"Well, well, lad!" continued the latter, presently, "_I'll_ let them
know as soon as the expedition is safely out of this. This priest is quite
too merciless for me. I'll explain the whole thing to your father and
mother, and will assure them that there's no danger; as, indeed, is the
truth, for it is pretty safe and easy work to shoot a man when he's not
more than half awake. Now, be easy in your mind, and leave the hard
work and any little fighting there may be to those red heathens that
His Reverence talks so much about."
With these words, which relieved Pierre's mind, the commandant turned
away, and left the youth to perfect his transformation into a Micmac
brave.
It was drawing toward midnight when the abbe's imitation Micmacs, after
a hearty supper of meat, took their way from Beausejour. They saw no
sentry as they stole forth. Le Loutre was with them, and himself led
the way. The night was raw and gusty, with rain threatening. As they
descended the hill they could hear the stream of the Missaguash brawling
over the stones of the mid-channel, for the tide was out. Across the
solitary marshes could be seen the lights of Fort Lawrence gleaming
from their hilltop. Overhead was the weird cry of flocks of wild geese
voyaging north. The gusts made Pierre draw his blanket closer about him,
and the strangeness of his surroundings, with the dreadful character
of the venture on which he was bound, filled his soul with awe. He was
determined, however, to produce a good impression on the dreaded abbe.
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