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Updated: June 24, 2025
Fools and revilers!" exclaimed a deep and cutting voice behind them; and turning with a start they saw the dreaded Le Loutre standing in their midst. Lecorbeau and Pierre became pale with apprehension and superstitious awe, while the old sergeant laughed awkwardly, abashed though not dismayed.
Antoine Lecorbeau had lost his home, his farm, his barns, his orchards, and his easy satisfaction with life; but thanks to Pierre's promptitude and his own shrewdness he had saved all his household stuff, his cattle, his hay and grain, and the little store of gold coin which had been hidden under the great kitchen hearth.
The summer, though a laborious one, slipped by not at all unpleasantly. Mother Lecorbeau soon had a roof to shelter her little brood of swarthy roisterers; a rough shed, built over a hillside spring in a group of willows, served as the dairy wherein she made the butter and cheese so appreciated by the warriors on Beausejour.
On the banks of the Kenneticook there was a tiny settlement which had been an eyesore to the abbe ever since its establishment some three years before. There were only a half dozen houses in the colony and against these Le Loutre decided to strike. In the enterprise he saw an opportunity of making Lecorbeau feel his power. He would make the careful Acadian take part in the expedition.
As the great cart went creaking on, Lecorbeau looked over his shoulder, with an inscrutable gaze, and watched the retreating figure of the priest. "Thou mayst be a good servant to France," he murmured, "but it is an ill service, a sorry service, thou dost the Church!"
The abbe's sallow face worked with anger, and for a moment his narrow eyes blazed upon Lecorbeau and seemed to read his very soul. Then, as he glanced across the marsh, his countenance changed. A fanatic zeal illumined it, taking away half its repulsiveness. "Nay!" he cried, "I am not there in the battle.
Now in the household of Antoine Lecorbeau, and in Beaubassin generally, not less than among the garrison of Beausejour, the coming of the English fleet had produced a commotion. But in the heart of Lecorbeau there was less anxiety than curiosity.
In the eyes of Lecorbeau and his wife she came to seem like one of their own and she was a favorite with the whole family; but to Pierre she clung as if he were her father and mother in one. As soon as she had learned a little French she was questioned minutely as to her parents and her home. Her name, Edie Howe, had at once been associated with that of the lamented captain.
Meanwhile the English were making ready to do just what Lecorbeau said they might do. At the same time the French at Quebec, at Louisburg, at Beausejour, though talking briskly about the great stroke by which Acadie was to be recaptured, were too busy plundering the treasury to take any immediate steps.
The boy, who was apparently about sixteen or seventeen years of age, was clad in the rough, yellow-gray homespun cloth of the Acadians. His name was Pierre Lecorbeau, and he had just come from the village of Beaubassin to carry eggs, milk, and cheeses to the camp on Beausejour. The words he now heard seemed to concern him deeply, for his dark face paled anxiously as he listened.
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