Buried Secrets at Louisbourg

by Jo Ann Yhard

  “You can’t search their stuff!”

  “I had to make sure they didn’t take anything.”

  The other soldier ran his hand through his hair. “You take this way too seriously, Gerard. We’re just re-enactors, you know—a summer job. If there’s a problem, you’re supposed to tell security. That’s their job.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Fred said. “We told him he could.”

  “Why would you do that?” the other soldier asked.

  “It’s our fault—we were in the wrong place,” Fred replied. “He was giving us a break. Look, he can see what’s in my bag, too. Mai, show him.”

  Mai dumped everything onto the grass. Fred’s rumpled clothes and balled-up papers were a stark contrast to Mai’s tidy pile, now neatly packed away.

  The other soldier shook his head. “Whatever,” he said.

  Gerard reached out as if to search through the pile.

  The other soldier cleared his throat. “Gerard.”

  “Well, I suppose you weren’t stealing anything,” Gerard said, finally. He sounded disappointed. His eyes met Fred’s. “But you’re up to something. There’s no doubt about that.”

  Fred opened his mouth to protest, but Mai’s warning stare stopped him.

  “Give it a rest, Gerard. C’mon, kids,” the other soldier said.

  Fred shuffled awkwardly over to the wall, leaning against the stone to hold the box in place so he had both hands free to pack his things. The guard was surveying him with a frown.

  As they marched single file along the path to join the authorized excavation site, Gerard leaned over and whispered menacingly in Fred’s ear, “I’ll be watching you.”

  Chapter 3

  Psycho Gerard stayed true to his word. Fred, Mai, and Grace remained with the tourists, digging for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon—all the while under his scrutiny.

  They didn’t have much of a choice, really. If they left after saying that this was what they had come to do, it would have seemed suspicious. Gerard could still follow through on his threat and take them to security. And security would take Fred’s box.

  When Gerard had refused to leave them at the site alone, the other soldier had grumbled something about Gerard getting fired if he didn’t watch it, and left.

  The Parks Canada archaeologist was busy directing the site, and didn’t seem alarmed that they were so much younger than everyone else and had not arrived with the rest of the volunteers—or even that an eighteenth-century soldier was keeping watch over them.

  Mai had said they were there for a school project and the archaeologist had nodded vaguely, waving them to a clear spot between an older man and woman. A few instructions on how to dig and screen the soil, and they were left to work away.

  The volunteers were very curious about Gerard, though. They’d all arrived before official park hours, so the re-enactors hadn’t been on duty. He was the first “sighting” of a soldier for those that had never visited the fortress before.

  “Are you in character? Do you talk like the soldiers at the fortress would have back when it was operating?” a woman asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. But we only do that at our posts in the reconstructed part of the fortress.” He pointed up the hill to the buildings. “I have a shift up at the gate later.”

  “So what’s your role?” the woman continued. “Can you tell us what it was like back then?”

  Gerard seemed to love the attention. He answered endless questions about a soldier’s life—from living conditions, to what his uniform was made of, and the general history of the fortress.

  Despite his overall lack of interest, some of the things Fred heard shocked him. Soldiers only made seven dollars a month and took a bath once a year? Gross! Several slept in a bunk and there were lice and fleas in the beds, their uniforms stank, and the soldiers all froze in the winter. On top of that, they almost starved and many took on extra jobs around the fortress to buy food—like fish heads to make soup. What kind of life was that?

  As he pretended to dig, Fred noticed Gerard wasn’t the only one glaring at him. Grace was shooting daggers at him every few minutes. He didn’t get why she was so mad—she was usually the first one with her hands in the dirt when it came to caves and fossils. You’d think this would be right up her alley. She was probably ticked because it wasn’t her idea.

  But Fred had worse problems than Gerard and Grace. By the middle of the afternoon, his right thigh felt like it had been shredded to hamburger by the edges of the metal box still hidden in his pants.

