The third soldier waved his musket menacingly as his partners quickly reloaded. “Back off or we’ll shoot again.”
Hector clutched his leg on the forest floor, and Grandpa cursed himself for not having sent scouts ahead. Nola and Jocelyne shrieked as their captors dragged them farther into the shadows. The soldiers and the girls were almost out of sight when, suddenly, a shot rang out and one of the English troops collapsed. Several boys, reacting on pure instinct, rushed to rescue Nola and Jocelyne, who struggled with their remaining captors. Assessing this new predicament, one of the soldiers panicked and dashed off. Just then a second shot rang out, and the fleeing man tumbled hard to the ground. Fiercely pummelling their final captor, the girls sensed their rescuers arrive and continued to wrestle the Englishman until he was flat on the ground.
Out of the woods came a large man dressed as an Acadian settler. “Good work, boys. Tie him up. I’ll see if the other two are dead.”
“Thank you, whoever you are,” a shaken Nola said. She and Jocelyne hugged each other tightly. “Jocelyne and I owe you our lives.”
“It’s my duty to protect all settlers from dishonourable conduct,” he said, bowing deeply. “My name’s Noel Broussard, and I’m pleased I could be of service. I used to live nearby until the British burned down my house and imprisoned me and my family. I escaped, and now I wander around shooting as many Englishmen as I can. After what they did to me, I’ve vowed to fight for my family’s freedom to the bitter end if need be.”
Leo, the boy who had been shot in the chest, was dead. Hector had a big gash in his leg and had lost a lot of blood. Grimacing with pain but alert, he feigned good health but winced as he said, “Jocelyne … Nola … I’m glad you’re safe. But we have to get moving right now. We’re much too close to the fort, and someone might have heard the shooting. Mr. Broussard, thank you for your help. What should we do with that prisoner?” “We’ll take him with us. Let’s bury your unfortunate friend and the two soldiers and get going. You’re right, young man. It’s much too dangerous to stay here.”
To cover distance more quickly, the group used the main trail for the remainder of the night. Two boys, spelling each other every half-hour, held Hector so he could hop along the trail. His wound had to be patched several times to staunch blood loss. At dawn, when Grandpa felt they were more than two-thirds across the isthmus, they stopped and set up camp well off the trail. It had been a harrowing night, and all agreed it was best to rest and put off breakfast until dark.
Hours later, just as dusk was taking hold, the still-sleepy band heard a horse clopping through the woods. Presently, the rider, a tall, well-dressed teenager, appeared. Apprehensively, the stranger asked, “What’s this? Who are you people?”
Broussard pointed his musket at the intruder. “A better question is — who are you, young man?”
“You’re rebels! Agitators and scalawags — that’s who you are! Well, we can’t have that.”
He turned his horse to leave, but Broussard stepped forward to intercede. “Step down from that animal, lad, or I’ll shoot you.”
The boy, his demeanour quickly changing from belligerence to dismay, slid off his mount, holding the reins shakily.
“We can’t have you go back to the fort and reveal our position now, can we?” Broussard said. “To you we might be rebels, but we think of ourselves as people struggling to keep land we’ve owned and worked for over a hundred years.”
Now thoroughly concerned, though still pugnacious, the boy spoke in a nervous jumble. “How is it that you have a British soldier as prisoner? What I see is that you’re a bunch of rebels. My name’s Frank, and when I was in Halifax last month, I saw your priest, Abbé Daubin, spouting all sorts of anti-British nonsense. I’m happy to say he was arrested and is in jail now.”
“I’m sure you believe you’re in the right,” Broussard said. “But these boys and girls aren’t guilty of any wrongdoing. Their priest might be, but not them. I ask you — what have these boys and girls done to deserve the brutal punishment meted out by your troops? They’ve lost their land, their way of life, and their parents. Anyway, we have a problem here, Mr. Frank. We can’t let you go back. What do you want us to do with you?”
Frank mulled over his situation. After some hesitation, he reached a decision. “I’ll tell you what. If you let me go, I’ll take an oath not to reveal your position.”
Broussard, Hector, and Grandpa considered Frank’s offer, and after much deliberation concluded that the youth appeared to be trustworthy. No one wanted to shoot him. “We’ll take your oath, lad,” Broussard said. “But don’t make us regret it.”
Frank put up his right hand. “I, Frank Lawrence, of Portsmouth, England, do hereby swear not to disclose my contact with the group of Acadians I’ve encountered on the trail today, so help me God.”
“Good enough,” Broussard said. “You may go. Be worthy of our trust, young man.”
“No!” shouted Nola. “We’ve suffered a horrible attack from this boy’s soldiers. We can’t let him go. That’s crazy.”
“I was bought up to be an honourable person,” Frank said. “When I take an oath, I honour it till death.”
Nola studied Frank skeptically. Then, gazing into his eyes, she noted his granite-hard conviction. Slowly, she felt her confidence in him grow. Perhaps he was someone who meant what he said. If he had been a soldier, she would never have believed him. “You understand that if you betray us, it would be a mortal sin?”
“I understand that, and I vow to keep my word. You can depend on my oath.”
“That’s exactly what we’ll be doing if we let you go.”
Frank and his horse were permitted to leave. He left behind a group deeply worried about whether they had made the correct judgment.
Jocelyne, her recent experience still fresh, opened several food packets with trembling fingers. A sombre Nola helped by handing out an apple to each person, including their prisoner. She prepared a pot of salted carrots, chopped turnips, cracked wheat, and leftover chicken. Because of their latest ordeal, they were afraid to light a fire, so they ate everything cold. That done they got back on the trail, fretting about what new dangers lay ahead.
Broussard had decided not join them. He would take their prisoner to what was left of his farm and have him repair his house. “I wish you all the best, but I have to go. I need to do everything I can to liberate my family. I hate to think of them suffering in jail. Remember, though, that the British are powerful, but if you’re careful and smart, I believe you can succeed. Your parents are depending on you. Good luck.”
Nola and Jocelyne were delighted to see the prisoner leave. Anger and relief flashing in her face, Nola said, “I hope Mr. Broussard works him hard. I find it difficult to forgive what he tried to do to us.”
Jocelyne shivered and nodded. “I’m glad the other two were killed. It’s awful that our Leo was slain, though.”
Early that morning they reached the coast without further incident. Hector spotted many spruce and pine trees over thirty feet high and pointed to a grove with big trunks, indicating these would be ideal for building rafts. “Smaller logs would be dangerous if we get caught in a storm.” Consulting with Grandpa, he chose which trees to cut and scoped out a trail to haul them to the shore.
The
