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Now, their forms silhouetted against the white background could be seen and distinguished. In all they were about four hundred well and heavily armed Canadian soldiers, Micmac, Malecite and Penobscot Indians and a few Acadians. Heavily bundled in furs, bending under their cumbersome packs, with muskets slung over their shoulders and ball and pouch at their side, they trudged forward on their snow-shoes, alongside the dog sledges on which were packed their provisions, supplies, blankets and ammunition. Some pulled at the sledges, some pushed, while others steadied the heavily loaded vehicles. As the Acadians drew near to greet them, they were not surprised to hear them speak in their mother language for, in all probability, they knew that they were coming. At the head of these four hundred men were leaders, whose names are today familiar to all students of the Colonial History and who in their day were known among friend and foe for their resourceful ingenuity, bravery and endurance. Of the warfare of the forest and of the stream, of the lake and of the mountain, alike in Winter’s cold and Summer’s heat, they were the superb masters. The border settlements of New England had known them only too well and too often. Time after time, they had fallen upon them with fire, sword, shot and tomahawk. After patient and undetectable treks through the wide forests, the hinterland of the settlements of New England, it was their practice and their achievement to fall without warning upon the surprised and defenceless colonists, and then in a few hours having accomplished their ruin and slaughter, to retreat again into the utter safety of the vast forests. For years they had been the terror, the scourge, the exasperation of the New Englanders; the hope, the heroes of New France. Back |
