by Frieda Watt
The mist, now more like a fog, was quickly rolling in, obscuring the world in a swirl of white. It would be impossible for any casual lookout to spot them. They moved silently, far enough away from shore not to be observed by anyone on the beach but close enough for the vague outline of red spruce trees to guide their way.
Marie gripped the gunwales of the canoe so hard her hands were soon numb. All along the bluffs, they could see the pinpricks of fires burning from the British camps. A few times, the sound of songs sung around the fires floated out over the sea. The invisible enemy.
Pierre had ridden in a canoe many times when he was in the army. But Marie had never set foot in one, even though she’d grown up doing many things that were considered unbecoming for a woman of good birth. So the instability of the craft frightened her, and her every movement sent the vessel rocking on the water. She gritted her teeth together, trying to stay as still as possible.
Pierre saw her pose and gripped her shoulder. “You’re doing fine,” he whispered reassuringly. She turned back, eyes round with fear. He nodded in what he hoped was a comforting way and continued paddling through the black water.
Marie had no idea where they were going. She certainly hoped Pierre did. Every bit of shoreline looked exactly the same to her, and except for the faint outline of trees and fields, everything was obscured by fog. She turned around to see the fortress one last time but it was too late. The crumbling city was in darkness. They passed the lighthouse and Island Battery, now in the hands of the British.
Pierre heard a sharp intake of breath from Marie before he spotted the problem. Ahead of them, barely visible in the night air, were four drunken soldiers, wading into the water.
“Don’t move.” The command was so quiet she almost missed it.
The canoe slowly glided in the opposite direction, away from the oblivious soldiers. Pierre guided the canoe as far as he could, hoping that the camouflage of fog was enough to hide them. Marie glanced back at him, face devoid of colour. He tried to look reassuring. If the fog shifted, if any of the soldiers looked over and decided to investigate, there was nothing he could do. They were completely exposed.
It took the better part of an hour before the soldiers staggered back up the shore. But Pierre waited still, heart in his throat, unsure of when to move. He couldn’t clearly see to the shore. He cautiously began to move the canoe forward when Marie threw out a warning arm. There was still someone in the water. He waited, overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for her presence. A few minutes later, she waved him forward, the soldier now back on shore.
As they reached the shore and finally exited the canoe, Marie was so relieved that her knees gave out for a few moments. She knew the path ahead was even more treacherous, but she was grateful to be off the open, unsheltered water. Pierre knelt down beside her, and they paused for a moment in each other’s embrace, simply listening to their heart rates return to normal.
When they were out on the water, Marie had been wondering how, in the darkness and fog, they were going to find the specific spot between the two British camps that they needed to scale. Her worries seemed ridiculous now as she saw a massive rock slide of boulders, trees, and earth spilling into the water. It was no wonder the British hadn’t camped there. The earth seemed to have split, spilling its contents for all to see. It had jutted out of the fog like some massive scar in the blackness.
Grabbing their few belongings out of the canoe, Pierre began to fill the craft with rocks. Then he drew his dagger through the side of the craft and pushed it out into the water, watching as it slowly sank beneath the surface with its heavy load. He turned to Marie and smiled.
“First part done.” The moonlight reflected off his grinning teeth.
Marie grasped his hand as they crept cautiously away from the water. “Where are we going?” she whispered.
“Tonight, we need to get past the British lines. Then it should be less than a day to Baie des Espagnols.” It had taken him longer the first time he’d escaped from the island, though it would have taken much less time if the forests hadn’t been crawling with the enemy.
Marie nodded and followed silently. She was exhausted, and her shoulders ached from gripping the sides of the canoe for so long. She could only imagine how Pierre must be feeling after paddling them both.
The path was steep, and massive rocks and broken tree limbs made the climb difficult. Marie hitched her skirts above her knees and slowly crept up the landslide. She was painfully slow, unaccustomed as she was to running around the countryside. Pierre waited patiently, never complaining about her pace. He seemed to have the capacity to see in the dark, Marie thought bitterly. The tree roots and broken branches that tripped her never seemed to come under his foot.
