Blood Brothers in Louisbourg (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

T
he redcoats were hardly redcoats at all. Most of them did not look much like warriors. But they were strong and very determined. Two-feathers was impressed with their energy. He watched them unload the heavy fire-weapons from their ships and drag them across the beach and into the woods. There was something almost bear-like about them – slow and lumbering for the most part, then suddenly quick and cunning. He saw one particular element in them that distinguished them from the bluecoats right away: they were sharply focused on their objective. This element brought them together into a collective energy, and the energy made them dangerous. As he watched them force the heavy weapons across the difficult sand, over rocks and tree stumps and depressions in the land, he knew the bluecoats were in trouble. He had never seen this kind of determination among their people.

He watched until he had all the information he needed, then crossed the swamp to the fortress. But he quickly realized by the frenzied activity inside that the bluecoats already knew of their invaders. There was no need for him to warn them. Now was a time to rest. In the morning the redcoats would waste no time approaching the swamp. He wanted to be rested and ready for what he had been preparing for all summer and fall – to maintain an invisible presence in the field of battle.

In the morning, just as he had expected, the redcoats reconnoitered the swamp, without approaching the fortress. Two-feathers watched as a few quick-footed soldiers ran from bush to tree near the sparsely treed edge of the swamp. He knew it would take them several days to bring their heavy fire weapons to the swamp, so difficult was it to move them. The more he watched them the more certain he felt the bluecoats were going to suffer a terrible destruction.

In the afternoon he saw a contingent of bluecoats come out of the fortress and step onto the swamp. It was a rather small group. He wondered why they did not come out in force right away and attack the redcoats before they had time to entrench their position. And then he saw his father at the head of the contingent and Two-feathers was pleased. It was the first time he had ever felt any connection to his father. Here, now, they were on the same battlefield. Not only that, but in his father's face he no longer saw the look of a defeated man. Now he saw a warrior's scowl and a warrior's courage. Two-feathers was thrilled. For a moment he thought he might come up onto the field himself and go into battle alongside his father. But his father would not know who he was, nor likely believe him if he tried to explain, which would have been nearly impossible anyway. Besides, the bluecoats were already marching towards their enemy. There was no time for conversation.

Beneath the ground the bluecoats trod, Two-feathers kept pace with them as well as he could, until his tunnel system ended and he could go no further. Crouched inside one of his subterranean lookouts, he watched as a line of redcoats formed at the tree line, then moved forward to meet the advancing bluecoats.

It was a strange battle to witness. Neither side moved quickly. Everything took place slowly, with similar movements on both sides, as if there were some agreement between them as to how they would kill each other. Two-feathers watched his father especially, noting that every action of his was made with certainty and conviction, without a trace of fear or doubt. He felt proud.

The bluecoats fired their weapons first. The redcoats did not bother to take cover. What kind of fighting was this? Why would they stand open in front of each other's weapons? Now he knew that his father would have to leave himself open to their weapons because they had done so to his. Anything else would be dishonourable. Peering intensely through the lookout hole, never blinking, Two-feathers watched as smoke rose above the redcoats' weapons and his father fell to the ground.

The sight of it tore his heart. Pain gushed into it until it throbbed. He had no idea why he should feel this way. The warrior who was his father was a stranger to him. And yet, in the moment of his battle and death, Two-feathers felt as if they had become one. For one brief moment he carried knowledge of his father, and then he was gone.

Both sides continued to shoot each other for a while, but the redcoats soon took the advantage, as Two-feathers knew they would, and the bluecoats lost courage and ran back behind their walls.

Darkness fell. No one came to take the fallen bluecoats from the field. One young bluecoat stayed behind, ran to Two-feathers' father to check if he was dead, then ran back to the fortress when the redcoats shot at him. The bluecoats on the field died where they fell. Two-feathers did not think much of this sort of fighting. He could not see the sense in it. But he was proud of his father, and he would now treat him with the honour and respect that he deserved and that the spirits expected. It would be a privilege for Two-feathers to do this.

Racing back to his den, he began to construct a stretcher with which to carry his father's body away. Working feverishly hard, he wove a bed of reeds and branches between two poles and fastened bear-leather strips for tying the body down. In the darkness of night he crossed to the field where the body lay, pulled it onto the stretcher, tied it securely and dragged it away. He went across the swamp towards the woods. It was very hard work but he was glad to be doing it. Once he reached the shelter of the woods he took periodic rests. He followed a route he had taken many times before for hunting. He pulled the body all through the night and into the next day, resting only when he had to. He pulled it until he reached a gully by a river on the far side of a hill. There he constructed a teepee and a funeral pyre, all the while chanting prayers to the spirits. It would be the most important ceremony of his life, the burning of his father's body.

When the pyre was ready, Two-feathers lit the wood beneath it. The fire grew slowly because the wood was wet. It didn't matter. Eventually the flames would grow hot enough to consume everything within their grasp. As the smoke rose into the night sky he sat in front of his teepee and prayed. It was a bittersweet feeling watching the sparks float into the sky like fireflies. No longer did he have a parent living on this earth. His search was over. His childhood hopes of uniting with his father were over. But the unknowing was over too. Now there was just himself. It was now that he felt fully a man. Life was about acceptance. He felt this more than ever. Sometimes he would get what he wanted, and sometimes he wouldn't. His happiness, as his mother's spirit had told him, was in his acceptance of what did come. Neither should he despair when things were difficult, nor grow too confident when they were easy. Because they would change. Always, there would be change.

