Where is Solomon?—The Search.—The aged Wanderer.—Recognition.—Boating.—Fishing.—Cooking.—Swimming.—The Preparations for the Banquet.—The savory Smell.—Solomon dances a Breakdown, and makes a Speech.THEIR joy was long and uproarious. Innumerable were the questions which they asked each other; but at length they succeeded in gathering from the confusion a general idea of the fortunes of each member of the party.
And then, in the midst of their joy, there came a mournful thought. It was the thought that one was yet missing out of their number, and that his fate was involved in mystery.
Where was Solomon?
Pat knew nothing more than any of the rest of them, and his story only served to show that after leading Solomon astray, he had left him in the midst of the forest. Where he now was, none could tell; but all saw the necessity of doing something; and so, when Bart proposed that they should go in search of him, they all assented most eagerly. The priest still saw that they would require his assistance, and offered to take them where they wished to go; while Captain Corbet felt such intense interest in the fate of his aged friend, that he insisted on making one of the party, and bringing Mr. Wade as an additional recruit.
Some preliminaries had to be attended to before they were able to start, among which the first was to get themselves ashore. This was accomplished in two trips; after which the boat was hauled up on the beach, and tied to a tree. Then the priest had to see to the well-being of his horse, which he did by leaving his wagon behind the house, and letting the horse go free in the meadow.
After this the priest gave them some general advice as to their proceedings. He reminded them of their former mishaps, and in order to guard against their losing the way, he advised them to go on in a line, keeping always within sound of one another, if not in sight. This they all promised to do, and made no objection, for their recent various adventures in the way of wandering had deeply impressed their minds.
At length they all started, as follows:—
The Priest,
Captain Corbet,
Mr. Wade,
Bruce,
Arthur,
Bart,
Tom,
Phil,
Pat.
The priest led the way, and leaving the road close by the old house, they went straight into the woods. Soon the forest grew thick, and as they went on, they saw that here no signs of the fire were visible, though how far the green, unburnt forest might extend, none of them could know. This, however, did not trouble them in the slightest, but obeying the priest’s injunction and keeping well within hearing of one another, the whole party went forward after their leader.
About two hours after they had disappeared in the woods, a solitary pedestrian might have been seen slowly wending his way along the road that leads to Tracadie. He was rather elderly, and walked slowly. His hat was sadly battered, his hair was grizzled, and his face was of that complexion which usually denotes the man of African descent.
As this wanderer approached the place where the schooner was anchored, his pace quickened, and he walked onward quite rapidly until he reached the old house. Towards this he walked, but only to discover that it was ruined and deserted. Upon this the aged wanderer heaved a sigh, and seating himself in the doorway, gazed intently at the schooner.
As he gazed he suddenly seemed struck by some very exciting thought. He raised his head, still sitting, and stared for a moment most intently at the schooner. At that moment, the flag, which had been drooping, suddenly shook itself out, and unfolded to his astonished gaze the escutcheon of the B. O. W. C. .
At this the aged wanderer bounded up to his feet, and rushed down to the shore. There he stood in silence for a time, staring at the schooner, until at length his recognition of her was complete. Whereupon he slapped both hands on his thighs, jumped up in the air, came down on his right foot, went up again, came down on his left, wheeled about, turned about, and, in fact, indulged in a regular breakdown.
After this he stopped, and burst forth into long, loud, vehement, and uproarious peals of laughter.
After which he resumed the breakdown.
And then, once more, the laughter.
Finally, he began to bawl to the schooner.
“Ship, ahoy! Hi yah! Hollo dar! What you bout? Hi-i-i-i ya-a-a-a-a-ah! Mas’r Bruce! Mas’r Atta! Mas’r Tom! Yep. Ye-e-e-e-e-e-p!”
But as he called, no answer came, and no matter how loud his voice was, or how eager his cry, still no response whatever was elicited.
“De sakes!” he exclaimed, “ef dis yar casium don’t beat all creation! Wonda what dey’ll say to see ole Solomon! Dey’re all off, suah—fishin—course. An it ain’t a mite ob good to be standin heah yellin my ole head off. Wonda if dey had a boat!”
Saying this, he looked up and down the shore, and saw the boat a little distance off on his right, drawn up and tied to a tree. The oar was inside.
