“Madame exaggerates a little,” Monsieur Denys cut in. “Our three sons were press-ganged into the military four years ago, and it's quite likely we'll never see them again. This has crushed our spirit. Louisbourg is actually doing quite well at present. The population is growing, and the fishery is earning huge revenues for the French crown. Settlers have a higher standard of living than commoners do in France. But all this is fragile. Crises of various sorts, such as the sinking of a supply ship or war, often cause the governor to trample on people's rights. When such things happen, ordinary people have no recourse. The system protects only the ruling class.”
Nola frowned. “Where should we go then?”
“There's no really safe place,” Madame Denys said, “but if you go to Whycocomagh, the Mi'kmaq will help you as long as you respect their land and traditions. They're a mild and peaceful people who we've come to like and respect.”
Monsieur Denys stood and asked Hector to do the same. “We have a gift for you. I've drawn a map of the Bras d'Ors area, showing the settlements and areas of interest. Over many years the Denys family has explored and mapped the whole of the island, identifying the location of coal seams, limestone and gypsum deposits, and an area around Baie des Espanols where there's an extrusion of red rock we believe is some sort of mineral.”
“Thank you very much, Monsieur Denys. This map is hugely valuable. It'll help us find our way in this new land.”
Madame Denys stood and asked Frank to stand. “I understand you're the young man who gives writing lessons. As our children were growing up, we read them stories from this lovely book by Charles Perrault. It includes the fairy tales “Little Red Riding Hood,” “Sleeping Beauty,” “Puss in Boots,” “Cinderella,” and “Bluebeard.” They're wonderful tales that stir the imagination of young and old. We want you to have this book.” With a hug and a big smile, Madame Denys handed the volume to Frank.
Frank leafed through the book, marvelling at its wonderful illustrations. Then he turned to the frontispiece and saw that Madame Denys had written a dedication. He read it aloud:
“To
les rameurs.
May this book bring you as much joy as it brought to our family.
Monsieur and Madame Paul Denys October 1755”
“Les Rameurs!”
Frank cried. “The Oarsmen! We were wondering what we should call ourselves. That's a great name.”
Murmurs of approval spread around the table, with much nodding and repeatings of
“Les Rameurs!”
“You youngsters have raised our spirits and given us hope for the future,” Madame Denys said, tears in her eyes. “We wish you every success on your voyage.”
The next day Nola said to Hector, “We're ready to go except Grandpa and two boys who are still out hunting. Grandpa says he needs more time to steep the deer and sealskin hides in warm water and oak bark or the tanning won't be right. But those boys should have been back hours ago.”
“I'll help him bring the tanning pot onboard one of our rafts,” Hector said. “Those boys, however, are truly irresponsible. With the cold weather coming we can't be dallying.”
Two hours later the boys returned, holding a couple of rabbits they had shot. They were quite pleased with themselves.
Hector brusquely changed their mood. “If you're expecting praise for shooting those rabbits, forget it. You were told to be back at camp before noon. We've been delayed because of your thoughtlessness. I'm taking those muskets back. Only responsible boys get issued guns.”
The eight rafts and four shallops at last headed out to sea. Monsieur and Madame Denys waved a tearful goodbye and shouted,
“Bon voyage les rameurs!”
As they pulled out, Nola said to Frank, “You must be pleased we aren't going to Louisbourg. I don't think an Englishman would get a very good reception there. Whycocomagh sounds better to me, too. I'm looking forward to meeting the Mi'kmaq.”
Frank grinned. “I'm starting to believe it can be dangerous to go anywhere today. As for the Mi'kmaq, it'll be important to get along with them. They might not be happy we're hunting in their territory.”
T
he shorter days and chilly autumn air, together with the wandering clouds of fog over the water, heralded the coming winter. The
Rameurs
had much to do to prepare for that harsh season and not much time to do it.
Excited with his new map, Hector consulted it to check the distance to Whycocomagh. “We should reach the Mi'kmaq village in two days. I'm thankful we're on our way at last.” He glanced with displeasure at the two dawdling rabbit hunters.
