Mo

Diary of Francois de Champignon Diary #1 5 years it has been. I am starting to get used to this. I wish it was that easy at the beginning, every second introduced a new challenge. I first came to New France for new opportunity, tired of misfortune and failure in my old life, searching for a new one. It was all thanks to my older brother. 14 years old I was when he, at the age of 20, decided to leave me with my evil uncle. He didn’t even say goodbye only leaving a letter telling me to live with uncle and that he will be back. 3 years later he sent me. “I have discovered ways to attain riches far greater than a commoner like me would be expected to. You should come, brother, and share it with me. Take the ship to New France. You must stow away though, as I imagine, uncle will not give you even one shilling nor would he permit you to go on such a perilous journey.” So I followed his detailed instructions, and as the ship was nearing the docks to Quebec I jumped into the water. I eventually met up with my brother Pierre and his friends Jean and Madeline le Blanc. They’ve done a fine job raising me here. Always one step ahead of the law (and the church calls us sinners but who cares), we trade with the natives. We live off the food in our packs or off the land. It makes me feel proud amd strong but still, leeks beans and asparagus are just gross. The natives have taught us much. We trade furs and have adventures but the government fails to realize that we help them by stimulating the fur trade as unofficial ambassadors of the New French. I’ve lived through 3 long and harsh winters. Eating little and always in uncomfortable clothing suck as goatskin leggings and coarse linen breeches. They’re coarse alright. There are fond memories too though; the songs and sing-alongs around the campfire, both French and Indian, the excessive drinking, and the ever so exciting hunting. Muskets are easy but bows are much more fun. And as for animals, pigeons are hard and annoying to kill but beavers are easy, fun and rewarding to hunt, especially with the Indians’ unique methods. After all this time of fighting our way through the snow and violent currents of the mighty Canadian rivers I see what my brother meant by “it’ll be all worth it” Now we have so much money to blow and so little time to do so, I wish this rush would never end.

Diary 2 God, that Father Francois Patuine Grinds my gears. He preaches that we need to be lead and speaks of us proud Coureurs Du Bois as savages, lost souls. He thinks it’s immoral to have fun just because the government declares our work illegal. Illegal is a meaningless word. If this is so illegal then why has everyone failed to seize us? Because our actions are just. Patuine can call me a heretic all he likes but I will always live the way I wish. Who is he to say what is right and wrong. He’s a coward who hides behind his mighty words and indoctrinated followers. Siphoning money for “gods work” In a way I feel sorry for him. Never knowing how to live the free life like me and my new family, his life will remain a cage for his soul. He lives in huts i would consider a palace, much like my rich uncles place, But apparently that’s not good enough for him. What a spoiled, arrogant fool. But I don’t care because he poses no threat, an old broken priest like him will never catch me.  Bibliography: Harold Horwood, "The Colonial Dream," Canada's Illustrated Heritage, Toronto, 1978 Stewart K. Dicks, "Canadiana Scrapbook: Les Canadiens: The French in Canada 1600-1867," Prentice-Hall of Canada Ltd. Scarborough, 1980 Michael Cranny, "Crossroads: A Meeting of Nations," Pearson Education Canada Inc., Toronto, 1998