by Philip Roy
The English had other options, though, which were more dangerous. Firstly, they could heat up the cannonballs in fires until they were red hot, then drop them into their cannon and shoot them into the fortress. If the balls landed on a roof or got stuck in a wall they would start a fire.
And there was something worse. Mortar shells were heavier than regular cannonballs and were shot out of special, short-barrelled cannon. Inside a mortar shell was a stock of gunpowder that exploded when it hit something, causing the ball to burst apart in hundreds of pieces and start fires. The English could tell where a mortar shell had landed and if it had caused much damage. When they first arrived, their cannon were lying on the far side of the swamp and were not close enough to cause us any concern. But as the weeks progressed and they grew closer to the fortress, everything changed dramatically.
I spent all my time with my newly adopted family now, partly because we played music to take our minds off the war, and partly because M. Anglaise invited me to stay in his sitting rooms. In fact, he often asked me to stay around even when the officers came to consult with M. Duchambon. And M. Duchambon would ask my opinions on things too, even though, like M. Anglaise, I didn’t have a military mind. I began to feel sorry for M. Duchambon then because he was surrounded by officers waiting upon his command in the middle of a military disaster and never really seemed to know what to do at any given moment. I think he was uncomfortable making decisions when people were dying.
During the early stages of the conflict we wondered which would happen first: would the English get their cannon across the swamp, or would ships arrive from France? If we had known then that the ships were never coming in the first place, we would have saved a lot of time wondering and hoping. Secretly, I think M. Anglaise suspected as much. In front of M. Duchambon and the officers he spoke of how valuable Louisbourg was to France. But when they left the room he admitted to me that he had met the King on more than one occasion, and he assured me that the King would have traded the Fortress of Louisbourg and all of its inhabitants in a game of cards. “How right Plato was, Jacques, and even our flamboyant Voltaire – monarchy is a most inequitable thing. How vain the fate of the many should rest upon the whims of the one.”
I felt sorry for Celestine. She seemed to carry more fear of the English than anyone else, especially now that my father had been killed. It had also been a while since she had shared any roasted food with me and I imagined she worried about him too, even though we never talked about that. Ever since the English had arrived, the fortress was too heavily guarded for even a ghost to invade. I wondered where he was now and what he was up to. Celestine must also have been wondering what had become of him.
The first cannonballs landed in the field outside the walls. Through the telescope glass I saw the English labouring like to move their cannon closer. I really couldn’t fathom their motivation.
“Do they hate the French so much, sir?” I asked M. Anglaise.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so. They hate Catholicism, no doubt. But the New Englanders have been coming up here to trade with us for years. They generally have a good time in the town, make a fair trade and go home. I know some of them by name.”
“But … why would they try so hard now, sir? They seem to have a fire in them our soldiers lack.”
“Indeed,” said M. Anglaise, as he squinted to look through the telescope glass. “I suppose we have our King to thank for that. He started it by declaring war.”
“Yes, sir. ”
“Declaring war on England is declaring war on the colonists. I suppose they don’t take too kindly to that. They’re willing to fight and die for their land. You and I and the majority of the soldiers in this fortress are not willing to die for this place, I dare say. Why would we give our lives for such a forsaken place?”
“My father did, sir.”
He pulled the glass from his eye, stood up straight and looked at me remorsefully. “He did, Jacques. He did indeed.”
I didn’t know why I’d said that. It just jumped out of me. With each passing day it seemed more ridiculous to me that my father had died the way he did. What had he accomplished by it? What had he proved? I had no answer for that. I had no clear feelings about it at all and I sensed it would be a long time before I did.
After a few more days the cannonballs began to reach the moat. The water splashed high into the air and rained down inside the walls. Then, finally, came the dull concussion of metal hitting stone. It was surprisingly destructive to the walls. A single hit could destroy several large stones and cause a crack right down the wall. If the walls had not been as thick as they were, they would have crumbled immediately.
Our soldiers worked hard to make wooden repairs to the walls. This at least held the walls up, behind which they could take cover and shoot the enemy if it dared to advance within musket range. They also tried to reposition our smaller cannon to shoot at the swamp. But with no structure to shoot at, and the enemy constantly moving around, the little cannon offered little help. And we were almost out of gunpowder. It was one of the supplies we were waiting for so anxiously from France.
Each day the cannonballs landed further into the interior of the fortress. Most of the houses lay down the hill, away from the swamp. But the Governor’s residence began to take hits. M. Anglaise was urged to change residence immediately but he refused, displaying a surprising amount of courage for a man without a fighting sensibility. Personally I would have preferred us to move, but I stayed and kept company with Celestine.
Chapter Thirty
Coming from the woods at night, Two-feathers saw a flash of light in the swamp, heard a roar, then saw a burst of fire inside the bluecoats’ village. Flames shot up into the nighttime sky. People were screaming. It was more than fear; it was the sound of horror. People were dying. He thought of the girl of the rainbow. He must help her. He thought of the children too and remembered his promise.
