PIERRE VISITS THE ENGLISH LINES.
The ships were a mile from shore, and the shore nearly a league from
the doomed village. When that column of smoke and flame rolled up over
their beloved church the unhappy Acadian villagers knew, too late,
the character of the man with whom they had to deal. It was no time
for them to look to the ships for help. They began with trembling haste
to pack their movables, while Le Loutre and a few of his supporters
went from house to house with great coolness, deaf to all entreaties,
and behind the feet of each sprang up a flame. A few of the more stolid
or more courageous of the villagers still held out, refusing to move
even at the threat of the firebrand; but these gave way when the Indians
came up, yelling and brandishing their tomahawks. Le Loutre proclaimed
that anyone refusing to cross the lines and take refuge at Beauséjour
should be scalped. The rest, he said, might retain possession of just
so much of their stuff as they could rescue from the general conflagration.
The English, he swore, should find nothing of Beaubassin except its ashes.
Presently the thin procession of teams, winding its gloomy way across
the plains of the Missaguash toward Beauséjour, became a hurrying throng
of astonished and wailing villagers, each one carrying with him on his
back or in his rude ox cart the most precious of his movable possessions;
while the women, with loud sobbing, dragged along by their hands the
frightened and reluctant little ones. By another road, leading into
the wooded hills where the villagers were wont to cut their winter
firewood, a few of the more hardy and impetuous of the Acadians,
disdaining to bend to the authority of Le Loutre, fled away into the
wilds with their muskets and a little bread; and these the Indians
dared not try to stop.
The English boats, driven furiously, dashed high up the slippery beach,
and the troops swarmed over the brown and sticky dikes. Major Lawrence
led the way at a run across the marshes; but the soft soil clogged
their steps, and a wide bog forced them far to one side. When they
reached the outskirts of the village the sorrowful dusk of the April
evening was falling over the further plains and the full tide behind
them, but the sky in front was ablaze. There was little wind, and the
flames shot straight aloft, and the smoke hung on the scene in dense
curtains, doubling the height of the hill behind the village, and
reflecting back alike the fierce heat and the dreadful glare. At one
side, skulking behind some outlying barns just bursting into flame,
a few Indians were sighted and pursued. The savages fired once on their
pursuers, and then, with a yell of derision and defiance, disappeared
behind the smoke. The English force went into camp with the conflagration
covering its rear, and philosophically built its camp fires and cooked
its evening meal with the aid of the burning sheds and hayricks.
As Pierre Lecorbeau drove his ox cart up the slope of Beauséjour toward
the commandant's cabin, where his father was awaiting him, he halted
and looked back while the blowing oxen took breath. His mother, who had
stayed to the last, was sitting in the cart on a pile of her treasures.
The children had been taken to a place of safety by their father, who
had left the final stripping of the home to his wife and boy, while
he went ahead to arrange for the night's shelter. Antoine Lecorbeau
had lost his home, his farm, his barns, his orchards, and his easy
satisfaction with life; but thanks to Pierre's promptitude and his own
shrewdness he had saved all his household stuff, his cattle, his hay
and grain, and the little store of gold coin which had been hidden
under the great kitchen hearth. His house was the last to be fired,
and even now, as Pierre and his mother stood watching, long red horns
of flame were pushed forth, writhing, from the low gables. The two were
silent, save for the woman's occasional heavy sobs. Presently the roof
fell in, and then the boy's wet eyes flashed. A body of the English
troops could be seen pitching tents in the orchard. "Mother!" said
the boy, "what if we had stayed at home and waited for these English
to protect us? They are our enemies, these English; and the abbé is
our enemy; and the Indians are our enemies; and our only friends
are--yonder!"
As Pierre spoke he turned his back on the lurid sky and pointed to the
crest of Beauséjour. There, in long, dark lines, stood nearly a thousand
French troops, drawn up on parade. The light from the ruined village
gleamed in blood-red flashes from their steel, and over them the banner
of France flapped idly with its lilies.
That night, because Antoine Lecorbeau was a leader among the villagers
of Beaubassin, he and his family had shelter in a small but warm stable
where some of the officers' horses were quartered. Their goods were
stacked and huddled together in the open air, and Pierre and his father
cut boughs and spread blankets to cover them from the weather. In the
warm straw of the stable, hungry and homesick, the children clung about
their mother and wept themselves to sleep. But they were fortunate
compared with many of their acquaintances, whom Pierre could see
crowded roofless about their fires, in sheltered hollows and under
the little hillside copses. The night was raw and showery, and there
was not houseroom in Beauséjour for a tenth part of the homeless Acadians.
By dawn Pierre was astir. He rose from his cramped position under a
manger, stretched himself, shook the chaff and dust from his thick black
hair, and stepped out into the chilly morning. The cattle had been hobbled
and allowed to feed at large, but the boy's eye soon detected that his pet
yoke had disappeared. Nowhere on Beauséjour could they be found, and he
concluded they must have freed themselves completely and wandered back
home. Pierre had no reason to fear the English, but he dreaded lest the
troops should take a fancy to make beef out of his fat oxen; so, after
a word to his father, he set out for the burned village. Early as it was,
however, Beauséjour was all astir when he left, and he wondered what the
soldiers were so busy about.
As Pierre approached the smoldering ruins of his home, an English soldier,
standing on guard before the tents in the orchard, ordered him to halt.
