THE SURPRISE.
The midnight murderers were at the very doors before even a dog gave
warning. Then several curs raised a shrill alarm, and a great mastiff,
chained to his kennel in the yard of the largest house, snapped his chain
and sprang upon the raiders. The dog bore an Indian to the ground, and
then fell dead, with a tomahawk buried in his skull. At the same moment
the long, strident yell of the Micmacs rang through the hamlet, and a
half dozen hatchets beat in every door. There was no time for resistance.
The butchers were at the bedsides of their victims almost ere the latter
were awake. Here and there a settler found time to snatch his rifle,
or a andiron, or a heavy chair, and so to make a desperate though brief
defense; and in this way three Micmacs and one Acadian were killed.
The yells of the raiders were mingled with the shrieks of the victims,
and almost instantly the scene of horror was lighted up by the flames
of the burning ricks.
Pierre, with rather a vague idea of what he was going to do, had rushed
to the attack among the foremost, and had plunged headlong over the body
of the dead mastiff. In the fall he dropped his rifle, but clung to his
hatchet, and in a moment he found himself in the hallway of the chief
house. His perception of what took place was confused. He felt himself
carried up the stairs with a rush. A faint light was glimmering into
existence in the large room, in the middle of which he saw a man
standing rifle in hand. There was a deafening report, and everything
was wrapped in a cloud of smoke. Then a sudden glare filled the room
as a barn outside blazed to heaven; and the man, clubbing his rifle,
sprang at his assailants. Pierre did not wait to see his fate, but
darted past him into a room beyond.
This was plainly the children's bedroom. Pierre's eye fell on a small,
yellow-haired child, who was sitting up amid her bedclothes, her round
eyes wild with terror. She shrieked at the sight of Pierre's painted
visage, but the lad's heart went out to her with passionate pity as he
thought of the little folk at home. He would save her at all hazards.
He was followed into the room by three or four of the fiercest of his
party. Pierre sprang with a yell upon the child's bed, throwing her upon
her face with one hand while he buried his hatchet in the pillows where
she had lain. In an instant the little one was hidden under a heap of
bedclothes, and too frightened to make an outcry. Somewhere in the room
the butchers had evidently found another victim in hiding, for their
triumphant yell was followed by a gasping groan, which smote Pierre
to the heart, and filled him with an avenging fury.
A cloud of smoke blown past the window, for a moment darkened the room.
An Indian ran against Pierre and grunted, "Ugh! All gone?"
"All gone!" replied the lad, and he saw the murderers glide forth to
seek their prey. But one remained, delaying to remove a victim's scalp.
The room again became bright, and as the Indian passed Pierre his quick
eye caught a motion in the heap of bedclothes. His eyes gleamed, and he
jerked the coverings aside. Pierre thrust him back violently and angrily,
just as the child sat up with a shrill cry. The savage hesitated,
impressed by Pierre's uncompromising attitude, then turned with a
grunt to seek satisfaction elsewhere.
The child was apparently five or six years old, but a tiny, fairylike
creature.
"Sh-sh-sh!" said Pierre, soothingly, taking it for granted that she
would not understand French. The child comprehended the sign, and
stopped her cries, realizing that the strange and dreadful-looking
being was her protector. Pierre, knowing that the house would soon be
in flames, made haste to wrap the child in a thick blanket. He saw
that beneath the window there was a shed with a sloping roof, by which
he could easily reach the ground. He waited a few moments, with the
child in his arms, covered as much as possible by his blanket, and so
held as to look like a roll of booty. When the smoke once more blew in
a stifling volume past the window, Pierre stepped out upon the roof with
his precious burden, dropped to the ground, and made haste away in the
direction of the least glare and tumult.
As he was stealing past a small cottage just burst into blaze, two of the
raiders stepped in front of him. Pierre's heart sank, but he grasped his
hatchet, and a sort of hunted but deadly look gleamed in his eyes. The men
didn't offer to stop him, but one cried:
"What have you there?"
As he spoke Pierre recognized them for two of the Acadians, and his fears
ceased.
"It's a child I'm saving," he whispered. "Don't say anything about it."
