on British soil, no armed opposition could be made to the landing
of the British force; and the troops on Beausejour could only gnaw
their mustaches and gaze in angry silence. But Le Loutre was resolved
that on the arrival of the British there should be no more Beaubassin.
The villagers were not to remain in such bad company!

Pierre Lecorbeau was swift of foot. As he sped across the gray-green
levels, at this season of the year spongy with rains, he glanced over
his shoulder and saw the abbe, with his companions, just quitting the
log cabin which served as the quarters of Boishebert. The boy's brow
took on a yet darker shadow. When he reached the top of the dike that
bordered the Missaguash, he paused an instant and gazed seaward.
Pierre was eagerly French at heart, loving France, as he hated
Le Loutre, with a fresh and young enthusiasm; and as his eyes rested
on the crimson folds, the red, blue, and white crosses that streamed
from the topmasts of the English ships, his eyes flashed with keen
hostility. Then he vanished over the dike, and was soon splashing
through the muddy shallows of the ford. The water was fast deepening,
and he thought to himself, "If Monsieur the abbe doesn't hurry,
he will have to swim where I am walking but knee-deep!"

There was another stretch of marsh for Pierre to cross ere reaching
the gentle and fruitful slopes on which the village was outspread.
On the very edge of the village, halfway up a low hill jutting out
into the Missaguash marsh, stood the cabin of Pierre's father amid
its orchards. There was little work to do on the farm at this season.
The stock had all been tended, and the family were gathered in the
kitchen when Pierre, breathless and gasping, burst in with his evil
tidings.