Accustomed to water-bound travel, several
Rameurs
lost no time in approaching Frank. They wanted to see the Charles Perrault book. Aside from Bibles in church, books were rare items in Acadia. As Frank passed it around, there were many cries of wonderment at the illustrations. The book inspection done, he began to read “Little Red Riding Hood.” Pleasure beamed from every face.
It was no surprise that protests were voiced when he moved on to other tasks. All pleaded for another tale. Pretending reluctance, Frank then obliged and read “Puss in Boots.”
Nola was perhaps the most attentive while Frank recited. She could see the words on the pages as he read, but these were still mostly meaningless strings of letters to her. Nola felt her illiteracy sharply. It cut her off from a world of beautiful ideas. She vowed to devote every free moment to understand the logic behind those strings of letters.
“Frank, I'd like to borrow that book when you aren't using it,” she said. “The sooner I learn to read, the fewer people will pester you. I could read for you.”
“Don't think learning to read can be done on your own, Nola. It's not a simple task, or more people would be able to do it. For one thing, you need someone to show you the pronunciation key.”
“Then give me pronunciation exercises and I'll practise.”
“I'll be glad to do that. But you have to understand that learning to read takes time and perseverance.”
“I've got both of those, Frank. Now please let me have that book.”
At the beginning of October the flotilla made landfall in a deep bay about six miles from Whycocomagh. Here, Hector believed, they would find shelter, fresh water, and wood for fuel and building as well as easy access to the aboriginal village. He decided they would haul the four shallops over the narrow butte so they could row to the village. Their first contact with the Mi'kmaq would be critical, so Hector picked twelve persons he judged would make a good impression on their new neighbours. To reduce any suspicion the Mi'kmaq might have that they were a clandestine warrior group, he included four girls plus Grandpa, the only
Rameur
fluent in the Mi'kmaq language.
That afternoon their first glimpse of Whycocomagh caught them all by surprise. The village was huge, much larger than they had expected. From the water more than two hundred conical huts were visible. Each of these was about twelve feet high and was made of woven rush mats, sheets of bark, or animal skins. At the party's appearance fifty men, women, and children came down to the shore to watch. The tall, bronzed watchers remained silent and immobile, neither welcoming nor hostile. They weren't indifferent, but neither, curiously, did they appear to be much interested. The
Rameurs
were very nervous at this unexpected silence and made no move to go ashore.
Instinctively, Grandpa understood the situation, but it took him agonizing minutes to decide how to break the growing tension. Finally, he stood with bowed head and held tobacco leaves at arm's length. Using the Mi'kmaq language, he said in a voice as bold and strong as he could muster, “We're travellers from afar who seek shelter in your lands for the coming winter.”
Slow smiles greeted these words, and in no time several Natives broke ranks and stepped down the rocky slope to help pull the shallops ashore. Almost all â men, women, and children â took a tobacco leaf offered by Grandpa, pulled out a clay pipe from hidden folds in their clothing, and were soon engulfed in smoke. When Grandpa told the Mi'kmaq the tobacco was a present from Monsieur and Madame Denys, they broke out in broader smiles and gestured amicably, indicating the great respect they had for the elderly couple.
Jocelyne and Nola approached a tall, well-built youth. Using the same stance Grandpa had, they offered the boy a jar of honey. The youngster accepted the gift and tasted its contents gingerly. The boy then identified himself as Toomy, son of Chief Toomy. He invited the girls to meet other members of his clan, starting with his father and mother.
Nola could see there was only a minor difference in the appearance of the chief's family teepee from those of other families. It was graced with a large, colourful drawing of an eagle. The chief was taller, had a more dignified bearing, and was more sturdily built than the other men, an indication, Nola thought, that he was probably a particularly successful hunter. Then Nola spotted several women stoking a campfire and placing several pieces of meat on the coals. “Perhaps,” she said to Hector, “they're preparing a feast to welcome us.”
