The Raid From Beausejour; And How The Carter Boys Lifted The Mortgage by Charles G. D. Roberts

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Pierre's voice quivered as he spoke these last words.

The officer looked very much interested.

"Certainly," said he, "you shall have your oxen. We don't take anything
that doesn't belong to us. But tell me, why is not this your home to-day?
Why have you all burnt down your houses and run away? We are the true
friends of all the Acadians. What had you to fear?"

"_We_ didn't do it!" replied the boy. "It was monsieur the abbe and
his Indians; and they threatened to scalp us all if we didn't leave
before you came!"

The young officer's face grew very stern at the mention of the abbe,
whom he knew to mean Le Loutre.

"Ah!" he muttered, "I see it all now! We might have expected as much
from that snake! But tell me," he continued to Pierre, "what is going on
over on the hill this morning? They are not going to attack us, are
they? We are on English soil here. They know that!"

"I don't know," said Pierre, looking about him, and over at Beausejour.
"They _were_ very busy getting things ready for something when I left.
But I wanted my oxen, and I didn't wait to ask. May I take them away
now, monsieur?"

"Very well," answered the officer, and he offered Pierre a shilling.
To his astonishment Pierre drew himself up and wouldn't touch it. The
young man still held it out to him, saying: "Why, it is only a little
memento! See, it has a hole in it, and you can keep it to remember
Captain Howe by. I have many friends among your people!"

"My heart is French," replied Pierre, with resolution. "I cannot take
money from an enemy."

"But we English are _not_ your enemies. We wish to do you good, to win
your love. It is that wicked Le Loutre who is your enemy."

"Yes," assented Pierre, very heartily. "We all hate him. And many of us
love the English, and would be friends if we dared; but _I_ do not
love any but the Holy Saints and the French. I love France!" and the
boy's voice rang with enthusiasm.

A slight shade of sadness passed over the young captain's earnest face.
Edward Howe was known throughout Acadia as a lover of the Acadians, and
as one who had more than once stood between them and certain well-deserved
restraint. He was attracted by Pierre's intelligence of face and
respectful fearlessness of demeanor, and he determined to give the
young enthusiast something to think about.

"Do you not know," said he, "that your beloved France is at the back
of all this misery?" And he pointed to the smoking ruins of the village.
"Do you not know that it is the gold of the French king that pays
Le Loutre and his savages? Do you not know that while King Louis
instructs his agents in Quebec and Louisburg and yonder at Beausejour,
to excite the Indians, and certain of your own people too, to all sorts
of outrages against peaceful English settlers, he at the same time puts
all the blame upon _your_ people, and swears that he does his utmost
to restrain you? O, you are so sorely deceived, and some day you will
open your eyes to it, but perhaps too late! My heart bleeds for your
unhappy people."

The young man turned back into his tent, after a word to the sentry who
had brought Pierre in. The boy stood a few moments in irresolution,
wanting to speak again to the young officer, whose frank eyes and
winning manner had made a deep impression upon him. But his faith in
the France of his imagination was not daunted. Presently, speaking to
his oxen in a tone of command, he drove the submissive brutes away
across the marsh.

As he left the English camp a bugle rang out shrilly behind him, and
a great stir arose in the lines. He glanced about him, and continued
his way. Then he observed that the slopes of Beausejour were dark with
battalions on the march, and he realized with a thrill that the lilies
were advancing to give battle. In another moment, looking behind him,
he saw the scarlet lines of the English already under arms, and a
signal gun boomed from the ships.

Trembling with excitement, and determined to carry a musket in the coming
fray, Pierre urged his oxen into a gallop, and made a detour to get
around the French army. By the time he got back to his stable, and
possessed himself of his father's musket, and started down the hill
at a run, expecting every moment to hear his father's voice calling him
to return, the soldiers of France had reached the river. But here they
halted, making no move to cross into English territory. To have done so
would have been a violation of the existing treaty between France and
England.

Major Lawrence, however, did not suspect that the French movement was
merely what is known as a demonstration. He took it for granted that
the French were waiting only for some favorable condition of the tide
in order to cross over and attack him in his position. He saw that the
French force three or four times outnumbered his own; and as his
mission was one of pacification, he decided not to shed blood uselessly.
He ordered a retreat to the ship. The men went very reluctantly, hating
to seem overawed; but Major Lawrence explained the situation, and
declared that, Beaubassin being burned, there was no special object
in remaining. He further promised that later in the summer he would come
again, with a force that would be large enough for the undertaking, and
would build a strong fort on the hill at whose foot they were now
encamped. Then the red files marched sullenly back to their boats;
while a body of Indians, reappearing from the woods, yelled and danced
their defiance, and the French across the river shouted their mocking
ballads.

CHAPTER III.

FRENCH AND ENGLISH.