It was an uneventful trip. Twice they had to crouch down behind a cluster of birch trees as the sound of footsteps drew near. The first time, the sound came from a clearly intoxicated British soldier relieving himself, the second time, the cause of the noise was a porcupine. Marie didn’t want another encounter with either, although Pierre had expressed a desire to eat the animal.
As dawn neared, Pierre felt it was safe enough to stop and rest. He passed a small loaf of bread to Marie and began to wander around the area in search of a place to hide. Marie bit into the crusty loaf, savouring the fluffy interior. She knew Pierre had eaten only a few berries since their departure, but he wouldn’t dream of eating any of the bread. He’d brought that for Marie.
“I think I found a cave we can sleep in,” Pierre said, reappearing. “It’s not much, but it will keep us out of sight,” he said apologetically.
Marie smiled. “I’m so tired, I think I could sleep right where I am.”
When they arrived at Pierre’s proposed sleeping spot, Marie could see that it wasn’t really a cave as much as an outcrop in the hillside. It was true, though, that no one would find them unless they were looking, and that seemed unlikely as an armed conflict was raging mere miles away. Pierre said he was fairly confident that they were a few miles from any camp. Marie followed him and crawled in.
She spread one of the only two blankets they had on the hard ground, lay down, and wrapped herself in her cloak. Pierre wiggled in beside her, draping one of the grey blankets over the mouth of the outcrop for protection. Marie saw the dagger clutched in his hand and was grateful for his protection. She thought it important to tell him so, but before she could say anything, she drifted off to sleep.
***
He awoke sometime in the late afternoon. An awful, acidic stink filled his nostrils. He looked around for Marie and then pulled himself out from under the rocky outcrop. He spotted her under a nearby sugar maple nibbling on the last loaf of bread.
“Did I wake you?” she asked as he sat beside her. It was a clear day, and the noise of the bombardment was so far away that all they could hear was the wind and birdsong.
“Actually, it was the smell.” He rubbed the stubble on his face, trying to wake up his senses.
Marie looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I woke up feeling awful. I tried to get as far away as possible before I was sick.”
Pierre dismissed it with a shrug and wrapped an arm around her. “I can’t exactly blame you, as it’s my fault you feel this way. But how are you feeling now?”
“I thought pregnant women were sick only in the morning,” she grumbled, breaking the loaf in two and passing one half to him. She insisted he eat something more filling than berries.
“Finish eating and then we have to go.”
“How much farther?”
“We’ll make it by dawn.” Pierre stood and stretched. “Can you swim?”
Marie looked startled.
“We have to cross Sea Miray.”
Marie shook her head. “Nice try. Just because I haven’t travelled as much as you doesn’t mean I’m not perfectly aware of the bridge there.”
Pierre grinned, scanning the area.
“Well, I tried.” He looked off into the distance. “The road shouldn’t b
e too far from here.”
Despite taking his father’s map and compass, he hadn’t used either of them once. When Marie asked him about directions, he pointed to the stars, and they hadn’t led them wrong so far.
Marie stood up slowly so her head wouldn’t spin.
“Do we need the road?” Marie asked.
“It’ll be easier than the undergrowth. And Father Weber’s sources said the troops are staying near the fortress, so it will be safe. Besides, it will be dark.”
Marie leaned backwards, stretching. Her body had not enjoyed its night on the rocks. The sooner they got off the island, the better. She wouldn’t admit it, but tramping through the forest was wearing her out.
By the time Pierre and Marie left the outcrop, night had fallen—another foggy one, though the fog, at least, hovered only a few feet off the ground. The half moon illuminated everything. His fear that they would be captured by British soldiers was lessening the farther inland they travelled. However, he would happily have taken some cloud cover to add to the protection of the darkness. At last, they reached the dirt road and hugged the edge, trying to stay in the safety of the shadows.
