Chapter XXI
The Fight at Grand Pre
On the 23d day of January, 1747, we set out from Chignecto, fourhundred tried bush fighters, white and red,--some three score of ourmen being Indians. We went on snow-shoes, for the world was buried indrifts. There was much snow that winter, with steady cold and noJanuary thaw. On the marsh the snow lay in mighty windrows; but in thewoods it was deep, deep, and smotheringly soft. The branches of firand spruce and hemlock bent to the earth beneath the white burden ofit, forming solemn aisles and noiseless fanes within. We marched incolumn. The leaders, who had the laborious task of tramping theunbroken snow, would keep their place for an hour, then fall to therear, and enjoy the grateful ease of marching in the footsteps of theirfellows. Sometimes, as our column wound along like a huge dark snake,some great branch, awakened by our laughter, would let slip its burdenupon us in a sudden avalanche. Sometimes, in crossing a hiddenwatercourse, the leading files would disappear, to be dragged forthdrenched and cursing and derided.
But there were as yet no enemies to beware of; so we marched merrily,and cheered our nights with unstinted blaze of camp fires.
On our fourth evening out from Chignecto, when we had halted about anhour, there came visitors to the camp. My ear was caught by thesentry's challenge. I went indifferently to see what the stir was allabout.
"Monsieur, we are come!" cried a glad voice which I keenly remembered;and Xavier, his face aglow in the firelight, sprang forward to grasp myhand. Behind him, standing in moveless dignity, was Big Etienne, andat his feet a light sledge, with a bundle wrapped in furs.
My heart gave a great bound of thankful joy; and I stepped forward toseize the tall warrior's hand in both of mine.
"He is well! He sleeps!" said Big Etienne, gravely. In dealing withmen, I pride myself on knowing what to say and how to say it. But atthis moment I was filled with so many emotions that words were not atmy command. Some sort of thanks I stammered to express,--but theIndian understood and interrupted me.
"You thank me moons ago, brother," he said, in an earnest voice. "Yougive me my boy. Now I give you yours. And we will not forget. That'sall."
"We will never forget, indeed, my brother," said I, fervently, andagain I clasped hands with him, thus pledging a comradeship which inmany a strait since then has stood me in good stead.
During the rest of that long mid-winter march, Philip remained in thecare of young Xavier, to whom, as well as to Big Etienne, he wasaltogether devoted; and I saw a new side of the red man's character inthe tenderness of the stern chief toward the child. For my own part Ilost no time in bidding for my share in Philip's affections. My lovewent out to the brave-eyed little fellow as if he had been the child ofmy own flesh. And moreover I was fain to win an ally who would help meto besiege his mother's heart.
Big Etienne had spoken within the mark in saying the child was well.His cheeks were dark with smoke and with forgetfulness of soap andwater; but the red blood tinged them wholesomely. His long yellow hairwas tangled, but it had the burnished resilience of health. His mouth,a bow of strength and sweetness,--his mother's mouth,--wore the scarletof clean veins; and the great sea-green eyes with which he stirred mysoul were unclouded by fear or sickness. Before our march brought usto the hills of Gaspereau, Philip had admitted me to his favour,ranking me, I think, almost as he did Xavier and Big Etienne. Morethan that I could not have dared to hope.
At sundown of the ninth of February, the seventeenth day of our marchfrom Chignecto, we halted in a fir wood only three miles from theGaspereau mouth. We lit no camp fires now, but supped cold, thoughheartily. We had been met the day before by messengers from Grand Pre,who told de Villiers the disposition of the English troops. Withincredible carelessness they were scattered throughout the settlement.About one hundred and fifty, under Colonel Noble himself, werequartered along a narrow lane, which, running at right angles to themain street, climbed the hillside at the extreme west of the village.For my own part, though de Villiers' senior in military rank, I was buta volunteer in this expedition, and served the chief as a kind ofinformal aide-de-camp and counsellor.
