Part 9 (2/2)
As far as can be gathered from doc.u.mentary evidence, and what information could be obtained otherwise, no relief was ever granted to Captain G.o.dfrey or his family by the Commission of Losses and Services of the American Loyalists. Mrs. G.o.dfrey, whose many trials, hards.h.i.+ps, disappointments and sorrows, have been sketched in the foregoing chapters, was living in London as late as 1805. A letter written by the old lady to her son Charlie's wife, then living in Nova Scotia, was for a few hours in the possession of the writer of these chapters. In this letter she states her many difficulties and the numerous applications on her part to various Lords and other authorities seeking relief in her distress. Many portions of the long, well written letter are touching indeed.
The persistency of the grand old lady in doing her utmost to force the rulers of the country to a settlement of her husband's claims is greatly to be admired. Her letter cannot be read by any colonist without feelings of pity and shame. In one part of the letter she says Councillor Brand[8] has given in my memorial to the treasury and I have to wait till he gets an answer, and I pray G.o.d it will be a happy one, but G.o.d knows what is best, and will, if we put all our trust in him, guide us aright. The cursed Duke of Richmond is not dead yet.[9]
[Footnote 8: It will be remembered that Mrs. G.o.dfrey was an Irish woman.]
[Footnote 9: What was the cause of her animosity to this n.o.ble Duke, the writer does not know.]
Mrs. G.o.dfrey must have been near eighty years of age when this letter was written. Thirty-five years had elapsed since her husband's first loss in the colony, and nearly thirty years since he was driven out by rebels and Indians.
t.i.tles and pensions have been freely bestowed by English kings and parliaments on men who have been daring and successful in Britain's cause. If Captain G.o.dfrey had performed no deeds worthy of a t.i.tle or a pension, he at least deserved to be reimbursed in part or in whole for the losses he had sustained at the hands of rebels and savages. And it is probable there were men and women in England who were styled Dukes and d.u.c.h.esses,--who wore orders on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s that covered less brave and no more loyal hearts than those of Capt. and Margaret G.o.dfrey. She firmly supported and a.s.sisted her husband in his strict adherence to King George the Third's cause, and faced the rebels like a Spartan and defeated them in their designs at Grimross. Her tact, skill, courage and cool determination in the midst of imminent danger were truly admirable.
She displayed the qualities of a born leader time and time again. In a situation where she could seek no support she relied on her own judgment, courage and faith. These sterling qualities brought to her aid one who afterward proved to be a friend and guide. Alone at Fort Frederick she defeated the designs of blood-thirsty savages by stepping out of the Fort and standing unmoved and defiant amid a flight of arrows. Her commanding presence and firm att.i.tude won a savage to her side. We can entertain no better wish for the memory of this Celtic heroine, than that her name may be preserved, and her life and deeds in the colony go down to the latest generation.
”Justin McCarthy in his concise and interesting work, Ireland's cause in England's Parliament,” says: ”There is a charming poem by my friend William Allingham, called Lawrence Bloomfield in Ireland,” in which we find a cla.s.sic story, thrillingly told, as an ill.u.s.tration of the hero's feeling on some subject of interest to his country. A Roman Emperor is persecuted by the pet.i.tion of a poor widowed woman, who prays for redress of some wrong done to her and her children. The great emperor is far too great, his mind is taken up too much with questions of imperial interest, to have any leisure for examining into, or even for reading, this poor woman's claim.
One morning he is riding forth of his palace gates, at the head of his splendid retinue, and the widow comes in his way, right in his path, and holds up her pet.i.tion again, and implores him to read it. He will not read, and is about to pa.s.s scornfully on, when she flings herself on the ground before him, herself and her little children, just in front of his horse's hoofs, and she declares that if he will not stay and hear her prayer, he shall not pa.s.s on his way unless he pa.s.ses over the bodies of herself and children.
And then says Mr. Allingham, ”the Roman,” who must have had something of the truly imperial in him, ”wheeled his horse and heard.”
Margaret G.o.dfrey, the poor widowed woman, took up the pet.i.tion of her husband, and continued to pray for redress of wrong done her husband, herself, and her children. For twenty years she continued in her prayer.
Read what the poor widowed woman says in another part of her letter to her daughter-in-law, and see if the truly imperial is to be found in a King or in England's n.o.blemen, who for twenty years ”heard and wheeled.”
”I have been sick all winter and not able to help myself, and am very ill at present. My illness has almost turned me, but if I had but half a leg I'll do my duty toward my family.”
