by Philip Roy
The closer I got to the door of Celestine’s room, the stronger the smell of roasted meat. He was bringing her food. That’s why he was coming in. My curiosity was overwhelming. I approached her door and put my hand on the latch … suddenly, an arm came out of nowhere, slipped around me, pulled me up onto my toes, and I felt the blade of a very sharp knife settle against my throat. I was terrified. I didn’t dare swallow, though I wanted to, and stood absolutely still. His arm was so strong it felt like it could easily break my neck. I would never have had a chance if I had to fight him. His breath brushed across my ear. Then his other hand reached around me, feeling for a weapon. Not finding one, he let me go. For a few seconds I did nothing. I just floated there, waiting. I was more than a little afraid. I stood absolutely still, then, very slowly turned my head … but there was no one there. He had disappeared, just like the ghost he was.
I knew I had to get out of the house and back to my post or I would be in serious trouble. I hurried down the stairs and over to the door. The guards had returned. I waited until they were facing the other way and bolted. But I didn’t get far.
“Halt!” came the command.
I knew their muskets would be targeted on me so I stopped. Not only had I abandoned my post, I had abandoned my musket. That would bring me time in the dungeon for sure and probably a whipping. I shivered as I turned around. There, to my great fortune, was my friend Louis.
“Jacques! Heavens above, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be up on the King’s bastion?”
“Um, yes, I am. I’m just about to get there …”
“Where’s your musket? Oh my Lord, Jacques, you’re not carrying your musket. Are you feeling suicidal?”
“No, I …”
“No! Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. And coming out of the Governor’s residence in the middle of the night …”
“Well, I can expl–”
“No! I don’t want to know that neither. But I’ll tell you this. The guard is on his way already, and if you don’t want to get your hide whipped to within an inch of your life you’ll get yourself up that rampart in a hurry.”
“I will! I will! I’m on my way already. Thanks, Louis. You’re a lifesaver. I owe you a big favour.”
“I’ll say you do. It’s called a bottle of rum.”
“You bet!” I said. “A bottle of rum it is!”
I dashed across the field, picked up my musket and got into position just as the guard was coming up the other side of the rampart.
When I climbed into bed that night I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That the Native and Celestine had formed a friendship seemed so unlikely, so unbelievable. How did they meet? Here he was bringing her food. But it had been at least half a year since I first saw him and this was the first time I’d noticed him carrying food. And she must have welcomed him, otherwise she would have done something about it already, I knew that. But why? What on earth could they possibly have in common?
Then I wondered about something else – my mother’s pendant. Was it possible that Celestine had received it from him? But where would he have gotten it? Had he found it? That seemed unlikely. Had he stolen it? I doubted it. I had no reason to suspect he was a thief. Thieves don’t carry food into houses at night.
I went to bed with these thoughts spinning around and around in my head. It was hard to sleep. I had too many questions and not enough answers. They continued into my dreams. There was one long dream in particular, in which I was in the Governor’s house, only it was bigger. It seemed to go on forever. I was drifting from room to room and was aware that my father was somewhere in the house too, though I couldn’t find him. The Native was there and he was hunting me. Yet I knew somehow that he wouldn’t hurt me. Celestine was there but she wouldn’t let me into her room. She was keeping a secret.
Chapter Twenty-two
There was a bluecoat in the house. He must have smelled the food. Two-feathers knew he was like a squawking bird carrying a basket of freshly roasted meat on his back. But the smell of the soldier was also distinct and Two-feathers smelled him even before he heard him. He circled around one of the rooms then followed him upstairs. Strangely, the young soldier did not appear to be carrying a fire weapon. Perhaps he carried a short one or a knife. But why was he heading towards the room with the girl of the rainbow? Two-feathers didn’t like that at all. He waited until the soldier was just outside her door, then grabbed him and placed a knife against his throat in case he might call out. He had no intention of hurting him. Feeling for a weapon, he was surprised to discover he carried none. What kind of warrior did not carry a weapon? Lifting the blade away from his neck, he waited to see if the soldier would cry out. He didn’t. Two-feathers let him go and the soldier hurried away.