Pierre didn't understand the word, but he comprehended the tone in which
it was uttered. He saw his beloved oxen standing with bowed heads by
the water trough, and he tried to make the soldier understand that he
had come for those oxen, which belonged to him. On this point Pierre
spoke very emphatically, as if to make his French more intelligible
to the Englishman. But his struggles were all in vain. The soldier
looked first puzzled, then vacuously wise; then he knit his brows and
looked at the oxen. Finally he laughed, took Pierre by the elbow, and
led him toward one of the tents. At this moment a pleasant-faced
young officer came out of the tent, and, taking in the situation
at a glance, addressed Pierre in French:
"Well, my boy," said he, kindly, "what are you doing here so early?"
Pierre became polite at once; so surely does courtesy find courtesy.
"Sir," said he, taking off his hat, "I have come after my father's oxen,
those beasts yonder, which strayed back here in the night. This was our
home yesterday."
Pierre's voice quivered as he spoke these last words.
The officer looked very much interested.
"Certainly," said he, "you shall have your oxen. We don't take anything
that doesn't belong to us. But tell me, why is not this your home to-day?
Why have you all burnt down your houses and run away? We are the true
friends of all the Acadians. What had you to fear?"
"_We_ didn't do it!" replied the boy. "It was monsieur the abbé and
his Indians; and they threatened to scalp us all if we didn't leave
before you came!"
The young officer's face grew very stern at the mention of the abbé,
whom he knew to mean Le Loutre.
"Ah!" he muttered, "I see it all now! We might have expected as much
from that snake! But tell me," he continued to Pierre, "what is going on
over on the hill this morning? They are not going to attack us, are
they? We are on English soil here. They know that!"
"I don't know," said Pierre, looking about him, and over at Beauséjour.
"They _were_ very busy getting things ready for something when I left.
But I wanted my oxen, and I didn't wait to ask. May I take them away
now, monsieur?"
"Very well," answered the officer, and he offered Pierre a shilling.
To his astonishment Pierre drew himself up and wouldn't touch it. The
young man still held it out to him, saying: "Why, it is only a little
memento! See, it has a hole in it, and you can keep it to remember
Captain Howe by. I have many friends among your people!"
"My heart is French," replied Pierre, with resolution. "I cannot take
money from an enemy."
"But we English are _not_ your enemies. We wish to do you good, to win
your love. It is that wicked Le Loutre who is your enemy."
"Yes," assented Pierre, very heartily. "We all hate him. And many of us
love the English, and would be friends if we dared; but _I_ do not
love any but the Holy Saints and the French. I love France!" and the
boy's voice rang with enthusiasm.
A slight shade of sadness passed over the young captain's earnest face.
Edward Howe was known throughout Acadia as a lover of the Acadians, and
as one who had more than once stood between them and certain well-deserved
restraint. He was attracted by Pierre's intelligence of face and
respectful fearlessness of demeanor, and he determined to give the
young enthusiast something to think about.
"Do you not know," said he, "that your beloved France is at the back
of all this misery?" And he pointed to the smoking ruins of the village.
"Do you not know that it is the gold of the French king that pays
Le Loutre and his savages? Do you not know that while King Louis
instructs his agents in Quebec and Louisburg and yonder at Beauséjour,
to excite the Indians, and certain of your own people too, to all sorts
of outrages against peaceful English settlers, he at the same time puts
all the blame upon _your_ people, and swears that he does his utmost
to restrain you? O, you are so sorely deceived, and some day you will
open your eyes to it, but perhaps too late! My heart bleeds for your
unhappy people."
The young man turned back into his tent, after a word to the sentry who
had brought Pierre in. The boy stood a few moments in irresolution,
wanting to speak again to the young officer, whose frank eyes and
winning manner had made a deep impression upon him. But his faith in
the France of his imagination was not daunted. Presently, speaking to
his oxen in a tone of command, he drove the submissive brutes away
across the marsh.
As he left the English camp a bugle rang out shrilly behind him, and
a great stir arose in the lines. He glanced about him, and continued
his way. Then he observed that the slopes of Beauséjour were dark with
battalions on the march, and he realized with a thrill that the lilies
were advancing to give battle. In another moment, looking behind him,
he saw the scarlet lines of the English already under arms, and a
signal gun boomed from the ships.
Trembling with excitement, and determined to carry a musket in the coming
fray, Pierre urged his oxen into a gallop, and made a detour to get
around the French army. By the time he got back to his stable, and
possessed himself of his father's musket, and started down the hill
at a run, expecting every moment to hear his father's voice calling him
to return, the soldiers of France had reached the river. But here they
halted, making no move to cross into English territory. To have done so
would have been a violation of the existing treaty between France and
England.
Major Lawrence, however, did not suspect that the French movement was
merely what is known as a demonstration. He took it for granted that
the French were waiting only for some favorable condition of the tide
in order to cross over and attack him in his position. He saw that the
French force three or four times outnumbered his own; and as his
mission was one of pacification, he decided not to shed blood uselessly.
He ordered a retreat to the ship. The men went very reluctantly, hating
to seem overawed; but Major Lawrence explained the situation, and
declared that, Beaubassin being burned, there was no special object
in remaining. He further promised that later in the summer he would come
again, with a force that would be large enough for the undertaking, and
would build a strong fort on the hill at whose foot they were now
encamped. Then the red files marched sullenly back to their boats;
while a body of Indians, reappearing from the woods, yelled and danced
their defiance, and the French across the river shouted their mocking
ballads.