Blood Brothers in Louisbourg (10 page)

Chapter Eighteen

T
he warmth of summer faded like a fire going out. It became wet, windy and cold. The troughs that cut through the swamp lost what little dryness they had gained over the summer and became shallow streams of water and mud. But inside Two-feathers' tunnels he was able to stay mostly dry. This was the muskrat world – damp, slippery passages of mud between dens, and a dark, recessed cave in which to dry out.

The wet mud was a challenge for Two-feathers, especially as the weather turned colder. In fact, this combination of wetness, cold and wind was a scourge to all furless creatures. In some ways the winter was easier because, though it was colder, it was drier as a rule, and the ground was frozen. Autumn in the swamp, with its incessant rain, was a miserable time.

But Two-feathers had created a refuge of dryness, and he thanked the muskrat spirit many times for showing him how to live in the swamp properly. The tunnel floors, which would have become impassably slippery with the water he carried in himself, he lined with branches and birch bark. Inside each entrance he kept sticks for scraping off the mud that collected on his arms and legs.

Fire making became much more difficult in the rain and rising troughs. He reserved one den just for this purpose. It was intentionally unconnected to the tunnel system so that, should it ever be discovered, it would not lead his enemies anywhere. At the opening of this den he constructed an elaborate fire and canopy system made out of logs, stones, boughs and bark. The fires were built on an elevated platform, above the running water but below the swamp surface, and the smoke rose and spread out thinly, so as not to be seen from the distance. He only lit fires at night, when the smoke would be invisible.

In the flickering light of a late-night fire, while the rain beat down outside, Two-feathers sat comfortably in his fire-den entrance and began to fashion two necklaces from the bear's claws. The one with the largest claws he made for himself. The smaller one he made for the girl of the rainbow. He didn't intend to visit her until his wounds had healed more. His chest looked like the troughs that cut through the swamp, and he didn't want to frighten her.

Cutting thin strips of leather from the bear's skin he punctured holes in the claws with the point of a sharpened stone, smoothed them by rubbing them with soft stone, then fitted the leather through. In between he added coloured stones that he had been collecting for years. When they were done, the necklaces would sing the bear's praises, telling of its courage and generosity. And they would be beautiful.

He also wanted to wait because he was sore and feared that the strenuous work of climbing in and around the bluecoats' village would open his wounds again. So for several more days he sat and rested comfortably in his den, fashioning the necklaces and sewing his winter coat and leggings while the rain came down and the wind blew in from the sea.

The day he decided to see her he went for a swim in the ocean. The water was very cold but good for his wounds, and he wanted to wash the smell of mud from his body. He washed his hair, cleaned his nails, filed them with a stone, and rubbed the spruce gum from his hands. Smelling like the woods, not the swamp, he hung both necklaces around his neck and went to see her.

Getting inside the leader's house was easier than before. The guards had loosened their attention and become less careful. Two-feathers
felt a change in the energy of the village, though he didn't know why. It was mid autumn; the air was colder, the days shorter. But it wasn't that. Many soldiers were away. They had left on the ship that must also have carried his father. But it wasn't that either. As he watched the guard leave his post at the leader's door – it was guarded by only one soldier now – and move quickly to meet his relief and gobble up a piece of bread handed to him, Two-feathers realized what it was. The soldiers were hungry. The village was hungry. The season of plenty had passed and they were not prepared for the winter. He thought of all the redcoats being kept prisoner, who needed to be fed; it wasn't hard to understand why there was a shortage of food. To run out so early in the season meant the winter would be very harsh indeed. Many people would die, especially the young and the old. And while this was nature's way – it held no favourites – he had expected the bluecoats to know better and be better prepared. He already considered the size of their village foolish. The spirits would never bless such a gathering of people in one area for so long. The animals, trees and plants would disappear, as indeed they had. Why didn't the bluecoats know this? They should have known this. He questioned their ability to survive in this land. While they appeared to try hard in some ways, they did not appear to have the wisdom required for survival here.

He went upstairs and passed the snoring leader. The rooms were so big and empty and it amazed him to see them again. He picked up the scent of flowers in the air and knew the girl of the rainbow was there. He entered the room where he had found her before and there she was, curled up in bed. Again she reminded him of his mother. Her hair lay across her shoulders as she slept. He liked her hair down. It looked more natural to him. He spotted the blue stone around her neck. She was wearing it. That pleased him. He was glad he had given it to her. Her face in sleep was a child's face, so different from how it was when she was awake, and he wondered if she had been forced to grow up too quickly, as many children were, as he had been. And yet, though she was about the same age as him, there was something about her that seemed older too, something that showed only when she was awake. She carried a wisdom that was foreign to him. He didn't know what it was but suspected maybe it was natural only to women. He believed his mother would have had it. He admired it.