When it was seen that the English were actually reembarking, a fierce
indignation broke out against Le Loutre for the useless cruelty and
precipitancy of his action. The French troops had some little feeling
for the houseless villagers, and they were angered at being deprived
of their chief and most convenient source of supplies. The fierce abbe
insisted that the movement of the English was a ruse of some sort;
but when the ships got actually under way, with a brisk breeze in their
sails, he withdrew in deep chagrin, and returned with his Micmacs
to his village on the muddy Shubenacadie. Relieved of his dreaded
presence the Acadians set bravely to work building cabins on the new
lands which were allotted them back of Beausejour, and along the
Missaguash, Au Lac, and Tantramar streams. A few were rash enough
to return to their former holdings in Beaubassin, rebuilding among
the ashes; but not so Antoine Lecorbeau. On the northwest slope of
Beausejour, where a fertile stretch of uplands skirts the commencement
of the Great Tantramar marsh, he obtained an allotment, and laid his
hearthstone anew. The burning of Beaubassin had not made him love
France the more, but it had cooled his liking for the English. The words
of Captain Howe, nevertheless, which Pierre had repeated to him
faithfully, lay rankling in his heart, and he harbored a bitter
suspicion as to the good faith of the French authorities. He saw that
they professed disapproval of the methods of Le Loutre, but he began
to doubt the sincerity of this disapproval. Pierre, however, was
troubled by no such misgivings.

The summer, though a laborious one, slipped by not at all unpleasantly.
Mother Lecorbeau soon had a roof to shelter her little brood of swarthy
roisterers; a rough shed, built over a hillside spring in a group of
willows, served as the dairy wherein she made the butter and cheese
so appreciated by the warriors on Beausejour. Lecorbeau got in crops
both on his new lands and on the old farm, and saw the apples ripening
abundantly around the ruins of his home in Beaubassin. As for Pierre,
in his scanty hours of leisure he was always to be found on the hill,
where an old color sergeant, pleased with his intelligence and his
ambition to become a soldier of France, was teaching him to read and
write. This friendly veteran was, in his comrades' eyes, a marvel of
clerkly skill, for in those days the ability to read and write was by
no means a universal possession among the soldiers of France.

One evening in the first of the autumn, when here and there on the
dark Minudie hills could be seen the scarlet gleam of an early-turning
maple, just as the bay had become a sheet of glowing copper under the
sunset, a rosy sail appeared on the horizon. The pacing sentry on the
brow of Beausejour stopped to watch it. Presently another rose into
view, and another, and another; and then Beausejour knew that the English
fleet had returned. Before the light faded out the watchers had counted
seventeen ships; and when the next morning broke the whole squadron was
lying at anchor about three miles from the shore.

With the first of daylight Pierre and his father hastened up the hill
to find out what was to be done. To their astonishment they learned
that the troops on Beausejour would do just nothing, unless the English
should attempt to land on the French side of the Missaguash. They had
received from Quebec a caution not to transgress openly any treaty
obligations. To Antoine Lecorbeau this news seemed not unwelcome.
He was for quiet generally. But Pierre showed in his face, and, indeed,
proclaimed aloud, his disappointment. The old sergeant laughed at his
eager pupil, and remarked:

"O, my young fire eater, _you_ shall have a chance at the beefeaters
if you like! His Reverence the abbe arrived in Beausejour last night about
midnight, and he's going to fight, if we can't. Treaties don't bother him
much. He's got all his Micmacs with him, I guess. There they go now--the
other side of the stream. In a bit you'll see them at work strengthening
the line of the dike. They're going to give it to the beefeaters pretty
hot when they try to come ashore. There's your chance now for a brush.
His Reverence will take you, fast enough."

"Pierre shall do nothing of the sort, whether he wants to or not,"
interrupted Lecorbeau, with sharp emphasis.

"I wouldn't fight under him!" ejaculated the boy, with a ring of scorn
in his voice.

The old sergeant shrugged his shoulders.

"O, very well," said he. "I'm of the same way of thinking myself. But all
your people are not so particular. Look now, over at the dike. Did you
ever see an Indian that could handle the shovel as those fellows are
doing. I tell you, half those Indians are just your folks dressed-up,
and painted red and black, and with feathers stuck in their hair.
The abbe ropes a lot of you into this business, and you're lucky,
Antoine Lecorbeau, that he hasn't called on you or Pierre yet."

At this suggestion Lecorbeau looked grim, but troubled. As for Pierre,
however, with a boy's confidence, he exclaimed:

"Just let him call. I think I see him getting us!"

Yet, for all his bitterness against Le Loutre, Pierre felt the fever
of battle stir within him as he watched the preparations behind the long,
red Missaguash dike. His father, seeing the excitement in his flashing
eyes and flushed countenance, exacted from him then and there a promise
that he would take no part in the approaching conflict.

