The Raid from Beausejour; and How the Carter Boys Lifted the Mortgage Part 3

Even then there might have been erelong an attempt at reconciliation, to which end the efforts of Captain Howe were ceaselessly directed. But Le Loutre made this forever impossible by an outrage so fiendish as to call forth the execration of even his unscrupulous employers. One morning the sentries on Fort Lawrence were somewhat surprised to see one who was apparently an officer from the garrison of Beausejour, with several followers, approaching the banks of the Missaguash with a flag of truce.

The party reached the dike, and the bearer of the flag waved it as if desiring to hold a parley. His followers remained behind at a respectful distance, standing knee-deep in the heavy aftermath of the fertile marsh.

In prompt response to this advance Captain Howe and several companions, under a white flag, set out from Fort Lawrence to see what was wanted.

When Howe reached the river he detected something in the supposed officer's dress and language which excited his suspicions of the man's good faith, and he turned away as if to retrace his step's. Instantly there flashed out a volley of musketry from behind the dike on the further sh.o.r.e, and the beloved young captain fell mortally wounded.

The pretended officer was one of Le Loutre's supporters, the Micmac chief, Jean Baptiste Cope, and the fatal volley came from a band of Micmacs who had, under cover of darkness, concealed themselves behind the dike.

The a.s.sa.s.sins kept up a sharp fire on the rest of the English party, but failed to prevent them from carrying off their dying captain to the fort. The scene had been witnessed with horror by the French forces on Beausejour, and their officers sent to Fort Lawrence to express their angry reprobation of the atrocious deed. They openly laid it to the charge of Le Loutre, declaring that such a man was capable of anything; and for a few weeks Le Loutre did not care to show himself at Beausejour.

At last he came, and met the accusations of the French officers with the most solemn declaration that the whole thing had been done without his knowledge or sanction. The Indians, he swore, had done it by reason of their misguided but fervent religious zeal, to take vengeance on Howe for something he was reported to have said injurious and disrespectful to the Church. "The zeal of my flock," said he, solemnly, "is, perhaps, something too rash, but it springs from ardent and simple natures!"

"Aye! aye!" said the old sergeant to his companions-in-arms, when he heard of the abbe's explanations, "but I happened to recognize His Reverence myself in the party that did the murder."

There were many more on Beausejour whose eyes had revealed to them the same truth as that so bluntly stated by the sergeant. But the abbe was most useful--was, in fact, necessary, to do those deeds which no one else would stoop to; and, therefore, his explanation was accepted.

At this time, moreover, there was a work to be done at Beausejour requiring the a.s.sistance of the abbe's methods. Orders had been sent from Quebec that a strong fort should straightway be built at Beausejour, as an offset to Fort Lawrence. And this fort was to be built by the ill-fated Acadians.

The labor of the Acadians was supposed to be voluntary. That is, they were invited to a.s.sist, without pay other than daily rations; and those who appeared reluctant were presently interviewed by the indefatigable and invaluable Le Loutre. His persuasions, with blood-thirsty Indians in the background, invariably produced their effect. To be sure, there was money sent from Quebec for payment of the laborers; but the authorities of Beausejour having Le Loutre to depend upon, found it more satisfactory to put this money in their own pockets.

With his customary foresight, Antoine Lecorbeau had promptly evinced his willingness to take part in the building. Either he or Pierre was continually to be found upon the spot, working diligently and, without complaint--which was a disappointment to Le Loutre. The abbe had not forgotten the remark of Antoine which he had caught the day of the battle on the Missaguash. He was seeking his opportunity to punish him for the rash utterance. For the present, however, there was nothing to do but commend the prudent Acadian for his zeal.

