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Updated: May 2, 2025
So, under the One Hundred Assistants, as the French colonizing Company of the early Seventeenth Century was called, missions were dotted throughout the loneliness and terror of the wilderness; Breboeuf and Daniel did their work and met their fate; Raymbault carried the cross to Lake Superior; Gabriel Dreuilettes came down the Kennebec; Jogues was tortured by the Mohawks; Lallemand shed his blood serenely; Chaumont and Dablon built their chapel where now stands Syracuse; and after all, there stood the primeval forests, pathless as before, and the red men were but partially and transiently affected.
Fathers Breboeuf and Lalemant, burnt by the Indians; Garreau, butchered; Chabanel, drowned by an apostate Huron, and others hideously tortured, testified with their blood to their devotion. From the Atlantic to the prairies, from the bleak shores of the Hudson Bay to the sunny beaches of Louisiana, they suffered, bled and died.
Mary, Mother of God, hear my vow! Prom this time Jean Breboeuf shall lead a better life!" The storm, baffled, passed on. The rain, unsatisfied, sullenly ceased in its attack. The waves, hopeless but still vindictive, began to call back their legions from the narrow shore. The lightnings, unsated in their wrath, flared and flickered on and out across the eastward sea.
The little girl walked between her dear protector and their host, holding a hand of each, and chattering about everything she saw, till with great effort Breboeuf got her to understand that if she didn't keep quite quiet, and not say a word to anybody till they got safely away, in the boat, something dreadful might happen to her Pierre.
She'll mind, I'll answer you. And then, if Madame Breboeuf can give her a little homespun frock and cap, we'll pass her off all right should anyone see her. And when we get to Beausejour my father will make it all right for the clothes." "He won't do anything of the sort," answered both Breboeuf and his wife in one breath. "We all know Antoine Lecorbeau, and we're proud to do his son a service.
Do you not see that Monsieur L'as is not with us?" "Eh bien?" "And were he not surely with us at such time, unless ?" "Oh, assurément!" replied Pierre Noir. "Jean Breboeuf, aid me in taking the boat back to our camp in the woods." Now came the rain. Not in steady and even downpour, not with intermittent showers, but in a sidelong, terrifying torrent, drenching, biting, cutting in its violence.
"But, to speak of his aims, I must recollect the numbers of our people." "Breboeuf, mon brebis," said Chamilly, turning to the little fellow, "what is the number of the French Canadians?"
For myself, 'tis part of the trade." "Assuredly," broke in Jean Breboeuf. "We keep these trinkets, we voyageurs of the French. Make no doubt that Jean Breboeuf will take back with him full tale of the Indians he has killed. Presently I go out. Zip! goes my knife, and off comes the topknot of Monsieur Indian, him I killed but now as he ran.
Perhaps the climax of her experiences is found when she has regularly, as confessor and mentor, the Jesuit father and martyr Bréboeuf, dead for some years. M. Hudon declared that he had submitted the evidence for these wonders to all the tests that modern scientific canons could require and that they were undoubtedly true. The Archbishop of Quebec, Mgr.
"Morbleu, that's not comfortable!" exclaimed a young editor, fond of old oaths. "But these estimations of Mr. Genest's prove surprisingly accurate," explained Chamilly. "A majority of 28, composed as follows:" Breboeuf continued; "Donnillière, 83 to 44 majority 39; Petite Argentenaye, 96 to 47; majority 49; St. Dominique, 11 to 19 majority 8; Miséricorde, majority 47. Esneval. "Wait!"
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