Band of Acadians. John Skelton
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.”
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 ourselves 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