On that September day the tide was full about noon, and with the tide
came in the English ships. Knowing the anchorage, they came right into
the river's mouth, in a long, ominously silent line. The mixed rabble
of Le Loutre crowded low behind their breastworks; and hundreds of eager
eyes on Beausejour strained their sight to catch the first flash of
the battle.

"Do you see that little knoll yonder with the poplars on it?" said Pierre
to his father and the sergeant. "Let's go over there and hide in the
bushes, and we can see twice as well as we can from here. There's
a little creek makes round it on the far side, and we'll be just
as safe as here!"

"Yes," responded the sergeant, "it's a fine advanced post. We'll just
slip down round the foot of the hill as if we were bound for the dikes,
so there won't be a crowd following us."

[Illustration "They sped rapidly across the marsh."]

As the three sped rapidly across the marsh, Antoine Lecorbeau said
significantly to his son:

"Do you see how these English spare our people? They haven't fired
a single big gun, yet with the metal on board their ships they could
knock those breastworks and the men behind them into splinters. They
could batter down the dike, and let the tide right in on them."

"Aye! aye!" assented the old sergeant, "they're a brave foe, and
I would we could have a brush with them. They're landing now without
firing a shot!"

At this moment the irregular firing from the breastwork grew more rapid
and sustained, and our three adventurers hurried on to the knoll, eager
for a better view. They found the post already occupied by half a dozen
interested villagers, who paid no attention to the new arrivals.

By this time the English boats had reached the water's edge. On this
occasion Major Lawrence had nearly eight hundred men at his command,
and was resolved to carry his enterprise to a successful issue.
The troops did not wait to form, under the now galling fire from the
breastwork, but swarmed up the red slope in loose skirmishing order,
pouring in a hot dropping fire as they ran. As they reached the dike
a ringing cheer broke out, and they dashed at the awkward and slippery
steep.

A few reached the top, and for a moment the English colors crowned the
embankment. But at the same time the painted defenders rose with a yell,
and beat back their assailants with gunstock and hatchet. The red flag
was seized by a tall savage, and Pierre gave a little cry of excitement
as he thought the enemies' colors were captured. But his enthusiasm was
premature. The stripling who carried the colors, finding no chance
to use his sword, grasped the Indian about the waist and dragged him
off the dike, when he was promptly made captive.

Now the English withdrew a few paces, held back with difficulty by
their officers, and one, whom the watchers on the knoll took for Lawrence
himself was seen giving orders, standing with his back half turned to
the breastwork, as undisturbed as if the shower of Micmac bullets were
a snowstorm. Presently the redcoats charged again, this time slowly
and silently, in long, regular lines.

"Ah!" exclaimed the sergeant under his breath, "they'll go through
this time. That advance means business!"

In fact, they did go through. At the very foot of the dike a single
volley flashed forth along the whole line, momentarily clearing the top
of the barrier. The next instant the dike was covered with scarlet
figures. Along its crest there was a brief struggle, hand to hand,
and then the braves of Le Loutre were seen fleeing through the smoke.

The Missaguash is a stream with as many windings as the storied Meander,
and about half a mile beyond the lines which the English had just carried
the contortions of the channel brought another and almost parallel ridge
of dike. Over this the flying rout of Micmacs and Acadians clambered with
alacrity, while the English forces halted where they found themselves.

To the little knot of watchers on the knoll the contest had seemed
too brief, the defeat of their people most inglorious.

"As a fighting man monsieur the abbe makes rather a poor show, however
good he may be at burning people's houses!" exclaimed Pierre, in a voice
that trembled with a mixture of enthusiasm for the cause, and scorn
for him who had it in charge.

"You will find, my son," said Lecorbeau, sententiously, "that the cruel
and pitiless are often without real courage!"

"O!" laughed the old sergeant, "I'll wager my boots that His Reverence
is not in the fight at all. It's likely one of his understrappers, Father
Germain, perhaps, or that cutthroat half-breed, Etienne Le Batard,
or Father Laberne, or the big Chief Cope himself, is leading the fight
and carrying out the saintly abbe's orders."

"Fools! Fools and revilers!" exclaimed a deep and cutting voice behind
them; and turning with a start they saw the dreaded Le Loutre standing
in their midst. Lecorbeau and Pierre became pale with apprehension and
superstitious awe, while the old sergeant laughed awkwardly, abashed
though not dismayed.

The abbe's sallow face worked with anger, and for a moment his narrow
eyes blazed upon Lecorbeau and seemed to read his very soul. Then, as
he glanced across the marsh, his countenance changed. A fanatic zeal
illumined it, taking away half its repulsiveness.

"Nay!" he cried, "I am _not_ there in the battle. France and the Church
need me, and what am I that I should risk, to be thought bold, a life
that I must rather hold sacred. Should a chance ball strike me down
which of you traitors and self-seekers is there that could do my work?
Which of you could govern my fierce flock?"