So intent had he been on the schooner, that he had not looked about the house, and so had not seen the wagon which was behind it, or the horse which was placidly feeding at no great distance off. But if he had seen them, they would have had no interest for him, except so far as they showed that people were using the house, and that the owner of the horse would be back in the course of the day; and even the interest of this discovery would have been nothing in comparison with the sight of the Antelope. For this showed him that some of the boys were here, and could not be far off, and would probably be back before dark. With this conviction, Solomon proceeded to launch the boat—a task which he accomplished with little difficulty; after which he sculled the boat out to the schooner, and in a short time stood on board.
Arriving here, he had a full confirmation of his suppositions. It was, indeed, the Antelope, and there was no one on board. By the signs all around, he perceived that they could not have been gone long. Bed-clothes lay carelessly tossed about, trunks were open, provisions were lying on the boxes that had served for temporary tables.
It was with a sentiment of affectionate recognition that Solomon gazed upon the old cooking-stove, at which he had frequently officiated on former occasions, which had been impressed upon his memory by events of such thrilling character. Over that stove he had been bowed by the weight of heavy responsibilities, and upon it he had achieved some of the brightest triumphs of his life. He gazed upon it long and lovingly. He was pained to see the rust that covered it. He touched it, and with loving hands he tried to rub the rust off one of the griddles. Alas! he could not. That rust had fixed itself there too deeply to be easily erased. So he gave up the attempt, and wandered back to the deck, where he stood looking all around for some signs of the ship’s company.
No signs, however, appeared, and Solomon now began to consider how he ought to pass the day. First of all, he decided to make things look comfortable. To this task he set himself, rolling up the mattresses, putting the trunks and boxes on one side, cleaning the stove as well as it could be cleaned, and arranging the confused medley of stores which they had brought with them. At length this task was ended, and it was about noon.
All the rest of the day still remained, and Solomon thought that it would be a delicate, a considerate, and a grateful act, if he were to prepare a dinner for the ship’s company, and have it ready for them on their return. An examination of the stores showed him various things which his skill could combine into palatable dishes; but some thing was still wanting; and it seemed to him that nothing could so well supply that want as the fragrant and aromatic flavor of broiled trout. In the brooks that meandered through the surrounding country, trout were plentiful; and if he should now go after some, it would not only be in the line of his duty, but he would also be able to fill up the time in the pleasantest possible way.
So Solomon prepared his lines, which he had carried in his pocket ever since the day when they had started off after Phil, and rowing back to the shore, he walked back over the road till he came to a stream which he remembered, for by that very stream he had made his escape from the woods. Up this he went, and having cut a rod from the woods suitable for his purposes, he proceeded up the stream in search of fish.
After an absence of several hours, he emerged once more from the woods, at the mouth of the stream. An ecstatic smile illumined his dusky countenance, his steps were light and active, and from time to time he cast proud and happy glances at something which he carried in his hand. And, in truth, that burden which he bore was worthy of exciting pride and happiness in any bosom, for there, strung on a willow twig, were two noble salmon, of fine proportions, sufficient for the dinner of a large company.
With these Solomon returned to the schooner, and in due time readied it. He then prepared the fish, and kindled the fire, and began the important and exciting business of cooking them. While engaged upon this, however, an idea seized upon him which sent him off into fits, in the shape of one of those breakdowns, by which he was accustomed to let off steam.
This was what he did.
He undressed himself.
He looked all around very stealthily, and saw no signs of any human being.
Then he jumped into the boat, sculled it ashore to the place where he had found it, tied it to the tree, and threw the oar inside.
Then he jumped into the water, and swam back to the schooner.
Then he dressed himself.
And then, in the solitude of that lonely hold, he once more let off steam, and proceeded to indulge in a breakdown, which was more prolonged, more enthusiastic, more sustained, more vehement, more emotional, more expressive, more African, more hilarious, and at the same time more perfectly outrageous and insane than all the other breakdowns put together.
After which he subsided into a comparative calm, and resumed his professional duties.
Thus the hours of the day passed away, and at length evening began to draw near.
It was near sundown when there emerged from the woods the party that had gone into them in the morning. They were all there. None were missing. There were—
The Priest,
Captain Corbet,
Mr. Wade,
Bruce,
Arthur,
Bart,
Tom,
Phil,
Pat.
