arried back to Fort Duquesne, where they put the French on guard.
The jubilant joy at the French fort need not be described. When he
heard of the English advance, Contrecoeur, the commander, had been
cooped up with less than one thousand men, half of whom were Indians.
Had Braddock once reached Fort Duquesne, he could have starved it into
surrender without firing a gun, or shelled it into kindling wood with
his heavy artillery. Beaujeu, an officer under Contrecoeur, had
volunteered to go out and meet the English. "My son, my son, will you
walk into the arms of death?" demanded the Indian chiefs. "My fathers,
will you allow me to go alone?" answered Beaujeu; and out he sallied
with six hundred picked men. It was Beaujeu whom Braddock's men had
seen dash out and wave his hat. The brave Frenchman fell, shot at the
first {231} volley from the English, and his Indian friends avenged his
death by roasting thirty English prisoners alive.

The Isthmus of Chignecto, or the boundary between New Brunswick and
Nova Scotia, was the scene of the border-land fights in Acadia. To
narrate half the forays, raids, and ambuscades would require a volume.
Fights as gallant as Dollard's at the Sault waged from Beausejour, the
French fort north of the boundary, to Grand Pre and Annapolis, where
the English were stationed. After the founding of Halifax the Abbe Le
Loutre, whose false, foolish counsels had so often endangered the
habitant farmer, moved from his mission in the center of Acadia up to
Beausejour on the New Brunswick side. Here he could be seen with his
Indians toiling like a demon over the trenches, when Monckton, the
English general, came on June 1, 1855, with the British fleet, to land
his forces at Fort Lawrence, the English post on the south side.
Colonel Lawrence was now English governor of Acadia, and he had decided
with Monckton that once and for all the French of Acadia must be
subjugated. The French of Beausejour had in all less than fifteen
hundred men, half of whom were simple Acadian farmers forced into
unwilling service by the priest's threats of Indian raid in this world
and damnation in the next. Day dawn of June 4 the bugles blew to arms
and the English forces, some four thousand, had marched to the south
shore of the Missaguash River, when the French on the north side
uttered a whoop and emitted a clatter of shots. Black-hatted,
sinister, tireless, the priest could be seen urging his Indians on.
The E