Band of Acadians (8 page)

“They're back!” Adele shouted. “We were getting real worried. What kept you so long?”

Pointing at a toboggan, Frank said, “Working that gypsum proved to be far tougher than we expected. The first snag was that we had to heat the stone to make it flat.”

“Notice that our boards are black,” Hector said. “The first ones we made were so white you couldn't even see the chalk lines. Joseph and Remy found a soft black stone, and using a mortar and pestle, I turned that stone into a fine black powder that we worked into the gypsum.”

“What took the most time,” Frank added, “was that even after we made the gypsum flat and black, it was too soft to write on. We had to add lime as a stiffener, and that meant we had to burn limestone — not an easy thing to do in the winter. But none of us would give up, and we finally got the job done. Here, try one out.”

Nola took a slate and a chalk stick and drew a picture of a fearsome rabbit chasing a terrified Zena. This improbable scene drew roars of laughter. In no time, other artists were drawing fanciful scenes, including one of a bear being pursued up a tree by a moose, of Grandpa riding on the back of a walrus, and one of Glooscap wrestling with the Ice King.

“I didn't know we
Rameurs
were so imaginative,” Jocelyne said. “It's sure nice to have those slates.”

“Yes, those slates bring out the storytellers in us,” Nola said. “When I learn to write better, that's what I want to do — write stories and draw pictures to illustrate those tales.”

By mid-March, the first signs of spring — fresh shoots of greenery — began to appear wherever the snow had melted. Jocelyne and Nola went about the campsite selecting the most edible-looking of these buds and soon had a fragrant “weed soup” cooking. Their broth proved so tasty that everyone hankered for a second bowl.

“If we throw a couple of lobsters into that soup, I bet Frank will compare us to the best chefs in Europe again,” Jocelyne said.

A week later the spring weather was sufficiently advanced that Hector announced to Chief Toomy that the
Rameurs
would be on their way within the week. “Your people have been very kind to us. We'll be forever in your debt. As we promised last fall, it's time for us to seek a place far from your hunting grounds.”

Chief Toomy acknowledged this thanks and, gesturing, asked what the
Rameurs
were going to do with the many rabbits they had raised. Would they be taking them all on the rafts?

“No,” Hector said, “there are too many. It would be our pleasure to give you a dozen or so.”

When Grandpa discussed the transfer of the rabbits with Chief Toomy, he was surprised to discover that the Mi'kmaq wouldn't continue the rabbit farming. Apparently, it wasn't the traditional way. Also, though they were interested and somewhat impressed by the advantages of chimneys, Grandpa was told they wouldn't build those, either.

Frank tried to grasp their reasoning. “The Mi'kmaq are so accustomed to their traditional ways that even when something better comes along they're reluctant to accept it. It's really hard to understand why that's so. Perhaps sometime in the far past change meant something bad about to happen and it became taboo to accept it. Grandpa says that in the Mi'kmaq language the word for change carries a negative undertone.”

“Maybe,” Nola said, “but I believe if they had more iron tools they'd also be more open to change. Hard times have made them careful about adopting unproven methods. And, remember, even their smoky, no-chimney teepees help them fend off mosquitoes. Who are we to say what's best?”

The next day Toomy came by. In his arms he held a lovely surprise for Nola. “This is for you,” he gestured. It was a lively pup the spitting image of Zena.

Taking the pup in her arms, Nola cried, “You're so beautiful! You have the same brown, black, and white as your mother and have the same expressive ears. Thank you, Toomy. Thank you very much.” She went over and have him a big hug. “What a wonderful present. Let's see. I wonder what we should call him.” Thinking for a moment, she answered her own question. “I know. I'm going to name him Zoopie. The
Z
sound will remind us of his delightful mother.”

Nola could tell Toomy was genuinely pleased. He promised her he would come visit Zoopie, and all the
Rameurs
, when they found a new place to live.

The shallops and rafts were readied for the new voyage, food and water was loaded onboard, and Jocelyne brought her precious beehive. Remy, Joseph, and Pierre tightened the rope holding the bayonets to their spears and checked their other fishing gear. Wood for cooking was stacked in the centre of the rafts, enough flints for lighting fires were found, and all their clothes and blankets were packed. Then Hector announced, “We're ready!”

Once on the water, the
Rameurs
waved heartily to the hundred or so Mi'kmaq gathered to see them off.

6
Westmount and Louisbourg

T
he flotilla made its first stop, quite unanticipated, only three hours into the trip. It was to check gypsum outcroppings that Frank had sighted along the shore. Several of the refugees with no writing slates had insisted on taking advantage of this opportunity to make their own slate. Slate shortages were the source of much bad feeling, particularly when the treasured drawings of one “artist” had to be erased by another.

Frank was more than willing. “I noticed that gypsum bubbles up when it's heated. I'd like to find out what those bubbles are made of.”

“How are you going to check that?” Jocelyne asked.

“I'm going to taste it.”

Quite astonished, Nola said, “I hope it's not poisonous.” Frank had a directness and sharpness of mind that intrigued her. It seemed that he was forever trying strange —to her — ways to understand how things worked.

Hector also had a reason to stop. “I'm going to try to find a quicker way to grind that black shale. Last time we used a mortar and pestle, and it was slow work. I think if I attached a shaft and pedal mechanism to a piece of granite the grinding would become much easier.”

Unlike their earlier efforts, this conversion of gypsum into slates went swiftly. It took just over two days, and everyone pitched in with renewed energy when they found an ample supply of seashells. “These seashells are certainly easier to convert into lime than the hard limestone we used before,” Frank said.