They were not talkative; they were not demonstrative; but walked along in silence. They came out of the woods about a quarter of a mile away from the house, and in this silent and dejected way they walked towards the place where the boat was. Whether that silence and dejection arose from their disappointment at not finding Solomon, or simply from the fatigue of a long tramp, with nothing in particular to eat, need not now be considered; suffice it to say, that they were silent, and they were dejected; and what is more, they were all in a state of perfect starvation.
“The boat can’t take more’n half of us at a time,” said Captain Corbet. “You, boys, choose among yerselves who’ll go fust.”
“Won’t you come now?” asked Bart of the priest.
“O, no,” said he. “I’ll wait. I must see about my horse. You go, and I’ll be ready the next time.”
“Sure an I’ll wait too, an help ye wid the horse,” said Pat, who had so utterly overcome his fears of the “leper praist” that he had struck up a violent friendship with him. And no wonder, for the “praist” was a man after Pat’s own heart—warmhearted, cordial, affectionate, brave, and modest; a man who loved his fellow-men, and gave himself up to them, even if they were abhorred lepers; and who now was putting himself to no end of fatigue and trouble for the sake of the lost companion of a set of harum-scarum boys. Amid all this, he never ceased to cheer them up, to stimulate their flagging energies, to inspire them with hope, to rouse the manliest feelings of their generous young natures. And therefore it was that Pat fell in love with him.
Captain Corbet was not anxious to go, and so it happened that Bruce, Arthur, Tom, Phil, and Bart got into the boat, and made the first trip, with the understanding that Bruce was to come back for the others.
The boat approached the schooner.
As they drew near they became suddenly aware of an odor that was wafted to their nostrils—an odor penetrating, aromatic, fragrant, and delicious beyond all description to their famished senses; an odor that was suggestive of some great banquet; an odor so rich that these starving boys felt as though they might almost feed upon it.
They looked up in astonishment. They saw that smoke was issuing from the pipe that projected above the schooner’s deck.
Some one was on board, and some one had made a fire. Some one was cooking. Who was that some one? How did he get on board? What did it all mean?
Such were the questions that each one asked himself; but none of them spoke, for in fact their amazement was too great to allow them to utter any audible words. Bruce, who was sculling, worked harder than ever, twisting his head around at the same time that he tried to see who the mysterious being was that had got on board the schooner. The others all stared in the same direction; but to no purpose, for no one was visible.
At last the boat touched the schooner’s side, and they all clambered upon the deck. Bruce was last, and had to wait a moment to fasten the boat. When he had done this he sprang down into the hold.
He there beheld an astonishing sight. There were Arthur, and Bart, and Tom, and Phil, close beside him, staring in silent wonder at a figure beside the cooking-stove; while the figure beside the cooking-stove stood with a ladle in one hand, and a dish cover in the other, enveloped in the aromatic vapor of a broiling salmon, staring at them in equal wonder.
“Mas’r Bart! Mas’r Phil! De sakes now!”
The ladle and the dish cover dropped from his hands. He had expected to see only the two Rawdons and Tom; but he saw Bart and Phil also. Consequently he was overwhelmed.
“Solomon!” cried the boys; and hurrying forward, they grasped one after another his trembling, and perhaps slightly greasy hands.
“B’lubb’d bruddrn ob de Bee-see dubble ’Sociatium,” said Solomon at last, in a voice that was tremulous with emotion, and with slight indications of an approach to another breakdown. “Dis yer’s a great an shinin casium. De sperinces we ben an had beat all creatium. We ben a racin an a chasin arter one anoder in a way dat makes my ole head ache to tink ob. An den to tink ob me gettin lost, and de last ob all de venters to hab youns a marchin an a sarchin arter me! An me a huntin roun for Mas’r Bart, an a comin dis way on de ole schooner! An den to fine youns all heah, in good helf an sperits! B’lubb’d bruddrn, de ’motions dat’spire dis yer wenebble ole breast ain’t spressible no ways. Durin de lass few weeks I ben called on to suffer ’flictiums, but I nebber knowed anytin like de ’citement dat I now feels a surgin an cumulatin inside o’ me. O, you get out! Go way, now! Sakes alive! Ye-e-e-e-p! Hi—ya-a-a-a-h! Hi-i-i-i-i-i—ya-a-a-a-a-a-a-a a-a-a-a-a-a-a-h!”
And Solomon here burst forth in a breakdown so tremendous and so absurd, that the boys first started back, and then all burst into roars of laughter, and laughed till they cried.
