Blood Brothers in Louisbourg (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

T
hey worked with the strength and persistence of ants but they did not always work harmoniously. Even from a distance Two-feathers witnessed arguments between them. It was always an argument between a warrior dressed in red and those who were not. The arguments appeared to concern the movement and placement of their fire weapons. They struggled so hard he sometimes wondered if they would give up trying to cross the swamp and try another tactic.

He had also seen redcoats disappear into the woods where he did his hunting. He saw bluecoats enter the same woods from the other side and heard the distant crackle of their weapons. Now he would have to use extra caution entering the woods and travel further away for hunting. In fact, everything had changed with the coming of the redcoats and he had not been able to visit the girl of the rainbow since. The bluecoats were guarding their village like never before. They kept constant watch with many soldiers at every wall. And though he was actually allied with the bluecoats, they did not know him and would not trust him if he appeared just when the redcoats did. He would have to find another way in.

He sat in his den and considered what to do. The redcoats were advancing across the swamp very slowly. His tunnel system occupied just one section of the swamp, closer to the fortress. Eventually the redcoats would reach it and, with the weight of their weapons, would likely fall through the tunnels. He would have to leave. He had mixed feelings about that. On one hand he was tired of the swamp and anxious to live in the woods again. On the other hand he had invested so much time and effort constructing his tunnel system it seemed a shame to leave it. It was the most work he had ever done and he was proud of it. As it turned out, things were decided for him.

He had been checking his food stores, much depleted over the winter, when he sensed movement outside the tunnel. Hurrying to one of his lookouts he spied a large warrior cautiously scouting the ground for a suitable path for the fire-weapons. Two-feathers watched closely as the soldier stepped right above one of the dens. Suddenly, the soldier fell through. With a yell he disappeared into the ground. Two-feathers heard the man's shouts echo faintly inside the tunnel. Rushing outside he watched him climb out of the hole and pick himself up. As he turned, he saw Two-feathers and looked frightened. He reached for his musket. Two-feathers fitted an arrow to his bow. As the soldier raised his weapon and took aim, Two-feathers let the arrow fly and shot him in the arm. The soldier dropped his musket and pulled the arrow from his arm with a holler. He reached for his musket once again but Two-feathers had already fitted another arrow and was aiming for the man's heart. The soldier saw this and froze. Two-feathers hesitated. He did not want to take the life of this man. His mind drifted back to standing with his chief in the woods and asking him if it was harder to shoot a man than an animal. His chief had answered that when the reason was sufficient, the shooting was the same. Two-feathers searched his heart. There did not seem sufficient reason. Then he searched his mind and there he found an answer: “This is not my war.”

Two-feathers lowered his bow. The soldier stared for a second, disbelieving, then ran away as fast as he could.

It was time to go. Two-feathers gathered up his bearskin, his necklace, tools and weapons, tied them onto his back and left the swamp. As he entered the forest he said goodbye to the spirits of the muskrat and owl and thanked them for their help.

After a day's journey, he chose a secluded spot and constructed a teepee. He hunted, made a fire, and chanted prayers while his food was roasting. It occurred to him that he might just keep going. The woods were so appealing, why go back? The bluecoats' village had become a dangerous place now for everyone. And, as he had just realized, this was not his war. His father was gone. His mother was at peace. He had accomplished what he had come to do.

But there was the girl of the rainbow and there were the métis children. As he poked at the fire with a stick he imagined redcoats running around inside the walls attacking everyone and setting the village on fire. It was not his war, this was true, but he was in love with the girl of the rainbow. He must rescue her. And the children were his people. He had promised to feed them. He had to go back.

He prepared a basket of food, strapped it to his back and travelled through the night. He approached the fortress from the water. With the walls so heavily guarded now, the rocky shoreline was the best way to get in. The wall by the water, with its long, silent fire-weapons jutting out every fifty paces or so, was low enough for him to climb over wherever he wished, though there were no hidden shelters, only the weapons. He went from one weapon to the next in the heavy fog of morning, then made a dash for the long warehouse where the children were hiding. He found them in their corner, lying close together in their blankets and old coats. There were five of them. The youngest was barely old enough to hold a bow, the oldest, at an age where she ought to know how to skin a deer.

The children gobbled the food and looked for more. Two-feathers asked were they not getting any food elsewhere? No, they said, not now. They were too afraid to go outside. Why? he asked. Because there was a terrible enemy coming. They had heard people talking. The terrible enemy would do horrible things to them. They would cut their heads off and burn them alive. This was not true, Two-feathers said, though they were smart to stay inside for now. There was an enemy, this was true, but they were not so different from the bluecoats. He did not believe they would hurt children. But stay inside, he told them. Tomorrow he would bring them more food. But would he protect them? they asked. Would he come and rescue them if the enemy came?

Two-feathers looked at the frightened faces of the children. Then he thought of the girl of the rainbow. He didn't know how he could save them both. Would he save them? they asked again. He didn't answer. He thought for a moment to ask the spirits, but hesitated. He didn't know why he hesitated. Was he afraid of their answer? No. It wasn't that. It was because he knew the answer already. He shouldn't bother the spirits with questions for which he already knew the answer.

Yes, he said with a heavy sigh. Yes, he would save them. Don't forget, the children said as they wrapped up in their blankets and coats. He wouldn't forget, he said. Did he promise? they asked. Yes, he answered. He promised.

In his dream that night Two-feathers heard the voice of his mother in the wind. “You are more than a warrior now,” she said.

“I am a warrior,” Two-feathers insisted.

“You are tasting the bittersweetness of sacrifice,” said his mother. “You are more than a warrior now.”

Two-feathers felt the wind brush against him, pick him up and carry him through the air as if he were a leaf. “I am a warrior,” he repeated.

“My son,” said his mother.

