by Philip Roy
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?
Chapter Twenty
It was an old trick for sneaking up on seals and sea birds – a floating hollow log, which looked like any other floating log, yet concealed the head and shoulders of a hunter. From the knotholes in the log Two-feathers had a clear view as the bluecoats left their ship and rowed to shore in their wide-bottomed canoes. He had a good look at each man as he passed. Most looked happy to be returning but none of them was his father. Nothing about them seemed familiar to him. What could be familiar anyway in a man he had never seen before? He didn’t know; he just believed he would recognize him.
Then he did. He saw him! He was one of the leaders, just as Two-feathers had expected. He knew it was his father right away, not so much by the look of him as by his movement, the way he carried himself. Something in the way he lifted things, the way his shoulders flexed, was instinctively familiar. Yet there was something about him that was unsettling. From his secret hiding place Two-feathers stared closely at the man who was his father as he climbed into the boat. He saw on his face the look of a defeated man, not a noble e
xpression at all. It was disturbing to see.
He returned to the swamp and prepared to leave for the woods. The image of his father’s face stayed in his mind and bothered him. Into his pack he placed his fire-making stones, deerskin tunic, incense he had pummelled from flower petals, and his bear-claw necklace. As a cold autumn wind swept across the swamp, Two-feathers headed into the woods. He was wearing his new wool garment.
He walked for two days until he found a pleasant clearing at the foot of a small hill where three deer were standing. The clearing was well hidden and protected from the wind. Far from their usual path, no parties would pass this way. He reconnoitered a wide circumference and collected birch bark and thin poplar trees and constructed a teepee. Though his favourite thing to do was to track animals and hunt, he also enjoyed constructing a camp as a spiritual retreat and invoking the spirits, because they almost always came when he asked them, in his dreams, and each time they came he felt richer. Praying to the spirits took Two-feathers away from the natural world and made him more deeply a part of it at the same time.
He took his time. The more relaxed he was the better. The spirits were always more inclined to keep company with someone who was in no hurry. When his teepee was completed he collected wood for the fire. He gathered stones and made a fire pit. He collected water and went hunting for rabbits, pigeon and partridge. As night dropped early in the woods, he settled in front of the fire, roasted his game and began to chant prayers of gratitude and joyfulness. He did indeed feel joyful. Within the year he had found his father, been led to his mother’s resting place, and discovered a lovely girl. While it had not been easy, he felt that things were falling into place as they should. The time had come to ask the spirits some pointed questions.
As the smoke rose into the night and the incense turned the clearing into a holy place, Two-feathers looked up at the stars and began to chant. Firstly, he chanted thanks for all that had occurred in the past year. He thanked the spirits for answering his prayers so often and so readily. Then he explained that he was in search of answers to a few important questions.
For two nights Two-feathers slept without a single dream. He didn’t understand. Had he done something wrong? Had he displeased the spirits? He couldn’t imagine how. Then, on the third night he had a dream. He was chasing animals through the woods. There were fox, rabbits, partridge, muskrats and deer. There were owls too. They were fleeing from him frantically. Over a fallen log they went. Two-feathers stopped. “Please! I am not here to hunt you, I just wish to ask you some questions.”
The animals stopped. They raised their faces over the log, but Two-feathers couldn’t see them. They were spirits. They were invisible. “Which questions?”
Two-feathers was pleased to hear them speak. “Can you tell me if the man I found is really my father?”
“Yes. He is your father.”
“Can you tell me … is he a noble warrior?”
“He is a warrior.”
“Is he noble?”
“In his own heart he is a noble warrior, as you are in yours. But you are not the same.”
“Will we ever be the same?”
“No.”
Two-feathers spent some time considering the answer before he continued.
“Great spirits, should I approach my father?”
There was no answer. He asked again. “Should I show myself to him?”
“Do you want to show yourself to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we cannot answer your question. Only you can answer your question.”
After taking a rest and thinking over the spirits’ answers, Two-feathers continued. “Is my mother’s spirit among you?”
The deer spoke and Two-feathers could almost see her face. “Yes, I am.”
“I want to ask if you approve of the girl I have chosen.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes, I love her with all my heart.”
“Then I approve.”
“But can you tell me if she will be with me?”
“No, I cannot tell you that. You must ask her.”
“But we do not speak the same words.”
“You do not need words to ask.”
“Can you tell me, mother-spirit, if I will be happy?”
