boat.

  Once Madeleine had agreed to come to Canada with Laure, they went to Madame du Clos and asked her to convince Madame Gage and the Superior that both girls should go. Madame du Clos assured the women that there were other seamstresses who could perform as well in her workshop as the two departing girls and that the productivity the hospital director demanded would not suffer because two of the best girls were leaving. Madame du Clos pretended that Madeleine was also an ill-behaved girl, that she and Laure were both more trouble than they were worth, and that she was glad to see them go. Madame Gage knew that this was not true, that Madeleine was an exemplary girl and that Madame du Clos was fond of both of them, but she remained quiet. Still, the Superior had argued against sending Madeleine, saying she didn’t want to see one of the best girls they had in a hospital of useless wretches sent off to Canada. The purpose of their agreement with the King, after all, was to send the worst possible women from the hospital to Canada. In the end it was Madeleine who had convinced the Superior, by vowing she would cause trouble in the dormitory if she were left behind. The Superior had called Madeleine a fool for throwing away her life to please a troublemaker like Laure and had agreed that Canada was the best place for both of them.

  The convoy makes its way down the Seine throughout the morning and well into the afternoon. When night falls, the girls strain by the light of the archers’ torches to make out the shore of the country they are leaving behind. They pass towns and villages along the way: Poissy, Mantes-la-Jolie, Louviers, and Elbeuf. The archers complain that they should stop and spend the night in one of these towns, but the officers insist that no money has been allotted for such a purpose. They travel for the better part of two days down the wending river and are exhausted when they reach Rouen.

  A priest welcomes them to shore and they spend the night in the monastery. In the morning, another dozen or so girls from Normandie are waiting to join them. These girls have been recruited by the priests from poor farms. They are dressed in their best country clothes, although Laure would prefer to be wearing her hospital day dress rather than one of their bonnets and sagging dresses. Laure overhears the priest tell one of these hardy girls, who stares with disdain at the hospital girls, that the sea crossing will rid them of their city filth.

  They arrive in Le Havre, where they are to board the ship, later that afternoon. The city itself is small and less impressive than Rouen. But Laure catches her first glimpse of the sea beyond the swampy shore. By now there are only a few archers still with them and a new woman, Madame Bourdon, who is from Canada and met them in Rouen. She will accompany them throughout the ship’s crossing. It strikes Laure that she will never see Madame du Clos, Madame Gage, or any of the other women of the Salpêtrière again. Her past is behind her; there is no turning back. Who will be waiting for her in New France, and will they be kind? Who will ring the bells at mealtime, for prayers, and when it is time to go to sleep?

  An angry mob of twenty or thirty people waits for the girls when they moor. They are poor men and women, farmers and sailors carrying the instruments of their trade as weapons. As their boat pulls into port, the archers shout into the air for the crowd to back up. Women and men scream that they will not allow their daughters to be banished to a frozen land of misery or to meet their death at sea. That Canada is no place for women and that the King had better hang his criminals rather than send them across the sea to Canada.

  Along with the chilly wind and the strength of the foaming waves crashing against the port town, this brutish group of protestors only serves to frighten the girls. There is much excitement at the port as the ships returned from distant, mostly warmer, seas are unloaded of riches: coffee, sugar, cotton, tobacco, and spices. Already this merchandise is being bargained for and sold for dispersal down the very river Laure has just left behind. Laure has never felt smaller or more alone in all her life. Madeleine has been praying her rosary for most of the journey and conversing with some of the other girls from the hospital, who talk mostly of the contents of their coffers, the ribbons and fabric they have brought with them. Madeleine is so kind to all of them, listening to their plans for marriage and a better life in Canada. Laure wishes Madeleine would stop talking to these girls.

  Beyond, at some distance into the sea, is the ship they will board for Canada. Laure doesn’t know if it is the cold misty air or terror at what lies ahead that makes her shiver. The boat, although one of the largest of its type, looks fragile, almost ridiculous, against the immense backdrop of the ocean. Laure has heard that early summer is the best time to undertake this journey to New France. Attempted too early or too late, their vessel would be shattered on rocks along the coast before they even reached the cruel centre of the North Atlantic.

  9

  Since the passengers bound for Canada boarded the Saint-Jean-Baptiste almost three weeks ago, the vessel has not moved out of the Bay of the Seine. The sailors worry that the lack of wind is an inauspicious sign that the journey to Canada will be a long one. Throughout the late spring days, Laure has been standing with the other passengers on deck looking back across the calm water to the shore. It is too far to swim back, to scream across to the tiny bodies moving on the land, but too close to feel that they have really left France behind.