Chapter Twenty-nine

I
f you believed as my father had then you would have thought cannon one of the greatest inventions ever conceived. He regarded them with a respect I never knew him to hold for any person, except perhaps a few other engineers and, of course, the King. That a cannon could hurl a heavy ball through the air for miles, knock a hole in a ship and send it to the bottom of the sea was a fact that caused him no end of pleasure. Once a cannonball was in the air there was no force on earth that could stop it. Heaven help whatever lay in its way.

I didn't know much about them myself, but, like everyone else in the fortress lying in their path, I learned fast. As it turned out, cannon were a pretty crude weapon. They were ridiculously inaccurate to begin with. This was why ships had to get so close to each other in a naval battle. Otherwise, most of their cannonballs would simply drop to the ocean floor.

In the case of shooting into a fortress it was hard for them to know if they were causing any damage. Unlike a ship, which would sink once it received a few holes, the English wouldn't know if their cannonballs were actually hitting anything or just landing on the ground, whereby we could pick them up and use them ourselves. Although, since we didn't have any cannon pointing towards the swamp, we couldn't shoot them back. But we could stockpile them in case the enemy should ever sail into our harbour.

The English had other options, though, which were more dangerous. Firstly, they could heat up the cannonballs in fires until they were red hot, then drop them into their cannon and shoot them into the fortress. If the balls landed on a roof or got stuck in a wall they would start a fire.

And there was something worse. Mortar shells were heavier than regular cannonballs and were shot out of special, short-barrelled cannon. Inside a mortar shell was a stock of gunpowder that exploded when it hit something, causing the ball to burst apart in hundreds of pieces and start fires. The English could tell where a mortar shell had landed and if it had caused much damage. When they first arrived, their cannon were lying on the far side of the swamp and were not close enough to cause us any concern. But as the weeks progressed and they grew closer to the fortress, everything changed dramatically.

I spent all my time with my newly adopted family now, partly because we played music to take our minds off the war, and partly because M. Anglaise invited me to stay in his sitting rooms. In fact, he often asked me to stay around even when the officers came to consult with M. Duchambon. And M. Duchambon would ask my opinions on things too, even though, like M. Anglaise, I didn't have a military mind. I began to feel sorry for M. Duchambon then because he was surrounded by officers waiting upon his command in the middle of a military disaster and never really seemed to know what to do at any given moment. I think he was uncomfortable making decisions when people were dying.

During the early stages of the conflict we wondered which would happen first: would the English get their cannon across the swamp, or would ships arrive from France? If we had known then that the ships were never coming in the first place, we would have saved a lot of time wondering and hoping. Secretly, I think M. Anglaise suspected as much. In front of M. Duchambon and the officers he spoke of how valuable Louisbourg was to France. But when they left the room he admitted to me that he had met the King on more than one occasion, and he assured me that the King would have traded the Fortress of Louisbourg and all of its inhabitants in a game of cards. “How right Plato was, Jacques, and even our flamboyant Voltaire – monarchy is a most inequitable thing. How vain the fate of the many should rest upon the whims of the one.”

I felt sorry for Celestine. She seemed to carry more fear of the English than anyone else, especially now that my father had been killed. It had also been a while since she had shared any roasted food with me and I imagined she worried about
him
too, even though we never talked about that. Ever since the English had arrived, the fortress was too heavily guarded for even a ghost to invade. I wondered where he was now and what he was up to. Celestine must also have been wondering what had become of him.

The first cannonballs landed in the field outside the walls. Through the telescope glass I saw the English labouring like to move their cannon closer. I really couldn't fathom their motivation.

“Do they hate the French so much, sir?” I asked M. Anglaise.

“Oh, no, I don't think so. They hate Catholicism, no doubt. But the New Englanders have been coming up here to trade with us for years. They generally have a good time in the town, make a fair trade and go home. I know some of them by name.”

“But … why would they try so hard now, sir? They seem to have a fire in them our soldiers lack.”

“Indeed,” said M. Anglaise, as he squinted to look through the telescope glass. “I suppose we have our King to thank for that. He started it by declaring war.”

“Yes, sir. ”

“Declaring war on England is declaring war on the colonists. I suppose they don't take too kindly to that. They're willing to fight and die for their land. You and I and the majority of the soldiers in this fortress are not willing to die for this place, I dare say. Why would we give our lives for such a forsaken place?”

“My father did, sir.”

He pulled the glass from his eye, stood up straight and looked at me remorsefully. “He did, Jacques. He did indeed.”

I didn't know why I'd said that. It just jumped out of me. With each passing day it seemed more ridiculous to me that my father had died the way he did. What had he accomplished by it? What had he proved? I had no answer for that. I had no clear feelings about it at all and I sensed it would be a long time before I did.

After a few more days the cannonballs began to reach the moat. The water splashed high into the air and rained down inside the walls. Then, finally, came the dull concussion of metal hitting stone. It was surprisingly destructive to the walls. A single hit could destroy several large stones and cause a crack right down the wall. If the walls had not been as thick as they were, they would have crumbled immediately.

Our soldiers worked hard to make wooden repairs to the walls. This at least held the walls up, behind which they could take cover and shoot the enemy if it dared to advance within musket range. They also tried to reposition our smaller cannon to shoot at the swamp. But with no structure to shoot at, and the enemy constantly moving around, the little cannon offered little help. And we were almost out of gunpowder. It was one of the supplies we were waiting for so anxiously from France.

Each day the cannonballs landed further into the interior of the fortress. Most of the houses lay down the hill, away from the swamp. But the Governor's residence began to take hits. M. Anglaise was urged to change residence immediately but he refused, displaying a surprising amount of courage for a man without a fighting sensibility. Personally I would have preferred us to move, but I stayed and kept company with Celestine.