The Raid from Beausejour; and How the Carter Boys Lifted the Mortgage Part 4

When Pierre returned to the cabin his mother began to question him.

He answered simply that he had to go up to the fort. "What for?" inquired his mother persistently. But Lecorbeau interposed.

"Pierre is as tall as his father," he said, smiling at the youth. "See how broad his shoulders are. Is he not old enough, anxious mother, to be out alone after dark?"

The good woman, a.s.senting, gazed at her son proudly. And Pierre felt a pang at the thought of what his mother's grief would be on learning that he had gone on the abbe's expedition. His heart smote him bitterly to think he should have to leave without a word of explanation or farewell; but he knew that if his mother should get so much as a hint of his undertaking, her fears would ruin all. He crept to his bed, but lay tossing for hours, wide-eyed in the dark, before sleep put an end to the wearying conflict of his thoughts.

The following morning brought unexpected joy to the cabin at the foot of Beausejour. Antoine Lecorbeau could hardly believe his ears when a messenger came to tell him that the abbe, in consideration of faithful services already rendered, would release him from the duty required of him. A load rolled off the Acadian's prudent soul, though he remained in a state of anxious perplexity. Had he known our Shakespeare he would have said, in the strict privacy of his inward meditations, "I like not fair terms and a villain's mind." But as for his good wife, she was radiant, and reproached herself volubly for the evil thought she had harbored against the good abbe. Pierre himself, seeing that Le Loutre was sticking to his promise, found a good word to say for him, for the first time that he could remember.

That same evening, supper being over about dusk, Pierre said he would go up to the fort and see the old sergeant. As he got to the cabin door he turned and threw a kiss to the dear ones he was leaving. Had the light been stronger his mother could not but have noticed his set mouth and the moisture in his eyes. He dared not trust himself to speak.

"Bring us back what news you can of the expedition, lad!" cried Lecorbeau after him; and it was with a mighty effort that Pierre strained his voice to answer "All right!"

At the fort everything was very quiet. Le Loutre was at the commandant's quarters with a half dozen befeathered and bepainted braves, in each of whom Pierre presently recognized a fellow-Acadian skillfully disguised.

In fact, there was not an Indian among them. The real Indians were awaiting their leader and spiritual father in the woods beyond Fort Lawrence.

Pierre was warmly greeted by his fellow-villagers, all of whom had evidently worked themselves up into something like enthusiasm for their undertaking. Of the regular French soldiery there were none about. Not even a sentry was to be seen. The commandant was on hand, helping to complete the disguises of the Acadians, and he did not choose that any of his men should be able to say they had seen him give personal countenance to a violation of the treaty.

The commandant was very well disposed to the family of Antoine Lecorbeau, from whom he bought farm produce at ridiculously low terms, to sell it again in Louisburg at a profit of one or two hundred per cent. He spoke good humoredly to Pierre, and even helped him with his paint and feathers.

Unscrupulous and heartless where his own interests were at stake, in small matters he was rather amiable than otherwise.

"Won't your father and mother be terribly anxious about you, when you fail to put in an appearance to-night? The good abbe tells me they are not to know of your whereabouts!" said the officer to Pierre, in a low voice.

"What, sir!" cried Pierre, aghast at the thought. "Won't they be told where I've gone?"

"His Reverence says not," replied the officer. "His Reverence is very considerate!"

Pierre was almost beside himself. He knew not what to do. His hands dropped to his side, and he could only look imploringly at the commandant.

"Well, well, lad!" continued the latter, presently, "_I'll_ let them know as soon as the expedition is safely out of this. This priest is quite too merciless for me. I'll explain the whole thing to your father and mother, and will a.s.sure them that there's no danger; as, indeed, is the truth, for it is pretty safe and easy work to shoot a man when he's not more than half awake. Now, be easy in your mind, and leave the hard work and any little fighting there may be to those red heathens that His Reverence talks so much about."

With these words, which relieved Pierre's mind, the commandant turned away, and left the youth to perfect his transformation into a Micmac brave.