"Good boy!" chuckled the singular marauders; and Pierre hastened on,
making for a wood near by.
Ere he could reach that shelter, however, Fate once more confronted him
in the shape of a tall Micmac, whom Pierre recognized as one of the
subchiefs of the tribe, a nephew of Cope. The chief, supposing Pierre was
carrying off something very rich in the way of booty, stopped him and
demanded a share. Pierre protested, declaring it was all his. When
he spoke the savage recognized him, and having a lofty contempt for one
who was both an Acadian and a mere boy, coolly attempted to snatch the
bundle from his arms.
Pierre's eyes blazed, as he grasped the Indian's wrist and wrenched the
cruel grip loose. He looked the savage straight in the eye.
"That's _mine!_" said he steadily. "Keep your hands off!"
The Indian snatched again at the bundle, this time ineffectually; and
then he drew his knife as if to attack Pierre. The latter jumped back,
laid his burden on the ground, and stood before it, hatchet in hand.
Seeing he was not to be intimidated, and willing to avoid a hand-to-hand
struggle with one who seemed so ready for it, the savage withdrew
grumbling, at the same time resolving that he would force Pierre later
on to divide his booty. As soon as he was gone Pierre snatched up his
charge and sped away exultant.
The boy's design was to follow the Kenneticook to its mouth, and thence
to ascend the Piziquid to the Acadian settlement, which he knew stood
somewhere on its banks. He did not dare to try and find his way back to
Beauséjour. He knew that if he followed the trail of his party he would
be captured and the child killed; and we was equally certain that if he
deserted the trail he should be lost inevitably. Once at Piziquid,
however, he counted on getting a fisherman to take him to Beauséjour
by water.
After toiling through the woods for perhaps an hour, keeping ever within
hearing of the stream, Pierre set his burden on the ground and threw
himself down beside her to snatch a moment's rest. The little one was
in her bare feet, so it was impossible for her to walk in that rough
and difficult region. Indeed, she had nothing on but a woolen nightdress,
and Pierre had to keep her well wrapped up in the blanket he had brought
from her bed. The little one had been contentedly sleeping in her
deliverer's arms, all unconscious of the awful fate that had befallen
those whom Pierre supposed to be her people. She remained asleep while
Pierre was resting, nor woke till it was clear dawn.
Long ere this Pierre had found easier traveling, having come out upon
a series of natural meadows skirting the stream. Beyond these meadows
were wide flats, covered at high tide, and Pierre, with an Acadian's
instinct, thought how fine it would be to dike them in. He had little
fear now of being followed. His party would take it for granted, not
finding him or his body, that he had fallen in the attack and been
burnt in the conflagration. He felt that they would not greatly trouble
themselves. As for those four who had seen him with his prize, two at
least would not tell on him and he had strong hopes that the two Micmacs
whom he had encountered would forget his prize in the confusion of the
hour. Beside a rivulet, in the gray of dawn, he stopped to wash himself;
that his appearance might not frighten the child on her awaking.
When the little one opened her eyes she looked about her in astonishment,
which became delight as she saw the glittering brook close beside her
and the many-colored sky overhead. She crept out of her blanket and stood
with her little white feet shining in the short spring grass. Then she
stepped into the brook, but finding it too cold for her she came out again
at once. Then she stood shivering till Pierre, after drying her feet on
his blanket, once more wrapped her up and seated her on a fallen tree
beside him. The child kept up a continual prattle, of which, of course,
Pierre understood not a word. He could only smile and stroke the little
fair head. When he spoke to her in his own language the child gazed at
him in wide-eyed wonder, and at last laughed gleefully and began to pat
his face, talking a lot of baby gibberish, such as she imagined Pierre
was addressing to her.
By and by Pierre remembered he was hungry. Taking some barley bread
and dried meat out of the bag he carried at his waist, he offered the
choicest bits to his tiny companion, and the two made a good breakfast.
Out of a strip of birchbark the lad twisted a cup and gave the child
to drink. Then, lifting her to his shoulder, he resumed his journey.
As the sun rose and the day grew warm Pierre let the child walk by his
side; but the tender little feet were not used to such work, and almost
immediately she cried to be taken up again. On this Pierre improvised
her a clumsy pair of moccasins, made of strips of his blanket.