  The situation was made even worse by the irritatingly cheery chatter around him.

  “Isn’t this exciting, being part of uncovering the history of this place?” a middle-aged man said. He held up a broken piece of blue and white pottery. “See this, it’s French—the fleur-de-lis,” he added, pointing to the blue pattern. “That’s French for lily flower.”

  “Cool,” Fred answered, carelessly flinging aside a scoop of dirt. Whoopee, more pottery. He swore under his breath as a metal edge dug a fresh trench in his leg. The box had given him nothing but pain so far. He wondered what that meant. Guess he didn’t have to wait for the prison after all—he was already there. The only things missing were leg irons and a uniform.

  Time oozed by like a fat slug. The metal burned hot on Fred’s leg, the box taunting him with the secrets it held. He shivered, trying not to think about it. The waiting was worse than the pain. He now possessed the box he had been dreaming of for weeks and couldn’t look inside. It was driving him crazy!

  A dull rhythm developed, digging interspersed with pauses to examine various nails and pieces of green and blue glass they discovered. There was a bit of excitement when one person found a weird-looking contraption that no one could identify. Gerard the soldier snatched it from her before the archaeologist had a chance.

  He took his time examining it, holding it one way, then another. “Ah, yes, of course,” he smirked. “Quite a useful tool back in the day. An amazing discovery, madame!”

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” gushed the woman. “Tell us.”

  He waited another moment. The crowd leaned forward with anticipation. Holding it up for all to see, Gerard caught Fred’s eye. “Thumbscrews!”

  “Oooh!” the crowd gasped.

  Fred gulped.

  A lively discussion of torture in the eighteenth century ensued, amid trowels full of dirt and the continued screening for artifacts.

  He didn’t dare look up again. Gerard was watching his every move. He could feel it. Fred was sure Gerard would love to try the thumbscrews out on him. The crazy soldier no doubt knew exactly how to crush someone’s thumbs and fingers in the simple vice.

  Hunger chewed at his insides. He must have played pretend archaeologist long enough to take a break without rousing suspicion. Fred stood up and stretched, only to almost cry out in pain as the box slipped, digging into his leg.

  It slipped again.

  He lurched forward and grabbed it as it slid and scraped down his thigh.

  “What’s wrong with you, kid?”

  Gerard didn’t miss a trick.

  “Leg cramp,” Fred wheezed, holding the box against his thigh and limping away from the crowd. He continued about twenty metres, as far as he could get from Gerard, and collapsed on a low stone wall.

  The box slid down his calf. He shook it out of his pant leg, quickly shoving it behind him. Had he been seen? Luckily, Gerard was busy enthusiastically demonstrating the thumbscrews to some of the awestricken volunteers.

  Grace and Mai hurried over.

  “Are you okay?” Mai’s eyes were filled with concern.

  He nodded.

  “You don’t look okay,” she said. “What’s wrong, muscle still cramped?”

  He nodded again, but this time with a small smile. Nurse Mai’s attention—he li
ked that.

  “You probably need water. Have some of mine.” She held out her insulated water bottle.

  “Thanks.” Fred grabbed it, his heart skipping a beat as his fingers brushed hers. He tilted his head back and guzzled a mouthful.

  “I’m sick of this. Talk about boring—it’s nothing like looking for fossils.” Grace tugged off her Dalhousie baseball cap and rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead. “Besides, it’s a gazillion degrees out here.”

  “What’s going on, Fred?” Mai asked.

  “Yeah, and it better be worth it.” Grace flopped down on the ground beside him, stretching out her legs.

  Fred stared up at the sky. He’d found the box. So it wouldn’t be jinxing anything to talk about it now, would it? His problems were over. He could tell them. He wanted to.

  “Fred!”

  “Gimme a minute, Grace.”

  “We almost got arrested for you today,” she griped. “You owe us.”