It was drawing toward midnight when the abbe's imitation Micmacs, after a hearty supper of meat, took their way from Beausejour. They saw no sentry as they stole forth. Le Loutre was with them, and himself led the way. The night was raw and gusty, with rain threatening. As they descended the hill they could hear the stream of the Missaguash brawling over the stones of the mid-channel, for the tide was out. Across the solitary marshes could be seen the lights of Fort Lawrence gleaming from their hilltop. Overhead was the weird cry of flocks of wild geese voyaging north. The gusts made Pierre draw his blanket closer about him, and the strangeness of his surroundings, with the dreadful character of the venture on which he was bound, filled his soul with awe. He was determined, however, to produce a good impression on the dreaded abbe.

He stalked on with a long, energetic stride, keeping well to the front and maintaining a stoical silence.

Le Loutre led the way far up the Missaguash, so giving Fort Lawrence a wide berth. Once beyond the fort he turned south, skirting the further edge of what had been peaceful Beauba.s.sin. At this point he led his party into the woods, and for perhaps half an hour the journey was most painful and exhausting. Pierre was running against trees and stumbling over branches, and at the same time, in spite of his discomfort and the novelty of the situation, growing more and more sleepy. The journey began to seem to him like a dismal nightmare, from which he would soon awaken to find himself in his narrow but cosy bunk at home.

Suddenly he was startled by the half-human cry of the panther, which sounded as if in the treetops right overhead. "Is that a signal?"

inquired one of the startled travelers, while Pierre drew closer to his nearest comrade.

"It's a signal that Monsieur Loup Cervier wants his supper, and would be quite willing to make it off a fat Acadian!" replied the abbe with a grim laugh.

The party upon this began to talk and laugh aloud, which probably daunted the animal, for nothing more was heard of him. In the course of another ten minutes a light was seen glowing through the trees, and immediately the abbe hooted thrice, imitating perfectly the note of the little Acadian owl. This signal was answered from the neighborhood of the fire, whereupon the abbe gave the strange, resonant cry of the bittern. A few moments more and Pierre found himself by a camp fire which blazed cheerfully in the recess of a sheltered ravine. Around the fire were gathered some twoscore of Micmacs in their war dress, who merely grunted as the abbe and his little party joined them.

Here, wrapped in his blanket, his feet to the fire and his head on an armful of hemlock boughs, Pierre slept as sweet a sleep as if in his bed at home. At dawn he woke with a start, just as the abbe drew near to arouse him. For a moment he was bewildered; then gathering his wits he sprang quickly to his feet, looking ready for an instant departure.

Le Loutre was content and turned away. Not many minutes were consumed in breakfasting, and the raiders were under way by the time the sun was up.

All that day the stealthy band crept on, avoiding the trails by which communication was kept up between the settlements. Early in the evening Le Loutre called a halt, and Pierre, exhausted, fell asleep the moment he had satisfied his hunger. Next morning the sun was high ere the party resumed its march, and not long after midday Le Loutre declared they had gone far enough as they were now near the settlement of Kenneticook.

There was now nothing to be done but wait for night. A scout was sent forward to reconnoiter, and came back in a couple of hours with word that all was quiet in the little village, and no danger suspected.

About nine o'clock the abbe gave his orders. Not a soul in the village was to be spared, and not a house left standing. The enemy were to be destroyed, root and branch, and the English were to receive a lesson that would drive them in terror within the shelter of the Halifax stockades.

In a few minutes the party was on the march, and moving now with the greatest secrecy and care.

During that silent march, every minutest detail of which stamped itself indelibly on Pierre's memory, the lad clung desperately to the thought of all the injuries, real or pretended, which the English had inflicted upon his people. He dared not let himself think of the unoffending settlers trustfully sleeping in their homes. He strove to work himself up to some sort of martial ardor that might prevent him feeling like an a.s.sa.s.sin.

Presently the rippling of the Kenneticook made itself heard on the quiet night, and then the dim outlines of the lonely and doomed hamlet rose into view.

CHAPTER VI.

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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 a.s.sailants. 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 pa.s.sionate 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 pa.s.sed 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 att.i.tude, 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-s.h.!.+" 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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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!"