Together we formed the plan of attack. It was resolved that one halfour company, under de Villiers himself, should fall upon the isolatedparty in the lane and cut them to pieces. That left us but two hundredmen with whom to engage the remaining three hundred and fifty of theNew Englanders,--a daring venture, but I undertook to lead it. Iundertook by no means to defeat them, however. I knew the fine mettleof these vinegar-faced New Englanders, but I swore (and kept my oath)that I would occupy them pleasantly till de Villiers, making an end ofthe other detachment, should come to my aid and clinch the victory.
The plan of attack thus settled, I turned my attention to Philip. Nighat hand was a cottage where I was known,--where I believed the folk tobe very kindly and honest. I told Big Etienne that we would put thechild there to sleep, and after the battle take him to his mother atCanard.
"And, my brother," said I, laying my hand on his arm, and looking intohis eyes with meaning, "let Xavier stay with him, for he will be afraidamong strangers."
"Xavier must fight," replied the tall warrior. But his eyes shiftedfrom mine, and there was indecision in his voice.
"Xavier is but a boy yet, my brother," I insisted. "And this is anight attack. It is no place for an untried boy. No glory, but greatperil, for one who has not experience! For my sake bid Xavier staywith the child."
"You are right, brother. He shall stay," said the Indian.
And Xavier was not consulted. He stayed. But his was a face of soredisappointment when we left him with Philip at the cottage,--"to guardwith your life, if need be!" said I, in going. And thus gave him asense of responsibility and peril to cheer his bitter inaction.
It had been snowing all day, but lightly. After nightfall there blewup a fitful wind, now fierce, now breathless. At one moment the airwould be thick with drift, and the great blasts would buffet us in theteeth. At another, there would seem to be in all the dim-glimmeringworld no movement and no breathing but our own. It was far pastmidnight when we came upon the hill-slope overlooking Grand Previllage; and the village was asleep. Not a light was visible save inone long row of cottages at the extreme east end, close by the waterside. Thither, at our orders, the villagers had quietly withdrawnbefore midnight. The rash New England men lay sleeping, withapparently no guards set. If there were sentries, then the storm haddriven them indoors.
The great gusts swirled and roared past their windows, piling the driftmore deeply about their thresholds. If any woke, they turned perchanceluxuriously in their beds and listened to the blasts, and praised Godthat the Acadian peasants builded their houses warm. They had nothought of the ruin that drew near through the drifts and the whirlingdarkness. I have never heard that one of them was kept awake withstrange terrors, or had any prevision, or made special searching of hissoul before sleep.
It would seem as if Heaven must have forgotten them for a little. Orperhaps the saints remembered that the English were not a people totake advice kindly, or to change their plans for any sort of warningthat might seem to them irregular. But among us French, that night,there was one at least who was granted some prevision.
Just before the two columns separated, Tamin came to me and wrung myhand. He was with de Villiers' detachment. There was a certain awe, asomething of farewell, in his manner, and it moved my heart mightily.But I clapped him on the back. "No forebodings, now, my friend," saidI; "keep a good heart and your eyes wide open."
"The snow is deep to-night, Monsieur!" said he gravely, as he turnedaway.
"True," I answered; "but the apple trees are at the other end of thevillage; and who ever heard that the Black Abbe was a prophet?"
Even as I spoke my heart smote me, and I would have given much to wringthe loyal fellow's hand once more. But I feared to add to hisdepression.
My men all knew their parts before I led them from the camp. Once inthe
village, only a few whispered orders were necessary. Squad bysquad, dim forms like phantoms in the drift, filed off stealthily totheir places.
I, with two dozen others, Big Etienne at my elbow, took post about thecentre of the village, where three large houses, joined together,seemed to promise a rough bout. Then we waited. Saints, how long wewaited, as it seemed! The snow invaded us. But the apple trees weremany, and we leaned against them, gnawing our fingers, and protectingour primings with the long flaps of our coats. At last there came amusket-shot from the far-off lane, and straightway thereupon a crashingvolley, followed by a dreadful outcry--shouts and screams, and theyelling of the Indians.
