by Philip Roy
The sight of it tore his heart. Pain gushed into it until it throbbed. He had no idea why he should feel this way. The warrior who was his father was a stranger to him. And yet, in the moment of his battle and death, Two-feathers felt as if they had become one. For one brief moment he carried knowledge of his father, and then he was gone.
Both sides continued to shoot each other for a while, but the redcoats soon took the advantage, as Two-feathers knew they would, and the bluecoats lost courage and ran back behind their walls.
Darkness fell. No one came to take the fallen bluecoats from the field. One young bluecoat stayed behind, ran to Two-feathers’ father to check if he was dead, then ran back to the fortress when the redcoats shot at him. The bluecoats on the field died where they fell. Two-feathers did not think much of this sort of fighting. He could not see the sense in it. But he was proud of his father, and he would now treat him with the honour and respect that he deserved and that the spirits expected. It would be a privilege for Two-feathers to do this.
Racing back to his den, he began to construct a stretcher with which to carry his father’s body away. Working feverishly hard, he wove a bed of reeds and branches between two poles and fastened bear-leather strips for tying the body down. In the darkness of night he crossed to the field where the body lay, pulled it onto the stretcher, tied it securely and dragged it away. He went across the swamp towards the woods. It was very hard work but he was glad to be doing it. Once he reached the shelter of the woods he took periodic rests. He followed a route he had taken many times before for hunting. He pulled the body all through the night and into the next day, resting only when he had to. He pulled it until he reached a gully by a river on the far side of a hill. There he constructed a teepee and a funeral pyre, all the while chanting prayers to the spirits. It would be the most important ceremony of his life, the burning of his father’s body.
When the pyre was ready, Two-feathers lit the wood beneath it. The fire grew slowly because the wood was wet. It didn’t matter. Eventually the flames would grow hot enough to consume everything within their grasp. As the smoke rose into the night sky he sat in front of his teepee and prayed. It was a bittersweet feeling watching the sparks float into the sky like fireflies. No longer did he have a parent living on this earth. His search was over. His childhood hopes of uniting with his father were over. But the unknowing was over too. Now there was just himself. It was now that he felt fully a man. Life was about acceptance. He felt this more than ever. Sometimes he would get what he wanted, and sometimes he wouldn’t. His happiness, as his mother’s spirit had told him, was in his acceptance of what did come. Neither should he despair when things were difficult, nor grow too confident when they were easy. Because they would change. Always, there would be change.
The fire burned through the night. In the morning he gathered the bones and carried them into the ice-filled river, laid them down and surrounded them with heavy stones. Then he returned to the teepee, constructed a bed of spruce boughs and went to sleep.
When night came once again he returned to the swamp. A quick investigation revealed that the redcoats had moved their cannon a little closer. The bluecoats were staying inside their walls, trusting in its fortifications. Two-feathers would go to the girl of the rainbow now and insist she leave with him. She was no longer safe.
Chapter Twenty-seven
My wound was not serious. The biggest threat was infection, and so the wound had to be cleaned thoroughly. I pulled a piece of shot out of my foot myself. Celestine helped me with the smaller pieces. I stared at my mother’s pendant as she attended to my foot. It was more painful now because the skin had swollen. But Celestine was very careful and a lot gentler than any of the soldiers would have been – perhaps better than the surgeon would have. She cried the whole time. She cried for me losing my father. Losing her mother was the worst thing that had ever happened to her, she said. I felt that I ought to have cried too, but I couldn’t really, maybe because she was crying so much.
But I was still in shock. Watching my father fall didn’t seem real. Looking into his eyes and seeing him die didn’t seem real. Nothing seemed real. But it was. I didn’t feel that I loved my father and didn’t feel that I didn’t. I didn’t know what I felt. I needed time to think about it. We had never formed a bond. He had always been disappointed in me. But now that he was gone, his disappointment didn’t seem to matter anymore. I felt sorry for him dying like that, even though I knew it was the kind of death he had wanted. He had said so, many times. But I was sorry he was gone and that we would never have the chance to form a better relationship. Now it was too late. And I was sorry for my mother. I did not want to bring her this news. I would have to carry it for such a long time before I could give it to her, because I could not seem to bring myself to write it out for her in a letter.
Celestine sobbed as she pulled the tiny fragments from my foot, apologizing every time I winced. She cried enough for both of us.
“My father says that ships are on their way from France with reinforcements,” she said between sobs. “Do you think they’ll arrive in time?”
“Certainly. Besides, there is nothing the English can do. This is the strongest fortification in the New World.”
I didn’t really believe that, but I wanted her to feel better.
“I know. It’s just that … soldiers have died already. I just wish everybody would stay inside now until the reinforcements come and chase the enemy away.”
“Well, I think that is the plan.”
“I know. That’s what father says.”
She was distressed. I sensed she was thinking of something else, or someone else. Finally, it came out. “Jacques?”
“Yes?”
“Do you believe the Natives have souls?”