Now there was no time to visit with her, only to leave the food. Entering the room, he saw her sleeping peacefully. He sighed deeply. He would have loved to visit with her again but would not wake her. He placed the basket by her bed and left. She would know he was looking out for her. That was enough.
Outside he made his first reconnaissance of the village in weeks. The redcoats were gone. The bluecoats must have finally realized they could not feed them and had traded them for food and weapons. Two-feathers climbed inside the building where they had been and went across the rafters. It seemed so empty now. Then he heard a noise in one corner. Perhaps there were rats. He smelled a people smell, but not the smell of the redcoats, who had smelled strong. This was not the smell of soldiers. As he moved silently to the corner he heard voices whispering below. There, huddled in the dark, he found a handful of children.
They had created a fort in the corner by dragging over old barrels, rope and wood, then lined it with blankets and old coats. At a glance, Two-feathers could tell the children were hungry. They wore the lifeless expressions that revealed lack of nourishment. He noticed something else. They were not French. Nor were they completely Mi’kmaq. They were like him.
He dropped into their midst. They were frightened at first, but their experiences had taught them not to cry out. They looked up fearfully and waited to see what he would do. Two-feathers saw their fear and calmed them by speaking softly. He asked them if they could speak Mi’kmaq. They nodded. He asked them where their parents were. They said they didn’t know. How did they survive then? By asking for food at the houses, they answered. Was he going to report them, they wanted to know? No, he said. He would never do that. He smelled of food, they said, did he have any? No, but he could bring them some tomorrow. Please, they said, they were so hungry. Two-feathers promised he would. Were they cold, he asked? It was not so bad in their fort, they said. They kept each other warm. They were just hungry. Tomorrow, he said, he would bring food. They could count on him. He turned to leave. Where had their parents gone, he asked? They didn’t know. Would they be coming back? Maybe, they said. Maybe they would.
Two-feathers knew it was going to be a very difficult winter for the bluecoats. There was already not enough food. This would make them vulnerable to their enemy. He remembered the redcoats’ scouting party from the previous winter. Maybe they were planning to attack. This was what warriors did.
The village was every bit as cold as the swamp, if not colder. The wind twisted around and around in the spaces between the houses and grew in strength. It rushed down the streets with a force Two-feathers didn’t often see in the woods, and there was no place to find shelter from it except inside. With the snow falling now and the wind so strong, he did not have to take so much trouble to be invisible at night. No one was outside, not even the revellers. No one was falling down with drink or sleeping outside. Only the soldiers were moving about, and only from their posts to their sleeping quarters as quickly as possible, where they kept their fires burning. The colder the season became, the freer Two-feathers was to walk about the great village at night.
In the swamp everything
was frozen and motionless, except for the tiny winter birds that darted from bluff to bush with a tireless energy. The muskrats, like the bears, beavers, squirrels and raccoons, were hibernating inside their dens. When Two-feathers wrapped the bearskin around his body and pulled the leggings up, he could sit comfortably in his den, out of the wind and snow, even without a fire. And this is how he slept.
But in the winter there was much to do. Food and wood were further away, and now he was hunting for more than himself. Some of the things he had stored might not be appealing to the girl of the rainbow, who was used to eating other things. While he felt sure she would enjoy roasted meat, apples and garlic, he was uncertain she would appreciate chestnuts, dried flowers, tubers and seaweed. And so he hunted further afield, often staying away overnight.