Our waiting was done. We sprang forward to dash in the nearestwindows, to batter down the nearest doors. Lights gleamed. Then camecrashes of musketry from the points where I had placed my severalparties, and I knew they had found their posts. The fight once begun,there was little room for generalship in that driven and shriekingdark. I could see but what was before me. In those three houses therewere brave men, that I knew. Springing from sleep in their shirts,they seemed to wake full armed, and were already firing upon us as wetried to force our way in through the windows. The main door of thebiggest house we strove to carry with a rush, but that, too, belchedlead and fire in our faces, and we came upon a barrier of householdstuff just inside. By the light of a musket flash, I saw a huge,sour-faced fellow in his shirt, standing on the barrier, with hisgun-stock swung back. I made at him nimbly with my sword. I reachedhim, and the uplifted weapon fell somewhere harmless in the dark. Thenext moment I felt a sword point, thrusting blindly, furrow across mytemple, tearing as if it were both hot and dull, and at the sameinstant I was dragged out again into the snow. Three of us, however,as I learned afterwards, stayed on the floor within.
It was Big Etienne who had saved me. I was dizzy for a moment with mywound, the blood throbbing down in a flood; but I ordered all to fallback under the shelter of the apple trees, and keep up a steady firingupon the doors and windows. The order was passed along, and in a fewminutes the firing was steady. Then winding my kerchief tightly aboutmy temples, I bade Big Etienne knot it for me, and for the time Ithought no more of that sword-scratch.
Though my men were heavily outnumbered, the enemy could not guess howfew we were. Moreover, we had the shelter of the trees, and our firehad their windows to converge upon. We held them, therefore, with nogreat loss, except for those that fell in the first onslaught, whichwas bloody for both sides. Presently a tongue of flame shot up, and Iknew that they had set fire to one of the houses on the lane. Theshouting there, and the yelling, died away, but a scattering crackle ofmusketry continued. Then another building burst into flame. The nightgrew all one red, wavering glare. As the smoke clouds blew this wayand that, the shadows rose and fell. The squalls of drift blurredeverything; but in the lulls men stood out suddenly as simple targets,and were shot with great precision. Yet we had shelter enough, too;for every house, every barn and shed, cast a block of thick darkness onits northern side. Then men began to gather in upon the centre. Herea squad of my own fellows--yelling and cheering with triumph, if theywere Indians, quietly exultant if they were veterans--would come fromthe conquest of a cottage. There a knot of half-clad English, fleeingreluctantly and firing over their shoulders as they fled, would arrive,beat at the doors before us, and be let in hastily under our fire,leaving always some of their number on the threshold. It was like noother fight I had ever fought, for the strange confusion of it; orperhaps my wound confused me yet a little. At length a louder yelling,a sharper firing, a wilder and mightier clamour, arose in the directionof the lane. Our own firing slackened. All eyes turned to watch alittle band which, fighting furiously, was forcing its way hitherthrough a swarm of assailants. "The vinegar-faces can fight!" I cried,"but we must stop them. Come on, lads!" And with a score at my back Irushed to meet the new-comers. Rushed, did I say? But I should havesaid struggled and floundered. For, the moment we were clear of thetrampled area, and found ourselves in the open fields, the snow wentnearly to our middles. Yet we met the gallant little band, whichhaving shaken off its assailants, now fell upon us with a welcome ofmost earnest curses. Men speak of the bloody ferocity of a duel in adark room. It is nothing to the blind, blundering, reckless, snarlingrage of that struggle in the deep snow, and under that swimmingdelusive light. Having emptied my musket and my pistols, I threw themall away, and fell to playing nimbly with my sword. Big Etienne I sawclose beside me, swinging his musket by the barrel. Suddenly itsdeadly sweep missed its object. The tall warrior fell headforemost,carried off his uneasy balance by the force of the blow. Ere he couldflounder up again a foeman was upon him with uplifted sword. But witha mighty lunge, hurling myself forward from the drift that held myfeet, I reached the man's neck with my own point, and fell at his feet.He came down in a heap on top of me. His knee, as I suppose it was,struck me violently on the head. Perhaps I was already weakened bythat cut upon the temple. The noise all died suddenly away. Iremember thinking how warm the snow felt against my face. And the restof the fight was no concern of mine.
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