Читать книгу Band of Acadians - John Skelton - Страница 7
ОглавлениеFenced-in yard of Saint-Charles-des-Mines Church, Sunset, September 9, 1755
“Courage, my dear, you must muster all of your courage,” Nola’s father said. “Your mother and I beg you to show your love by escaping Grand Pré this very night. Tomorrow will be too late. First thing in the morning the British soldiers will be shoving all men and boys onto those awful transport boats. That will be the end of our life here in lovely Acadia. We’ll be landless and treated like dirt wherever we go. But you, Nola, with daring and luck, can get away to start a new life. We want you to escape to become our beacon of hope. Get away, dear daughter. Go to Louisbourg, or somewhere else that’s safe.”
“But, Papa, no! I want to help you and Mama here. I want us to stay together as a family.”
“In a better world that would be the right thing to do, but we must accept that our life here is over. Be strong, my love. We’ve worked out a plan for you and fifty other girls and fifty boys to escape. You’re a leader. We’re depending on you to help lead those young people to a place where you can live free from these dreadful British soldiers.”
“What about Mama? Will she stay with you?”
“Yes, we’ll work together to survive as best we can. The plan is for you, as soon as it’s dark, to help our friend, Hector, and the others to escape from this church that’s become a prison. You and the girls must prepare hollows in the dikes by the west side of the Gaspereau River beforehand so the others have a place to hide from the soldiers. When the soldiers give up searching, the whole group is to scramble over to where our small fishing sloops are stored. Our hope is that those trusty shallops will carry you away from Grand Pré to a new life.”
“Has Hector agreed to this? Is he ready?”
“Yes, Hector’s very keen. He’s sick to death of being shoved around by the military.”
“Papa, if I do this, I may never see you or Mama again.”
Her father hugged her tightly, tears welling up. “Don’t despair, ma petite fille. We must hope that someday, somewhere, we’ll be reunited in a place that’s safer than Grand Pré has become.”
Unable to stifle her own sobs, Nola mustered all her strength and turned away from her distraught father. Looking up, she saw a surly sky forming — a southeaster was coming in. That could bring cover and a good wind for an escape. Perhaps she could make it all happen, after all. Slowly, optimism began to fill her as she contemplated the implications of the advancing storm. She walked nervously past the heavily guarded priest’s house used as a headquarters by the British, and studiously avoiding eye contact with the soldiers, went straight to the spot in a field where her best friend, Jocelyne, was picking corn. On reaching her friend, she whispered nervously, “Jocelyne, have you heard about the escape plan?”
“Yes, Nola, my mother told me. Our parents have come up with an excellent plan. It’s scary, but I think we can do it. There are only three hundred soldiers here, and we’re almost three thousand. It won’t be easy. Those soldiers are tough, and they aren’t playing games. Some of the meaner ones seem to enjoy harassing us.”
“I know what you mean. Yesterday one of them tried to touch me, but I shrieked so loudly he ran off. It was lucky for me there were others around when that happened. It’s going to be difficult and scary, but the more I think about it the more I believe escaping is the right thing to do.” Hesitating for a moment, Nola continued. “Let’s get a crew of girls together without attracting undue attention and start loading food in our shallops.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve agreed to come,” Jocelyne said, reaching over and giving her friend a big hug. “I’ve got some corn here, and near our house there are apples, wheat, carrots, and turnips.”
“That’s my Jocelyne! If you could butcher a few dozen chickens, that would help, but you must do it quietly or don’t do it at all. And try to get some blankets to protect us from the weather. There’s not much time before Hector and company will be looking for our signals, so do what you can in the next few hours and then hide by the shallops. On second thought, I’d best get the rest of the girls and start digging hollows into the dikes myself. Are you going to be all right to get the supplies on your own?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll try. I know where everything is, including where the soldiers stowed our shallops. Count on me to do my best. But I’m not sure how you’ll make those hiding holes.”
“Try not to worry about that,” Nola said. “You’ll have more than enough to do yourself. Father told me how to work around the hollow places between the main supports in the dikes. We’ll need shovels and saws for that. He said we need to make enough room to hide about fifty people. I think we can hide the entrances by replacing the flaps of grass. You go ahead and do what you have to do.”
“Did you hear that your grandpa may be coming with us? The soldiers didn’t lock him up at the church since it’s so crowded and they figured he’s too old to cause them much trouble.”
“That’s great news,” Nola said. “He’s a good man with lots of experience. I’m sure he’ll be a big help even with that painful arthritis of his.”