“My son. Sometimes you will be happy, and sometimes you will be sad. This is the way for everyone. You cannot change that. But you can learn to accept that, and then your sadness will lose its sting.”
Two-feathers dropped his head and nodded.
“I will try to accept this.”
When he woke, Two-feathers was pleased. He remained for another day at his retreat. Once the ground had become consecrated and the spirits had responded to his prayers, he felt reluctant to leave. Without a mother or father in his life, without siblings or friends, the spirit world had become his family and his friends. His retreats had become a kind of coming home. No longer was it the most important thing whether his father was a noble warrior or not. No longer was it necessary to learn more about him. His path did not have to be the same. His path would not be the same. This much the spirits had revealed.
But he could not stop thinking of the girl of the rainbow. She was as beautiful in living form as he imagined spirits to be in the next world. Besides, he had always been taught that a young man must be with a young woman so that their people would continue. And while it was true that they were from two different peoples, his mother’s spirit had declared that love was enough to justify any bond. There was no doubting the conviction of his love. But he couldn’t speak for her.
Returning to the swamp he skinned a rabbit, soaked it in seawater for the salt he was told bluecoats loved, then roasted it over the fire. He roasted wild garlic and apples too. He peeled the flesh from the bone, wrapped the entire meal in sea grass and fitted it into a small basket that he strapped to his back. Pulling on his woolen garment he went to see the girl of the rainbow.
Chapter Twenty-one
I hadn’t seen my ghost for some time and wondered if he had vanished with the season. The first snow was falling. Perhaps he had left for warmer places. Then, like the shadow of a shadow, I saw him. Like before, he came flying over the wall with magical speed. I thought how different he looked from the Mi’kmaq warriors I had seen on the way to Annapolis Royal. I couldn’t say how exactly, except perhaps that they were standing around in the open forest, whereas he was secretive and always in motion, like an animal or a bird. The other Natives had no reason to hide. Why did he?
I couldn’t stand still nor sit. It was too cold. There was not enough food in my belly to keep me warm. We returned from Annapolis Royal to discover insufficient food stores in the fortress. The soldiers were already under food rationing. It was so early in the season; I couldn’t imagine how we would make it through the winter. Pacing back and forth, not for duty’s sake but to keep warm, I watched him enter the fortress and drop into the courtyard below. But he took a different route than before. Curious, I turned and followed him a little. Something about him intrigued me so much. Why on earth would such a warrior climb over the fortress walls at night, in the winter too?
Inside the main courtyard he approached the Governor’s house. I fully expected him to go around it, but that is not what he did. I watched for the longest time as he crouched low, just twenty feet or so from the entrance. He appeared to be wearing a jacket. I couldn’t see it clearly. Then, when the guards went to meet their relief, he slipped into the house! I was shocked.
At first I was too caught up in the mystery of it all, too shocked by his invasion of the Governor’s house to figure out what it might mean. Was he a thief? Was he robbing the Governor’s house bit by bit? Somehow I didn’t think so. He didn’t look like a thief. All the same, now I felt that I must report him. As much as I admired him, my allegiance was to M. Angla
ise and Celestine first, and he was invading their home.
But something was nagging me. I felt like I was missing a piece of the puzzle. And then it hit me like a stone. He wasn’t going in to steal anything; he was going in to see Celestine! That was why she had asked the priest if Natives have souls. He was visiting her. They were friends. Or they were more than that. I felt a twist in my stomach. Why would she like him? Why would she like him more than me?
I didn’t yell out to the guards. Perhaps I should have. It was my duty to protect the Governor’s house. But something told me he was not a threat. All the same, I had to go in after him. At the very least I needed to know why he was going to see Celestine.
I raced down the rampart and dashed across the courtyard. I was trying to get to the door before the guards returned. To do that, I had to do the unthinkable – leave my musket on the ground. I couldn’t run fast enough with a heavy musket. So I left it at the foot of the rampart and tore across the field. Fortunately, the guards were in no hurry to return. I slipped inside the door, went down the hall and stopped to catch my breath.
It was dark inside. The candles gave only a weak light and very little moonlight was coming in. I didn’t see or hear him but strangely enough I thought I could smell him. It was the smell of roasted meat that I had smelled before from the swamp, and it was wonderful! My belly rumbled at the smell as I climbed the stairs and turned towards Celestine’s room. It was strange to be coming here in the middle of the night. It seemed such a different place, like in a dream. It felt like we were two ghosts haunting a house.