The woods were quieter when filled with snow. The quietness was suitable for contemplation, which he was beginning to understand was a skill in itself. Among the things he contemplated were the differences between himself and the girl of the rainbow. He had never considered the world from a woman’s perspective before. It seemed very unlike a man’s. Yet, as light and delicate as she was, and as unsuited to this land as she surely was, there was something strong in her nature that he couldn’t help but respect just as much as he would respect a warrior, and that was a mystery to him. She hadn’t, for instance, been afraid of him at all, not the least bit, and he knew he must have appeared like a wild animal to her. He spent many hours contemplating this and finally concluded that it was because of her willingness to accept whatever might come her way. It was in this way, in her acceptance of things, that she showed strength, courage and wisdom. Acceptance of things as they were, not how one would like them to be, was the language of the spirits, which could be understood by Mi'kmaq and bluecoat alike. Such were the thoughts that accompanied Two-feathers into the winter woods. But there were other thoughts too, very different thoughts.
Chief among them was his belief that the redcoats would attack. He knew this would happen because it was the way of warriors. The bluecoats had attacked at least twice and had taken prisoners. It would be a very great dishonour to the redcoats if they did not attack soon. He had already seen them scouting the year before. Likely they would come in the early spring, when the ground was still frozen but the worst of the cold had passed. Then, as the temperature began to rise, the woods would become a pleasant place to travel. That is when the redcoats would come, he believed. And that is when the bluecoats, after a punishing winter, would be at their weakest.
What would he do about the girl of the rainbow then? How would he protect her? He could not take her now, out into the harsh winter. She would never survive. But how would he protect her when the redcoats attacked her village? He would have to be ever so vigilant and watch for them and warn the village. Then he would rescue her. Perhaps they would design a plan of escape together.
There was always the possibility that the bluecoats would defeat their enemy. But he doubted it. When he thought of how easily he could enter the village, how undisciplined and unmotivated the bluecoats seemed, especially lately, he didn’t think much of their chances. If the redcoats came into the harbour with their ships, the bluecoats would surely destroy them with their fire weapons and heavy stones. Any warriors foolish enough to stand open in front of the weapons of their enemy did not deserve to win. Two-feathers did not know the minds of the redcoats. Perhaps they were different from the bluecoats, perhaps the same. Either way, he did not think they would be foolish enough to enter the harbour. They would come by land. They would come over the swamp.
Chapter Twenty-three
How I wished I could have had a closer look at him, but that was impossible. I even considered going into the swamp myself, but he had no idea who I was and I might have gotten myself shot with an arrow. How could he survive out there in the cold? I strained to see as far as I could, even borrowed M. Anglaise’s telescope glass and stared for hours, but saw nothing, not even a puff of smoke. And yet, I still caught the scent of roasted meat at night. And now I knew it was not my imagination.
The nights grew colder and colder until it became a serious punishment to stand at my post. It was impossible to keep my feet warm, even though I kept constantly on the move. My fingers felt the bitter bite of frost. Like the other soldiers, I squirreled away what food I could to keep a small flame going in my stomach. But the little ration they gave us was not enough, and all the soldiers were very unhappy. There had even been a mutiny one day, which was unbelievable, yet showed just how desperate things were becoming. The soldiers gathered and beat drums and paraded through the streets until they were promised more food and firewood. My father was horrified and wanted to have the leaders executed, but M. Duchambon wisely conceded to their demands and the mutiny lost its strength like air let out of a bellows. I didn’t think anyone had the energy for a real fight.
I was so hungry I even considered asking Celestine to share a little of the food our ghost was bringing her, but could never quite get the words out. How could I ask her about things that I wasn’t even supposed to know? Some days it all seemed so desperate, the cold and lack of food, and I really did not see how I could continue. The less I got to eat, the more I felt the cold. The colder I got, the hungrier I became.
Other days, when the winter sun came in through the Governor’s residence windows and warmed me up, and Celestine and I would play the violoncello, I would breathe deeply and know that I only had to hold on till spring when the supply ships would come from France, and maybe, just maybe I could go home.