While Jocelyne busied herself with the food and shelter tasks, Nola moved on to some houses and scouted around for tools. Along the way she attempted to recruit a few girls she judged were responsible enough to handle the tough and dangerous job of tunnelling into the dikes. She found the tools she needed and convinced several trustworthy girls to take on the digging and sawing tasks.
About four hours after dusk the streets were deserted and dark enough that Nola felt the time was right for her and her crew to slink toward the embankments. That risky manoeuvre went off without a hitch, and the dike work began. Nola was cheered that the wind and rain from the incoming southeaster helped muffle the noise of their burrowing.
Mud, restricted space, and dim lantern lights made digging and chopping difficult and sweaty, yet after an hour’s work Nola paused to say, “You know, it’s strange, but I find this work actually quite comforting.”
Three hours into the task and bathed in sweat she judged they had made sufficient headway. She sat inside the biggest hollow, turned up the lantern, and called her fellow diggers. “Great work, girls, but that’s all we have time to do. Give yourself a pat on the back. Our next step is for you join the others back at the shallops. There’s no need to risk having all of you here when the soldiers chase after the boys. Anyway, there’s not enough room. I’ll stay behind to signal them. Go, run over to those boats.”
There were many grumbles about leaving Nola alone, though everyone understood why that had to be. Those hesitating too long — and there were several — she shoved forcibly out the flap door, chiding them. “Go! It’s the right thing to do now.”
Shortly after the last girl slipped out, Nola climbed to the top of the dike and waved her signal light in a slow semicircle. She then crouched so that only her head and no light showed. Almost immediately shouts and thumping noises came from the direction of the church, and an instant after that a stream of figures rose out of the darkness and swept toward her at full speed. She doused the lantern and stood, casting a dim silhouette in the shadows of the night.
The first boy over the embankment hugged her, saying, “Am I ever glad to see you.”
“Me, too,” Nola said. “See the open grass flaps where we’ve dug holes? Wait there so the other boys can follow you in.”
The boy whispered from the flap, “You’ve made a great hiding place, Nola.” He waved to some other boys, and within a blink of an eye the whole crew crawled into the rough sanctuaries and pulled shut the earthen flaps. Except for the steady patter of rain, an eerie silence fell over the area.
Not two minutes later, they heard heavy footfalls over the dikes and then a voice. Hector, the only fugitive who understood English, heard: “I thought they came this way, but I don’t see them anywhere.”
“Keep looking!” said a booming male voice. “Those scalawags can’t have gone far.”
“Those youngsters are a bad lot,” another, less forceful voice said. “Troublemakers — every one of them. Someone planned all this, you can be sure. Only the boys ran off, while the men stayed behind to slow us down. It won’t work, though. We’ll get those little runaways even if they do run fast. I’m surprised I can’t see the rascals anywhere.”
“Curse this rain, and no moon. It’s too dark to see more than a few feet ahead.”
“Look over there! Is that something moving?”
“Yes! Go catch those silly devils.”
Fifteen minutes later the hideaways heard boots tromping again and the man with the booming saying, “It was a moose. I recognized those tracks. I think those accursed children have gotten away.”
“Colonel Winslow won’t be pleased we let them escape,” the more timid man said, sighing.
“Only for now. We’ll be back at first light to catch them for sure. They won’t get far in this filthy weather.
Let’s return to headquarters. This rain is nasty.”
Inside their dank refuge the fugitives crouched in silence, except for one boy who shook Hector and asked, “What were the soldiers saying?”
The youth’s voice jolted fugitive hearts to beat in fear. Hector put a finger to his lips and shushed the boy with a vigorous shake of his head. Soon the patter of rain was again the only noise to be heard. After a nerve-wracking wait, with no new outside movement apparent, hope grew bit by bit that their pursuers might really have gone.
“I’m going outside to check,” Hector whispered at last. Then a few moments later, from outside the flap, he said softly, “Everyone, come on up. It looks like they’ve gone.”
The whole crew crawled out swiftly and clambered to the top of the embankment. Peering out, they spotted a dim light about a quarter-mile off in the church window. Although everyone was muddy and drenched, a cheerful mood filled the fugitives. It looked as if the first stage of their parents’ daring escape plan had worked.
Immediately seizing the initiative, Hector asked, “Nola, where have the soldiers stored our shallops?”
“Across the river, about a mile along the shore.”