“Of course they do. Just the same as us.”
“Even if they don’t believe the same things?”
“We don’t all believe the same things.”
“That’s true. The other day I heard a man say that the English are evil. Do you think they are?”
“Not at all. I have friends who are English. And they are wonderful. You would really like them.”
“Even when they killed your father?”
“My father chose to die like that.”
“What do you mean? That’s mad! Your father never chose to die.”
“No, but he chose to fight. He stood up in front of their muskets and waited for them to shoot him. I saw it with my own eyes.”
She looked at me with horror. “Your father was a hero. He gave his life trying to protect us.”
“I know. It’s just that he believed in fighting. He was proud to die like that.”
Celestine dropped her head and continued cleaning my wound and sobbing. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I could feel the divide between us and I was in no mood to try to bridge it. “Thank you for cleaning my wound.”
“You’re welcome,” she said tearfully. “Could you please see my father before you leave? He wants to talk with you.”
“Yes. Of course.”
I limped downstairs. M. Anglaise was wearing an expression of profound sympathy.
“Your father was a courageous man, Jacques. We are forever in his debt.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He died for what he believed in. But it is our loss.”
“Yes, sir.”
He was about to say something else, then changed his mind.
“Jacques. We outnumber the English. They are a bunch of farmers and fishermen, just as I had predicted. They also have a naval contingent. And they appear to have it in their minds to haul their cannon across the swamp and lay siege to the fortress.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It is a fool’s plan, I think. Nevertheless, should they ever get their cannon within striking range of the fort
ress we will suffer much loss of life.”
I nodded.
“Now, we are expecting ships from France any day, with more soldiers and supplies. When they arrive, we will make a concerted attack against this invasion and send them fleeing back to their farms and villages in New England.”
“Of course we will, sir.”
“All the same, Jacques, I want to share a private word with you.”
He stepped closer to me and softened his voice as if there were someone else listening. There wasn’t.
“Should the winds of fortune favour the English and they manage to miraculously defeat us …”
“But …”
“No. Hear me out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Should they defeat us here in this dismal, forsaken place, then, by the etiquette of war they will promptly return me and my family to France. Heaven help the common people of this town, but they will escort me and my family in a fashion befitting my station in society. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I want you to understand that I hereby consider you as my own son. Is this agreeable to you?”
I was speechless. He reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. “Do you find this arrangement acceptable, Jacques?”
“I … I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“Then say yes, Jacques. Say yes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. We needn’t speak of it again. Should the unthinkable occur, I will inform the invading officers who the members of my family are.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No. Thank you, Jacques. Thank you and your father from the bottom of my heart.”
M. Anglaise turned towards the window. I started to go.
“Jacques?”
“Sir?”
“You are hereby relieved of your military duties.”
“Are you certain, sir? We are under attack.”
“More than certain, Jacques. Louisbourg’s fate will not rest upon the shoulders of one soldier more or less. France, on the other hand, is in desperate need of enlightened men. Nurse your wounds, Jacques, in your foot and in your heart.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
They worked with the strength and persistence of ants but they did not always work harmoniously. Even from a distance Two-feathers witnessed arguments between them. It was always an argument between a warrior dressed in red and those who were not. The arguments appeared to concern the movement and placement of their fire weapons. They struggled so hard he sometimes wondered if they would give up trying to cross the swamp and try another tactic.
He had also seen redcoats disappear into the woods where he did his hunting. He saw bluecoats enter the same woods from the other side and heard the distant crackle of their weapons. Now he would have to use extra caution entering the woods and travel further away for hunting. In fact, everything had changed with the coming of the redcoats and he had not been able to visit the girl of the rainbow since. The bluecoats were guarding their village like never before. They kept constant watch with many soldiers at every wall. And though he was actually allied with the bluecoats, they did not know him and would not trust him if he appeared just when the redcoats did. He would have to find another way in.
He sat in his den and considered what to do. The redcoats were advancing across the swamp very slowly. His tunnel system occupied just one section of the swamp, closer to the fortress. Eventually the redcoats would reach it and, with the weight of their weapons, would likely fall through the tunnels. He would have to leave. He had mixed feelings about that. On one hand he was tired of the swamp and anxious to live in the woods again. On the other hand he had invested so much time and effort constructing his tunnel system it seemed a shame to leave it. It was the most work he had ever done and he was proud of it. As it turned out, things were decided for him.
He had been checking his food stores, much depleted over the winter, when he sensed movement outside the tunnel. Hurrying to one of his lookouts he spied a large warrior cautiously scouting the ground for a suitable path for the fire-weapons. Two-feathers watched closely as the soldier stepped right above one of the dens. Suddenly, the soldier fell through. With a yell he disappeared into the ground. Two-feathers heard the man’s shouts echo faintly inside the tunnel. Rushing outside he watched him climb out of the hole and pick himself up. As he turned, he saw Two-feathers and looked frightened. He reached for his musket. Two-feathers fitted an arrow to his bow. As the soldier raised his weapon and took aim, Two-feathers let the arrow fly and shot him in the arm. The soldier dropped his musket and pulled the arrow from his arm with a holler. He reached for his musket once again but Two-feathers had already fitted another arrow and was aiming for the man’s heart. The soldier saw this and froze. Two-feathers hesitated. He did not want to take the life of this man. His mind drifted back to standing with his chief in the woods and asking him if it was harder to shoot a man than an animal. His chief had answered that when the reason was sufficient, the shooting was the same. Two-feathers searched his heart. There did not seem sufficient reason. Then he searched his mind and there he found an answer: “This is not my war.”
