Band of Acadians Page 2

  “Thanks, Nola, that does feel better. You youngsters are doing well so far, but you can be sure the soldiers will keep after us. When they notice the missing shallops and the whaleboats, it won’t take them long to figure out what happened. They’ll surely guess where we’ve gone. By sunrise, I think we should go ashore and hide the shallops.”

  Hector nodded. “Yes, we can’t risk sailing during the day, but I think we can go until a couple of hours after dawn. I doubt the British will get far down the bay until later this morning. And the farther we can get from Grand Pré, the more difficult it will be for them to catch us.”

  As day dawned, a warm breeze propelled them along at a good pace, but a thick fog still limited visibility to a few yards. Nola was curled up under a seat, sleeping. Then she stirred, half awake, and grinned as she reflected on their new situation. They were much better off today than they had been last night. “Jocelyne” she whispered, “I need to go ashore. Do you?”

  “Badly.”

  “Hector, Jocelyne and I need to go ashore. Could you pull in for a bit?”

  “We’ll go in for a quick break.” He signalled with an oar to the other boats to head to shore. This time, to no one’s surprise, there were no errant helmsmen.

  Once on land, the girls managed a bit of privacy as they hurriedly completed their morning ablutions. Then Jocelyne broke out some cooked but cold bannock. Everyone ate the little snack with gusto; there were no complaints about the food being cold.

  During the rest stop, Hector scolded the boys who had ignored his instructions. “We’ve got to stick together, or we’ll all be captured. Next time pay attention. You could get us killed.”

  As their fellow escapees voiced agreement, the faces of the disobedient sailors reddened with shame.

  Half an hour later, as they headed back out onto the water, Nola said to her grandfather, “You’ve been on the big bay before. How long do you think it will take for us to get to the isthmus?”

  “It’s almost seventy miles from Grand Pré across the Bay of Fundy to the head of Chignecto Bay. We’ll have to be very careful when we get there. I heard the British have built a fort on the Chignecto Bay. They call it Fort Lawrence, I think. It’s sure to be chock full of soldiers.”

  “Seventy miles,” Hector repeated. “At our current speed, if we sail until about two hours after daybreak and then start sailing again three hours after dusk, we should get to the head of Chignecto Bay before dawn tomorrow. That will allow us enough time to hide ourselves and the shallops by first light.”

  “If this fog holds, perhaps we could light a fire to cook the chickens I brought,” Jocelyne said. “The fog would hide the campfire smoke.”

  Luckily, it was still misty when Hector decided the little flotilla could go ashore again, so he agreed that Jocelyne could have a fire. In the high tension of arranging the escape, only Grandpa had had the foresight to bring the dry kindling needed to start a fire in damp conditions. Everyone was grateful for his good planning. The girls cooked breakfast, while the boys made sure the boats were hauled up and well hidden. Then they busied themselves erasing every trace of their passage along the shoreline. By the time the fog had burned off, breakfast was over, the campfire was doused, and all except two of their number were safely secreted deep in the woods, attempting to get some sleep. Hector posted the two exceptions as lookouts, with firm orders to stay awake. If patrols passed their hiding place, he wanted to know about it.

  Although everyone was bone-tired, slumber didn’t come easily. They were still soaked to the skin, and all were afraid of being discovered. It was only when they covered themselves with spruce boughs and endured much restlessness that they managed to get a fitful rest.

  By nightfall, after all the worry of the previous night, everyone was relieved that no patrols had been spotted. “It looks as if we weren’t followed,” Nola said. “I guess the British are so busy loading our families onboard ships that they couldn’t spare —”

  “Get down!” Hector suddenly cried. “Take cover! Whaleboats coming!”

  Everyone hunched down, sprinted back into the forest, and then lay flat on the ground, trying hard to make themselves invisible. Their concealment skills were about to be put to the supreme test. Nola hoped she had managed to hide all traces of their campfire, but she wasn’t sure.

  No one moved. No one said a word.

  After a few minutes, they heard English voices as the whaleboats approached their hiding place. “It’s getting pretty dark,” one of the occupants of the first vessel said. “It’s hard to spot runaways in this light. Maybe we should set up camp here for the night.”

