Nola furrowed her brow. “I suppose that means you know how to read and write?”
“Yes, I can read and write in French and English, and I have a little Spanish, as well.”
“Well, then, it would be nice if you could teach us. Our priest taught us to read a bit, but hardly at all, really. I hate that I don't know how.”
“That isn't the way I expected to help, but I suppose I could do that.”
“Great. Let me introduce you to the girls. I'm Nola. This is Jocelyne. Over there is Adele and Delphine.” Nola followed with a long list of names. “I'll introduce you to the boys later when they take a break from raft building.”
“It'll take me a while to remember all your names,” Frank said. “I'm very pleased to meet you all.”
“We'd better start using that fishing gear you brought,” Jocelyne said. “There isn't much food for dinner, I'm afraid.”
Several girls grabbed the new gear, hopped into the shallops, and headed off to catch dinner.
Much relieved at his good reception, Frank decided he would make some oars for the rafts. He doubted either his father or uncle would have approved of his new venture, even if he would certainly “broaden his horizons.” Frank knew the long-standing tension between France and England would make his choice to help these fugitives a difficult one to explain to his friends, but he was determined not to stand by and do nothing. Still, he had to admit that taking risks appealed to him.
By mid-afternoon of the next day, they were all delighted to see the eight rafts completed. The sooner they left the isthmus the safer they would be. Hector decided the cod the girls had caught could be cooked ashore, but to speed their departure they would eat the meal itself onboard the rafts. So after the pot of delicious-smelling fish was ready, it was immediately transferred to the rafts, the fire was stamped out, and they were off.
O
nce out on the water, the ravenous crew consumed the fish stew.
“I've never seen a meal eaten with so much gusto in my life,” Jocelyne said. “I guess all our hard work and relief at getting away made everyone extra hungry.”
Although the sails on the rafts weren't efficient, they were definitely better than using oars alone. Hector said that should a raft begin to stray from the main group a towline would be extended from a shallop to tow them back.
It was a fitting reflection of the travellers' mood that a beautiful evening greeted the flotilla's first few hours back at sea. Several boys demonstrated their glee by diving into the frigid depths and splashing a few girls dangling their legs in the water â antics that sparked merriment all round. The cold water soon forced an end to this pleasant interlude, but the good cheer persisted.
Nola approached Frank after this little frolic to ask if he would convene their first language lesson. Noting there was nothing to write on, and concerned the dim light given off by their raft campfire would be insufficient for the task, Frank asked for suggestions. Grandpa overcame his wariness about taking lessons from this foreign youth and told him the Mi'kmaqs used the inside part of birch bark to draw messages. So, he suggested, since they had birch firewood on the raft, this technique might do. Several fugitives began to peel the bark from the birch logs. Such writing had to be done in two stages: they had to mark the bark with a knife, then fill these marks with ashes from the firepit. This method, though cumbersome, proved functional, especially after they piled a few more logs onto the fire to brighten the light.
Frank started the lesson by writing and pronouncing each letter of the alphabet in French and English and then asked everyone to repeat the letters and write them. After this exercise, he asked each student to write his or her name. Nola was absolutely thrilled when, in just over two hours, she succeeded in scrawling her name shakily.
“This is wonderful,” she said. “I've wanted to write my name since I was a little girl. Father Daubin never taught us any of this. He mostly recited stories and songs from the Bible, which are certainly lovely. We had to learn many of them by heart. My favourite hymn is âAve Maris Stella.' It's beautiful, but I don't understand a word of it because it's in Latin. Now at last I am on my way to being able to write. Thank you for this amazing gift, Frank.”
After the lesson, when the conversation turned to their travel itinerary, Grandpa said it was about fifty miles to Tatamagouche. At their current pace that meant they should reach that town in less than two days. They had enough water and firewood to last until then, so there would be no need to go ashore.
“That's good,” Hector said, “because if we can stay five miles or so offshore, we're less likely to be discovered by patrols.”