An hour into their journey, they spotted the first proof that the British invaders were not all clustered around the fortress. A small farm house lay in ruins, the remaining timber and fields scorched black from fire. Marie stood in silence for a moment, taking in the macabre sight. The few possessions that remained were scattered over the blackened ground, anything of value having been looted.
“What happened to them?” Marie asked quietly. She’d heard the stories but had never seen anything like this.
Pierre stopped reluctantly. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible. If they were near destroyed settlements, they were closer to the army than he had previously thought. “Hopefully, they made it to Louisbourg before the British came.” Pierre looked skeptical.
Marie took a step toward the house. Pierre put a hand on her arm and drew her back. “Whatever happened, it’s too late now.”
They walked in silence for a time, passing a few more burned and demolished settlements, possessions deemed of no value scattered along the fields, the carcasses of livestock butchered and festering on the ground. The British were looking for vengeance. Pierre had seen this before, the last time he’d fled from Île-Royale. The idea was to destroy the next year’s crops to prevent the population from coming back. This type of behaviour was common in Europe. Marie was seeing this all for the first time, and Pierre could tell it was affecting her.
“Is it worth this?” she asked after a time as they passed an abandoned wagon, the contents long gone.
Pierre shrugged. “Is Louisbourg worth all this destruction?” He laughed bitterly. “Is anything worth all these lives?”
Moments like this reminded her just how much time they’d spent apart. She’d learned from Nic not to ask questions about battles. Whatever information was shared was all that would be given. But more than once, she’d seen the haunted look in Pierre’s eyes and knew he had suffered in ways she would never understand.
Pierre sighed. “Since Europeans came here, there’s been nothing but blood. Fighting with the Natives, fighting between France and Britain and Holland. For what? some furs, cod, and money?”
Marie said nothing. The anger in his voice was frightening; she’d never heard it there before.
“There was a soldier from France that I served with. He was older than most of the cadets, older than me. He’d joined the army to avoid arrest. I remember him saying that Louis cared about New France only as long as there were enough furs and cod to keep his mistresses at Versailles happy.”
“You believe him, don’t you?”
“Well, that man could sell water to cod, but I think I do.” Pierre continued to watch the road for any signs of life, his hand resting on his pistol.
“That’s why you want to go to France.” Marie nodded to herself.
The massive shoulders shrugged. He knew Marie had hated the years she’d spent exiled in France, but it seemed like the safer option. “The British will be coming for Quebec next. That much is certain. Louis won’t supply the colonies well enough to defend themselves because he has his own problems. The war in Europe isn’t going well.”
The two then walked in silence along the edge of the road, trying to stay in the shelter of the trees, both wrapped in the cocoons of their own thoughts. Suddenly, Pierre threw out a warning arm. Marie glanced around, terrified. She’d heard nothing.
Pierre scanned the road and surrounding forest, searching the black terrain for some lurking creature. He stood in front of Marie, sheltering her from the unseen threat. Her eyes combed the surroundings, but she could see nothing but trees.
She felt something press against her stomach, and looking down, she discovered the packets of documents from both Father Weber and Augustus. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to slip the leather bundle into her skirt pocket. Then she saw the moonlight reflect off the edge of the compass as Pierre slipped it into her hands.
Her hazel eyes found the piercing blue. She shook her head in panic, suddenly realizing what was happening. He nodded slowly and deliberately.
She clutched the compass to her chest, aware for the first time of the tears cascading down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered.
Pierre looked away for a moment, keeping a wary eye on the edge of the trees. “You have to.” He was speaking quickly. “There’s three of them, over at the top of the hill.” Marie followed his gaze. There were indeed three Redcoats walking directly toward them, weapons raised at the ready.
“They’ve seen us. You need to run as fast as you can. Go north for a while.”
“What about … ,” she began. She couldn’t leave him now.
“I love you.” He gave her one swift, piercing look as he drew his pistol. “I’ll keep them distracted.”
