the wooded hills where the villagers were wont to cut their winter
firewood, a few of the more hardy and impetuous of the Acadians,
disdaining to bend to the authority of Le Loutre, fled away into the
wilds with their muskets and a little bread; and these the Indians
dared not try to stop.

The English boats, driven furiously, dashed high up the slippery beach,
and the troops swarmed over the brown and sticky dikes. Major Lawrence
led the way at a run across the marshes; but the soft soil clogged
their steps, and a wide bog forced them far to one side. When they
reached the outskirts of the village the sorrowful dusk of the April
evening was falling over the further plains and the full tide behind
them, but the sky in front was ablaze. There was little wind, and the
flames shot straight aloft, and the smoke hung on the scene in dense
curtains, doubling the height of the hill behind the village, and
reflecting back alike the fierce heat and the dreadful glare. At one
side, skulking behind some outlying barns just bursting into flame,
a few Indians were sighted and pursued. The savages fired once on their
pursuers, and then, with a yell of derision and defiance, disappeared
behind the smoke. The English force went into camp with the conflagration
covering its rear, and philosophically built its camp fires and cooked
its evening meal with the aid of the burning sheds and hayricks.

As Pierre Lecorbeau drove his ox cart up the slope of Beausejour toward
the commandant's cabin, where his father was awaiting him, he halted
and looked back while the blowing oxen took breath. His mother, who had
stayed to the last, was sitting in the cart on a pile of her treasures.
The children had been taken to a place of safety by their father, who
had left the final stripping of the home to his wife and boy, while
he went ahead to arrange for the night's shelter. Antoine Lecorbeau