These the little one regarded at first with lofty contempt, but when she
found they enabled her to run by her protector's side she was delighted.
It was necessary to stop often and rest long, so our travelers made slow
progress; but at noon, climbing a bluff which overlooked the river for
miles in either direction, Pierre was delighted to find himself within
two or three miles of the mouth. He marked, moreover, a short cut by
which, taking advantage of the curve in the main river, he could cut
off five or six miles and strike the banks of the Piziquid without
difficulty or risk.
"By this time to-morrow, if all goes well, we'll be safe in Piziquid,
chérie!" he cried joyously to the child, who responded with a mirthful
stream of babble. Pierre's conversation she regarded as a huge and
perpetual joke.
That night Pierre built a rough lean-to under the shelter of a great
white plaster-rock, and there in a heap of fragrant branches, the child
wrapped closely in the lad's arms, the lonely pair slept warm and secure.
The next day was mild and our travelers found their path easy. Ere noon
they arrived within sight of Piziquid.
They were on a hill with the Acadian village stretched out before them
far below, but a broad river rolling between them and their destination.
Pierre had forgotten about the St. Croix, but he recognized it now from
description. He saw, to his disappointment, that he would have to make
a long detour to pass this obstacle, so he sat down on the hill to rest
and refresh his little companion. The little one was now so tired that
she fell instantly to sleep, and Pierre thought it wise to let her sleep
a good half hour. Even he himself appreciated well the delay; and the view
that unrolled beneath him was magnificent.
Right ahead, in the corner of land between the Piziquid River and the
St. Croix, rose a rounded hill crowned with the English post of Fort
Edward. Beyond to right and left expanded plains of vivid emerald, with
a line of undulating uplands running back from Fort Edward and dividing
the marshes of the St. Croix from those of the Piziquid. The scene was
one of plenty and content. Pierre concluded that it would be necessary
for him to avoid being seen by the garrison of the fort, lest he should
be suspected of being one of the raiders. He decided to seek one of the
outermost houses of the settlement about nightfall and there to tell his
story, relying upon the good faith of one Acadian toward another. The
child, he made up his mind must stay in his care and go with him to
Beauséjour. Having risked and suffered so much for her, he already began
to regard her with jealous devotion and to imagine she was indeed his own.
The child woke as joyous as a bird. Hand in hand the quaint-looking
pair--a seeming Indian with a little white-skinned child in a flannel
nightgown--trudged patiently up the stream, till in the middle of the
afternoon they came to a spot where Pierre thought it safe to wade across.
By this time the little one's feet were so sore that she had to be carried
all the time; and it was well after sunset when Pierre set his armful
down at the door of an outlying cottage of Piziquid, well away from
the surveillance of the fort.
In answer to Pierre's knock there came a woman to the door, who started
back in alarm. With a laughing salutation, however, Pierre followed her
into the blaze of firelight which poured from the heaped-up hearth.
In spite of his disguise he was at once recognized by the man of the
house as an Acadian, and the wanderers found an instant and hearty
welcome. Over a hot supper (in the midst of which the tired child
fell asleep with her head in her plate, and was carried to bed by
the motherly good wife) Pierre told all his story.
"We shall have to keep you hidden till we get you away!" said the
villager, one Jean Breboeuf by name. "You see, their eyes are open at
the fort. They got word at Halifax, somehow, that our precious abbé
(whom may the saints confound!) was planning some deviltry, and messages
were sent to the different posts to guard the outlying settlements.
It's a wonder you didn't find English soldiers at Kenneticook, for a
company started thither. However, if the English catch you in this dress
they won't take long deciding what to do with you."
Pierre was greatly alarmed.
"Can't you give me something to wear?" he cried.
"O, yes!" answered the host, "we'll fix you all right in the morning
so nobody will ever suspect you. Then I'll get Marin--he's got a good
boat--to start right off and sail you round to Beauséjour. But what
about the little one?"
"O, she goes wherever I go!" said Pierre, decidedly.
