The Displaced

by Frieda Watt

  “It’s a big house,” Marie explained. “I just stay out of his way as much as possible.”

  Pierre shook his head in exasperation. “You can come live with my father and me if it gets to be too much. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Marie knew he was joking, but she detected a small grain of truth underneath the humour.

  “Last year, my Uncle Joseph wrote to offer his place to either Nic or me if we ever want to visit Quebec. He does that every few years, as if he knows this isn’t the happiest place. He’s not at his home very often, as he’s usually the first person to be sent somewhere for a thankless military errand because he has no family. Sometimes I wish I’d taken him up on the offer.”

  Pierre was quiet for a moment. “Has Claude ever hit you?”

  Marie shook her head, her long braid swinging down her back. “No, only Nic. And usually Nic would have said something beforehand to get him going.”

  “Well, I’m glad you stayed. But if you ever need me to clock Claude in the head, I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”

  Pierre stayed for a few hours. His father was aware of where he was and was willing to part with him for that time. Madame Badeau put him to work chopping firewood and fixing one of the kitchen shelves. He didn’t seem to mind helping out, and he was rewarded with a steaming bowl of thin onion soup for supper.

  Anxious as always, Annette stayed by the window of the sitting room, keeping a watchful eye out for her husband, even though he wasn’t due back until nightfall. She didn’t relax until Pierre had finally left.

  ***

  Epiphany came, but no one dared enter the Governor’s Chapel to celebrate the occasion. People met elsewhere, cowering together in sitting rooms. Annette refused to leave the house, and she forbade Marie from leaving as well. To make up for her lack of external piety, Annette fasted for two days. Marie went along with it only to stop her aunt from complaining. Annette’s nervosity and headaches were never helped by fasts.

  As the winter progressed, the disorder in Louisbourg was replaced by an uneasy truce. The mutineers still continued to control the fortress, but François Bigot’s tact seemed to be defusing the aggression. That and the officers’ refusal to give any orders. Very slowly, life began to return to normal.

  As February approached, Marie was still waiting for Nic to come home, even for a short visit. He’d sent a few notes saying he was fine regardless of the unrest, and Annette treated the hastily scribbled notes as if they were manna from heaven. But they did little to calm Marie’s nerves. Marie was also terrified for Elise and her mother. Being so closely related to so many officers made them prime targets for the garrison’s anger.

  Marie refused to speak to Claude, mostly because of what he’d said about hoping Nic would be shot if he was part of the revolt, but Claude didn’t even notice. While the disturbance to civilians was decreasing, the government was still struggling to end the mutiny. Behind the scenes, the ground was also being laid to eventually bring the leaders of the mutiny to justice.

  Marie left home only a handful of times, always accompanied by Ferdinand, and never after dark.

  The ecclesiastical leaders did what they could to denounce the actions of the garrison, but with the garrison outnumbering the inhabitants, they went only so far for fear of bringing violence upon themselves.

  Then one blustery day in February, Pierre arrived at the front door. When Marie let him in, he announced that he was taking her to see Nic, something he had heretofore refused to do.

  “Why now?” Marie asked as she put on her grey cloak. She had begged him to take her to see Nic every time Pierre saw him. She was beginning to get angry at both of them.

  “Things have finally calmed down enough.” He held her hand to keep from slipping on the hard snow of the road. The truth was that the cadets were calming down and no longer abusing the officers. However, Nic didn’t want Marie travelling the city unless he could count on her returning home whole. The women who had been unlucky enough to be caught outside at the beginning of the mutiny had suffered more than anyone else. Nic finally felt safe having Marie leave home for a short while. However, Pierre wasn’t going to let Marie know that. As always in the middle of winter, the city seemed to be encased under several layers of ice. In the middle of the streets, the snow was tightly compacted from the traffic of so many months, with dirt showing through in the busiest areas. Fires were lit at street corners, offering some comfort to those who had to be out. Horses draped in wool blankets pulled sleds, transporting people or provisions. Except for a few soldiers standing menacingly in the background, life seemed to have returned to something like normal, even if the tension was still palpable.

  Pierre and Marie moved quickly, the frozen ground crunching under their boots. The muscular young man kept a protective arm around his charge, his right hand resting on the dagger in his belt. His hypervigilance made Marie more nervous, but she couldn’t imagine anyone giving Pierre trouble—not with his bulk and the soldier’s blue coat he was still wearing as a disguise.

  Nic met them just outside the Dauphin’s Gate under the dark shadow of the ramparts.

  There was a tavern not far from the walls, frequented by the armed forces. It was a rough place even in the best of times. That’s why Nic was standing outside that building. He didn’t trust that they’d be safe if they went in.

  It was a tearful reunion. Nic was remarkably thinner than Marie had ever seen him, with dark bags under his eyes, but he seemed whole otherwise. As a junior officer, there was little he could do in the present situation except try to keep his head down. He could understand why the soldiers were furious, although he didn’t think that justified their committing treason against their King. He told Marie that his superiors were the ones getting harassed by the mutineers the most but that he was being ordered around like the rest of the officers. He said nothing about being starved and sleep deprived. There was no point in making Marie more upset. Nic did say he was worried about what the British would do in the spring, though he was more optimistic now that the daily routine of life was beginning again.