  “No, we better head back,” another man said. “Colonel Winslow will need our help to sort out the prisoners.”

  Shortly after this exchange, Hector peeked out and saw the boats turning around. “They’re going back,” he whispered.

  They waited for a full hour, then Hector finally broke the silence. “I think it’s safe now, but that was a close call. Let’s move out. We have a long way to go before first light. Good thing there’s another favourable breeze for tonight’s sail.”

  Attempting to relieve the escapees’ anxiety, Grandpa said, “This moist sea air is doing wonders for my arthritis. I should do this more often. My hands haven’t felt this good in months.”

  “Grandpa,” Nola said, “much as I sympathize with your arthritis, I don’t think it’s worth losing our land and homes for.”

  “Now, dear, indulge an old man. A little humour once in a while is good.”

  “Yes, Grandpa.”

  “Did you notice how everyone enjoyed our chicken breakfast?” Jocelyne asked. “That food was good for morale.”

  “Before this voyage is over, I expect we’ll have some very lean times,” Hector said. He glanced up at the sky. “The moon’s out tonight, so we’ll be more exposed. When we get closer to the head of Chignecto Bay, I’ll go ashore and climb a tree to see if I can spot any campfires. It’s great that I found that spyglass. If there’s no fog, I expect I’ll be able to see a campfire up to fifteen miles away.”

  The flotilla moved along some thirty miles without further incident until Hector decided it was time to check for campfires. He went ashore and climbed a tree, while the others stayed aboard their shallops, nervously waiting to hear what he discovered.

  Calling down to the group, he reported, “There’s a big campfire by what looks like a fort plus a few smaller fires close by. All the rest of the forest is dark. Those fires are about ten miles away. That’s close enough. It’s near dawn. We’ll set up camp here.”

  At this second daytime camp everyone knew what to do. Again all traces of their passage were erased from the shoreline, and everyone tried to disguise the campsite itself. Unfortunately, there was no morning fog, so no fire could be lit.

  Jocelyne arranged for a meal of cracked wheat, raw carrots, and some leftover chicken, all cold. When this proved to be too little, several boys went along the shore to hunt for shellfish. Hector insisted that they be back at camp within half an hour. It would be terribly dangerous for the band if any of the shellfish pickers was spotted.

  “Better to go hungry than be a prisoner or dead,” Hector said.

  “We’re making good progress,” Grandpa added, “but it would be foolish to take unnecessary chances.”

  2

  Crossing the Isthmus

  Once they settled in, Grandpa informed his companions, “The isthmus is about twenty miles across at its narrowest, and we’re about ten miles from the isthmus. I think that’s too far for us to carry the shallops, particularly since we have to steer clear of the main trail to avoid British patrols. It’s unfortunate, but we have to leave them behind.”

  “Maybe we can carry a few of them,” Nola suggested. “There are a hundred of us. Surely, we could do that. It just doesn’t seem right to leave them all here.”

  “It depends on the shape of the side trails,” Hector said. “Remember, our priority is to get ourse
lves and our tools over to the other side. Once we get there, we can build rafts. Now let’s get some sleep. We’ll need to be alert and refreshed for the next stage of our journey.”

  “Yes,” Grandpa agreed, “try to get some sleep.”

  Several hours later, as dusk descended, a crescent moon and light cloud cover spoiled their hope for complete darkness. But they all understood that staying where they were wasn’t an option. “Moonlight or not, we have to press on,” Hector told his companions.

  After all the priority items were loaded in the shallops, it appeared they had enough manpower to take four boats on the crossing — ten people per vessel. Grandpa knew the trail best, so he took the lead, followed by Hector, Nola, and Jocelyne.

  Three hours into the hike, with everything seemingly going according to their plan, Grandpa estimated they were well past the fort, which brought great relief to the refugees. Then, unexpectedly, three British soldiers bolted out of the forest and shouted, “Halt or we shoot!”

  Everyone stopped, hearts pounding.

  “Good!” the lead soldier barked. “Now hands up!” After a few of Nola’s companions hesitated, he bellowed, “Everyone!”

