Free Band of Acadians by John Skelton Page A

on taking advantage of this opportunity to make their own slate. Slate shortages were the source of much bad feeling, particularly when the treasured drawings of one “artist” had to be erased by another.
    Frank was more than willing. “I noticed that gypsum bubbles up when it’s heated. I’d like to find out what those bubbles are made of.”
    â€œHow are you going to check that?” Jocelyne asked.
    â€œI’m going to taste it.”
    Quite astonished, Nola said, “I hope it’s not poisonous.” Frank had a directness and sharpness of mind that intrigued her. It seemed that he was forever trying strange —to her — ways to understand how things worked.
    Hector also had a reason to stop. “I’m going to try to find a quicker way to grind that black shale. Last time we used a mortar and pestle, and it was slow work. I think if I attached a shaft and pedal mechanism to a piece of granite the grinding would become much easier.”
    Unlike their earlier efforts, this conversion of gypsum into slates went swiftly. It took just over two days, and everyone pitched in with renewed energy when they found an ample supply of seashells. “These seashells are certainly easier to convert into lime than the hard limestone we used before,” Frank said.
    By noon of the third day, everyone was delighted to possess, finally, their very own slate. Then it was time to get back onto the rafts.
    As they were about to leave, Frank loaded so many gypsum rocks onboard that Hector became concerned they might sink. “Why on earth do you want so many of those rocks, Frank?”
    â€œI have a project in mind,” Frank said mysteriously. “But don’t ask me what it is yet, because I’m not sure it will work.”
    Grandpa changed the subject. “I think we should head for the eastern arm of the lake. It’s about twenty miles from here and looks as if it would only be a four-mile portage to reach the tip of that arm to the head of the Baie des Espanols. That’s the bay where Monsieur Denys’s map shows there’s an outcrop of coal.”
    Hector nodded but then asked, “Frank, how do you plan to move all that rock over the portage?”
    â€œWell, I was planning to talk to you about that. I hope there will be a good trail along that portage, good enough to support a wheel. If that’s what we find, I’d like you to ask some boys to build a few wheelbarrows.”
    â€œIf the trail’s smooth enough, then fine, yes. But why don’t you tell us more about how you plan to use all that stone?”
    â€œI told you. I’m not sure my plan will work. There are several things that could go wrong, so I’d rather not talk about it until I know more.”
    It was well past midnight and so dark when they landed at the head of the eastern arm that no one dared venture ashore for fear of getting lost. First light showed a dense forest of spruce and pine covered with smoke-like haze floating among the treetops. It soon became apparent that there was a well-used trail along one side of a rocky gully.
    â€œMonsieur Denys’s map shows no settlement around here, so I expect that trail was made by Mi’kmaq hunters,” Hector said. “We’ll leave the rafts here and portage our supplies and the shallops. It’s only ten miles to that coal outcropping. It shouldn’t be too difficult to ferry all our supplies in those boats.”
    Frank was so anxious to see the outcropping that he rushed ahead, carrying only a light load. This resulted in him being the first to see the small inlet that would become the new home of the Rameurs . By the time others had joined him, he had made a preliminary assessment.
    â€œI think we should build along this flat area next to the creek,” Frank told them. “It’s close to that coal seam.” He pointed. “And there are lots of seashells and clay for building.