  Marie didn’t want to leave Nic, but after a few minutes, he insisted on getting back to the King’s Bastion before anyone noticed he was missing. He didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to molest her. He promised to send word as often as he could, but the infrequency of his earlier messages didn’t reassure Marie very much.

  Pierre hustled Marie home quickly after Nic and Marie had said their goodbyes. He said nothing until they reached the house.

  “It’ll work out,” he promised gently as he dropped her off in the snow-filled back garden. “The river won’t stay frozen forever. Help will come when the ice breaks up.”

  “That’s still months away,” Marie pointed out. Ships wouldn’t come until April.

  Pierre nodded. The British were coming, and the garrison was furious and refusing to fight. Even if help came from Quebec or Montreal, what would that accomplish? The situation was bleak.

  Louisbourg had never before felt so far away from civilization. There was no help for them while the winter reigned, and for the first time, Marie realized just how dependent they were on the rest of the world.

  ***

  The spring of 1745 came slowly, with rain and fog engulfing the island. Some days, the fog was so thick the beam of the lighthouse was no more than a bright smudge against the gloom. Fortunately, whatever feelings motivated the soldiers to begin the mutiny had begun to dwindle. The military hierarchy still lay in ruins, but the fear that had gripped the city was melting with the snow.

  Though the Saint-Laurent River was thawing and the ferocious ocean storms of winter had subsided, no ships were entering the harbour yet. The threat of the British navy’s blockade was still enough to keep even the bravest captains from making the voyage. Even the fishing grounds were heavily patrolled after the attack at Canso in the previous spring. Marie had heard no news from Quebec. The government there knew of Louisbourg’s precarious position, but w
hatever the capital might be doing about the situation, they weren’t sending reinforcements.

  Then, at the beginning of May, a group of Mi’kmaq travelling from the south of the island reported that British ships had been seen heading for Île-Royale. Governor Duchambon had kept that information as private as possible, but now that the news had trickled out, it quickly became part of the word on the street.

  Claude blamed the mutineers for trying to incite a panic, but privately Marie felt they were just as afraid of a British attack as everyone else. With no assistance coming from either Quebec or France, the fortress would be completely on its own. The raid on the Canso Islands may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, with a British fleet bent on revenge staring them in the face, it seemed foolhardy at best.

  On the morning of May 8th, Marie sat in the garden trying unsuccessfully to win the war against the weeds that were snaking their way through the vegetable beds. The grubs seemed to have got the message that this garden was not a friendly one and had not returned, but the weeds had appeared again, just as they always did. Elise sat next to Marie, planting potatoes. Elise wasn’t very good at keeping anything alive, so Marie often helped her with the Sarrazins’ garden. In return, Elise did routine gardening jobs for Marie that were difficult to mess up.

  Marie hadn’t seen much of Elise during the height of the mutiny. She and her mother had kept a low profile, staying indoors as much as possible. Even the bakery business had been closed so as not to draw attention to the family. Luckily, while the soldiers took issue with her father the Lieutenant, Elise and her mother had not been harassed. This was partly because they’d spent most of the time at Elise’s cousin Diane’s house. Though it was safer there than in their own home, Diane had numerous siblings, and the role of chief childminder had fallen to Elise. With so many little people running around, she often wondered if it would have been better to take her chances at her own house.

  As Marie sat focused on her labours, listening to Elise complain about the inability of toddlers to cooperate, a cry rang out somewhere along the harbour wall. It was answered by another and then another. Fearing another mutiny, the girls sprang up and ran to the fence to see what was happening. Unlike the last mutiny, a great deal of activity was going on in and around the fort: people were riding horses, gardening, drying laundry. But all were now in the same position as Marie and Elise, looking toward the sounds.

  The shout came again—except this time, Marie and Elise could hear exactly what was being said: “The British!” The words seemed to ripple through the air as people heard and then understood. Surely, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

  Throwing open the garden gate, Marie ran down the street, skirts held above her knees, dodging puddles and pedestrians alike. She could hear Elise behind her, struggling to keep up.

  A crowd was gathering along the docks, pushing and straining to see for themselves. Only six months had passed since the mutiny had started, and now the enemy was at the gates. After several minutes of elbowing, Marie and Elise made it to the front of the pack.

  Marie had never seen such a sight in her life. She had seen a handful of warships from time to time, since a few were still stationed in the harbour. But now, ninety British warships were floating silently outside the harbour entrance. On each ship, three levels of cannons rose above the water, three masts stood taller than any tree, and at the end of each mast, there was the blue and red flag of Britain—not the white flag of the French colonies.

  Even if the garrison fell into line and tried to protect them, it was obvious that they were doomed. French soldiers were scampering around the thirty mounted cannons that made up the Island Battery. The Royal Battery and lighthouse were the only other protection the harbour had, but everyone knew that the ammunition for every cannon was in low supply.

  Elise grabbed Marie’s hand and squeezed it. “What are we going to do?”