At about midnight three boys in the lead shallop â Remy, Joseph, and Pierre â spied several large seals basking in the water. They asked Hector if they could borrow the bayonets seized from the three soldiers during the isthmus fight.
“If we could tie a bayonet to a pole, we could hunt those seals,” Remy said. “It would be good to catch one. We could use the hide to make shoes, blankets, and other things we need. And seal blubber can be used as lantern oil.”
This argument convinced Hector, and he agreed to let them have the English weapons. “Just don't lose them,” he cautioned.
The next morning several girls, who were shy about having so many boys about them all the time, decided they wanted to be on their own raft. “Some of those boys are entirely too curious about us,” said one girl. “We need more privacy.”
“Go ahead. Make the switch if you'll be more comfortable with that arrangement,” Hector said.
They approached Tatamagouche near dusk in a good frame of mind until they got a closer look at the town.
“Oh, no!” cried Jocelyne. “Every building's been burnt to the ground, even the church.”
“Over there,” Nola said. “There are dozens of new mounds in that cemetery. At least they took the time to bury the dead.”
Grandpa remarked that he had heard about some towns being ransacked before the expulsion at Grand Pré but hadn't believed it. “Now I see it was true.”
Frank was shocked. “I've been told that war is horrible. Now I see
horrible
in real life. Everything here is in total ruin.”
Grandpa said that French soldiers were often no better. “The French were accused of burning the lovely Acadian border town of Beaubassin five years ago so the residents would have to move from English to French territory. That's the brutal reality of war. It's often a trigger for people to do cruel things.”
Everyone strolled around the ruins, shaking their heads sadly and occasionally kicking a piece of charred wood. Hector, hobbling with a splint strapped to his injured leg, was the first to notice a trap door hidden under some burnt planks in one foundation. Apprehensive, he slowly opened the hatch and found a fair-sized basement. A beam of light revealed items that took Hector's breath away “Hey, everyone, look here! We're in luck. There are turnips, squash, carrots, and lots of onions down here.”
After this discovery, the other youths looked more carefully, and before long the charred wreckage yielded more basement storerooms. Most had root vegetables, but one had several bags of wheat and oats.
Grandpa and Jocelyne wandered outside the town centre to see what was left in the surrounding cultivated fields. Most of the crops had been burnt to a crisp, but along one forest edge Grandpa spotted some unusual boxes untouched by fire. “Jocelyne, those are beehives, and it looks as if the bees have survived. Let's take them back to our raft. Once we find our own safe area, we can start a bee colony.”
“That's wonderful! I love honey. And if we don't get those boxes, the bears will.”
After his companions spent an hour hauling produce back to the rafts, Hector hopped up to the height of land above the ruined town. Surveying the horizon with his spyglass, he sucked in his breath â a patrol of more than twenty British troops was headed their way. Hector almost tumbled down the slope as he gestured feverishly to his friends and cried, “Soldiers are coming! Everyone get back to the rafts! They're less than a mile away!”
No matter how much they rowed and pushed, however, it soon became obvious that their slow-moving crafts would never get far enough to avoid being spotted by the British. Jumping off his raft into the shallow water and holding the three muskets they had seized during the isthmus fight, Hector said, “We've got to do something that will throw them off our trail. I need at least three fast runners to help me create a diversion. Remy, Joseph, Pierre, come with me. Wait, I can't go with this leg of mine. You three will have to do it yourselves.”
Hector handed Remy, Joseph, and Pierre each a firearm. Without hesitating, Frank leaped into the water. “I'm going, too. The more we are the better chance we have to get those soldiers to chase us.”
Hector nodded. “We'll get offshore as quickly as we can and then head east. At dawn we'll come back to look for you. With luck you'll have led the soldiers away and be waiting for us. Good luck!”
Nola, Hector, and the others onboard watched anxiously as the four scurried up the slope. As soon as they were out of sight, three shots rang out. Five minutes later another three were followed by a continuous fusillade. After the last barrage, faint shouts were heard and then silence.