After which Bruce went back for the others, and brought them to the schooner, and they all ate of Solomon’s banquet and were refreshed; and the priest staid all night, and on the following morning bade them an affectionate adieu; and shortly after the Antelope spread her white wings to the breeze, and slowly, but gracefully, passed over the waters of Tracadie lagoon, to the outer seas.
Away from Tracadie.—The Gulf of St. Lawrence.—The Bay de Chaleur.—The innumerable Fishing Boats.—Along Harbor—Shippegan.—The Acadians.—The Memories of Grand Pré.IT was a beautiful morning; the wind blew fair, and the blue waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence spread far away before them as they left Tracadie. Reunited so strangely after such wonderful adventures, they had not yet satisfied their curiosity; but each one had still something to ask the other. Pat had to tell once more the cause of his desertion; Solomon had to explain his wanderings; Bart had another account to give; while, above all, Phil had to recount, for the hundredth time, the whole story of his adventures in the woods. The venerable Corbet, assisted by his mate, Wade, navigated the vessel; Solomon resumed his duties in the hold over the cooking-stove; while the eager boys gathered in knots to talk over the inexhaustible themes above mentioned.
Far away on the right extended the waters of the gulf, till the view was bounded by the horizon. Before and behind was the same illimitable prospect. But on the left lay the land,—a low, wooded coast,—and their course lay parallel with this. Their destination was the Bay de Chaleur, around which they proposed to take a cruise; but this proposed cruise seemed now to promise but little in comparison with the adventures which one half of the party had already met with, and the fortunes of Bart’s party, far from creating pity in the minds of the other boys, only excited their envy; for there was not one of them who did not wish that he had been in the burning forest.
About midday the wind grew lighter, and the schooner’s progress slower. They passed two openings that led into the bay which divided two islands from the main land. The first one was Shippegan Island; and the other, which lay beyond this, was called Miscou Island. These two extended along at the mouth of the bay in such a way as to form a natural breakwater. They sailed past these, and by evening they rounded Point Miscou, entered the bay, and as the wind was now adverse, they anchored for the night.
The Bay de Chaleur is about seventy miles long and twenty wide. On account of the islands at its mouth it is sheltered from the worst gales, while on every other side it is land-locked. It thus becomes a vast harbor, affording throughout its whole extent an excellent shelter for vessels.
Around its shores, particularly on the south, are smaller harbors, upon which little villages are already rising. The bay divides the Province of New Brunswick from that of Quebec; and on account of its many advantages, it will, no doubt, become well known to the world before many years.
On the following morning the wind changed, and blew more favorably. It was Captain Corbet’s design to go first to the settlement of Shippegan, and in this direction they now sailed. As they went on their way, they were amazed at the vast number of sails that dotted the surface of the sea. They were all fishing boats, and appeared to be on their way to the gulf. As they came to Miscou Gully, which separates Miscou and Shippegan Islands, they saw the fishing boats passing through; and further on, at Shippegan Gully, which lies between the main land and the island of that name, they found it traversed by a still larger number.
“I’ve ben in these here waters,” remarked Captain Corbet, in answer to some inquiries, “onst or twist, afore, an its allers ben the same. All these craft air fishin boats; an I never see the place yet, in all my born days that can turn out on a pinch sich a lot of small fishin craft as this here bay.”
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 thepatoisused 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 ofchestnut,Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the days of theHenrys.There, in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly thesunsetLighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white cap, and in kirtlesScarlet, and blue, and green, with distaffs spinning the goldenFlax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles withindoorsMingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and thesongs of the maidens.Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and thechildrenPaused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to blessthem.Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons andmaidens,Hailing his slow approach with words of affeetionate welcome.Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely thesun sankDown to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from thebelfrySoftly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the villageColumns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending,Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment.Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers;Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they freefromFear that dwells with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics.Neither looks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows;But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of theowners.There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance.”
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 farmerStood on the side of a hill commanding the sea, and a shadySycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathingaround it.Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpathLed through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow.Under the sycamore tree were hives overhung by a pent-houseSuch 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 itsmoss-grownBucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses.Shielding the house from storms, on the north were the barnsand 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 featheredseraglio,Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsameVoice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter.Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. Ineach one,Far o’er the gable, projected a roof of thatch; and a staircaseUnder the sheltering eaves led up to the odorous corn-loft.There, too, the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocentinmates,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 ofGrand PréLived 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.
