The refuge of good wife Lecorbeau, and the children, and "Pierre's little one" was a wooded bit of rising ground which, before the diking-in of the Tantramar marshes, had been an island at high water. It was still called Isle au Tantramar. Among the trees, under rude lean-to tents and improvised shelters of all sorts, were gathered the women and children of BeausÉjour, out of range of the cannon balls that they knew would soon be flying over their homes. The weather was balmy, and their situation not immediately painful, but their hearts were a prey to the wildest anxieties.

By this time the New Englanders had landed over against Fort Lawrence, and had joined their forces with those of the English at the fort. The numbers of the attacking army filled the Acadians with apprehension of defeat. Many of them, like Lecorbeau, had in the past taken oath of allegiance to King George, and these feared lest, in the probable event of the English being victorious, they should be put to death as traitors. This difficulty was solved, and their fears much mitigated, in a thoroughly novel way. The commandant assured them solemnly that if they refused to join in the defense of the fort he would shoot them down like dogs. Upon this the Acadians conceived themselves released from all responsibility in the matter, and went quite cheerfully to work. Even Lecorbeau feeling himself secured by Vergor's menace, was quietly and fearlessly interested in the approaching struggle. Lecorbeau, was no faint-heart, though his far-seeing sagacity often made him appear so in the eyes of those who did not know him well. As for Pierre, he was now in his element, sniffing the battle like a young warhorse, and forgetful of the odds against him. Le Loutre was everywhere at once, tireless, seeing everything, spurring the work, and worth a hundred Vergors in such a crisis as this.

BeausÉjour was a strong post, a pentagon with heavy ramparts of earth, with two bombproofs, so called, and mounting twenty-five pieces of artillery. Some of the guns were heavy metal for those days and that remote defense. I have seen them used as gateposts by the more aristocratic of BeausÉjour's present inhabitants. Within the fort was a garrison of one hundred and sixty regulars. Three hundred Acadians were added to this garrison--among them being Pierre and his father. The rest of the Acadians spread themselves in bands through the woods and uplands, in order to carry on a system of harassing attacks.

Across the Missaguash, some distance from its mouth, there was a bridge called Pont-Â-Buot, and thither, after a day or two of reconnoitering, Colonel Moncton led his forces from Fort Lawrence. They marched in long column up the Missaguash shore, wading through the rich young grasses. As they approached they saw that the bridge had been broken down, and the fragments used to build a breastwork on the opposite shore. This breastwork, as far as they could see, was unoccupied.

Appearances in this case were deceptive. Hidden behind the breastwork was a body of troops from BeausÉjour. There were nearly four hundred of them--Acadians and Indians, with a few regulars to give them steadiness. Pierre, as might have been expected, was among the band, beside his instructor, the old sergeant. Trembling with excitement, though outwardly calm enough, Pierre watched, through the chinks of the breastwork, the approach of the hostile column. Just as it reached the point opposite, where the bridge had been broken away, he heard a sharp command from an officer just behind him. Instantly, he hardly knew how, he found himself on his feet, yelling fiercely, and firing as fast as he could reload his musket. Through the rifts of the smoke he could see that the hot fire was doing execution in the English ranks. Presently, he heard the old sergeant remark:

"There come the guns! Now look out for a squall!"--and he saw two fieldpieces being hurriedly dragged into position. The next thing he knew there was a roar--the breastwork on one side of him flew into fragments, and he saw a score of his comrades dead about him. The roar was repeated several times, but his blood was up, and he went on loading and firing as before, without a thought of fear. At length the sergeant grabbed him by the arm.

"We've got to skip out of this and cut for cover in those bushes yonder. We'll do more good there, and this breastwork, or what's left of it, is no longer worth holding."

Pierre looked about him astonished, and found they were almost alone. He shouldered his musket and strode sullenly into cover, the old sergeant laughingly slapping him on the back.

Firing irregularly from the woods, the French succeeded in making it very unpleasant for the English in their work of laying a new bridge. But, notwithstanding, the bridge grew before their eyes. Pierre was disgusted.

"We're beaten, it seems, already," he cried to the sergeant.

"Not at all!" responded the latter, cheerfully. "All this small force could be expected to do has been already done. We have suffered but slightly, while we have caused the enemy considerable loss. That's all we set out to do. We're not strong enough to stand up to them; we're only trying to weaken them all we can. See, now they're crossing--and it's about time we were out of this!"

It was indeed so. The bridge was laid, the column was hastening across. A bugle rang out the signal for retreat, and the fire from the bushes ceased. In a moment the Acadian force had dissolved, scattering like a cloud of mist before the sun. Pierre found himself, with a handful of his comrades, speeding back to the fort. Others sought their proper rendezvous. There was nothing for the English to chase, so they kept their column unbroken. As Pierre entered the fort he saw the enemy establishing themselves in the uplands, about a mile and a half from BeausÉjour.