  Waving his musket, one of the soldiers said, “We were just out for an evening hunt and look at what we found — a bunch of wild runaways.” Then, with a sinister expression, he pointed at Nola and Jocelyne. “You two, step over here. Now!”

  Reluctantly, the girls obeyed this chilling command. Furtively, the soldiers whispered among themselves. It became apparent these were raw youths barely older than the fugitives themselves but scary nonetheless. After a few minutes, they stepped away brusquely and began pulling the girls into the dark forest. A horrified Hector acted without thought for his personal safety and tackled the soldiers. Two of the Englishmen fired their muskets, hitting Hector in the leg and another boy named Leo in the chest. The third soldier waved his musket menacingly as his partners quickly reloaded. “Back off or we’ll shoot again.”

  Hector clutched his leg on the forest floor, and Grandpa cursed himself for not having sent scouts ahead. Nola and Jocelyne shrieked as their captors dragged them farther into the shadows. The soldiers and the girls were almost out of sight when, suddenly, a shot rang out and one of the English troops collapsed. Several boys, reacting on pure instinct, rushed to rescue Nola and Jocelyne, who struggled with their remaining captors. Assessing this new predicament, one of the soldiers panicked and dashed off. Just then a second shot rang out, and the fleeing man tumbled hard to the ground. Fiercely pummelling their final captor, the girls sensed their rescuers arrive and continued to wrestle the Englishman until he was flat on the ground.

  Out of the woods came a large man dressed as an Acadian settler. “Good work, boys. Tie him up. I’ll see if the other two are dead.”

  “Thank you, whoever you are,” a shaken Nola said. She and Jocelyne hugged each other tightly. “Jocelyne and I owe you our lives.”

  “It’s my duty to protect all settlers from dishonourable conduct,” he said, bowing deeply. “My name’s Noel Broussard, and I’m pleased I could be of service. I used to live nearby until the British burned down my house and imprisoned me and my family. I escaped, and now I wander around shooting as many Englishmen as I can. After what they did to me, I’ve vowed to fight for my family’s freedom to the bitter end if need be.”

  Leo, the boy who had been shot in the chest, was dead. Hector had a big gash in his leg and had lost a lot of blood. Grimacing with pain but alert, he feigned good health but winced as he said, “Jocelyne … Nola … I’m glad you’re safe. But we have to get moving right now. We’re much too close to the fort, and someone might have heard the shooting. Mr. Broussard, thank you for your help. What should we do with that prisoner?” “We’ll take him with us. Let’s bury your unfortunate friend and the two soldiers and get going. You’re right, young man. It’s much too dangerous to stay here.”

  To cover distance more quickly, the group used the main trail for the remainder of the night. Two boys, spelling each other every half-hour, held Hector so he could hop along the trail. His wound had to be patched several times to staunch blood loss. At dawn, when Grandpa felt they were more than two-thirds across the isthmus, they stopped and set up camp well off the trail. It had been a harrowing night, and all agreed it was best to rest and put off breakfast until dark.

  Hours later, just as dusk was taking hold, the still-sleepy band heard a horse clopping through the woods. Presently, the rider, a tall, well-dressed teenager, appeared. Apprehensively, the stranger asked, “What’s this? Who are you people?”

  Broussard pointed his musket at the intruder. “A better question is — who are you, young man?”

  “You’re rebels! Agitators and scalawags — that’s who you are! Well, we can’t have that.”

  He turned his horse to leave, but Broussard stepped forward to intercede. “Step down from that animal, lad, or I’ll shoot you.”

  The boy, his demeanour quickly changing from belligerence to dismay, slid off his mount, holding the reins shakily.

  “We can’t have you go back to the fort and reveal our position now, can we?” Broussard said. “To you we might be rebels, but we think of ourselves as people struggling to keep land we’ve owned and worked for over a hundred years.”

  Now thoroughly concerned, though still pugnacious, the boy spoke in a nervous jumble. “How is it that you have a British soldier as prisoner? What I see is that you’re a bunch of rebels. My name’s Frank, and when I was in Halifax last month, I saw your priest, Abbé Daubin, spouting all sorts of anti-British nonsense. I’m happy to say he was arrested and is in jail now.”