  “Owe you?” Fred said. “How many times did we almost get arrested for you just a few months ago?”

  “Enough, you two!” Mai said. “Fred, we’re your best friends. You can tell us anything.” She reached over and gave his arm a squeeze.

  Mai’s slender hand on his arm made his mouth go dry. “Sorry I’ve been kind of mysterious. It’s…well…complicated.”

  “It’s you, Fred,” Grace joked. “How complicated can it be?”

  “See?” he protested. “You never take me seriously. That’s why I didn’t tell you in the first place.”

  “Sorry.” She grinned. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “You’ll be taking that back,” he said, gulping another swig of water.

  “Wait. I need chocolate,” Grace said. “Break out your stash.”

  “Don’t mention chocolate,” Fred groaned. “I’m starving, too.”

  “Well, where is it?” Grace asked.

  “No stash.”

  Mai and Grace had identical shocked expressions on their faces. “No stash?” Mai said. “But you always have chocolate. Loads of chocolate. You don’t go anywhere without it.”

  He squirmed, not willing to share that much of his story. “Didn’t have time,” he lied.

  “Great, Fred,” Grace complained. “I didn’t bring anything to eat because you always do.”

  “Don’t worry, I have food,” Mai said. She zipped open a side compartment. Fred swore he’d never seen a backpack with so many pouches.

  Grace rolled her eyes at him. Ick, she mouthed, pointing to Mai’s pack.

  Fred nodded, making a face. Anything Mai had brought hadn’t come from the junk food section at the corner store, that was for sure.

  “Voila!” Mai said. “High-fibre meal bars. I keep them for emergencies.”

  Fred unwrapped one and took an unenthusiastic bite. Nuts and birdseed weren’t much of a substitute for chocolate, but his growling stomach wasn’t so choosy.

  Sighing and chomping off another bite, he settled back to tell his tale. “It all started over two hundred and fifty years ago at this very place…” He paused, lowering his voice. “With a stolen identity, a fortune in jewels, and a murder!”

  Chapter 1

  “Murder?” Mai’s eyes grew bigger than ever. “There was a murder?”

  Several volunteers glanced their way.

  “Not so loud,” Fred hissed.

  “Sorry!”

  “Anyway,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper now, “Claude Gagnon was my great, great, great, great, great, great…wait a sec—how many greats was that?”

  Grace kicked his ankle.

  “Okay, okay! Gagnon was my ancestor. And he lived right here, at the Fortress of Louisbourg.”

  Mai gasped. He had Grace’s attention, too.

  “So that thing you found, it was his?” Mai guessed.

  He had them hooked now. “I’ll get to that.”

  “What is it?” Grace asked. Her voice got higher. “The jewels? Let me see!”

  “Shh!” Fred’s heart hammered. He glanced up. Sure enough, Gerard was frowning at them from across the site. He’d heard something! This was a mistake. He should have waited. The box seemed to chastise him, too, its sharp corner digging into the back of his leg.

  “Get my backpack,” he said. “I’ve got to hide the box.”

  Grace stood up, but Gerard had already started in their direction.

  “No time,” she said.

  “Quick, Mai, pass me your bag,” he said.

  “No, you’ll mess it up. Use Grace’s.”

  “Mai!”

  “Oh, fine,” she said, reluctantly handing over her bag.

  He whipped open the pack, pulling out a handful of items and tossing them onto the ground. Grabbing the slim metal box behind him, he slid it between his legs and into Mai’s open bag at his feet.

  Gerard had already crossed half the distance toward them.

  Fred stuffed Mai’s things back in on top and tugged the zipper closed just as Gerard reached them. Had he seen the box? Grace jumped out in front of him.

  “What are you three doing over here?” Gerard asked, peering around her and staring at the pack at Fred’s feet.

  “Taking a break,” Fred said. He tried to sound casual. But what was the point? Gerard could probably hear his heart pounding.

  “What’s in the bag?” Gerard asked. He reached out as if to grab it.