He didn't want to wake her but didn't want to hurry away either. Gently, he sat on the bed and watched her sleep. Her face twisted into a frown suddenly, then relaxed. Her brow would furrow, then spread evenly again. Her sleep was filled with dreams, difficult ones. And then, she woke. She sat up quickly, saw him and was startled. Her forehead showed her anxiety. But as the dream trailed away, her face softened, she beamed and threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He was startled too and didn't know what to do. Her squeeze pressed his wounds and he winced. She pulled back, alarmed, staring questioningly into his eyes. He smiled to reassure her. She saw the bear-claw necklaces around his neck and her eyes opened wider. Touching them, she questioned him again with her eyes. He raised the smaller one over his head and gave it to her. She took it gracefully then raised the blue pendant in her hand to show him she was wearing it. She held it over her heart and smiled. Then she got up from the bed, went to her armoire and pulled a large wool frock from it. She carried it over and handed it to him.

“I made this for you,” she said. “It's for the winter.”

It was the first time she had spoken to him. Two-feathers smiled and held up the heavy wool top. He stared at it and pinched the sheep's wool between his fingers with fascination. She had dyed the wool a smoky grey, a perfect colour for coming and going at night. Gently, she raised his arms and fitted the garment over him. Her face brightened into a smile of deep satisfaction. It was a good fit. Two-feathers stood up and felt the warmth of the tunic. He was very pleased; it was a wonderful present. He felt honoured that she had taken the time to make such a gift for him. With gestures he asked if she had enough to eat. She tilted her head to one side – sort of. He gestured that he would hunt and bring her food. Would she like that? She smiled. He was pleased. He sensed what she really meant was that she would like to see him again.

Carefully, Two-feathers slipped out of the house before the sun. He returned to the swamp with something heavy on his mind. He wondered if his mother would have approved of this girl. He wished he could have asked her. Surely she would have, such a beautiful girl, so skilled with her hands, so expressive with her voice and her eyes. And yet, she was from a distant land and a distant people, as was his father. How he wished he could have asked her. It was also a matter of respect, a respect he wished to show his mother right now at this important time in his life, when there was no longer just one woman in his heart.

Chapter Nineteen

T
he English knew we were coming long before we arrived. That was no surprise to me. We couldn't attack anyway. We had picked up only a dozen settlers along our way, to my father's profound disappointment. Our allies, however, the Mi'kmaq, came out in force, more than doubling our strength. I was amazed to see such a display of strong, able warriors. They looked very noble indeed and didn't strike me as savage at all, at least not in the wilds of the New World, where they fitted in just like the deer and fox. A Mi'kmaq warrior on the streets of Paris would look savage, no doubt. On the other hand, a Parisian merchant would look ridiculous over here.

The largest part of our force was yet to come in ships from Louisbourg, with soldiers, cannon and supplies. Without those ships we would have made a pathetic spectacle storming the fortress, which the English had reinforced in anticipation of our surprise attack. So we pitched camp up shore and waited for the ships that were due at any moment.

The wait turned into days, and the days, painfully, into weeks, but no ships ever came. I think our allies, the Mi'kmaq, lost respect for us then. We were too weak to make a proper attack. At one point, in a desperate effort, we gathered together and stood on a hill in full sight of the English, just to let them know we were there or, as my father unrealistically hoped, to intimidate them into surrendering. I think that intimidation lasted for about half an hour, after which, when they realized we were not actually attacking them, they stopped taking us seriously and taunted and insulted us from the walls of their fort. The idea that our enemy would not take us seriously seemed to humiliate my father and drive him to despair. I'm sure he would have preferred to attack anyway. But we would have lost badly. Without reinforcements, supplies and artillery, we were forced to retreat with our tails between our legs. I had never seen a man so dejected as my father then became. I couldn't help but feel sorry him. But every time I did, I remembered him throwing my violoncello into the sea and my sympathy was short-lived. It was a long, wet walk back across the peninsula to our ship, and a very sour sail back to the great fortress of Louisbourg.

I couldn't say I was delighted to return, but I was happy to catch up on my letters to my mother and I was looking forward to seeing Celestine again and playing the violoncello. We had become friends. We were about the same age and were both stuck somewhere we didn't want to be and were just trying to survive it. Music helped us to do that.

The day after we returned I went to the Governor's residence and learned that the Governor had died. That didn't altogether surprise me. He had been sickly for a long time. M. Anglaise had left word with the maid for me to wait for him. I sat in the drawing room and waited for quite a while. M. Anglaise was meeting with Monsieur Duchambon, the acting Governor, and the officers from the expedition to Annapolis Royal. There was a lot of frustration over why no ships had been sent to help us. The officers were upset, my father chief among them. I wished I could have heard the conversation that was taking place.

