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Title: Doctor Hilaire
Author: William Henry Drummond [
More Titles by Drummond]
A stranger might say if he see heem drink till he almos' fall,
"Doctor lak dat for sick folk, he 's never no use at all,"
But wait till you hear de story dey 're tellin' about heem yet,
An' see if you don't hear somet'ing, mebbe you won't forget.
Twenty odd year she 's marry, Belzemire Lafreniere,
An' oh! but she 's feelin' lonesome 'cos never a sign is dere--
Purty long tam for waitin', but poor leetle Belzemire
She 's bad enough now for pay up all of dem twenty year.
Call heem de oldes' doctor, call heem de younges' wan,
Bring dem along, no matter if ev'ry dollar 's gone--
T'ree of dem can't do not'ing, workin' for two days dere,
She was a very sick woman, Belzemire Lafreniere.
Pierre he was cryin', cryin' out on de barn behin',
Neighbors tryin' to kip heem goin' right off hees min',
W'en somebody say, "Las' winter, ma wife she is nearly go,
An' who do you t'ink is save her? ev'ry wan surely know.
"Drink? does he drink de w'isky? don't care I 'm hees only frien',
Dere 's only wan answer comin'. Wall! leetle bit now an' den
Doctor Hilaire he tak' it, but if it was me or you
Leevin' on Beausejour dere, w'at are you goin' to do?
"An' so you may t'ank de w'isky, 'cos w'ere 'll he be to-day
If he never is drinkin' not'ing? Many a mile away
Off on de great beeg city, makin' de money quick,
W'ere ev'ry wan want de doctor w'enever he 's leetle sick.
"Remember de way to get heem is tell heem it's bad, bad case,
Or Doctor Hilaire you 'll never see heem upon dis place!
Tell heem dere 's two life waitin', an' sure to be comin' die
Unless he is hurry quicker dan ever de bird can fly.
"T'orty mile crick is runnin' over de road, I 'm sure,
But if you can fin' de crossin' you 'll ketch heem at Beausejour.
Sober or drunk, no matter, bring heem along you mus',
For Doctor Hilaire 's de only man of de lot for us."
Out wit' de quickes' horse den, Ste. Genevieve has got,
An' if ever you show your paces, now is de tam to trot--
Johnnie Dufresne is drivin', w'at! never hear tell of heem,
Off on de Yankee circus, an' han'le a ten-horse team?
Dat was de lonesome journey over de mountain high,
Down w'ere de w'ite fog risin' show w'ere de swamp is lie,
An' drive as he can de faster, an' furder away he get,
Johnnie can hear dat woman closer an' closer yet.
Offen he tell about it, not'ing he never do
Geev' heem de funny feelin' Johnnie is goin' t'roo,
But he is sure of wan t'ing, if Belzemire 's comin' die,
Poor woman, she 'd never foller affer heem wit' her cry.
Dat is de t'ing is cheer heem, knowin' she is n't gone,
So he answer de voice a-callin', tellin' her to hol' on,
Till he bring her de help she 's needin' if only she wait a w'ile
Dat is de way he 's doin' all of dem t'orty mile--
Lucky he was to-night, too, for place on de crick he got,
Search on de light of day-tam, he could n't fin' better spot,
But jus' as it happen', mebbe acre or two below,
Is place w'ere de ole mail-driver 's drownin' a year ago.
W'ere is de road? he got it, an' very soon Beausejour
Off on de hillside lyin', dere she is, small an' poor,
Lookin' so lak starvation might a' been t'roo de war,
An' dere, on de bar-room sleepin', de man he is lookin' for.
Drunk? he is worse dan ever--poor leetle man! too bad!
Lissen to not'ing neider, but Johnnie is feel so glad
Ketchin' heem dere so easy, 'fore he can answer, "No"--
He 's tyin' heem on de buggy, an' off on de road he go--
Half o' de journey 's over, half o' de night is pass,
W'en Doctor Hilaire stop swearin', an' start to get quiet at las'--
Don't do any good ax Johnnie lettin' heem loose again,
For if any man tak' de chances, would n't be Johnnie Dufresne.
Hooraw for de black horse trotter! hooraw for de feller drive!
An' wan leetle cheer for Belzemire dat 's kipin' herse'f alive
Till Johnnie is bring de doctor, an' carry heem on de door
An' loosen heem out as sober as never he was before.
Quiet inside de house now, quiet de outside too,
Look at each oder smokin', dat 's about all we do;
An' jus' as we feel, ba tonder! no use, we mus' talk or die,
Dere on de house we 're hearin' poor leetle baby's cry.
Dat 's all, but enough for makin' tear comin' down de face,
An' Pierre, if you only see heem jumpin' aroun' de place
You 'd t'ink of a colt in spring-tam--den off on de barn we go
W'ere somebody got de bottle for drinkin' de healt', you know.
Takin' it too moche w'isky, is purty hard job to cure,
But only for poor ole w'isky, village of Beausejour
Can never have such a doctor, an' dat 's w'y it aint no tam
Talk very moche agin it, but fill her up jus' de sam'.
An' drink to de baby's moder, here 's to de baby too,
An' Doctor Hilaire, anoder, beeger dan all, for you.
For sober or drunk, no matter, so long as he understan'
It's very bad case is waitin', Doctor Hilaire 's de man.
[The end]
William Henry Drummond's poem: Doctor Hilaire
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