The fire burned through the night. In the morning he gathered the bones and carried them into the ice-filled river, laid them down and surrounded them with heavy stones. Then he returned to the teepee, constructed a bed of spruce boughs and went to sleep.

When night came once again he returned to the swamp. A quick investigation revealed that the redcoats had moved their cannon a little closer. The bluecoats were staying inside their walls, trusting in its fortifications. Two-feathers would go to the girl of the rainbow now and insist she leave with him. She was no longer safe.

Chapter Twenty-seven

M
y wound was not serious. The biggest threat was infection, and so the wound had to be cleaned thoroughly. I pulled a piece of shot out of my foot myself. Celestine helped me with the smaller pieces. I stared at my mother's pendant as she attended to my foot. It was more painful now because the skin had swollen. But Celestine was very careful and a lot gentler than any of the soldiers would have been – perhaps better than the surgeon would have. She cried the whole time. She cried for me losing my father. Losing her mother was the worst thing that had ever happened to her, she said. I felt that I ought to have cried too, but I couldn't really, maybe because she was crying so much.

But I was still in shock. Watching my father fall didn't seem real. Looking into his eyes and seeing him die didn't seem real. Nothing seemed real. But it was. I didn't feel that I loved my father and didn't feel that I didn't. I didn't know what I felt. I needed time to think about it. We had never formed a bond. He had always been disappointed in me. But now that he was gone, his disappointment didn't seem to matter anymore. I felt sorry for him dying like that, even though I knew it was the kind of death he had wanted. He had said so, many times. But I was sorry he was gone and that we would never have the chance to form a better relationship. Now it was too late. And I was sorry for my mother. I did not want to bring her this news. I would have to carry it for such a long time before I could give it to her, because I could not seem to bring myself to write it out for her in a letter.

Celestine sobbed as she pulled the tiny fragments from my foot, apologizing every time I winced. She cried enough for both of us.

“My father says that ships are on their way from France with reinforcements,” she said between sobs. “Do you think they'll arrive in time?”

“Certainly. Besides, there is nothing the English can do. This is the strongest fortification in the New World.”

I didn't really believe that, but I wanted her to feel better.

“I know. It's just that … soldiers have died already. I just wish everybody would stay inside now until the reinforcements come and chase the enemy away.”

“Well, I think that is the plan.”

“I know. That's what father says.”

She was distressed. I sensed she was thinking of something else, or someone else. Finally, it came out. “Jacques?”

“Yes?”

“Do you believe the Natives have souls?”

“Of course they do. Just the same as us.”

“Even if they don't believe the same things?”

“
We
don't all believe the same things.”

“That's true. The other day I heard a man say that the English are evil. Do you think they are?”

“Not at all. I have friends who are English. And they are wonderful. You would really like them.”

“Even when they killed your father?”

“My father chose to die like that.”

“What do you mean? That's mad! Your father never chose to die.”

“No, but he chose to fight. He stood up in front of their muskets and waited for them to shoot him. I saw it with my own eyes.”

She looked at me with horror. “Your father was a hero. He gave his life trying to protect us.”

“I know. It's just that he believed in fighting. He was proud to die like that.”

Celestine dropped her head and continued cleaning my wound and sobbing. I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I could feel the divide between us and I was in no mood to try to bridge it. “Thank you for cleaning my wound.”

“You're welcome,” she said tearfully. “Could you please see my father before you leave? He wants to talk with you.”

“Yes. Of course.”

I limped downstairs. M. Anglaise was wearing an expression of profound sympathy.

“Your father was a courageous man, Jacques. We are forever in his debt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He died for what he believed in. But it is our loss.”

“Yes, sir.”

He was about to say something else, then changed his mind.

“Jacques. We outnumber the English. They are a bunch of farmers and fishermen, just as I had predicted. They also have a naval contingent. And they appear to have it in their minds to haul their cannon across the swamp and lay siege to the fortress.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is a fool's plan, I think. Nevertheless, should they ever get their cannon within striking range of the fortress we will suffer much loss of life.”

I nodded.

“Now, we are expecting ships from France any day, with more soldiers and supplies. When they arrive, we will make a concerted attack against this invasion and send them fleeing back to their farms and villages in New England.”

“Of course we will, sir.”

“All the same, Jacques, I want to share a private word with you.”

He stepped closer to me and softened his voice as if there were someone else listening. There wasn't.

“Should the winds of fortune favour the English and they manage to miraculously defeat us …”

“But …”

“No. Hear me out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Should they defeat us here in this dismal, forsaken place, then, by the etiquette of war they will promptly return me and my family to France. Heaven help the common people of this town, but they will escort me and my family in a fashion befitting my station in society. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want you to understand that I hereby consider you as my own son. Is this agreeable to you?”

I was speechless. He reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. “Do you find this arrangement acceptable, Jacques?”

“I … I don't know what to say, sir.”

“Then say yes, Jacques. Say yes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We needn't speak of it again. Should the unthinkable occur, I will inform the invading officers who the members of my family are.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No. Thank
you
, Jacques. Thank you and your father from the bottom of my heart.”

M. Anglaise turned towards the window. I started to go.

“Jacques?”

“Sir?”

“You are hereby relieved of your military duties.”

“Are you certain, sir? We are under attack.”

“More than certain, Jacques. Louisbourg's fate will not rest upon the shoulders of one soldier more or less. France, on the other hand, is in desperate need of enlightened men. Nurse your wounds, Jacques, in your foot and in your heart.”

“Yes, sir.”