M. Anglaise was flushed when he returned. He motioned for me to sit down and wait a little longer. He needed a few moments to collect himself. He had the maid bring me a cup of tea and a piece of cake. I was thrilled. I hadn't eaten cake in ages.

M. Anglaise came back into the room, stared at me a bit strangely, took a deep breath and sighed.

“Well, Jacques. You and your father are not cut from the same cloth. I guess you know that well enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did they think we could leave the fortress unprotected, with privateers offshore?”

I shook my head as a way of agreeing. He stared out the window. “They're out there right now, just waiting for a chance to strike.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And we're getting hungry. We've got a hundred men locked up, Jacques. We have to let them go or they'll starve, and we'll starve. And where do you suppose they'll go?”

“Where, sir?”

“To join the forces that will invade us. That's the nature of war, Jacques. There is nothing personal about it. They're good men, many of them. I've met them before. This is nothing personal. Here's a good political lesson for you, Jacques. Why do you suppose we are here?”

“Here, sir?”

“Yes, here in Louisbourg, the French. Why do you suppose we maintain a presence here?”

“To defend the King, sir?”

He laughed. “No.”

“To … extend French sovereignty, sir?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh. To spread the Catholic faith, sir?”

“No, not at all. We're here, Jacques, for the fish, foe the furs.”

“Sir?”

“We're here for the fish and for the furs, but mostly for the fish. It's commerce, Jacques. We're here for the money. Beneath the surface of political intention you will always discover the deeper, colder current of commerce.”

I stared at the floor. My understanding of commerce was about as good as my wrestling skills.

“Now, the forces that will come after us, Jacques, who do you suppose they will be?”

“The English, of course, sir.”

“Well, it might surprise you to know that the English will form only a small part of the enemy that will attack this fortress.”

“But …”

“It will be the colonists, Jacques. The colonists of New England, Virginia and the Carolinas. The colonists are landholders. They are the ones who have poured their blood, sweat and tears into the soil of the New World, and so they are the ones who are determined to defend it. They will defend it to the death. We are just here to make a profit, Jacques. They are here to live and provide for their children and their grandchildren.”

“But … why would they come all the way up here to attack us, sir?”

“Because they think we are a threat. The English have convinced them of that. Many of those colonists have been here themselves on trading missions. They've seen what we have and how we defend ourselves. Our officers believe we sit inside an impenetrable defence system, but between you and me, Jacques, I worry that we might be a sitting duck.”

He looked at me with a mix of worry and profound resignation. His words made me worry too for a moment, but it passed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah, well, they will not attack tonight, I suppose.” He smiled. “I believe there is a young lady upstairs very anxious for her lesson.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Jacques?”

“Sir?”

“Food is growing scarce. Are they feeding you soldiers enough?”

“I'm getting by, sir. Thank you.”

He nodded contemplatively. I bowed and hurried upstairs.

Celestine was practising when I came to the door. It surprised me how happy I was to see her. I had missed her. She looked and smelled wonderful after my sojourn in the woods in the company of sweaty soldiers. I wondered if she had missed me. She was playing a minuet from Rameau, the great French composer, and it sounded surprisingly good. She had improved while I was away. I was envious. She stopped playing when the maid announced me.

“Jacques! Please come in. Oh, I am so glad to see you. I am so glad you are still alive.”

“So am I. Your playing is improving greatly. It sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, you are so kind. You're flattering me.”

“I'm not. Really, I'm not.”

“I'm dying to hear you play again. Will you play for me?”

I was so glad she asked. “I would love to.”

As Celestine stood up and pulled the violoncello to the side I saw a turquoise pendant dangling from her neck that I had never noticed before. It looked familiar. I didn't want to stare but could hardly take my eyes from it.

“Oh. You noticed my new necklace. Isn't it lovely? A friend gave it to me.”

She touched the pendant affectionately with her fingers. I stared more closely.

“Do you want to see it?”

She stepped closer and held it out from her neck. I leaned over and examined it. It was identical to the stone on my mother's ring. I was sure it was her lost pendant; I was sure of it.

“What is it, Jacques? You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

“Ahhh … I'm sorry. It's lovely. Where did you get it?”

“A friend gave it to me.”

“A friend?”

She smiled awkwardly. “Not someone you would know.”

She seemed defensive and was staring at me suspiciously. I was squirming with curiosity, but proper etiquette forbade me to ask anything more. I started to play and tried to lose myself in the music but didn't succeed entirely. I was distracted. Celestine was wearing my mother's pendant. I was certain of it. How on earth had she come by it?