  Marie shook her head, her mouth open in horrified amazement. Louisbourg was prepared for a sea battle, but as she looked at the British floating army, she suddenly realized how small and vulnerable the French navy really was. The rebellious garrison was the only defence they had. Marie turned and looked at the wide expanse of wilderness around them. It was perfect for a raid; no military outposts had ever been established around the fortress.

  A murmur of fear was spreading through the crowd. Marie felt as if her blood had turned to ice.

  “Surely, they’ll defend us,” Elise whispered, staring up toward the barracks.

  Members of the garrison came running to the docks, their white and blue uniforms mixing with the greys and browns of the townspeople. They looked stunned at the sight that greeted them. The citizens were silent, looking to the soldiers who stood in their midst. Most of those soldiers couldn’t have been more than seventeen. They looked terrified as they watched the invading warships and scattered back to the barracks. Marie exchanged a glance with Elise and knew her friend wasn’t any more reassured than she was. There was nothing they could do but watch, and wait.

  ***

  The garrison did rise to the call to arms. The leaders of the mutiny were executed in public for all to see. So their reign of mischief was over, but the battle for Louisbourg was just beginning.

  The British wasted no time in assembling their forces. By May 11th, they had stormed the beaches and established their armies on land. Meanwhile, the French military were taking an inventory of their ammunition, and the results confirmed that the fortress didn’t have enough cannonballs or gunpowder to engage the British now. So it was decided that the soldiers would wait to fully engage once the real battles began.

  Within a few days, the invaders had mobilized, quickly overtaking the Island Battery and the lighthouse. From those locations, as well as the bluffs above the city, they unloaded their massive artillery and aimed it at the fortress.

  At first, it seemed as if the British were content to wait outside the gates while the inhabitants of Louisbourg slowly starved to death. This tactic was effective enough, since what had merely been food rationing had now turned into the likelihood of outright starvation. The farmers and other inhabitants who lived beyond the city walls were now crowded into the relative safety of the fortress, and that made for more mouths to feed. After three weeks, though, the enemy decided that this method wasn’t going to work, and they began direct attacks.

  Marie was right when she first thought that the wilderness would give the British an advantage. Under cover of the surrounding forest, the British had slowly rolled their cannons and mortars within range of the walls. The French militia braved the elements to harass the British infantry but without success. The British claimed the open fields, opening fire on the town, ripping holes through roofs and shattering the stone ramparts.

  The siege wasn’t being fought just by the army on land. The British warships exchanged cannon fire daily with the ships in the harbour. The French ships were so outnumbered, though, that they could do little more than answer the offending British volleys.

  Six weeks after the British ships had first appeared, the siege was still going on. The noise of gunfire was deafening, even inside the Babineaux home, and the entire fortress was gripped with fear. It was becoming increasingly clear that the French were not going to win the battle. They were outnumbered and starved. The clergy encouraged fasting and prayer to save the city, but Marie thought it wasn’t really fasting when there was nothing but dwindling stores of salted cod to eat. Some priests were preaching that Armageddon had arrived and that people needed to prepare themselves for Judgement Day.

  The army was running dangerously low on ammunition, to the point where British cannonballs were being picked up and shot back at them. The sick and injured were increasing at an alarming rate, and no one was sure what would happen when the conquering army marched through the gate.

  Marie sat with her back against the sitting room wall, the farthest point in the house from the projectiles coming in off the water. Her leg
s were stretched out in front of her on the wooden floor. As was the case for everyone else in the fortress, the wait was driving Marie mad. All the citizens of the city were staying indoors as much as possible, praying that their homes and other buildings would keep them safe from the flying mortars.

  Marie was helping at the hospital most days, although with the limited amount of knowledge she possessed, she was sometimes more hindrance than help. Annette had suggested that Marie do this service, and Marie had been happy to comply, partly because it was a way of escaping from the house. It also kept her mind busy and made her feel that she was contributing to the cause. On this particular day, she had been sent home around noon after spending most of the previous day tending to the wounded. She did need a rest, but now that she was back at the manor, there was nothing to do but listen to her empty stomach rumble and pray that the next projectile wasn’t coming for her. She tried to keep her mind off Nic.

  Elise was sitting beside Marie—also leaning against the wall. With all of her brothers and father involved in the siege, she had nothing to do but worry and keep her mother company. That didn’t take up all her time, though, since her mother had abandoned the bakery, as there were no ingredients left to bake with. So Elise spent a lot of her time with Marie when Marie wasn’t at the hospital. She’d tried to help there but quickly realized she didn’t have the stomach for all the blood and bile at the facility.

  “Have you heard anything?” Marie asked tentatively. Nic was still terrible at sending updates home. Marie resigned herself to the fact that someone would either tell her of his death or she would see him at the end of the attacks.

  Elise’s auburn hair fell untended down her back. She was chewing on a piece of straw. She claimed that chewing helped the hunger pains, but Marie found it made her even more aware of the movements of her empty stomach.

  “My brother Charles did send a note back yesterday,” Elise said as she pulled a partially knitted pair of gloves out of her bag and started untangling the needles from the wool. She had trouble sitting still, and knitting helped calm her down. “But all he said was that everyone is still alive.”