Band of Acadians. John Skelton
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