The Adventures - The Good and the Beautiful · Page 4 ˜e Adventures of Philippe spring was a treasured ship to people cut off from the rest of the world by the long winter months.

The Adventures of Philippe

A Story of Old Quebecby Gwendolyn Bowers

Table of ContentsChapter I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Chapter II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10

Chapter III . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

Chapter IV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

Chapter V . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

Chapter VI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44

Chapter VII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51

Chapter VIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57

Chapter IX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61

Chapter X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65

Chapter XI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73

Chapter XII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85

Chapter XIII . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94

Chapter XIV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106

Chapter XV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115

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Chapter I

It was June of the year 1688 when the French ship Golden Lion sailed up the Saint Lawrence River toward Quebec. She moved slowly with canvas spread and flags flying. Guns from the fort boomed a welcome. A small boat sped out, carrying the river pilot who would bring the great ship safely to anchor.

Aboard the Lion, officers shouted orders, sailors clambered over the rigging, windlasses creaked, and chains clanked. In all the bustle of arrival, no one paid any attention to the boy standing on a sea chest in the forward cabin. He was gazing anxiously through the porthole. He didn’t belong there, for he and Jules slept in the dark space far below decks. Now Jules was on deck giving a hand to the crew. He had ordered Philippe to stay below.

Ever since they had left St. Malo, Jules had managed to keep Philippe away from the passengers. Philippe thought about that often as he tried to piece together the story of his wanderings. Every day aboard the Lion, he had been trying to remember things that had happened in the past year. Almost twelve months had passed since he had left home to go to his father in New France. He

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remembered when his nurse, Marie, put him on board the ship Good Hope, in care of the captain. The sailor Jules had stood by, listening. Philippe was only nine then. He was not used to looking out for himself.

At St. Milo, he had gone ashore willingly when Jules offered to take him to a puppet show while the boat took on cargo. The ship had sailed away without them, and Philippe now understood that Jules had planned it so.

There had followed a long, dreary time for Philippe. Months had passed while he and Jules lived in cheap lodgings among rough people of the waterfront. Jules explained that they were waiting for another ship, and he grew impatient when the boy asked questions. So Philippe learned to keep his thoughts to himself, even when he began to lose hope of ever seeing his mother and father again.

Finally, the Golden Lion, the first ship of the spring, had set sails for Quebec, and Jules had taken passage for them both. He had become friendly again, reminding Philippe often that he had gone to much trouble to take him to his father. But the boy had learned to distrust the sailor and his promises.

Now the long voyage was over, and Philippe’s hopes rose high. Perhaps his father was waiting for him even now. His heart pounded like a drum in his ears.

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He crowded closer to the porthole, leaning shoreward as if to speed the slow-moving vessel. He saw the great rock of Quebec rising like a cliff out of the river. Then rooftops appeared through the trees, and the walls of Fort St. Louis could be seen. At the foot of the cliff, the king’s warehouses spread along the waterfront. Steep-roofed stone houses clustered about the market square.

News of a ship from France had been brought by canoe from the trading post at Tadoussac. The people came crowding to the waterfront. The first ship of the

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spring was a treasured ship to people cut off from the rest of the world by the long winter months. Now there would be letters and gifts from home, gun and powder for the fort, seeds and tools for the farmers.

It was a strange and colorful company that waited to welcome the Golden Lion. Ladies, in the satins and laces of Paris, chatted with fashionable young men who wore the red-heeled boots of the French court. Gray gowns of the friars and black robes of the priests mingled with the glittering uniforms of the governor’s guard. A group of Grey Nuns on an errand from the hospital watched from the road that wound uphill from the fort. Farmers, fur traders, and trappers waited to lend a hand with the unloading. Groups of copper-skinned savages with matted and greasy hair stood on the fringes of the crowd. Others paddled out in their canoes, eager to barter an otter skin for a hunting knife or a beaver pelt for a cooking pot.

Philippe left the cabin and ran up on deck. The cargo was already being unloaded with willing help from those on shore. A yoke of oxen was led off the ship. Philippe saw a young farmer throw his arms about their necks and kiss their white faces. With good seed to sow and a stout ox team to help him, a man could prosper in this rich new land.

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Saint-Vallier was known as a keen man, and Jules did not care to face his questioning.

Their bill at the Red Crown was mounting daily, for the little that Philippe earned singing was not enough to pay for them both. Since Jules had given up hope of finding Philippe’s father, he no longer kept a strict watch over the boy. Philippe was often free to wander through the narrow, crooked streets of the Lower Town.

Whenever the boy was able to get away from Jules, he went to places where men were at work, hoping

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“There!” she said. “Now you won’t drop things.”

“Thank you,” said Philippe, giving her the kitten.

She skipped away before he could think of anything else to say.

The dancing was nearly over when Philippe went back to the Red Crown. Groups of young people strolled about, laughing and chatting. Snowy caps and aprons fluttered across the green where some of the people were still stepping out old country dances to the tune of Jacques’ accordion.

“So there you are, you vagabond!” Jules’ heavy hand fell upon Philippe’s shoulder. “Tonight, with the tavern