"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.