  Beside them, also waiting for the winds to pick up, is another ship, the Amitié. Laure has heard much talk on the deck about this other ship. The Amitié is bound for the sugar plantations of Saint-Domingue and carries in its hold three hundred nègres recently acquired from the Dahomey coast in Africa. The slave ship is larger than the Saint-Jean-Baptiste. Normally, Laure only sees the sailors and patrolling soldiers of the Amitié, but today there are commands being shouted out and weapons raised. The nègres from below deck will be brought up for air.

  One of the soldiers on the Amitié yells across to a sailor on their ship that it is time to have a little dance. The men in charge of sailing the Saint-Jean-Baptiste have spent the past few days grumbli
ng at the sight of the Amitié. Laure heard one of them say that there is no money in bringing nuns and priests and a few starving women to Canada, that it costs more to feed them on the journey than they get paid to carry them across.

  According to the crew of the Saint-Jean-Baptiste, the trade of nègres to the Islands is the way for a seaman to make money. One particularly spindly sailor bragged about how he once had to fit a nègre the size of a horse with an iron mask to keep him from the sugar cane onboard the ship. Laure could not imagine this sailor with wrists as thin as her own doing anything of the sort. Today this sailor and the others are quiet as they wait with the other passengers for a glimpse of the Amitié’s cargo.

  After some time, three male slaves, two adults and a child, are brought up on the deck of the Amitié. One of the sailors, a fat and bearded man, bends to unbind their legs, but he keeps their hands shackled in iron. A dozen or so soldiers and sailors make a circle around the two adult nègres and the négrillon. The two large slaves raise their shackled hands to cover their faces as the men around them jeer. But the négrillon, unlike the other two, stands with his back straight and his head cocked. When the French men scream out orders for the dance to begin, the négrillon, like the other two, moves his recently freed legs, bending them at the knee and raising each of them in slow motion. But the eyes of the négrillon remained fixed on the French men, his head moving to look from one sailor to the other. The sailor in charge of the stick raises it when the boy looks at him. The négrillon moves his legs faster but doesn’t avert his eyes from the sailor. After a few minutes, the three slaves are returned below deck and three more are brought up.

  The passengers of the Saint-Jean-Baptiste are cheering at the entertainment. But when Laure turns around, she sees that Madeleine has already gone below. Madame Bourdon, the woman who has been assigned to escort the girls to Canada, comes to Laure and leads her by the elbow toward the hold.

  “Do you think that négrillon was the child of one of those big men?” Laure asks Madeleine.

  “I don’t know what father and mother he had before he was put on that ship. But all he has looking out for him now is the bon Dieu.” Madeleine is lying on the grey blanket issued to each passenger. The wool of the blankets has been chewed at by the rats of previous journeys, and they smell of stale vomit. Madeleine has not been well since the afternoon, so she has the dirty blanket raised to her chin. Madame Bourdon says that Madeleine probably got too much sun on deck. “Laure, why do you spend your time thinking about the fate of prostitutes and négrillons? Only God can understand these things.”

  Laure looks at Madeleine’s tiny face. Her eyes are wide and sad. She has to pray day and night to have the courage that comes easily for Laure.

  She reaches for Madeleine’s fingers and squeezes them. Laure then closes her eyes and offers two prayers: one for the little slave who has only God to care for him now and the other for her best friend.

  The passengers are gathered in the hold at dusk for their dinner. The cook’s helpers, each carrying an end of the iron cauldron, descend below. One of the Jesuit priests comes out from behind his chamber curtain and heads upstairs for the captain’s table. The captain has his apartment and deck that looks out over the water. A few members of the nobility and the clergy, each with their own compartment below deck separated by a curtain from the public area, go up each night to dine with the captain. In the hold, along with the three hundred or so passengers, are the ship’s livestock. The animals are separated from the passengers by the boards of their pen, but the dirty straw makes its way through the cracks into the general filth of the ship’s bottom, and the smell of the animals permeates the air. A few of the sheep, cattle, and chickens are destined for the colony, but most are to be eaten during the crossing. But the animals are not intended for the indentured servants, ordinary soldiers, and women from the General Hospital. One calf was already killed for the first feast in the captain’s chamber. The passengers grumble that they hope the notables will be quick about eating the animals, as they are tired of sleeping with the smells and bleating of a stable.

  Between the passenger hold, or the Sainte-Barbe as it is called, and the captain’s quarters is the entrepont. This is where the mail for the colony is kept, including letters from the King to the Intendant and the Governor. These bags are weighed down with cannonballs and are to be thrown overboard if their ship is accosted. In addition, there are religious supplies for the orders of New France, bolts of cloth, wooden furniture, dishes, tools, books, paper, spices, flour, oil, and wine, as well as the passengers’ rations for the journey: sea biscuits and lard in barrels, beans, dried cod and herring, olive oil, butter, mustard, vinegar, water, and cider for when the fresh water supply runs out or becomes too putrid to drink. If the passengers wanted additional supplies for the journey, they were responsible for packing them in their luggage. The girls from the Salpêtrière have nothing more with them.