  “Nothing you didn’t see already,” Fred said, tucking Mai’s bag between his legs and out of reach.

  “You put something in there.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know—something.”

  “What something?” Mai said. “You’ve been watching us the whole time.”

  “Yeah,” Grace chimed in, her voice louder. “What have you got against kids anyway? Think we all steal or something?”

  Gerard looked behind him. All the volunteers had stopped excavating and were watching them. The archaeologist was on her feet. “Is there a problem?” she called out.

  “Uh, no, nothing,” Gerard said. “Just checking on the boy.”

  “Is he okay?” The archaeologist started walking toward them.

  “He’s fine. Aren’t you…” Gerard stared down at him. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  “Listen here, you—”

  “Everything all right?” the archaeologist asked. Grey hair jutted out in every direction from beneath the brim of a tattered Tilley hat. It was just like one Fred’s grandfather used to wear. She smiled down at Fred with kind blue eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

  “Very good,” she said. “Did you all enjoy your experience here at the fortress today?”

  “Oh yes,” Mai said. “It was a lot of fun. I’m going to write a report for my class.”

  “That’s marvellous,” she said. “Be sure to send me a copy here at the fortress. I’d love to read it.”

  Mai blushed.

  “What about you?” The archaeologist turned to Grace.

  “Uh,” Grace murmured. “Well, sort of. I, um, like fossil hunting better, though.”

  “I see,” she smiled. “Well, you were all very well behaved. I didn’t realize we were involving students as young as you in the program. I’ll have to find out whose idea that was. Perhaps we can add to it next year.”

  Fred gulped. He hoped she didn’t start asking questions too soon.

  “I don’t believe I have you on my list,” she added. “Make sure you sign in so we can send you a follow-up questionnaire about your experience here.”

  “Ah, sure,” Fred said. He stood up, passing the pack back to Mai.

  Gerard’s eyes narrowed, his head turning to follow the pack switching hands. The guy was downright c
reepy. Did he have X-ray vision or something?

  Although Fred was nervous not having the box as close, it was a relief not to have the metal digging into his leg. They continued their work beside the archaeologist. Sifting slowly through the soil for broken pieces of old stuff was not exciting—at all! Finally, when they were done for the day, they helped her pack up, hoping that Gerard would give up and leave.

  For a while, it seemed like they were never going to get rid of him. But eventually he growled something about being late for his shift at the gate and left. He turned around and glared at them one last time. Fred shivered. He was sure they hadn’t seen the last of him.

  They walked up the hill with the archaeologist, back toward the fortress. She was chatting away, telling them to be sure to seek her out if they had any questions, and that she was usually at the museum. She was so grateful for all their help, was going to write to their principal—blah, blah, blah. Fred was only thinking of one thing—finally being able to open the box.

  It was a relief when the archaeologist turned up the lane to the museum. They continued into the reconstructed streets of the fortress. The scene was much different than when they had arrived in the quiet of the early morning. Tents had appeared, scattered along the quay, the main street that ran along the oceanfront. Re-enactors, many already in their period costumes, were busy setting up their sites.

  Fred’s leg was itchy and raw where the box had scratched it. Spots of blood had seeped through the front of his jeans. He needed a Band-Aid.

  “C’mon, Dad probably set up the tents already,” he said, turning right. “Yeah, here we are.” Two shabby canvas tents were erected side by side, tucked in front of a couple of isolated buildings. They were at the edge of the reconstructed town area, a small guard lookout post beside them on the water side. Will ghost soldiers of the past keep watch for us? he wondered.

  “Cool,” Grace said. “It’s like we’re camping in the candy part of a lollipop. That road is the stick,” she said, pointing to the quay and following the straight wall with her finger, then making a circle motion, mimicking the seawall that curved around them, the two buildings, and the guard post. “And we’re in the round lollipop,” she finished, spinning around in their campsite.