When night fell the heavens were lit up with a glare that carried terror to the women and children on Isle au Tantramar. Vergor had set fire to the chapel, and to all the houses of BeausÉjour that might shelter an approach to the ramparts. "Alas," cried the unhappy mother Lecorbeau to the children about her, "we are once more homeless, without a roof to shelter us!" and she and all the women broke into loud lamentations. The children, however, seemed rather to enjoy the scene, and Edie told an interested audience about the great blaze there was, and how red the sky looked, the night her dear Pierre carried her away from Kenneticook.

For several days the English made no further advance, and to Pierre and his fellow-Acadians in the fort the suspense became very trying. The regulars took the delay most philosophically, seeming content to wait just as long as the enemy would permit them. Pierre began to wish he was with one of the guerilla parties outside, for these were busy all the time, making little raids, cutting off foraging parties, skirmishing with pickets, and retreating nimbly to the hills whenever attacked in force. At length there came a change. A battalion of New Englanders, about five hundred strong, advanced to within easy range of the fort, and occupied a stony ridge well adapted for their purpose.

A braggart among the French officers, one Vannes by name, begged to be allowed to sally forth with a couple of hundred men and rout the audacious provincials. Vergor sanctioned the enterprise, and the boaster marched proudly forth with his company. Arriving in front of the New Englanders he astounded the latter, and supplied his comrades in the fort with food for endless mirth, by facing the right about and leading his shame-faced files quietly back to BeausÉjour. Pierre was profoundly thankful to the old sergeant for having dissuaded him from joining in the sally. Covering Vannes's humiliation the fort opened a determined fire, which after a time disabled one of the small mortars which the assailants had placed in position. Gradually the English brought up the rest of their guns, and on the following day a sharp artillery duel was carried on between the fort and the ridge.

Within the ramparts things went but ill, and Pierre became despondent as his eyes were opened to the almost universal corruption about him. Enlightened by the shrewd comments of the old sergeant, the quiet penetration of his father's glance, which saw everything, he soon realized that fraud and self-seeking were become the ruling impulse in BeausÉjour. "Like master, like man" was a proverb which he saw daily fulfilled. Vergor thought more of robbing than of serving his country, and from him his subordinates took their cue. Le Loutre, with his fiery fanaticism, went up, by contrast, in the estimation of the honest-hearted boy. As the siege dragged on some of the Acadians became homesick, or anxious about their families. These begged leave to go home; which was of course refused. Others quietly went without asking. An air of hopelessness stole over the garrison, which was deepened to despair when news came from Louisburg that no help could be expected from that quarter, the town being strictly blockaded by the English.

At length, in an ignoble way, came the crisis. In one of the two vaulted chambers of masonry which were dignified with the title of "bombproofs," a party of French officers, with a captive English lieutenant, were sitting at breakfast. A shell from the English mortars dropped through the ceiling, exploded, and killed seven of the company. Vergor, with other officers and Le Loutre, was in the second bombproof. His martial spirit was confounded at the thought that the one retreat might turn out to be no more "bomb-proof" than the other. Most of his subordinate officers shared his feelings, and in a few minutes, to the pleasant astonishment of the English, and in spite of the furious protests of Le Loutre and of two or three officers who were not lost to all sense of manhood, a white flag was hoisted on BeausÉjour. The firing straightway ceased, on both sides, and an officer was sent forth to negotiate a capitulation.

Pierre threw down his musket, and looked at his father, who stood watching the proceedings with a smile of grim contempt. Then he turned to the sergeant, who was smoking philosophically.

"Is this the best France can do?" he cried, in a sharp voice.

"The English do certainly show to rather the better advantage," interposed Lecorbeau; but the old sergeant hastened to answer, in a tone of sober grief:

"You must'nt judge la belle France by the men she has been sending out to Canada and Acadie these late years, my Pierre. These are the creatures of Bigot, the notorious. It is he and they that are dragging our honor in the dust!"

"Well," exclaimed Pierre, "I shall stay and see this thing through; but as there is no more fighting to be done, you, father, had better go and take care of mother and the children. There is nothing to be gained, but a good deal to be risked by staying here and being taken prisoner. The English may not think much of the powers of compulsion of a man that can't fight any better than our commandant"

"You're right, my boy," said Lecorbeau, cheerfully. "My situation just now is a delicate one, to say the least of it. Well, good-bye for the present. By this time to-morrow, if all goes as expeditiously as it has hitherto, we shall meet in our own cabin again."

