Jean Jacques Cadieux

Peom by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay (1875-1928).

The Passing of Cadieux

That man is brave who at the nod of fate Will lay his life a willing offering down, That they who loved him may know length of days; May stay awhile upon this pleasant earth Drinking its gladness and its vigour in, Though he himself lie silent evermore, Dead to the gentle calling of the Spring, Dead to the warmth of Summer; wrapt in dream So deep, so far, that never dreamer yet Has waked to tell his dream. Men there may be Who, careless of its worth, toss life away, A counter in some feverish game of chance, Or, stranger yet, will sell it day by day For toys to play with; but a man who knows The love of life and holds it dear and good, Prizing each moment, yet will let it go That others still may keep the precious thing– He is the truly brave!

                This did Cadieux, A man who loved the wild and held each day  A gift from Le Bon Dieu to fill with joy And offer back again to Him who gave (See, now, Messieurs, his grave!) We hold it dear  The story you have heard–but no? 'Tis strange,  For we all know the story of Cadieux!  He was a Frenchman born. One of an age  That glitters like a gem in history yet,  The Golden Age of France! 'Twould seem, Messieurs,  That every country has a Golden Age?  Ah well, ah well!

But this Cadieux, he came No one knew whence, nor cared, indeed, to know. His simple coming seemed to bring the day, So strong was he, so gallant and so gay– A maker of sweet songs; with voice so clear 'Twas like the call of early-soaring bird Hymning the sunrise; so at least 'twould seem Mehwatta thought–the slim Algonquin girl Whose shy black eyes the singer loved to praise. She taught him all the soft full-throated words With which the Indian-warriors woo their brides, And he taught her the dainty phrase of France And made her little songs of love, like this: 'Fresh is love in May

 When the Spring is yearning, Life is but a lay,

 Love is quick in learning.  'Sweet is love in June:

 All the roses blowing Whisper 'neath the moon

 Secrets for love's knowing.  'Sweet is love alway

 When life burns to embers, Hearts keep warm for aye

 With what love remembers!' 

Their wigwam rose beside the Calumet Where the great waters thunder day and night And dawn chased dawn away in gay content. Then it so chanced, when many moons were spent, The brave Cadieux and his brown brothers rose To gather up their wealth of furs for trade; And in that moment Fate upraised her hand And, wantonly, loosed Death upon the trail, Red death and terrible–the Iroquois! (Oh, the long cry that rent the startled dawn!) One way alone remained, if they would live– The Calumet, the cataract–perchance The good Saint Anne might help!

                'In God's name, go! Push off the great canoe, Mehwatta, go!–  Adieu, petite Mehwatta! Keep good cheer. Say thou a prayer; beseech the good Saint Anne!– For two must stay behind to hold the way, And shall thy husband fail in time of need? And would Mehwatta's eyes behold him shamed?– Adieu!'–Oh, swift the waters bear them on! Now the good God be merciful! .... 

They stayed, Cadieux and one Algonquin, and they played With a bewildered foe, as children play, Crying 'Lo, here am I!' and then 'Lo, here!' 'Lo, there!' Their muskets spoke from everywhere at once– So swift they ran behind the friendly trees, They seemed a host with Death for General– And the fierce foe fell back.

                But ere they went  Their wingèd vengeance found the Algonquin's heart.  Cadieux was left alone!

Ah, now, brave soul, Began the harder part! To wander through The waking woods, stern hunger for a guide; To see new life and know that he must die; To hear the Spring and know she breathed 'Adieu'! ... One wonders what strange songs the forest heard, What poignant cry rose to the lonely skies To die in music somewhere far above Or fall in sweetness back upon the earth– The requiem of that singer of sweet songs! They found him–so–with cross upon his heart, His cold hand fast upon this last Complaint– 'Ends the long trail–at sunset I must die! I sing no more–O little bird, sing on And flash bright wing against a brighter sky! 'Sing to my Dear, as once I used to sing; Say that I guarded love and kept the faith– Fly to her, little bird, on swifter wing. 'The world slips by, the sun drops down to-night– Sweet Mary, comfort me, and let it be Thy arms that hold me when I wake to light!'
Death: In May 1709, when attacked by the Iroquois on Calumet Island, he sacrificed himself in order to let his travelling companions escape by running the Seven Chutes Rapids. Alone on Calumet Island, he died of his injuries and exhaustion - May 1709 - Ile du Grand-Calumet, Riviere Outaouais, Quebec, Canada