Hector frowned. “We’re soaked already. The river isn’t too deep here, but it’s possible this rain has already swollen its flow. We might have to swim a little near the middle. Don’t forget to bring the tools Nola brought. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Making sure the flaps were closed, Nola was the last to leave. There was no need to make it easy for the British soldiers to discover where they had hidden. Her homespun woollen clothes were soaked through, her prized, lovingly decorated moccasins were coated with mud, and her brown hair was matted and tangled, but she was thrilled with their success so far.
Crossing to the east side of the swelling Gaspereau River, one of the smaller boys — only twelve years old — slipped and fell into the water. Struggling for air, he dropped the axe he was carrying.
Hector leaped into the river and easily pulled him to safety. “I hope you didn’t swallow too much water back there, young man.”
“Thanks, Hector. I’ll be all right. Sorry about the axe.”
“You’re more important than the axe, my friend.”
Eager to reach the shallops, the ragtag group skittered hurriedly along the shore. The lashing wind and rain limited talk to brief whispers. They all realized, though, that if the soldiers heard or saw them, they would be brutally hauled back and locked up. So few chose to say anything at all.
Only Nola knew exactly where the British had stowed their shallops, so she took the lead as they approached the storage area. Studying the site carefully, Nola recognized the shape of overturned boats emerging out of the darkness. She nudged Hector and pointed to them.
“I see them,” he said, and sprinted over to them. As he ran, Jocelyne and the girls spotted him and left their hiding spot, waving and smiling with relief.
“Great to see you,” Jocelyne whispered. “We hid the food and blankets in the bushes. The British patrol this area regularly. Unfortunately, they took all the oars and sails away.”
“Hello, girls. Good work with the food and things. The missing oars and sails are a problem, though.”
“I think I know what to do about that,” Nola said. “I saw several British whaleboats riding at anchor earlier today — about a hundred yards back, I think. They might have oars and sails.”
“Good idea,” Hector said. “It’s worth a try.”
As the others helped to push the little sloops to the shore and load them, Hector, two other boys, and Nola pulled an empty shallop along the beach to the spot where Nola thought the whaleboats were anchored. They shoved off into the inky blackness, paddling hard with their hands and placing their fate entirely in Nola’s recollection. Soon, just as Nola had hoped, silhouettes of whaleboats became visible. Pulling up to one, they all broke into broad smiles when they found it held not only oars and sails but a mast, as well.
Hector grabbed these and then untied the anchor line. “It’ll drift off. No need to make it easy for our pursuers to get these back. They certainly aren’t giving us any breaks.”
They moved off to check the contents of another whaleboat. In less than half an hour they were rowing back to shore with a shallop full of equipment.
“We have all we need to set sail now,” Hector told everybody. “The tide’s ebbing and the wind’s heading straight out of the bay — perfect conditions for us. Let’s go.”
They all hopped onto a boat helter-skelter, filling eighteen shallops with five or six persons per vessel. Most had a mixed crew. Hector, Jocelyne, Nola, and Nola’s grandfather were in the same shallop.
Hector pulled up sail and pointed the tiller to head out of the basin. The southeast wind moved them along at a brisk speed. “At this rate by first light we’ll be well out of here and deep into Chignecto Bay,” he told them.
Ten minutes into the sail Nola pointed to several large sailing ships riding at anchor. “Those are the transport ships that are going to take our parents away to a very bleak future.”
“I’m going to head away from them,” Hector said. “We don’t want any sentinels onboard to spot us. Signal the others to follow our lead.”
All turned except for the helmsmen of two shallops. Seeing this reckless behaviour, Nola felt a shiver of fear. Instinctively, she reached into a food sack, grabbed a turnip, and heaved it with all her might at the irresponsible sailors. But her missile fell several feet short of its target.
Hector immediately scooped up another turnip, stood straight, and threw it as hard as he could. The vegetable struck the closest helmsman right in the chest. Both errant shallops began to turn away.
“Thank God that got their attention,” Hector said. “Those fools would’ve ruined everything before we even got out of the harbour.”
Pulling farther away from the huge ships, Hector managed a thin smile. “I cut more than fifteen of those whaleboats adrift. But the best part is that I found a spyglass in one of them. It’s a beautiful piece of work. I just love it. The British are going to be mighty angry when they see what we’ve done. We’d better be far away when that happens.”
“Nicely done, Hector,” Nola said. She turned to her grandfather. “I’m so glad you could make it, Grandpa. Let me put this blanket around you. You look cold.”
“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.”
