“Far away, at the mouth of the inlet . . . lay three small ships.”
Far away, at the mouth of the inlet, where it broadens into Chignecto Bay, lay three small ships, English beyond a doubt.
For a minute Margot lingered, giving herself up to speculation. Then like a bird she flew back to one of the rude and simple dwellings of the kind which even in happier days fulfilled the frugal Acadian’s highest idea of home. Flinging open the door without ceremony she cried, “English ships in the bay!” and sped upon her homeward course.
Herbes and Marin and their wives were still planning and discussing, but the words on their lips were checked by Margot’s breathless ejaculation. In silence they gazed at one another, with the characteristic slowness of their race. What was now to be done?
Margot, whose mind moved more swiftly than those of most of her country-people, soon spoke again, with as much impatience as the habit of respect for her elders permitted.
“What shall we do, you say? Oh, good friends, let us escape to the English ships, they will help us to Halifax! But oh, quick, quick!”
“You forget, maiden,” said Marin with pompous rebuke. “There is the oath of allegiance in the way.”
“And what of that?” cried all three women this time. Marie Herbes continuing:
“What hurt did the oath do us in the past? Did we not till our own land and gather in our crops unaffrighted and undisturbed?—untaxed too? Did not our own priests minister to us?”
A crafty gleam crept into the little eyes of Marin.