With the pack of food on his back he ran all the way to the beach and entered from the water near the main gate. There were more explosions. People were running everywhere, screaming. Not bothering to hide, he ran to the warehouse where the children were anxiously waiting for him. It had been more than two days since his last visit. Handing the food to them he asked them if they were all right. They were frightened, they said. There were such loud noises and shouting and screaming. He looked at their frightened faces and told them not to worry. He had to look for someone else but would come back for them. He promised. If the building were to catch on fire, he said, run out the door and down to the water. Hide in the rocks there and wait for him. He would come back and take them away. The children nodded their heads and gobbled up the food. Two-feathers went out the door.
Several houses were on fire. Running up the street towards the leader’s house he saw it engulfed in flames. Was he too late? He ran into the courtyard. No one was guarding the gate. All of the soldiers were too busy trying to put out fires or were up on the walls firing their muskets. Then, he saw the girl of the rainbow. She was running towards him with something in her arms. She was being chased by a redcoat! Two-feathers fitted an arrow to his bow. There was so much smoke everywhere it was difficult to see. Afraid to shoot her, he stepped to the side. Just then, the redcoat lunged towards her. Two-feathers let his arrow fly. At that second there was a deafening noise and he was knocked to the ground.
He lay still for a long time, unable to get up. Someone took hold of him and tried to move him. It was the redcoat! Two-feathers asked the spirits if he was dead. No, they said. Was he going to die? No. Why couldn’t he get up then? He could get up, they said. His ears were ringing. He raised his head slowly and tried to look around. Everything was covered with smoke. He saw the redcoat running away. There was shouting and more explosions, but everything sounded so far away, so strangely far away. He dropped his head again. He was so tired.
He did not know how
long he lay there, but when he was finally able to rise to his knees, the smoke had lifted. There were explosions further away. He looked for the girl of the rainbow, but she was gone. He looked around the courtyard, hardly recognizing it. The walls were broken apart. Everything was in flames. Bluecoats were running frantically here and there.
Getting to his feet he staggered over to the leader’s house. It was completely wrapped in flames and the heat was intense. Anyone inside would be dead now. The girl of the rainbow must have escaped. There was no sign of the redcoat. Two-feathers was confused. He was sure his arrow had hit its mark. His head was throbbing and his ears ringing. Then he thought of the children and started down the hill towards them.
He staggered through the leader’s gate, turned towards the warehouse and saw it in flames. He started to run, but it made his head ache unbearably. Reaching the front door, he discovered a wall of flames. He could not go inside. The children must have escaped to the water, he thought. Otherwise they were dead. Praying to the spirits that he would find the children amongst the rocks at the beach, he hurried down to the water. The children were there.
They cried when they saw him. Two-feathers told them that everything was going to be all right now; he would look after them. But they continued to cry and were trying to tell him something. He realized then that there were only four of them. One, a boy of seven or eight years, was missing. Where was he? Two-feathers asked. Sobbing, they told him that the boy had gone back inside the warehouse for something and never came out. Two-feathers dropped his head. All right, he said. Wait here. He would find him and come back. The children nodded and crouched back down among the rocks.
He ran back to the burning warehouse and stared at the door. It was a wall of flames, but the warehouse was deep. He doubted the entire space was filled with fire. Still, he felt afraid. If he were wrong, he would burn to death. If he didn’t go, the boy would burn to death. He took a deep breath and charged through the flames. As he had guessed, there were spaces inside that were not burning, but the air was intensely hot and it was impossible to breathe. He raced over to the corner where the children had been hiding. There, curled up on the ground, with a black case in his arms, was the boy. He had gone to sleep in the smoke, but Two-feathers could tell he was still alive. He picked him up, but the boy’s hands were so tightly clasped around the handle of the black case that he lifted that with him. As the rafters began to fall around them, Two-feathers ran through the wall of flames again and carried the boy down to the beach. There, in the cold seawater the boy revived, coughing violently to chase the smoke from his lungs.
Two-feathers led the children from the fortress and into the woods. The oldest carried the youngest on her back. Two-feathers carried the boy who had been in the fire. Someone else carried his case. It was for this case the boy had risked his life, said the children. Two-feathers asked them what was in it but didn’t understand when they told him. Never mind, they said, their brother would show him later.
The children were tired but Two-feathers insisted they travel through the rest of the night until they reached a place that was safe from the redcoats. There they would rest for a day and he would hunt for them. After they had rested and eaten they would travel many days from the sea, to a place where the redcoats and bluecoats never go. There they would make a camp where they would stay for a long time. They would hunt and fish and make prayers to the spirits. Who were the spirits? the children asked. Would he tell them? Yes, said Two-feathers, he would tell them everything.