Upon Pierre and his father this fort building fell not heavily. They had a tight roof and a warm hearth close by. But their hearts ached to see hundreds of their fellow-countrymen toiling half-clad in the bitter weather, with no reward but their meager daily bread. These poor peasants had many of them been the owners of happy homes, whence the merciless fiat of Le Loutre had banished them. The hill of Beausejour lies open to the four winds of heaven, one or the other of which is pretty sure to be blowing at all seasons; and some of the dispirited toilers had not even rawhide moccasins to protect their feet from the biting frost. Le Loutre was continually among them working in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves, and urging everyone to his utmost exertions. But as the winter dragged on the Acadians became so weak and heartless that even the threats of the abbe lost their effect, and the fort grew but slowly. Upon this it became necessary to increase the rations and even to give a small weekly wage. The effect of this was magical, and in the following spring the fortress of Beausejour was ready for its garrison. Its strong earthworks overlooked the whole surrounding country, and in the eyes that watched it from Fort Lawrence formed no agreeable addition to the landscape. Across the tawny Missaguash and the stretches of bright green marsh the red flag and the white flapped each other a ceaseless defiance.

Elated at the completion of the fort, Le Loutre concluded the times were ripe for a raid upon the English settlements. On the banks of the Kenneticook there was a tiny settlement which had been an eyesore to the abbe ever since its establishment some three years before. There were only a half dozen houses in the colony and against these Le Loutre decided to strike. In the enterprise he saw an opportunity of making Lecorbeau feel his power. He would make the careful Acadian take part in the expedition. To a.s.sume the disguise of an Indian would, he well knew, be hateful to every instinct of the law-abiding Lecorbeau. As the abbe took his way to the Acadian's rude cabin his grim face wore a sinister gleam.

It was about sunset, and the family were at their frugal meal. All rose to their feet as the dreaded visitor entered, and the children betook themselves in terror to the darkest corners they could find. The abbe sat down by the hearth and motioned his hosts to follow his example.

After a word or two of inquiry as to the welfare of the household, he remarked abruptly:

"You are a true man, Antoine--a faithful servant of the Holy Church and of France!"

His keen eyes, as he spoke, burned upon the dark face of the Acadian.

Lecorbeau did not flinch. He returned the piercing gaze calmly and respectfully, saying:

"Have I not proved it, Reverend Father?"

A phantom of a smile went over the priest's thin lips, leaving his eyes unlightened.

"It is well! You shall have yet another chance to prove it. It is just such men as you whose help I want in my next venture. I have business on hand which my faithful flock at Cobequid are not sufficient for, unaided. You and certain others whom I need not name shall join them for a little. I will bring you such dress, equipment, and so forth, as you will need to become as one of them. Be ready to-morrow night."

As he spoke he studied intently the face of Lecorbeau. But the sagacious Acadian was a match for him. Lecorbeau's heart sank in his breast. He was a prey to the most violent feeling of hatred toward his guest, and of loathing for the task required of him. He saw in it, also, the probability of his own ruin, for he believed the complete triumph of the English was at hand. Notwithstanding, his face remained perfectly untroubled, while Pierre flushed hotly, clenching his hands, and Mother Lecorbeau let a sharp cry escape her.

"Be not a child, Jeanne!" said Lecorbeau, rebuking her with his glance.

Then he answered to the demand of Le Loutre.

"In truth, Reverend Abbe, I should like to prove my zeal in some easier way. Have I not obeyed you with all diligence and cheerfulness, nor complained when your wisdom seemed hard to many? Surely, you will keep such hara.s.sing service for younger men, men who have not a family to care for! Will you not deal a little gently with an old and obedient servant? I pray you, let young men go on such enterprises, and let me serve you at home!"

"I am too lenient to such as you," cried the priest, in a voice grown suddenly high and terrible. "I know you. I have long suspected you.

Your heart is with the English. You shall steep your hands in the blood of those accursed, or I will make you and yours as if you had never been!"

Antoine Lecorbeau held his countenance unmoved and bowed his head.

"It shall be as you will, father," he said, quietly. "But is this the way you reward obedience?"

The abbe's reply was interrupted by Pierre, who stepped forward with flas.h.i.+ng eyes and almost shouted:

"Our hearts are _not_ with the Englis.h.!.+ We are the children of France!"

The abbe, strange to say, seemed not offended by this hot contradiction.