I think it was worse for my father somehow. The failed attack at Annapolis Royal, followed by the mutiny, was such a blow to him. Or perhaps it was lack of sleep and insufficient food. Everyone suffered for lack of food, although the officers suffered less than the common soldiers. But no one took military insubordination and failure to heart as much as my father did. It just seemed to kill his spirit. I wondered if he sensed it was the beginning of the end.
We were approaching a year since we had come to this bleak military backwater. I had travelled with the regiment and borne arms against the enemy, which I saw only briefly and from a distance. I had been surrounded by hysterical voices calling for the annihilation of the English, as if they were some kind of plague. And still, after all of this, I saw no difference between us and them, other than the colour of our coats, our language and a few cultural differences for which there was no explanation. But for my father, the Annapolis Royal expedition was a humiliation too great to bear. He would not be truly himself again until the enemy was at our gate and he could dutifully fight.
In the face of all of this my ghost continued to bring freshly cooked meals to Celestine almost nightly. And she, unlike everyone else in the fortress, kept a healthy complexion, much to the pleasure of her father, who continued to credit it to me. What a strange situation it had become for me, entering Celestine’s room with a gnawing hunger in my belly, only to see the happy smile on her face, which I tried my best not to resent. I also did my best to hide my growing weakness, but did not entirely succeed. One day it showed its face against my will.
Celestine had been playing for me. When she finished, I stood up too quickly from my seat. The blood rushed from my head and I fainted. I dropped to the floor with all the grace of a chopped tree. Celestine shrieked and rushed over to me. I revived but felt too weak to get off the floor right away.
“I am so sorry,” I said. “I’ll be fine in just a moment.”
“Oh! Jacques! What’s wrong? Haven’t you eaten today?”
“Umm … I guess not. Not yet.”
“Oh! You poor thing! Just wait here,” she said, and hurried off. She returned with some cooked rabbit in a napkin. “Here. Eat this.”
“No. I cannot take your food.”
“Take it, please! I have more than enough. Truly.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely certain! Believe me, Jacques. I have more than my fair share of food.”
“Well … if you insist.”
“I insist.”
The meat was delicious. There was baked apple too. My ghost was a good cook. I wondered what he would have thought had he known I was eating the food he had prepared for Celestine.
I also wondered how I was going to get the pendant from her and return it to my mother. It was the only request my mother had ever made of me, to find it and return it to her. Here it sat in front of my face daily, and I couldn’t say a word about it. In bed at night I invented all sorts of schemes for taking it back, but none of them were any good. The problem was that Celestine was so attached to it. She never took it off. I supposed I could have just come out with the truth. But I didn’t think she would believe me. I considered stealing it, because it really wouldn’t have been stealing when it belonged to my mother in the first place. But how could I steal something from around her neck? And I would feel like the worst person in the world to steal something from a friend, my only true companion at Louisbourg. On the other hand, how could I return to my mother and explain to her that I had seen the pendant, touched it, but not brought it back? Heavens! Would life always be so complicated?
Chapter Twenty-four
He saw many ships in his dream. They floated on the sea like leaves in an autumn stream. The voices of the spirits rose up in chorus: “An enemy is coming. They will bring bloodshed and destruction. Prepare yourself.”
Two-feathers woke from the dream in a sweat, jumped out of bed, ran to the seaward side of the swamp and scanned the horizon. He saw nothing but snow flurries. The dream had been so real he fully expected to see ships. Surely the dream was a warning. The redcoats were coming. He must prepare. But how? What more could he do?
The next day, the same dream. Two-feathers jumped out of bed, ran out into the icy air and down to the beach. The dream had been so vivid. The ships were surely coming. He stood on the beach and stared at the horizon until his body shivered. There were no ships. The next day it was the same, and the next, only each time he saw the ships more clearly in the dream, as if they were drawing nearer. His dreams had never failed him before. The voices of the spirits, a sound like the wind twisting through the trees, had always been faithful and true. And yet there were no ships.