Part 16

Two or three miles of a run down a long, narrow harbor, where the waters were deep enough for large ships, brought them at last to their destination. A wharf lay there, at which the Antelope drew up, and the boys all stepped joyfully ashore.

The village of Shippegan was a small settlement, with scattered houses of very simple construction. Close by the wharf stood the most prominent structure in the place, being a huge saw-mill, which now, as they landed, sent forth that hissing, cutting, slashing, grinding howl and uproar characteristic of such establishments. Towards this place the boys first directed their steps; and on reaching it they were greeted in a very pleasant manner by a gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Smith. He was the owner of the mills, and though the place was so remote, he was not at all discontented, but, on the contrary, showed an enthusiastic attachment to this country, which he affirmed to be the best place in the world to live in. No sooner did he learn the object of the party, than he at once began to give a glowing account of the beauties and attractions of the Bay de Chaleur. In particular he urged them to visit the Restigouche Valley, at the extremity of the bay, where he affirmed they would find some of the most magnificent scenery, and some of the finest sport in the world.

Yet it was in this very place that the boys found the greatest attraction, for Mr. Smith happened to say, in a casual way, that the people were Acadian French. No sooner had he mentioned that name than the boys asked the meaning of it. They were informed that these people were the descendants of the Acadians, and that the ancestors of most of them had been expelled from their homes in Nova Scotia, and fled to this place. This at once excited the deepest interest in their minds. All that had reference to the old Acadians was most attractive to them, and in the persons of the Shippeganders they hoped to find reproduced the forms of those gentle, poetic, and simple-minded peasants, with whom they had become acquainted in the beautiful verses of Evangeline.

This unexpected enthusiasm of the boys delighted Mr. Smith, who at once deserted his saw-mill, and proceeded to show them the place. It was of no very great extent, and contained not more than forty or fifty small cottages. These were all built of frame, and shingled over. The road was grass-grown, and did not appear to have any very intimate acquaintance with wheeled vehicles. The people had an unmistakably foreign aspect, but were very pleasant in their looks and manners. The women wore short homespun frocks, with a jacket, and a head-dress consisting of a handkerchief of bright colors. Some of them were spinning at the doors of their cottages, others were knitting, others attending to the duties of the dairy. In the fields were the men making hay. Children laughed and danced, in their play, about the cottage doors. In the middle of the village was a small, simple chapel, with a cross upheld from one point of its roof, and a small belfry from the other.

As the party walked down the road they were greeted with pleasant smiles, in which there were both natural curiosity and kindly welcome. Mr. Smith spoke to the people some friendly words in the _patois_ used by them, which he seemed to understand perfectly; and the answers, though unintelligible to the boys, had a pleasant meaning to their minds, on account of the merry laughter and amiable faces of the speakers. The little children stopped in their sport as the strangers came along, and stood, with their round, merry faces, staring with laughing black eyes.

On the whole, the boys found in this scene all that they could wish, and more than they had anticipated. It realized very closely the ideas which they had formed from the description in Evangeline; and Bart, as he looked around, could not help repeating the well-known words:

“There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village;

Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of

chestnut,

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the days of the

Henrys.

There, in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the

sunset

Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chim

neys,

Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white cap, and in kirtles

Scarlet, and blue, and green, with distaffs spinning the golden

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within

doors

Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the

songs of the maidens.

Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the

children

Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless

them.

Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and

maidens,

Hailing his slow approach with words of affeetionate welcome.

Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the

sun sank

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the

belfry

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascend

ing,

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and con

tentment.

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers;

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free

from

Fear that dwells with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of repub

lics.

Neither looks had they to their doors, nor bars to their win

dows;

But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the

owners.

There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abun

dance.”

After traversing the village, they approached a house at the other end, which, though of the same simple construction, was larger and better than the others. Two or three of those tall poplar trees, which were so dear to the Acadians, grew in front. A massive porch was before the door, around which grew a honeysuckle. Two or three barns indicated the comfortable circumstances of the owner. As they drew near, they saw an old man sitting in the porch smoking, who looked at them, and rose with a pleasant smile. His figure was slightly bent, his hair, mustache, and beard quite gray, and his whole aspect venerable in the extreme.

“It’s Benedict Bellefontaine!” exclaimed Bart. “I thought we’d find him, too. Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand Pre. Here he is, in life, dwelling on his goodly acres.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Mr. Smith, with a laugh. “His name is Grousset, but he’ll do very well for Bellefontaine. At any rate, you can judge for yourselves, for I'm going to introduce you to him.”