  The younger Jesuit emerges from behind his curtain also, but instead of joining his superior, he makes his way to the stern to eat with the soldiers and indentured servants in the hold. One of the men says to him, “Come and join us, Père, for our humble meal. You’ll do well with the Savages, getting your practice on the mush. Best to start training now at leaving the luxuries behind.”

  The passengers are seated on the floor planks according to region and kinship. The soldiers and the three-year men, hired to clear the land in the colony, sit at the stern; the girls from the Salpêtrière and the other filles à marier from Normandie sit in the bow with the ship’s cannons. Between the single men and women are the four married couples and their children.

  Once seated with the men, the young priest glances over at the women. His eyes rest on Madeleine. Laure recognizes the expression on his face. It is the same way that the hospital director and the Duke looked at Laure back in Paris. Only there is nothing sneering about the priest’s gaze, only a gentle curiosity and a hint of sadness. Laure hopes that one day a man will look at her that way. But the young priest’s efforts are lost on her pious friend. Madeleine’s eyes are closed. She is already deep within her soul thanking God for the cold contents of the cook’s bucket. Laure thinks that her gratitude to God should be a direct reflection of the quality of his gift. She cannot bring herself to be grateful for the sludge that is as grey as the filthy blankets they cover themselves with.

  The faux-sauniers prisoners, those convicted of selling salt, have spread their fleas to some of the soldiers and three-year men. But generally, the petty criminals are so pitiful with their worm-eaten skin and gaunt faces that they are tolerated by the others. They were brought onboard while the Saint-Jean-Baptiste awaited favourable weather. The prisoners had been shackled together after spending several days waiting for the ship on the Île de Ré, where they had been brought to prevent them from escaping. The captain had ordered these men untied as soon as the soldiers responsible for them had departed for shore. In the first week, a collection hat was passed among the male passengers, and some new clothing was purchased for the prisoners from the supplies bound for Canada. The outfits the prisoners were wearing were so tattered and moth eaten as to be barely holding together on their bodies.

  The filles à marier are forbidden by Madame Bourdon to walk beyond a certain point in the low-ceilinged hold, to keep them away from these prisoners and the hardier men also bound for Canada. But there are no walls to keep the girls from hearing the men’s conversations. It is certainly a more interesting dormitory than the Salpêtrière, although more crowded. Madame Bourdon has tried to allot a separate section of the hold for the filles de bonne naissance who are bound for Neuville, the place where she lives with her husband. These women, mostly from Normandie, have significant dowries and are intended for marriage to more prominent men than the rest of the scraggly orphans. But Laure has heard the complaints of these women who are disappointed to learn from Madame Bourdon that their future husbands are illiterate seigneurial tenants. The women are also ups
et at their treatment onboard the ship. Mostly they do not like being so close to the hospital girls.

  The cook’s boys ladle out the stew first to the hired men, then to the decent country families, one scoop from the bucket into each bowl. The men groan when they see that they will be having the same grey mass from breakfast. “Can’t you even heat it up?” one of the men asks, but the cook’s boy replies that there are to be no fires lit outside the captain’s quarters on this journey. The men protest that there is obviously no wind to worry about since they haven’t moved in weeks. Those who have extra sprinklings reach into their sacks for them: a pinch of salt, a swallow of brandy, a slice of fresh apple.

  Laure is so hungry tonight that even the smell of the cook’s sea biscuits mixed with cold fish broth has her salivating. As the boys drop the mounds on their plates, one of the girls from la Pitié laments the portion size. The others go quiet at her impudence, and Laure wonders what will happen to this girl who hasn’t learned how to hold her tongue. Complaining aloud about the meal at the Salpêtrière would have meant losing dinner for the night. But Madame Bourdon ignores the girl’s comment, leading them instead into an extended grace for the contents of their bowls. Laure looks around at the girls, wondering if any of the others have noticed. This Madame Bourdon, a rich wife from the colony, dresses and speaks like the officers at the Salpêtrière, but she cannot send anyone to the Maison de la Force or really punish them at all. Although they are crowded into a hold that is smaller than any of the dormitories of the hospital, Laure suddenly feels that there is a vast expanse around her. She doesn’t mind so much that she has no delicacies to add to her dinner plate. She spoons the monotonous mush into her mouth, savouring the cool thickness of it, because mixed in somewhere with the dry biscuits and fishy stench of her meal is the taste of freedom.