Jocelyne said. “The fog would hide the campfire smoke.”
Luckily, it was still misty when Hector decided the little flotilla could go ashore again, so he agreed that Jocelyne could have a fire. In the high tension of arranging the escape, only Grandpa had had the foresight to bring the dry kindling needed to start a fire in damp conditions. Everyone was grateful for his good planning. The girls cooked breakfast, while the boys made sure the boats were hauled up and well hidden. Then they busied themselves erasing every trace of their passage along the shoreline. By the time the fog had burned off, breakfast was over, the campfire was doused, and all except two of their number were safely secreted deep in the woods, attempting to get some sleep. Hector posted the two exceptions as lookouts, with firm orders to stay awake. If patrols passed their hiding place, he wanted to know about it.
Although everyone was bone-tired, slumber didn’t come easily. They were still soaked to the skin, and all were afraid of being discovered. It was only when they covered themselves with spruce boughs and endured much restlessness that they managed to get a fitful rest.
By nightfall, after all the worry of the previous night, everyone was relieved that no patrols had been spotted. “It looks as if we weren’t followed,” Nola said. “I guess the British are so busy loading our families onboard ships that they couldn’t spare —”
“Get down!” Hector suddenly cried. “Take cover! Whaleboats coming!”
Everyone hunched down, sprinted back into the forest, and then lay flat on the ground, trying hard to make themselves invisible. Their concealment skills were about to be put to the supreme test. Nola hoped she had managed to hide all traces of their campfire, but she wasn’t sure.
No one moved. No one said a word.
After a few minutes, they heard English voices as the whaleboats approached their hiding place. “It’s getting pretty dark,” one of the occupants of the first vessel said. “It’s hard to spot runaways in this light. Maybe we should set up camp here for the night.”
“No, we better head back,” another man said. “Colonel Winslow will need our help to sort out the prisoners.”
Shortly after this exchange, Hector peeked out and saw the boats turning around. “They’re going back,” he whispered.
They waited for a full hour, then Hector finally broke the silence. “I think it’s safe now, but that was a close call. Let’s move out. We have a long way to go before first light. Good thing there’s another favourable breeze for tonight’s sail.”
Attempting to relieve the escapees’ anxiety, Grandpa said, “This moist sea air is doing wonders for my arthritis. I should do this more often. My hands haven’t felt this good in months.”
“Grandpa,” Nola said, “much as I sympathize with your arthritis, I don’t think it’s worth losing our land and homes for.”
“Now, dear, indulge an old man. A little humour once in a while is good.”
“Yes, Grandpa.”
“Did you notice how everyone enjoyed our chicken breakfast?” Jocelyne asked. “That food was good for morale.”
“Before this voyage is over, I expect we’ll have some very lean times,” Hector said. He glanced up at the sky. “The moon’s out tonight, so we’ll be more exposed. When we get closer to the head of Chignecto Bay, I’ll go ashore and climb a tree to see if I can spot any campfires. It’s great that I found that spyglass. If there’s no fog, I expect I’ll be able to see a campfire up to fifteen miles away.”
The flotilla moved along some thirty miles without further incident until Hector decided it was time to check for campfires. He went ashore and climbed a tree, while the others stayed aboard their shallops, nervously waiting to hear what he discovered.
Calling down to the group, he reported, “There’s a big campfire by what looks like a fort plus a few smaller fires close by. All the rest of the forest is dark. Those fires are about ten miles away. That’s close enough. It’s near dawn. We’ll set up camp here.”
At this second daytime camp everyone knew what to do. Again all traces of their passage were erased from the shoreline, and everyone tried to disguise the campsite itself. Unfortunately, there was no morning fog, so no fire could be lit.
Jocelyne arranged for a meal of cracked wheat, raw carrots, and some leftover chicken, all cold. When this proved to be too little, several boys went along the shore to hunt for shellfish. Hector insisted that they be back at camp within half an hour. It would be terribly dangerous for the band if any of the shellfish pickers was spotted.
“Better to go hungry than be a prisoner or dead,” Hector said.
“We’re making good progress,” Grandpa added, “but it would be foolish to take unnecessary chances.”
Once they settled in, Grandpa informed his companions, “The isthmus is about twenty miles across at its narrowest, and we’re about ten miles from the isthmus. I think that’s too far for us to carry the shallops, particularly since we have to steer clear of the main trail to avoid British patrols. It’s unfortunate, but we have to leave them behind.”
“Maybe we can carry a few of them,” Nola suggested. “There are a hundred of us. Surely, we could do that. It just doesn’t seem right to leave them all here.”
“It depends on the shape of the side trails,” Hector said. “Remember, our priority is to get ourselves and our tools over to the other side. Once we get there, we can build rafts. Now let’s get some sleep. We’ll need to be alert and refreshed for the next stage of our journey.”
“Yes,” Grandpa agreed, “try to get some sleep.”
Several hours later, as dusk descended, a crescent moon and light cloud cover spoiled their hope for complete darkness. But they all understood that staying where they were wasn’t an option. “Moonlight or not, we have to press on,” Hector told his companions.
After all the priority items were loaded in the shallops, it appeared they had enough manpower to take four boats on the crossing — ten people per vessel. Grandpa knew the trail best, so he took the lead, followed by Hector, Nola, and Jocelyne.
Three hours into the hike, with everything seemingly going according to their plan, Grandpa estimated they were well past the fort, which brought great relief to the refugees. Then, unexpectedly, three British soldiers bolted out of the forest and shouted, “Halt or we shoot!”
Everyone stopped, hearts pounding.
“Good!” the lead soldier barked. “Now hands up!” After a few of Nola’s companions hesitated, he bellowed, “Everyone!”
Waving his musket, one of the soldiers said, “We were just out for an evening hunt and look at what we found — a bunch of wild runaways.” Then, with a sinister expression, he pointed at Nola and Jocelyne. “You two, step over here. Now!”
Reluctantly, the girls obeyed this chilling command. Furtively, the soldiers whispered among themselves. It became apparent these were raw youths barely older than the fugitives themselves but scary nonetheless. After a few minutes, they stepped away brusquely and began