“Pierre, I can’t,” she gasped, looking at the advancing soldiers. They were shouting, but Marie didn’t understand.
Pierre gripped her hand but continued to watch the soldiers. “Yes, you can.”
She shook her head and tried to hold him one last time. He gently pushed her away. “I love you.” As he turned, he gave her one last swift smile before walking to meet the enemy. She ran, pushing her way through dense forest, away from the shouts and screams. She glanced back and saw the Redcoats push Pierre to the ground, muskets pointed at his head. The soldiers were pointing at the forest, clearly interrogating him as to her whereabouts. That was the last she saw before she fled. Branches ripped at her skirts and skin, and she tripped over roots and unseen obstacles. She could feel her heart beating against her rib cage. She stopped only when the stitch in her side forced her to.
Gasping and alone, she collapsed against the trunk of a maple, vomiting and sobbing until her legs could no longer support her. Gutted, she crawled over to a group of rocks, leaned against them, and waited. If he was alive, he would come after her. She didn’t doubt that. And she encouraged herself by remembering how Pierre had fought off the three drunken privateers who had attacked her the night she broke her engagement with Jacques. Then a nasty little voice inside her head said those were drunk pirates, not trained warriors.
Her body was shaking, and she wrapped her cloak around herself. The blankets were back in the field with Pierre. She waited, the ice in her chest growing thicker with each passing hour. She stared down at the small collection she carried, stained with tears.
The moon was high in the sky before she thought of moving. She didn’t want to leave. Leaving was admitting that he wasn’t following. What would the British do to a captured French civilian? Surely, they wouldn’t think he was a soldier. But what would they do if they found out he was one? Her stomach churned unpleasantly and she was sick again.
Clearly, there were more British soldiers in the area than just the three who’d apprehended Pierre. So Marie knew she was in more danger staying here than running, and if she was captured now, it would be a t
errible way of repaying Pierre. However, her joints were stiff and unwilling to move. When she tried to stand, her knees gave out from under her. What if Pierre was already dead? She pressed her hands against her eyes, breathing deeply.
It took several attempts before she finally dragged herself off the forest floor. She had never been to this part of the island before. It was madness to keep on tramping through it now, alone in the dark, when every fibre of her being wanted to turn back.
In Marie’s mind, every sound represented an enemy soldier. Every step was one farther away from wherever Pierre was and whatever had happened. She was consumed with guilt. Guilt that she had run when he’d told her to, guilt that she’d left him, guilt that the little life inside her was now alone with only her protection. However, there was little to do now but move forward. If Pierre was alive, he would find her. If he was alive.
Marie fought back tears most of the night. Twice she had to stop to catch her breath, to remind herself to keep going. More than once she called out for him, hoping somehow he would materialize. How many times had she said goodbye to him over the years, thinking it was the last time. She felt the grip of his hand still firm against her fingers. She stared down at the too-large silver ring, glinting in the soft moonlight. She told herself that the soldiers hadn’t shot him. She had to hold on to that.
Sea Miray stretched before her, the moonlight shimmering off its rippled surface. A bridge extended across the body of water, silhouetted against the night sky. A brief wave of hysteria washed over Marie as she recalled Pierre’s earlier teasing.
She stood on the edge of the shore, debating whether it was safe to cross. There was no cover on the bridge, so if she walked across it, she would be completely exposed. Carefully, she followed the water’s edge until she reached the sturdy wooden boards jutting out of the inky blackness. She saw and heard no one but that meant nothing.
Heart pounding, she ran as fast as she could along the bridge to the other side, not stopping until she’d reached the safety of the forest there. Panting, she spotted a confused chipmunk eyeing her suspiciously. Marie laughed at the little creature and then carried on, following the edge of the road as best she could. She met no one, friend or foe. As the eastern sky slowly lightened, streaking the sky with pink and gold, she saw the cluster of houses that made up the village, settled against the clear, shimmering water of Baie des Espagnols. Fishing boats bobbed peacefully in the bay, untouched by the destruction happening just a few miles away.