To this tirade, which showed them their tormentor in a new light, Pierre
and his father could say nothing. Wondering, but not believing, they
exchanged stolen glances. It is probable that the abbe, in his present
mood, was sincere; for in a fanatic one must allow for the wildest
inconsistencies. The old sergeant, more skeptical than the Acadians,
was, at the same time more polite. He hastened to murmur, apologetically:

"Pardon me, Reverend Father! I see that I misunderstood you!"

Le Loutre made no answer, for now events on the battlefield were
enchaining every eye.

Behind the second line of dikes the Micmacs and Acadians had again
intrenched themselves. Major Lawrence, perceiving this, at once ordered
another charge. Then the Indians resolved on a bold and perilous stroke.

The right of their position was nearest the attacking force. At this
point, acting under a sudden inspiration, they began to cut the dike.
Almost instantly a breach began to appear, under the attack of a dozen
diking spades wielded with feverish energy.

An involuntary cry of consternation went up from the group of Acadians
on the knoll, but the grim abbe shouted, "Well done! Well done! my brave,
my true Laberne!" And he rushed from his hiding place on some new errand,
leaving the air lighter for his absence.

The English detected at once the maneuver of their opponents. They broke
into a fierce rush, determined to stop the work of destruction before
it should be too late. From his left Major Lawrence threw out a few
skilled marksmen, who concentrated a telling fire upon the diggers,
delaying but not putting an end to the furious energy of their efforts.
Already a stream of turbid water was stealing through. Presently it
gathered force and volume, spreading out swiftly across the marsh,
and at the same time the crest of the dike was fringed with smoke
and the pale flashes of the muskets.

The tide was now on the ebb, and a current set strongly against the point
of dike where the diggers were at work. This fact tended to make the
results of their work the more immediately apparent, rendering mighty
assistance to every stroke of the spade. At the same time, however,
it told heavily in favor of the English, for, in order to counteract
the special stream, the dike at this point was of great additional
strength. Moreover, in the tidal rivers of that region the ebb and
flow are so vast and so swift, that the English hoped the tide would
be below a dangerous level before the destruction of the dike could
be accomplished.

In this hope they were right. Ere they had more than half crossed
the stretch of marsh the waters of the Missaguash were oozing about
their ankles. But as they neared the dike it had grown no deeper.
They saw the diggers throw down their spades, pick up their muskets,
and fall in with their comrades behind the dike. The fire from the top
of the barrier ceased, and in silence, with loaded weapons, the Indians
awaited the assault. From this it was plain to Major Lawrence that the
defense was in the hands of a European. He straightened out his lines
before the charge.

CHAPTER IV.

PREPARING FOR THE RAID.

"Thank heaven!" ejaculated Antoine Lecorbeau, "they have saved
the dike!"

In Acadian eyes to tamper with the dikes was sacrilege.

"Well!" said the sergeant, with a somewhat cynical chuckle, "at least
the English have got their feet wet!"

Pierre broke off his laugh in the middle, for at this moment the red
lines charged. The deadly volley which rang out along the summit for
an instant staggered the assailants; but they rallied and went over
the barrier like a scarlet wave. The dike was much easier to scale when
thus approached on the landward side.

And now ensued a fierce hand-to-hand struggle. The spectators could
hardly contain their excitement as they saw their party, fighting
doggedly, forced back step by step to the edge of the water. Some,
slipping in the ooze of the retreating tide, fell and were carried
down by the current. These soon swam ashore--discreetly landing on
the further side of the river. The rest seeing the struggle hopeless,
now broke and fled with a celerity that the English could not hope
to rival. Along the flats, for perhaps a mile, a detachment of the
English pursued them till a bugle sounded their recall. Then Major
Lawrence, finding himself master of the field, directed his march
to that low hill where he had encamped the previous spring, and a
fatigue party was set to repair the dike.

On this hill the English proceeded to erect a fortified post, which
they called Fort Lawrence; and in an incredibly short time the red flag
was waving from its battlements, not three miles distant from Beausejour,
and an abiding provocation to the hot-headed soldiery of France. As for
Le Loutre, after his disastrous repulse, he yielded to the inevitable,
and gave up all thought of preventing the establishment of Fort Lawrence.
But he was not discouraged; he was merely changing his tactics.

The Missaguash being the dividing line between the two powers, he
caused his Acadian and Indian followers to enrage the English by petty
depredations, by violations of the frontier, by attacks and ambuscades.
Soon the English were provoked into retaliations; whereupon the regulars
of Beausejour found an excuse for taking part, and the turbid Missaguash
became the scene of such perpetual skirmishes that its waters ran redder
than ever.

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 shore, 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 assassins 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 assistance 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.

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