Two-feathers lowered his bow. The soldier stared for a second, disbelieving, then ran away as fast as he could.
It was time to go. Two-feathers gathered up his bearskin, his necklace, tools and weapons, tied them onto his back and left the swamp. As he entered the forest he said goodbye to the spirits of the muskrat and owl and thanked them for their help.
After a day’s journey, he chose a secluded spot and constructed a teepee. He hunted, made a fire, and chanted prayers while his food was roasting. It occurred to him that he might just keep going. The woods were so appealing, why go back? The bluecoats’ village had become a dangerous place now for everyone. And, as he had just realized, this was not his war. His father was gone. His mother was at peace. He had accomplished what he had come to do.
But there was the girl of the rainbow and there were the métis children. As he poked at the fire with a stick he imagined redcoats running around inside the walls attacking everyone and setting the village on fire. It was not his war, this was true, but he was in love with the girl of the rainbow. He must rescue her. And the children were his people. He had promised to feed them. He had to go back.
He prepared a basket of food, strapped it to his back and travelled through the night. He approached the fortress from the water. With the walls so heavily guarded now, the rocky shoreline was the best way to get in. The wall by the water, with its long, silent fire-weapons jutting out every fifty paces or so, was low enough for him to climb over wherever he wished, though there were no hidden shelters, only the weapons. He went from one weapon to the next in the heavy fog of morning, then made a dash for the long warehouse where the children were hiding. He found them in their corner, lying close together in their blankets and old coats. There were five of them. The youngest was barely old enough to hold a bow, the oldest, at an age where she ought to know how to skin a deer.
The children gobbled the food and looked for more. Two-feathers asked were they not getting any food elsewhere? No, they said, not now. They were too afraid to go outside. Why? he asked. Because there was a terrible enemy coming. They had heard people talking. The terrible enemy would do horrible things to them. They would cut their heads off and burn them alive. This was not true, Two-feathers said, though they were smart to stay inside for now. There was an enemy, this was true, but they were not so different from the bluecoats. He did not believe they would hurt children. But stay inside, he told them. Tomorrow he would bring them more food. But would he protect them? they asked. Would he come and rescue them if the enemy came?
Two-feathers looked at the frightened faces of the children. Then he thought of the girl of the rainbow. He didn’t
know how he could save them both. Would he save them? they asked again. He didn’t answer. He thought for a moment to ask the spirits, but hesitated. He didn’t know why he hesitated. Was he afraid of their answer? No. It wasn’t that. It was because he knew the answer already. He shouldn’t bother the spirits with questions for which he already knew the answer.
Yes, he said with a heavy sigh. Yes, he would save them. Don’t forget, the children said as they wrapped up in their blankets and coats. He wouldn’t forget, he said. Did he promise? they asked. Yes, he answered. He promised.
In his dream that night Two-feathers heard the voice of his mother in the wind. “You are more than a warrior now,” she said.
“I am a warrior,” Two-feathers insisted.
“You are tasting the bittersweetness of sacrifice,” said his mother. “You are more than a warrior now.”
Two-feathers felt the wind brush against him, pick him up and carry him through the air as if he were a leaf. “I am a warrior,” he repeated.
“My son,” said his mother.
Chapter Twenty-nine
If you believed as my father had then you would have thought cannon one of the greatest inventions ever conceived. He regarded them with a respect I never knew him to hold for any person, except perhaps a few other engineers and, of course, the King. That a cannon could hurl a heavy ball through the air for miles, knock a hole in a ship and send it to the bottom of the sea was a fact that caused him no end of pleasure. Once a cannonball was in the air there was no force on earth that could stop it. Heaven help whatever lay in its way.
I didn’t know much about them myself, but, like everyone else in the fortress lying in their path, I learned fast. As it turned out, cannon were a pretty crude weapon. They were ridiculously inaccurate to begin with. This was why ships had to get so close to each other in a naval battle. Otherwise, most of their cannonballs would simply drop to the ocean floor.
In the case of shooting into a fortress it was hard for them to know if they were causing any damage. Unlike a ship, which would sink once it received a few holes, the English wouldn’t know if their cannonballs were actually hitting anything or just landing on the ground, whereby we could pick them up and use them ourselves. Although, since we didn’t have any cannon pointing towards the swamp, we couldn’t shoot them back. But we could stockpile them in case the enemy should ever sail into our harbour.