In another letter written to her daughter-in-law not long after the first, she says: ”Tell Charles if he ever visits the mouth of the St.
John or old Fort Frederick, not to neglect for his mother's sake to visit the grave of Paul Guidon. He knows the locality and may be able to detect the spot where the hero sleeps. In my thoughts, G.o.d knows how often I linger about that spot. Sacred indeed must be the earth that mingles with the dust of such n.o.bility. Were I present I would adorn his last resting place with the early spring flowers. Many wintry storms have pa.s.sed above his grave. Spring time and summer have come and gone, but he heeds them not.
”I feel that I am nearing the border land, and as I cross the stream I believe I shall meet my husband and also my other protector standing together on the sh.o.r.e to welcome me home, to a home where friends never fail and where justice is administered in the highest perfection.
”It is my living desire, and by the blessing of G.o.d it shall be my dying desire, to meet beyond on the fields of glory Paul Guidon and my dear husband. No Briton ever lived who was more loyal to his King and country, and trusted more fully in the honour of earthly Lords than Charles G.o.dfrey.
”It may be that I shall bye and by find Paul Guidon's name inscribed in brighter characters on the columns that support the arches of the heavens, than the names of some to whom my husband applied on earth for redress of wrong.
”One of Briton's statesmen lately said, 'It is easy for my Lord C. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either presently derived or inherited in sinecure acquisitions from the public money to boast of their patriotism, and keep aloof from temptation, but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal pa.s.sions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what it was to have a s.h.i.+lling of their own, and in saying this he wept.
”And so have I, a thousand times in silence wept, as the utmost energy of my life has been exerted to cheer, to comfort and to encourage a weeping heart-broken husband weighed down with misfortunes and poverty.”
The grave has long ago closed over every member of the G.o.dfrey family who were among the English pioneer settlers of Acadia, and the history of their lives might have slept with them, but for a trifling circ.u.mstance. The old doc.u.ments referred to and copied in the foregoing chapters, are greatly defaced, and time is completing their destruction.
Many of them are scarcely legible, and it required the utmost patience and perseverance to gather together the facts as narrated in this work.
LITTLE MAG'S DREAM AS INTERPRETED BY ONE OF THE LESTERS.
As the little widow narrated her dream to one of the Misses Lester, the latter understood it to be something like the following: Mag saw a vast land with wooded hills and dales, green fields, lakes and rivers. Her departed husband was quickly crossing over all these toward the setting sun. He sped over the lakes and rivers in his canoe, and when he emerged from among the trees, his bow and arrow hung across his shoulder, over the open country he travelled in his moccasins, with the old flag wrapped tightly about his breast and shoulders. At length he approached the setting sun, where she lost sight of him for a moment, the darkness that had gradually settled down, shutting out from her view the pa.s.sage of her husband, quick as a flash burst into a beautiful crystal light. The heavens looked like s.h.i.+ning silver, all around the horizon was a wide cloud of clear light blue, with a border of gold.
Beneath was a broad expanse of green, with large groves of trees at regular intervals dressed in a deeper shade. Through these were meandering streams or rivers as of clear gla.s.s. Clear cut avenues ran through at regular s.p.a.ces from stream to stream, on the borders of which (avenues and rivers) were thousands of jasper wigwams, sitting and standing, at the front of each were Indians of all ages, dressed in pure white and ornamented with precious stones of various hues. Rising above the blue border of the sky, slowly and majestically, a new sun was beaming. On its face stood Paul Guidon, in a dress of glistening whiteness. The dress was after the pattern of that of an Indian chief.
Out of his right shoulder rose a red cross slanting slightly outward, on the top of which stood an angel slightly inclining foreward. In his right hand he held a wreath made of flowers most pure and white, inside of which in letters of light blue, was the word Love. Out of his left shoulder, in the same direction, rose a staff of deep blue, to which was attached a drooping silver flag crossed with bars of gold. (Its pattern was like the one placed in his grave.) On the top of the staff rested a dove, holding in its beak a wreath, composed of rainbow shades, circling the word Peace in letters whiter than snow. As the new sun continued to rise, the jewelled sky increased in dazzling brilliancy, ten thousand gems of s.h.i.+ning gold shot out, and ten thousand sapphires too, all glistening gloriously in the new light. The jasper tents on the everlasting hunting grounds, and the motionless streams were brightning with living flame. Thousands of Indians, strong and fair, in countless groupings, seemed, to surpa.s.s even the sky itself in their glittering starry dress.
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