By noon of the third day, everyone was delighted to possess, finally, their very own slate. Then it was time to get back onto the rafts.

As they were about to leave, Frank loaded so many gypsum rocks onboard that Hector became concerned they might sink. “Why on earth do you want so many of those rocks, Frank?”

“I have a project in mind,” Frank said mysteriously. “But don't ask me what it is yet, because I'm not sure it will work.”

Grandpa changed the subject. “I think we should head for the eastern arm of the lake. It's about twenty miles from here and looks as if it would only be a four-mile portage to reach the tip of that arm to the head of the Baie des Espanols. That's the bay where Monsieur Denys's map shows there's an outcrop of coal.”

Hector nodded but then asked, “Frank, how do you plan to move all that rock over the portage?”

“Well, I was planning to talk to you about that. I hope there will be a good trail along that portage, good enough to support a wheel. If that's what we find, I'd like you to ask some boys to build a few wheelbarrows.”

“If the trail's smooth enough, then fine, yes. But why don't you tell us more about how you plan to use all that stone?”

“I told you. I'm not sure my plan will work. There are several things that could go wrong, so I'd rather not talk about it until I know more.”

It was well past midnight and so dark when they landed at the head of the eastern arm that no one dared venture ashore for fear of getting lost. First light showed a dense forest of spruce and pine covered with smoke-like haze floating among the treetops. It soon became apparent that there was a well-used trail along one side of a rocky gully.

“Monsieur Denys's map shows no settlement around here, so I expect that trail was made by Mi'kmaq hunters,” Hector said. “We'll leave the rafts here and portage our supplies and the shallops. It's only ten miles to that coal outcropping. It shouldn't be too difficult to ferry all our supplies in those boats.”

Frank was so anxious to see the outcropping that he rushed ahead, carrying only a light load. This resulted in him being the first to see the small inlet that would become the new home of the
Rameurs
. By the time others had joined him, he had made a preliminary assessment.

“I think we should build along this flat area next to the creek,” Frank told them. “It's close to that coal seam.” He pointed. “And there are lots of seashells and clay for building. Plus those red rocks Monsieur Denys mentioned are in the hill just half a mile away. But we'll have to start a forest fire to create an open space around our settlement. We don't want anyone to sneak up on us.”

“Why the fire?” Nola asked. “Do you think someone might attack us?”

“It's just a precaution, Nola. We don't need big protective walls but, as you well know, we live in a dangerous world and must prepare proper defences.”

Hector was annoyed that Frank was taking the lead, but he couldn't argue with the English boy's reasoning, so he gave the order to protect their supplies, then the go-ahead for the burn.

Embers were still crackling when they set to work cutting trees for their new cabins. These structures were meant to be permanent, so they would be built on a more comfortable scale than their cramped huts at Whycocomagh. Still, there would be some twelve
Rameurs
per cabin.

As this work started, Grandpa suggested a name for their new outpost. “Let's call it Rougemount after the red rock in the surrounding hills.”

“There isn't that much red rock,” Hector said. “In fact, it's mostly dull grey.”

Frank piped in. “I do like the idea of ‘mount' in the name. The hill is obviously there, and we're on the western side of the bay. So I think a good name would be Westmount.”

Other ideas for names bounced back and forth with so much enthusiasm that Hector decided the only fair way to resolve the matter was to vote. It was close, but by the end of their second day at the site, with nothing yet erected, their new settlement had a name. They called it Westmount.

Jocelyne and Grandpa searched for a good spot to place their beehive, which was difficult since no meadows existed around Westmount. That was a deficiency that would also limit the community's prospects for a garden.

Grandpa pointed at the flat land across the bay. “There should be lots of bee food on that side. In fact, I can see some flowers from here.”

“That does look like a good place,” Jocelyne said. “Let's take a shallop over to check it out.”

As they rowed over with the hive, Grandpa counselled Jocelyne. “Remember that the beehive is a highly organized little world. All bees work for the benefit of the whole colony, not the individual. We must keep in mind that keeping bees in hives is for the benefit of the beekeeper, not the bees. When I kept bees, I always tried to be in tune with their needs, not mine.”

Back at the settlement, Nola busied herself building proper pens for the rabbits. Rabbits were avid diggers, so it was essential to build the pens on a hard base. Zoopie accompanied Nola everywhere she went. The pup was still too young to learn rabbit-herding skills, but other tricks, under Nola's patient instruction, came easily. Zoopie proved to be good at stick retrieval, rolling over, and paw shaking. Nola understood instinctively that dogs depended on the kindness of others for their very existence, so she knew how to get the best out of her dog. “He's quite smart but can't talk, so any scolding for naughty behaviour has to be balanced by lots of praise for accomplishments,” she told Frank.

After three days of frenzied building activity, Hector called for a celebration rest. They only had a few cod, lobster, and shellfish but, cooked with succulent herbs Jocelyne had found in the beehive meadow, this sparse fare proved to be a hit. She also tried her hand at making boiled seaweed “salad,” but that was a disaster.

“Better let the rabbits eat that stuff,” Hector suggested ruefully.

After the meal, a few
Rameurs
were still energetic enough to play flutes and tambourines to entertain the weary crew. This merriment was in full swing when Grandpa, relaxing on a stump away from the main group, noticed a couple of shallops emerge on the far side of the bay. These soon proved to belong to Acadian settlers who were displeased at the arrival of the
Rameurs
.

Without even a civil greeting, a man in the lead shallop shouted, “This is our land! You can't stay here. No campsites are allowed. Interlopers aren't welcome. You have to leave right now.”