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“Well, by-and-by dere is trouble on Pontiac. It is ver’ great trouble. You see dere is a fight ‘gainst de King of Englan’, and dat is too bad. It is not his fault; he is ver’ nice man; it is de bad men who make de laws for de King in Quebec. Well, one day all over de country everybody take him gun, and de leetla bullets, and say, I will fight de soldier of de King of Englan’–like dat. Ver’ well, dere was twenty men in Pontiac, ver’ nice men–you will find de names cut in a stone on de church; and den, three times as big, you will find Mathurin’s name. Ah, dat is de ting! You see, dat rebellion you English call it, we call it de War of de Patriot–de first War of de Patriot, not de second-well, call it what you like, quelle difference? The King of Englan’ smash him Patriot War all to pieces. Den dere is ten men of de twenty come back to Pontiac ver’ sorry. Dey are not happy, nobody are happy. All de wives, dey cry; all de children, dey are afraid. Some people say, What fools you are; others say, You are no good; but everybody in him heart is ver’ sorry all de time.

“Ver’ well, by-and-by dere come to Pontiac what you call a colonel with a dozen men–what for, you tink? To try de patriots. He will stan’ dem against de wall and shoot dem to death–kill dem dead. When dey come, de Cure he is not in Pontiac–non, not dat day; he is gone to anudder village. De English soldier he has de ten men drew up before de church. All de children and all de wives dey cry and cry, and dey feel so bad. Certainlee, it is a pity. But de English soldier he say he will march dem off to Quebec, and everybody know dat is de end of de patriots.

“All at once de colonel’s horse it grow ver’ wild, it rise up high, and dance on him hind feet, and–voila! he topple him over backwards, and de horse fall on de colonel and smaish him–smaish him till he go to die. Ver’ well; de colonel, what does he do? Dey lay him on de steps of de church. Den he say: ‘Bring me a priest, quick, for I go to die.’ Nobody answer. De colonel he say: ‘I have a hunder sins all on my mind; dey are on my heart like a hill. Bring to me de priest,’–he groan like dat. Nobody speak at first; den somebody say de priest is not here. ‘Find me a priest,’ say de colonel; ‘find me a priest.’ For he tink de priest will not come, becos’ he go to kill de patriots. ‘Bring me a priest,’ he say again, ‘and all de ten shall go free.’ He say it over and over. He is smaish to pieces, but his head is all right. All at once de doors of de church open behin’ him–what you tink! Everybody’s heart it stan’ still, for dere is Mathurin dress as de priest, with a leetla boy to swing de censer. Everybody say to himself, What is dis? Mathurin is dress as de priest-ah! dat is a sin. It is what you call blaspheme.

“The English soldier he look up at Mathurin and say: ‘Ah, a priest at last–ah, M’sieu’ le Cure, comfort me!’ Mathurin look down on him and say: ‘M’sieu’, it is for you to confess your sins, and to have de office of de Church. But first, as you have promise just now, you must give up dese poor men, who have fight for what dey tink is right. You will let dem go free dis women?’ ‘Yes, yes,’ say de English colonel; ‘dey shall go free. Only give me de help of de Church at my last.’ Mathurin turn to de other soldiers and say: ‘Unloose de men.’