Chapter Thirty-one
It was a night of terror. The English had tricked us into a state of calm by not shooting their cannon in the day. Little did we know it was because they were preparing for a nighttime mortar assault.
We were standing in the Governor’s room, Celestine, her father and myself, discussing the fact that people were starving in the fortress. M. Duchambon was outside with the officers. Many townspeople, including some soldiers, had fled the fortress and given themselves up to the enemy already. Strategically this was a disaster because the deserters could tell the English our state of affairs, in particular that we were more or less out of gunpowder and praying for ships to arrive from France. Pressure for the acting Governor to surrender was enormous, and we all knew it was inevitable. The longer he held out, the more people would die, and that weighed heavily on his conscience, said M. Anglaise. And yet, M. Duchambon held on.
“What happens here, Jacques,” M. Anglaise said to me as if he were apologizing on M. Duchambon’s behalf, “concerns far more than just our particular selves. This is the nature of diplomacy, do you see?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When we return to France …”
He was in mid sentence when a mortar shell struck the residence. We ran down the stairs and rushed out the door to see. Flames were coming out of the building down on the far side. A woman was screaming hysterically in the distance.
“Jacques!” said M. Anglaise. “Quick! Help me with my papers!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re not going back in!” said Celestine, glaring at her father. He stared at her with a look of despair and regret, and I knew it was because he wished he had never taken her to this place. He didn’t answer her, he just ran back inside.
“We have to get out of here!” she said tearfully.
“I know,” I said. “We will.”
I ran in after M. Anglaise. There were more mortar crashes and more screaming. I looked behind me for Celestine but she had not followed us in. M. Anglaise rifled through some papers quickly but was distracted with too many thoughts at once. Suddenly he reached for one of his coats, a bright red one, and flung it at me. “Put it on, Jacques. They will know you are my son. Where is Celestine?”
“Waiting outside, sir.”
I pulled the jacket on.
“Here!” he said. “Put these in the pockets.”
He handed me a thick pile of papers. I dropped them into the front pocket where they hung heavily. Another mortar struck the residence. All of the windows shattered. There was a soft humming sound and a sharp crackling. The fire was spreading quickly.
“Please, Jacques. Go out and stay with Celestine now. I will be right out.”
I stood for a moment, unsure whether or not to go.
“Go!” he commanded.
“Yes, sir.”
I ran out the door and found Celestine where we had left her, only now she was sobbing uncontrollably like a child. I embraced her. “It will be okay,” I said, though I hardly believed it myself.
Mortar shells went over our heads with a strange hissing sound. The English were now firing higher, aiming into the town in an attempt to terrorize the people. The fire in the Governor’s residence was rising high into the sky.
“My father!” Celestine cried. “Where is my father?”
“He’s coming. I promise you. He’s coming.”
Truly, I did not know if he was. Together we stood and stared at the door. There was another explosion. I almost dashed in to look for him. Suddenly, we saw him appear with an armload of papers. He ran with his head down.
“Quick! Come!” he said. “Follow me!”
I held Celestine’s arm as we followed M. Anglaise along the courtyard, taking care to step around burning cinders on the grass. Then, Celestine broke free of my grasp and yelled, “I have to get something!”
“What?” I said. “No! There’s nothing to get!”
“I have to get something!” she yelled, and ran back to the burning entrance. I turned to see what M. Anglaise would do but he had not heard her and had not stopped. I tried to call him back but he couldn’t hear me. So I turned and ran back after her. When I saw her disappear inside the door I truly thought she was going to die. What on earth could have been so valuable that she would run back into a burning building for it?
; “Celestine!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Celestine!”
I stood at the doorway but did not go in. “Celestine! Are you mad?!”
I should have gone in after her, but I didn’t. Something – fear, I suppose – kept me from crossing the threshold into the flames that were leaping up from the floor and coming through the walls. The heat was unbearable just standing at the doorway. I stood there, fixed to my spot and thought: should I go in? Should I go in? But I never did.
Then I saw her. She came awkwardly down the stairs carrying something over her head. It was the violoncello. Outside, we started to run again. It was so chaotic. I saw people racing back and forth, and then, a mortar shell came over the wall and was about to hit the residence beside us. “Celestine!” I yelled, and lunged towards her with all my might. I felt something strike me in my chest, knocking the wind out of me. Then the mortar exploded and I lost sight of everything.
When the smoke cleared I found myself sitting on the ground. My face was burning and my ears were ringing. Reaching up with my hand I was shocked to discover an arrow lodged in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. Feeling inside my clothes I found that the arrow had not reached my skin. It was embedded in M. Anglaise’s papers. Getting to my feet I found Celestine on the ground not far away. She was stunned but able to rise. As we staggered forward I saw out of the corner of my eye someone, a Native, lying on the ground. I was pretty sure it was my ghost.
“Hurry!” I yelled to Celestine. “Catch up with your father. I will bring the violoncello.”