By this time they had reached the house, and Mr. Smith, after shaking hands with the old man, introduced the boys. Monsieur Grousset greeted each one with a paternal smile, and upon learning their errand, at once invited them all to stay at his house while they were in the village. At first the boys refused; but the old man was so urgent, and the prospect of seeing an Acadian home was so attractive, that they at length accepted the kind invitation.

The resemblance which Bart had found between Mr. Grousset and “Benedict Bellefontaine” was, indeed, sufficiently striking to be marked even by one less imaginative. The old man, the house, and the surroundings, all might have stood for Longfellow’s description; for though there might be a difference in minor things, the general character was the same:

“Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer

Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea, and a shady

Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing

around it.

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a foot

path

Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow.

Under the sycamore tree were hives overhung by a pent-house

Such as the traveller sees in regions remote, by the road-side,

Built o’er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary.

Farther down on the slope of the hill was the well, with its

moss-grown

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses.

Shielding the house from storms, on the north were the barns

and the farm-yard.

There stood the broad-wheeled wains, and the antique ploughs,

and the harrows.

There were the folds for the sheep, and there, in his feathered

seraglio,

Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the self

same

Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter.

Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In

each one,

Far o’er the gable, projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase

Under the sheltering eaves led up to the odorous corn-loft.

There, too, the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent

inmates,

Murmuring ever of love; while above, in the variant breezes,

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of

Grand Pré

Lived on his sunny farm.”

For some time they remained outside, and Mr. Grousset talked with them. He spoke English very well, and seemed to be a man of much general information for one of his class, and in so remote a place. He was thoroughly simple-minded, however, unworldly, and guileless.

At length he invited them all to come inside. Mr. Smith excused himself, as he had to go back to the mill; but the boys entered, and their host introduced them to his wife and granddaughter; who were in the house. The wife was about the same age as her husband, and the granddaughter was about eighteen. Her gentle face and sweet smile at once charmed all the boys, who saw in her a very good representative of Evangeline.

Leaving the boys with his wife and granddaughter, the old man went out to give some directions about bringing up the luggage from the schooner. The boys would have been charmed to engage in conversation with the old lady and the young “Evangeline,” but unhappily this was not possible. The old lady and “Evangeline” could not speak a word of English, and the boys could not speak a word of French, and the consequence was, that they could only express their mutual good feeling by amiable smiles.

Apart from the regret which this created in their minds, it was very pleasant for them thus to find themselves presented to an Acadian interior. It seemed as though they had been carried back into the past, and suddenly plunged into the midst of that old Acadian life which all of them loved so much to think about and talk about. Here were the old scenes of which they had read--the village--the house--the Acadian farmer--his family--and the crowning grace of all, the gentle Evangeline.

The room into which they had been shown was a large one. At one end was an enormous fireplace, over which was a marble piece containing a store of curiosities, such as shells and stones of peculiar shape. There was no carpet on the floor, but a number of home-made rugs covered the middle of it. The chairs were old-fashioned, high-backed, rush-seated constructions, singularly comfortable, however, and in every way adapted to carry out the intention of a chair to the utmost perfection. A large wooden settee stood opposite the fireplace. Overhead the rafters were bare, and nails were driven in them, from which hung a store of domestic goods, such as skeins of yarn and flitches of bacon. The partitions of the room were of boards, and upon these were pasted a great variety of pictures, which Mr. Grousset had probably obtained from some stray illustrated paper, that had penetrated to this place, and fallen into his hands. These pictures had a modern character, which was somewhat out of keeping with the rest of the interior; but after all, there was a simplicity in such a mode of decoration which took away the sense of discord that might otherwise have been felt.

After a short absence the old man returned, and, seating himself, began to talk with the boys, occasionally translating to his wife and granddaughter what they said. He asked them all where they came from, and Bart narrated their recent adventures, while the old man listened with the greatest interest.

“We all belong to the same school,” said Bart, at length, in answer to the old man’s question; for he was puzzled to know how they had come together from such remote places. “We belong to the same school. Our school is in a place that you may have heard of. It is Grand Pré.”

At this name the old man started and stared at them.

“What?” he asked.

“Grand Pré,” repeated Bart.

“Grand Pré!” exclaimed the old man. “Grand Pré? What! On the Basin of Minas?”

“Yes.”