"Yes, yes! But she's got to be kept out of sight," replied Breboeuf
"She looks English, every inch of her; and if the people at the fort
get eyes on her there'll be an investigation sure!"
"Can you speak English?" queried Pierre.
"Well enough!" replied his host.
"There'll be no trouble then," continued Pierre. "You can tell her to
keep quiet and keep covered up when we're taking her to the boat.
She'll mind, I'll answer you. And then, if Madame Breboeuf can give
her a little homespun frock and cap, we'll pass her off all right
should anyone see her. And when we get to Beauséjour my father will
make it all right for the clothes."
"He won't do anything of the sort," answered both Breboeuf and his wife
in one breath. "We all know Antoine Lecorbeau, and we're proud to do
his son a service. If we poor Acadians did not help each other, I'd
like to know who'd help us, anyway!"
It was with a light heart that Pierre slept that night, and joyfully
in the morning he put away the last trace of his hated disguise.
His little charge showed plainly that she considered the change
an improvement. The child told Breboeuf (whom she understood with
difficulty) that her name was Edie Howe. At this Breboeuf was surprised,
for, as he said to Pierre, there were no Howes at Kenneticook. When
the Acadian tried to question Edie more closely, her answers became
irrelevant, which was probably due to the deficiencies of Monsieur
Breboeuf's English.
Pierre kept indoors most of the morning, as the little one would not
let him out of her sight, and he dared not be seen with her. Soon after
noon the tide was all ready for a departure, and not behindhand was
the fisherman, Marin, with his stanch Minas craft. Marin had brought
his boat up the St. Croix and into a little creek at some distance
from the fort, because at the regular landing place there were always
some English soldiers strolling about for lack of anything better to do.
It was with some trepidation that Pierre set out for the creek. The
little girl walked between her dear protector and their host, holding
a hand of each, and chattering about everything she saw, till with
great effort Breboeuf got her to understand that if she didn't keep
quite quiet, and not say a word to anybody till they got safely away,
in the boat, something dreadful might happen to her Pierre. She was
dressed like any of the little Acadian maidens of Piziquid, and her
blue cap of quilted linen was so tied on as to hide her sunny hair
and much of her face; but the danger was that she might betray herself
by her speech.
Before the party reached the boat they had a narrow escape from detection.
They were met by three or four soldiers who were strolling across the
marsh. In passing they gave Breboeuf a hearty good-day in English, and
one of them called Edie his "little sweetheart." The child looked up with
a laugh, and cried, coquettishly, "Not yours! I'm Pierre's." Then, as
Breboeuf squeezed her hand sharply, she remembered his caution and said
no more, though her small heart was filled with wonder to think she might
not talk to the nice soldiers.
"Why, where did the baby learn her English?" asked the soldier in a tone
of surprise. "_You_ never taught her, I'll be bound."
"Her mother taught her. Her mother speaks the English better than you
yourself," was Breboeuf's ready reply. Later in the day that soldier
suddenly remembered that the good wife Breboeuf did not speak a word
of English, and he was properly mystified. By that time, however, Pierre
and the little one were far from Piziquid. With a merry breeze behind them
they were racing under the beetling front of Blomidon.
On the day following they caught the flood tide up Chignecto Bay, and
sailed into the mouth of the Au Lac stream, almost under the willows
of Lecorbeau's cottage. The joy of Pierre's father and mother on seeing
the lad so soon returned was mingled with astonishment at seeing him
arrive by water, and with a little English child in his care. The little
one, with her exciting experiences behind her, did not dream of being shy,
but was made happy at once with a kind welcome; while Pierre, the center
of a wondering and exclaiming circle, narrated the wild adventures of
the past few days, which had, indeed developed him all at once from
boyhood to manhood. As he described the massacre, and the manner in
which he had rescued the yellow-haired lassie, his mother drew the
little one into her arms and cried over her from sympathy and excitement;
and the child wiped her eyes with her own quilted sunbonnet. At the
conclusion of the vivid narrative Lecorbeau was the first to speak.
"Nobly have you done, my dear son," he cried, with warm emotion.
"But now, where are your companions of that dreadful expedition?
Not one has yet arrived at Beauséjour!"