The outburst rather pleased him. He thought he saw in Pierre the making of an effective partisan. Diverted by this thought, and feeling sure of Antoine after the threat he had uttered, he rose abruptly, blessed the household, all unconscious of the irony of the act, and stepped out into the raw evening. There was silence in the cabin for some minutes after his going forth. The blow had fallen, even that which Lecorbeau had most dreaded.

CHAPTER V.

THE MIDNIGHT MARCH.

The children crept forth from their corners and looked wonderingly at their sobbing mother.

"O, you will certainly be killed," wailed the good woman, thoroughly frightened.

"There is little danger of _that_," rejoined Lecorbeau. "The abbe prefers to strike where there is small likelihood of a return blow. There will be as little of peril as there will be of glory in attacking a few sleeping villagers and perhaps murdering them in their beds. The thought of such cold-blooded butchery is terrible, but anything is better than that you and the little ones should be exposed to the rage of those savages.

It may mean ruin for us, however, for the English governor at Halifax is likely to hear of me being concerned in the raid; and, you remember, I was one of those that took the oath when I was a lad. I shall be an outlaw, that's all!"

Rea.s.sured as to the immediate physical peril of the enterprise, the good wife dried her eyes. The scruples that troubled her husband were too remote to give her much concern.

"Well, if you _must_ go," said she, "I suppose you, must! Do try and please that hard-hearted priest; and you must put on warm clothes, for you'll be sleeping out at night, won't you?"

"But, father!" began Pierre--and then he stopped suddenly. "I wonder if I foddered the steers," he went on. As he spoke he rose from the bench whereon he was sitting, and went out to the barn.

Pierre had been on the point of saying that _he_ was the one to go on the raid, as he had not taken any oath of allegiance to the English.

It had occurred to him, however, that his father would probably forbid him thinking of such a thing, and he knew that in such a case he would be unable to put his plan in execution, as he had not learned in that simple neighborhood the lesson of disobedience to parents. He saw that if he went on the raid the requirements of Le Loutre were likely to be satisfied, while at the same time his father would be delivered from the danger of an accusation of treason. It was quite certain in Pierre's mind that his design would commend itself to the clear wisdom of his father, but he felt that the latter would forbid it because of his mother's terrors.

He decided to act at once, and he turned his steps toward the fort.

Certain misgivings troubled his conscience at first, but he soon became convinced that he was doing right.

While good wife Lecorbeau was wondering what kept Pierre so long at the barn, Pierre was at the commandant's quarters talking to the abbe. The latter greeted the boy kindly, and asked at once what brought him.

"I came to speak about to-morrow night, Reverend Father!" began the boy, doubtfully.

"Well, what of it?" snarled the priest, in a harsh voice, his brow darkening. "Your father isn't trying to beg off, is he?"

"O, no, no!" Pierre hastened to reply. "He's getting ready, and he doesn't know I've come to see you. He'd have forbidden me had he known, so I stole away. But _I_ want to go instead of him. See, I'm young and strong; and I love fighting, while he loves peace; and he has pains in his joints, and would, maybe, get laid up on the march, whereas I can be of more use to the cause. Besides, _he_ can be of more use to the cause by staying home, which I can't be. Take me instead--!"

Pierre broke off abruptly, breathless in his eagerness. For a moment his hopes died within him, for the abbe's face remained dark and severe.

That active brain reviewed the situation rapidly, and at length approved the proposal of Pierre. It was obvious that Pierre, ardent and impetuous, would be more effective than Antoine in such a venture; and it occurred to Le Loutre that in taking the boy he was inflicting a sharper punishment upon the father.

"You are a right brave youth," he said, presently, "and it shall be as you ask. You shall see that I do well by those that are faithful. As for the traitors, let them beware, for my arm is longer than they dream.

I reach to Annapolis and Fort St. John and Louisburg as easily as to Minas or Memramcook." Here the abbe paused and was turning away. Looking back over his shoulder he added, but in a low voice:

"Come hither at dusk to-morrow. I will send a messenger to your father in the morning, saying that I release him from the expedition. See that you say nought to him, or to any living soul, of that which is to be done!"