“Grand Ciel!” exclaimed the other. “And you have been there! And you have lived there! How easy it must be to go there! And I was never there--never! Alas! why did I not go to see, that place when I was a young man?”

His emotion was so strong that his wife asked him the cause.

He explained. And Bart noticed that the old lady and the granddaughter both looked at them with deeper interest as they repeated the name--Grand Pré!

“None of my countrymen live there now, I suppose.” said the old man, looking at Bart interrogatively.

Bart shook his head.

“Ah, I thought so,” said the old man. “All gone. They had to go. They were banished. They dared not return to that place. They came back, but could not get their homes again. Their houses were burnt up, and their farms were given away to strangers. Ah, Grand Ciel! what injustice! And they so good, so pious, so innocent!”

“They were shamefully wronged,” exclaimed Bart, in a burst of indignation,--“most shamefully, most foully wronged!”

“True,” said the old man. “You are right. They were wronged. They were robbed. Ah, how I have heard my grandfather tell about that mournful day! How he loved that dear home in Grand Pré, which he never dared to revisit! He was a young man when he was driven away, and he lived to be an old man; but he never lost his love for his old home. He was always homesick; never content.”

“Your grandfather!” said Bart, with the deepest interest. “Did he live in Grand Pré?”

“He lived in Grand Pré,” said the old man. “He was one of those that the English drove away.”

“And he must have been one of those who managed to come back again,” exclaimed Bart, eagerly. “I’ve heard that a great many found their way back from Massachusetts, from New York, from the Southern States, and even from the West India islands.”

“Yes,” said the old man, “but my grandfather was never carried away. He escaped, and ran for his life. He was pursued, and almost caught; but by God’s help he was saved from his enemies, and came here, where he lived to grow old.”

“Escaped?” said Bart. “O, how I wish you would tell us all about it!”

The old man smiled. The eager faces of all the boys showed how deeply they were interested; and with such listeners as these it could not be otherwise than pleasant to tell a story.

XXIII.

_The Story of an Acadian Exile.--The Country in Flames.--A dread Discovery.--Pursuit.--Flight over the Water.--The Bloodhound Instinct.--Red Sea Waves._

THE story which the old man went on to tell the boys was long, and subject to frequent interruptions, partly owing to his own emotion, and partly from the eager questions of his listeners. A direct report of his own words need not therefore be given here, but rather the material of his narrative.

Grousset, then, the grandfather of their host, was a young man at the time of the expulsion of the Acadians. He was not married, but lived with his father and mother in a place which, by close questioning, Bart conjectured could not have been far away from the very spot where the school stood. As the old man had never been there himself, but had only to speak from hearsay, he could not, of course, give any very exact description of localities; and it was only from his general knowledge that Bart was able to draw this conclusion. At any rate, the young Grousset lived here. There was one brother besides himself. They devoted themselves to farming, chiefly, but they also went out fishing, whenever any good opportunity presented itself.

Their house was on the side of a hill which sloped towards the Basin of Minas. In front were extensive marshes, beyond which was a river, that emptied into the bay. Into this river ran another smaller stream, a little below the house. The principal part of the settlement was two or three miles away. Their house was a very comfortable one, their farm extensive, and a thriving orchard contributed something towards the luxuries of life.

On that day Grousset was out in his boat. He had been out for two days fishing. The fleet of schooners which was to convey the settlers away had arrived before he left, but he had no idea whatever of their real intent. He supposed that they had come for the purpose of buying corn, or hay, or something of that sort; and he regarded them simply as a probable market where he could sell his fish. With this belief he spent much longer time than usual, hoping to fill his boat, and thereby effect a larger sale.

In the course of his fishing, he had gone well over towards the other side of the bay; and when at length he started on the return voyage, much time was taken up, and he could not go more than half way. He anchored for that night, and very early on the following day resumed his homeward progress. As he drew nearer, he was astonished to find great clouds of smoke rolling over the whole country where the Grand Pré settlement stood. He could not understand it. At first he thought it was the woods; but as he drew nearer, he saw that the smoke came from the cultivated parts, and not from the woods. This puzzled him at first. He had intended to sail at once for the mouth of the Gaspereaux River, where the fleet was; but these strange and unaccountable appearances excited the deepest anxiety and alarm, and drove all thought of traffic and money-making out of his mind. He changed the boat’s course, therefore, and steered straight for his own home; for there, as well as elsewhere, the smoke clouds arose, and the terrible conflagration seemed to have extended over his father’s fields.