  “I’m sure you believe you’re in the right,” Broussard said. “But these boys and girls aren’t guilty of any wrongdoing. Their priest might be, but not them. I ask you — what have these boys and girls done to deserve the brutal punishment meted out by your troops? They’ve lost their land, their way of life, and their parents. Anyway, we have a problem here, Mr. Frank. We can’t let you go back. What do you want us to do with you?”

  Frank mulled over his situation. After some hesitation, he reached a decision. “I’ll tell you what. If you let me go, I’ll take an oath not to reveal your position.”

  Broussard, Hector, and Grandpa considered Frank’s offer, and after much deliberation concluded that the youth appeared to be trustworthy. No one wanted to shoot him. “We’ll take your oath, lad,” Broussard said. “But don’t make us regret it.”

  Frank put up his right hand. “I, Frank Lawrence, of Portsmouth, England, do hereby swear not to disclose my contact with the group of Acadians I’ve encountered on the trail today, so help me God.”

  “Good enough,” Broussard said. “You may go. Be worthy of our trust, young man.”

  “No!” shouted Nola. “We’ve suffered a horrible attack from this boy’s soldiers. We can’t let him go. That’s crazy.”

  “I was bought up to be an honourable person,” Frank said. “When I take an oath, I honour it till death.”

  Nola studied Frank skeptically. Then, gazing into his eyes, she noted his granite-hard conviction. Slowly, she felt her confidence in him grow. Perhaps he was someone who meant what he said. If he had been a soldier, she would never have believed him. “You understand that if you betray us, it would be a mortal sin?”

  “I understand that, and I vow to keep my word. You can depend on my oath.”

  “That’s exactly what we’ll be doing if we let you go.”

  Frank and his horse were permitted to leave. He left behind a group deeply worried about whether they had made the correct judgment.

  Jocelyne, her recent experience still fresh, opened several food packets with trembling fingers. A sombre Nola helped by handing out an apple to each person, including their prisoner. She prepared a pot of salted carrots, chopped turnips, cracked wheat, and leftover chicken. Because of their latest ordeal, they were afraid to light a fire, so they ate everything cold. That done they got bac
k on the trail, fretting about what new dangers lay ahead.

  Broussard had decided not join them. He would take their prisoner to what was left of his farm and have him repair his house. “I wish you all the best, but I have to go. I need to do everything I can to liberate my family. I hate to think of them suffering in jail. Remember, though, that the British are powerful, but if you’re careful and smart, I believe you can succeed. Your parents are depending on you. Good luck.”

  Nola and Jocelyne were delighted to see the prisoner leave. Anger and relief flashing in her face, Nola said, “I hope Mr. Broussard works him hard. I find it difficult to forgive what he tried to do to us.”

  Jocelyne shivered and nodded. “I’m glad the other two were killed. It’s awful that our Leo was slain, though.”

  Early that morning they reached the coast without further incident. Hector spotted many spruce and pine trees over thirty feet high and pointed to a grove with big trunks, indicating these would be ideal for building rafts. “Smaller logs would be dangerous if we get caught in a storm.” Consulting with Grandpa, he chose which trees to cut and scoped out a trail to haul them to the shore.

  The work proved exhausting. The girls hadn’t brought saws or axes able to handle such outsized lumber, and the terrain was rough. Fortunately, they had managed to carry four shallops, so they would need fewer rafts. Grandpa estimated eight rafts twenty-by-twenty feet would be sufficient. Progress making these rafts was excruciatingly slow, however. Even with an all-out effort, a day later none was ready. Frustration mingled with deep fear seeped into everyone.

  “This raft building is taking far too long,” Nola said. “With all the noise we’re making, at any moment a passing patrol might hear us, and that would be it for us. Maybe we should settle for smaller logs.”

  “It’s too bad we weren’t able to bring a horse or two to help us with this logging,” Grandpa said. “We had over four hundred in Grand Pré. Sadly, they’re all in British hands now.”