The Forge in the Forest: Being the Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, Seigneur de Briart; and How He Crossed the Black Abbé; and of His Adventures in a Strange FellowshipRoberts, Charles G. D., Sir
History
The Forge in the Forest: Being the Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, Seigneur de Briart; and How He Crossed the Black Abbé; and of His Adventures in a Strange Fellowship
Roberts, Charles G. D., Sir
Acadians -- Fiction; Canada -- History -- To 1763 (New France) -- Fiction; Historical fiction
It seemed as if I had but fairly got my eyes shut, when I was awakened
by a violent pitching of the boat. I sat up, grasping the gunwale, and
saw Marc just catching my knee to rouse me. The boat, heeling far
over, and hauled close to the wind, was heading a little up the channel
and straight for a narrow inlet which I knew to be the joint mouth of
two small rivers.
"Where are you going? Why is our course changed?" I asked sharply,
being nettled by a sudden notion that they had made some change of plan
without my counsel.
"Look yonder, Father!" said Marc, pointing.
I looked, and my heart shook with mingled wrath and apprehension.
Behind us followed three canoes, urged on by sail and paddle.
"They outsail us?" I inquired.
"Ay, before the wind, they do, M'sieu!" said Tamin. "On this tack,
maybe not. We'll soon see!"
"But what's this but a mere trap we are running our heads into?" I
urged.
"I fear there's nothing else but to quit the boat and make through the
woods, Father," explained Marc; "that is, if we're so fortunate as to
keep ahead till we reach land."
"In the woods, I suppose, we can outwit them or outfoot them," said I;
"but those Micmacs are untiring on the trail."
"I know a good man with a good boat over by Shulie on the Fundy shore,"
interposed Tamin. "And I know the way over the hills. We'll cheat the
rogue of a priest yet!" And he shrewdly measured the distance that
parted us from our pursuers.
"It galls me to be running from these dogs!" I growled.
"Our turn will come," said Marc, glowering darkly at the canoes. "Do
you guess the Black Abbe is with them?"
"Not he!" grunted Tamin.
"Things may happen this time," said I, "and the good father may wish to
keep his soutane clear of them. It's all plain enough to me now. The
Indians, finding themselves tricked, have gone back on the Pereau trail
and most inopportunely have released the gentle Abbe from his bonds.
He has seen through our game, and has sent his pack to look to it that
we never get to de Ramezay. But _he_ will have no hand in it. Oh, no!"
"What's plain to me now," interrupted Tamin, with some anxiety in his
voice, "is that they're gaining on us fast. They've put down
leeboards; an' with leeboards down a Micmac canoe's hard to beat."
"Oh!" I exclaimed bitterly, "if we had but our muskets! Fool that I
was, thus to think to save time and not go back for our weapons! Trust
me, lad, it's the first time that Jean de Mer has had that particular
kind of folly to repent of!"
"But there was nought else for it, Father," said Marc. "And if, as
seems most possible, we come to close quarters presently, we are not so
naked as we might be. Here's your two pistols, my good whinger, and
Tamin's fishy dirk. And Tamin's gaff here will make a pretty lance.
It is borne in upon me that some of the good Abbe's lambs will bleat
for their shepherd before this night's work be done!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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