Heading thus towards his own home, full of fear and anxiety, he drew ever nearer, but only to find his anxiety deepened as his progress increased. Nearer and nearer still he came, until at last he could see that every house and every barn had disappeared from the face of the country. The fire was not accidental--it had evidently been done on purpose; but this discovery was still more perplexing, for he could not imagine any possible cause that could give rise to such a deed.

The rising tide bore him onward rapidly, and soon his boat floated up that river that ran past his father’s farm. There rose the hill-slope where his father’s house and out-houses had once stood; but now the house and out-houses had all vanished, and over the surface of the hill were spread the black traces of the devastating fires. Nor was the desolation confined to this place. It extended everywhere. Every building had disappeared. Every human habitation had vanished. The fire had spared nothing. All had gone.

Grousset stood in his boat, gazing with looks of horror upon the scene, altogether bewildered, overcome by this sudden blow, wondering in his bewilderment what might be the fate of his relatives, wondering where his father was, and his mother, and whether behind this conflagration there could possibly lurk some other calamity. With such feelings as these he floated on, and did not even seek to bring his boat to the shore.

Suddenly a loud cry came to his ears. Looking in the direction whence the cry came, he saw a figure crawl stealthily forth from a mud gully, and wave his hands towards him. Then the cry was repeated--

“Pierre!”

Grousset recognized the voice. It was his brother Paul. At once he directed the boat towards the place, which he reached in a few minutes. His brother plunged into the water, seized the boat, clambered in, and then implored him to turn and fly.

His brother Paul was pale as death, and was covered with mud from head to foot. Pierre was so horrified by all that he had seen, and by his brother’s appearance, that he could scarcely gasp out a question about it.

“Fly! fly!” cried Paul, “or we’re lost! It’s the English! They’ve burned all the settlement, and seized the people! They are carrying them away to another country as slaves! Father and mother are gone! I was a little late at the place, and managed to escape. But fly! fly! for they are scouring the country, and if they see us, we are lost!”

At this frightful intelligence Pierre’s first impulse was to join his father and mother, and suffer with them; but the impulse passed away, and the thought of the horrors of slavery and exile deterred him. Flight was now his only thought--flight instant and immediate. The boat’s head was turned, and Pierre now sought the bay as eagerly as a short time before he had sought the shore.

And now, as Pierre retraced his course, he soon perceived that he was discovered. Over the marshes a number of men came running. They were dressed in red coats, and by this, even when far away, they could easily be recognized as English soldiers. They gesticulated wildly towards him, and finally, on reaching the bank of the river, they discharged their muskets at the boat. But by that time the fugitives had passed beyond their reach, and the shots, though fast and furious, did no damage, but only urged them on to swifter flight, if possible; and to accomplish this, the two brothers seized the oars, and sought by rowing to make greater speed.

The pursuers stood for a time as though baffled, and then hurried away back to the rising ground.

“They’ll pursue us,” said Paul, gloomily.

“O, no,” said Pierre.

“They’ll pursue us,” said Paul once more, obstinately; “you don’t know their malignity. They will not let one of us escape. They have gone for a boat.”

Pierre said nothing. After what had occurred, how could he hope for any forbearance on the part of his enemies? There, as he sat rowing, appeared full before him the blackened fields of his father’s farm, the gaunt chimney that rose above the ruins of the house where he was born.

For some time the two brothers pulled at the oars, with their eyes fixed upon the desolated shore, speaking not a word, for the hearts of both were too full. Pierre did not seek as yet to know the particulars of the dread tragedy whose results Paul had already stated, nor did Paul care to say anything more about an event upon which he scarcely dared to think; so both pulled on in silence, until at length a cry from Paul startled his brother.

“They have a boat! They are chasing us;” he cried. “They are coming out of the creek!”

While he was speaking Pierre saw it. He saw a boat shooting out from a creek which emptied into the river. They had already passed its mouth, and the boat was fully a mile behind them; but still it seemed too near for safety, and almost too near for hope. They understood all at once. The soldiers, intent on capturing them, had hurried back to the creek where the boats usually lay, and one of these they had seized. It was a boat like their own, and in it there were a half dozen soldiers, armed, and full of the bloodhound instinct of pursuit. Their own boat was loaded down with fish, and even the aid of the oars did not seem sufficient to draw them away from their pursuers.

There was one thing which had to be done immediately, and this thing was suggested simultaneously to the minds of both of them. They must lighten their boat at all hazards. The fish were useless now; worse--they were an impediment.