And so it proved to be. Dinner preparations continued until the chief signalled for everyone to gather around. Sitting cross-legged, he sang what sounded like a benediction. When that was done, he made a sign that everyone should eat. Several, Nola observed, hadn't waited for the chief's signal. Apart from the meat, which tasted like moose steak, there was little else â only a few turnips, juniper berries, and cranberries. Later Nola discovered why that was so. The tribe maintained only a small vegetable patch, smaller she was surprised to note, than Madame Denys's garden.
“Despite having so few ingredients, that meal was tasty,” Jocelyne said to Nola. “I think the cooks used a few herbs we should learn about.”
After the meal, Toomy brought the girls over to the largest structure in the village, an attractive teepee of which he was clearly proud. Beautifully decorated with drawings and blankets, it appeared to serve double duty as both a house of prayer and a community centre.
But this relaxed and casual mood changed abruptly when Grandpa told Chief Toomy that their group was part of a larger band. The chief tensed and insisted on seeing the rest of the
Rameurs
immediately. A dozen canoes were launched to accompany Hector and his party back to their main camp.
Once at the
Rameur
landing site and noting the large number of interlopers, the chief's expression turned grave. In a stern voice he announced, “Our hunting grounds can't support the addition of so many mouths. We can't allow you to hunt our deer, moose, and bears. We would starve if we permitted that. We also can't allow you to trap our valuable fur animals like beavers, foxes, and minks. We use those for clothing and in trade with the white man for knives and other metal items.”
“I was afraid of that,” Grandpa said to Hector. “We're in trouble. He might kick us out.”
Then the chief unexpectedly changed his tone. “But we're a generous people. You can trap small animals like rabbits and porcupines and shoot partridges, and you can catch all the fish you need. Respect our rules, and you can stay on our land this winter. You can also cut all the timber you need, and we'll help you hunt those animals that aren't part of our own needs.”
The harsh reality of surviving in the bush was evident in the Mi'kmaq population: there were few elders. It seemed there was no one over forty years old. Survival, apparently, meant being able to provide for your own needs.
Having won the chief's reluctant approval, the little clan of refugees began the task of building winter quarters. Grandpa and Frank scoped out suitable construction materials, while Hector prepared foundations for ten huts. When Frank discovered that the banks of the nearby stream were made of oozy, muddy clay, he thought that might be used as caulking between spruce branches.
“Yes,” Grandpa told him, “a structure like that should make good walls.”
The floors wouldn't be a problem â just a flat dirt base covered with spruce boughs would be quite adequate. But building a suitable roof would prove to be far more complicated.
Grandpa's expertise in this area came in handy. “First,” he said, “we need to cut four trees and place them as posts on the corners of each hut.” He continued at some length to describe how to assemble pieces made of spruce boughs, branches, and mud as roof material. It was obvious that building things was one of Grandpa's great passions. “When those are dry, we'll raise them into position on the triangle frame by a crane mechanism we'll have to construct. A roof like that will be leak-proof as long as no one steps on it.”
Hector nodded. “Sounds good.”
“I like that, too, but how will we heat our huts?” Nola asked. “The Mi'kmaq build campfires in the middle of their teepees and let the smoke drift out at the top. But that makes the inside smoky.”
“Yes, our Native friends do have a smoky smell about them,” Jocelyne said. “I guess we, too, can smell pretty strong sometimes. Not so smoky, though.”
“Actually,” Grandpa said, “the Mi'kmaq have a good reason to like the smoke. It helps keep the mosquitoes away. Also, if they want to, they know how to build a double-walled teepee that drives the smoke upward.”
“Maybe so,” Frank said, “but if we build a chimney, that would provide more heat per fire log plus reduce the smoke. It would also mean fewer logs to cut. And we have the clay right here from our stream.”
At the end of much discussion there was unanimous agreement: the less smoky, fewer fire logs design was the way they would go.
Everyone was so focused on building that when the huts were finished they were all taken aback, particularly after the many problems they had had assembling their rafts. Little Adele neatly summed up everyone's mood. “It's going to be so nice to sleep indoors. The nights are getting much too cold for sleeping outside.”