An hour later the runaways were almost a mile offshore and still hadn't glimpsed any soldiers on the hill nor heard more shots. “It's dark,” Nola said. “We'll be completely out of view in a few more minutes. We might be safe, but I don't know about our brave boys. I pray they get away.”
“Yes,” Grandpa said. “Let's pray for them.” Everyone on Grandpa's raft knelt and recited a prayer taught to them by Father Daubin:
“O most powerful and glorious Lord God who rules and commands all things, stir up thy strength and save our boys from their enemies. Hear thy poor servants pleading for thy help and defend our friends against their enemies. Amen.”
Shortly after the flotilla cleared the horizon, a sudden squall nearly swamped the group. The choppy water and fear for the diversion crew's fate sapped everyone's appetite. A few munched gloomily on carrots, while others chewed raw oats just to while away the time. No one dared to light a fire â it would have drawn too much attention to their position.
At the first hint of dawn, still encircled in dangerous whitecaps, they turned toward shore. Everyone strained their eyes for signs of the diversion crew, but there was no trace of the four boys. By noon, despondency took hold of them. The valiant squad must have been either taken prisoner or killed. With sorrow Grandpa suggested they again kneel in prayer.
They were just settling onto their knees when Jocelyne looked up. “I see them!” She pointed at a large rock in the distance where four shadowy figures waved enthusiastically. Everyone shouted with glee. Those in the shallops started rowing furiously toward the rock.
Nola blinked. “I don't see them. Everyone's eyesight must be better than mine.”
As they drew nearer to the rafts, a raucous cheer boomed across the water to greet the brave boys. When the boys finally got onboard, they were met with hugs and smiles of relief.
“We were beginning to think you were dead,” Hector said.
“It was close,” a haggard Remy said. “Once they spotted us those soldiers kept after us for miles. They didn't give up easily. It was the thick forest, our fast pace, and the dark that finally won the day for us.”
“We prayed for you,” Nola said. “I think that helped, too.”
J
ocelyne led a group of girls in the preparation of a feast for the returning heroes. In the hours since leaving Tatamagouche, their fishing lines had hooked several cod, and these became the main dish to a meal that included wheat cakes fried in cod oil and a selection of the choicest vegetables found in the ruined town.
Frank enjoyed the meal immensely. “Jocelyne, I've eaten at fancy banquets in some of the most elegant homes in England and France, but your dinner tops them all. You're an amazing cook.”
“Thank you, Frank, but I had a lot of help. And it's hard to go wrong when you're frying freshly caught cod.”
During the meal, Pierre recounted an incident that had occurred in the course of the boys' diversion. “After we fired our muskets for the second time, we ran to a heavily forested valley about three miles south of the town. We were surprised when we came across a group of oddly dressed men from Grand Pré. I recognized several of them. They were the ones the British were really after, not us. They escaped from the transport ships by disguising themselves in women's clothing. The guards allowed women to bring food to the prisoners but hadn't bargained they'd hide women's dresses in the food baskets. The fugitives told us, though, that they had decided to give themselves up. They said they couldn't bear to leave their wives behind.”
In between mouthfuls of a wheat cake, Hector asked, “Did they say anything about what happened after our escape was discovered?”
“Oh, yes! The morning the soldiers discovered the missing whaleboats and shallops they said Colonel Winslow turned beet-red with rage. He ordered a whole platoon to search for us, but a day later they came back empty-handed and dejected.”
Hector roared with laughter. “It feels good to give those soldiers a taste of their own medicine. Maybe now they'll have an idea how unhappy we âscalawags' are to see our property plundered.”
Nola was so overcome with joy suddenly that she went over to Hector and gingerly planted a kiss on his forehead. Still laughing, he glanced up in surprise. “You're a hero, too, Hector. Your injury might have stopped you from joining the diversion crew, but you and Mr. Broussard saved Jocelyne and me back at the isthmus. That was a brave thing to do. Thank you.”