Belle of Batoche by Jacqueline Guest Page A

rising from their horses, she glimpsed a strange looking weapon that was so large it was mounted on two wheels. The barrel wasn’t a single metal tube, but many all joined together in a group and it had a tall rod sticking out of the top filled with bullets. On the side was a crank, which Belle realized would be used to fire the deadly bullets. This was the terrible Gatling gun she had heard about. It could shoot many rounds per minute, and there was no defense against it.
    As she made her way to the top of a sharp rise, Belle was surprised to hear voices coming from the other side. Dropping to her knees, she crawled to the edge and peered over.
    Below her, three soldiers stood with their horses. One was tightening the cinch on the saddle as his mount skittered nervously. They were all smoking cigars. The smell made Belle think of burning manure.
    â€œMcCorry, hurry up! We’re falling behind!” growled a tall soldier with a drooping moustache.
    â€œDon’t worry, Nattras. When they start firing that nine-pound cannon, there’ll be so much confusion, we’ll have no trouble taking the bell.” He kneed his horse in the belly to get the big mare to blow out her breath, then pulled the cinch tight.
    The third man remounted his tall black horse. “Quit jawin’ and mount up! We might not be the only ones who know about the silver waiting in that bell tower.”
    â€œWho made you boss, Stainthorp?” The one called McCorry laughed, climbing back on his horse. “When we melt that bell down, even split three ways, we’ll have more money than we could make in a year in this stinking army.”
    The three men moved off at a canter as Belle watched, wide-eyed. They could only have been talking about one thing: Marie-Antoinette!
    They were going to steal the bell from the church!

12
Hide Out!
    Belle looked back toward the river. She could still hear the gunfire, but she had no choice. She would have to go into the heart of the fighting to warn Father Moulin what was going to happen.
    Belle scrambled to her feet and ran as fast as she could for Batoche!
    Her breath came in ragged gasps as she topped the last hill on the outskirts of the town. She stared in disbelief at the scene below.
    Women and children were running everywhere, fleeing the echoing gunfire. The cannon boomed. Where the shells struck, houses exploded as though they were made of matchsticks.
    Belle became aware of a smoky haze in the air around her. “Oh no!” she whispered. Directly below her on the riverbank, the Johnson house was on fire! Flames licked the sides of the wooden building, reaching fiery tentacles toward the roof where, to Belle’s horror, Sarah clung to the chimney, her brother Samuel slumped beside her.
    Belle raced down the hill to the Johnson house.
    â€œSarah, you and Samuel must get down!” she screamed. “The fire is on the second floor and soon the roof will be gone!”
    Sarah sobbed as she gripped the stone chimney for support. “There’s no way down!” she cried. “Belle, please help us!”
    â€œWhere are your parents?” Belle called back, praying that they were not trapped inside.
    â€œGone,” Sarah wailed. “And the maid ran away when they … when they start- ed shooting.”
    Her brother Samuel didn’t look right to Belle. He wasn’t moving. “Is Samuel hurt?” she called up. Why had their parents left them on such a day?
    â€œHe was asleep in his room, in all that smoke. He won’t wake up.” Sarah touched her brother gently on the head. “I think he’s going to die!” She began wailing even more loudly.
    â€œNonsense!” Belle called. “Sarah Johnson, you stop blubbering this minute! Your brother needs you.” Belle had to do something quickly. She could see the fire was spreading rapidly. “Where’s your ladder?” she shouted, peering around the yard.
    â€œI