With these words Lecorbeau walked coolly forth, on the side of the fort opposite to the besiegers, and strolled across the marshes toward Isle au Tantramar. Two or three more, who were in the same awkward position as Lecorbeau, proceeded to follow his example. The rest, considering that for them there was now no danger, the fighting being done, stayed to see the end, and to pick up what they could in the way of spoils. As for Le Loutre, realizing that his cause was lost and his neck in the utmost jeopardy, he hid himself in a skillful disguise and fled in haste for Quebec.

The same evening, at seven o'clock, the garrison marched out of BeausÉjour with the honors of war; whereupon a body of New Englanders marched in, hoisted the flag of England, and fired a royal salute from the ramparts of the fort. By the terms of the capitulation the garrison was to be sent at once to Louisburg, and those Acadians who in taking part in the defense had violated their oath of allegiance to King George were to be pardoned as having done it under compulsion. All such matters of detail having been arranged satisfactorily, Vergor gave a grand dinner to the English and French officers in the stronghold of which his cowardice had robbed his country. The fort was rechristened "Fort Cumberland," and the curiously assorted guests all joined most cordially in drinking to the new title.

On the following day Lecorbeau brought his wife and family back to the cottage under the willows, and Pierre was reunited to his beloved "petite." Isle au Tantramar was soon deserted, for the families whose homes at BeausÉjour had just been burnt returned to camp amid the ashes and erected rude temporary shelters. They were all overjoyed at the leniency of the English; but a blow more terrible than any that had yet befallen them was hanging over this most unhappy people.

Among the English officers encamped at BeausÉjour was the slim young lieutenant who had led the band of avengers at Kenneticook. He spoke French; he was interested in the Acadian people; and he moved about among them inquiring into their minds and troubles. The cabin under the willows, almost the only house left standing in BeausÉjour village, at once attracted him, and he sauntered down the hill to visit it.

The household was in a bustle getting things once more to rights; and a group of children played chattering about the low, red, ocher-washed door. As the lieutenant approached, Lecorbeau came forth to meet and greet him. The Englishman was just on the point of grasping the Acadian's outstretched hand, when a shrill cry of "Uncle Willie" rang in his ears, and he found one of the children clinging to him rapturously. For an instant he was utterly bewildered, gazing down on the sunburned fair little face upturned to his. Then he snatched the child to his heart, exclaiming passionately, "My Edie, my darling!" To Lecorbeau, and to his wife and Pierre, who now appeared, the scene was clear in an instant; and a weight of misery rolled down upon the heart of Pierre as he realized that now he should lose the little one he loved so well.

For a few moments the child and her new-found uncle were entirely absorbed in each other. But presently the little one looked around and pointed to Pierre.

"Here's my Pierre!" she explained in her quaint French--"and there's papa Lecorbeau, and mamma Lecorbeau, and there's little Jacques, and Bibi, and Vergie, and Tiste. Won't you come and live with us, too?"

Her uncle covered her face anew with his kisses. "My darling," he said, "you will come with me to Halifax, to mamma!"

"And leave Pierre?" she cried, her eyes filling. "I can't leave my Pierre, who saved me from the cruel Indians."

This recalled the young man's thoughts to the mystery of the little one's presence at BeausÉjour. Lecorbeau gave him a bench, and sitting down beside him told the story, while Edie sat with one hand in her uncle's clasp and the other in that of Pierre. The young Englishman was deeply moved. Having heard all, and questioned of the matter minutely, he rose and shook Pierre by the hand, thanking him in few words, indeed, but in a voice that spoke his emotion. Then he poured out his gratitude to Lecorbeau and his wife for their goodness, to this child of their foes; and little by little he gathered the Acadian's feelings toward the English, and the part he had played throughout. At length he said:

"Can you allow me to quarter myself here for the present? I cannot take Edie into the camp, and she would not be willing if I could. I see from her love for you how truly kind she has found you. I want to be with the little one as much as possible; and, moreover, my presence here may prove of use to you in the near future."

The significance of these last words Lecorbeau did not care to question, but after a glance at his wife, who looked dumfounded at the proposition, he said:

"You may well realize, monsieur, that with this small cabin and this large family we can give you but poor accommodation. But such as it is, you are more than welcome to it. Your coming will be to us an honor and a pleasure, and a most valued protection."

The lieutenant at once took up his abode in Lecorbeau's cabin. When, a few weeks later, the first scenes were enacted in the tragedy known as the "Expulsion of the Acadians," the friendship of the young lieutenant and of Edie stood Lecorbeau in good stead. This storm which scattered to the four winds the remnant of the Acadians, passed harmlessly over the cabin beneath the willows of BeausÉjour. When Acadie was once more quiet, and Edie and her uncle went to Halifax, Lecorbeau added fertile acres to his farm; while Pierre accompanied his "petite" to the city, where his own abilities, and the lieutenant's steadfast friendship, won him advancement and success.

HOW THE CARTER BOYS LIFTED THE MORTGAGE.