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.
“Over with them!” shouted Pierre, still rowing with one hand while he flung out the fish with the other. But Paul had already begun to do that very thing. Hearing Pierre’s words he passed his oar over to his brother, and then, gathering the fish up in both hands, he flung them out of the boat by armfuls. Meanwhile Pierre rowed with all his strength, and at the same time the wind never ceased to bear the boat along. But the same wind bore onward after them the boat of their pursuers, and the two brothers watched with anxious eyes the progress of those who followed on their track.
At last all the fish were flung overboard except about half a dozen, which were reserved for food. They felt the benefit of this very soon. Gradually the distance between themselves and their pursuers increased. By this time also the tide had turned, and swept them on at an ever accelerated rate of progress; and, although the same tide swept their enemies along after them, still their own speed was the greater, and every minute served to increase their chance of escape. For the boats were about equal in speed, and while their boat only had two inside, the other carried six, and therefore was over weighted in this race.
Several hours passed away, and the united action of wind and tide had carried onward pursuers and pursued many miles into the bay. There rose before them the frowning cliffs of Blomidon, and past this the current was setting in a swift stream, by which they were borne along. Now, too, the wind died away, and the tide alone remained. This caused a change for the worse. Thus far the lightness of their boat had favored them, so that their pursuers had fallen behind as much as four or five miles; but now, when it came to drifting, this difference was no longer in their favor, and the enemy, either from having caught a stronger current, or from some other reason, seemed to be slowly gaining upon them.
The question now arose, what was to be done? They could easily have landed here, scaled the cliff, and escaped in the woods. But that was not to be thought of except as a last resort. At all hazards they wished to keep the boat. If they fled to the woods their boat would be captured, and their fate might be a miserable death. With the boat, however, they might hope not only to save their lives, but perhaps to follow their friends, perhaps to rescue them; or at least, if such a thing as that should be beyond their powers, they could choose some new home, and have the means of living from the water, till the land should be ready to yield them sustenance. For these reasons they resolved to cling to the boat, and fly as long, and as far, as possible.
But however eager they were in their determination to escape, the enemy showed a resolve to pursue which was as obstinate as theirs. As they floated along they saw the other boat still following. The tide bore them on, in its course, down through the Straits of Minas, beneath the frowning cliffs that rise gloomily on one side, where Blomidon overhangs the water, past the rocks all covered with sea-weed, past long, bare sand flats, past the giant cliffs, which, torn and riven by earthquake or by tempest, rise at the extremity of the straits, and onward into the wide Bay of Fundy.
They had hoped that in this place a breeze might arise, but their hopes were disappointed. The water was smooth, and they were borne onward over an unruffled surface, by the strong tide, far down. Yet though there was no wind, they at length encountered something which to them, in that extremity, was no less welcome. Before them rose a wall of mist, shutting out all the scene beyond, hiding even the Haute, which lay so near. Into the entrance of this dense fog bank they were borne by the tide; and soon all surrounding scenes, all prospect of rock, and cliff, and distant shore, and overhanging sky, and all sight of their pursuers, were snatched from their eyes, and nothing remained but an all-surrounding blank, an opaque wall of unpenetrable fog.
At any other time such an occurrence would have plunged them into despair, but now it raised them out of despair into hope. At first they thought of rowing in some direction, but a little discussion served to dismiss this thought from their minds. In the first place, they could not tell in which direction to row; and in the second place, they thought that their pursuers would probably take to their oars, and if so, their best plan of escape would be to drift.
Hours had passed away since their flight commenced, and at length darkness came on. That darkness was most intense. There was not the slightest light to alleviate the gloom. Still even this darkness was a relief, for they felt more secure. In spite of the hope which they tried to entertain that their enemies had given up the chase, they could not get rid of a dark fear that they were still pursued, and a foreboding that with the return of light they might see them. And as the darkness seemed to bring safety, they bore it with patience, and resignation, and hope.
All night long they drifted in this thick darkness. At last light came again. But the light was dull and obscure, for the fog still enveloped them. By this time they had lost all idea of locality, and could not conceive in what direction they were drifting. They knew, however, that while the falling tide would carry them down the bay, the refluent tide would bear them back, and therefore hoped, when the fog lifted, that they would find themselves somewhere near the land. The day that followed was a gloomy day indeed. The water was glassy. There was not a breath of wind. Having nothing by which to judge of their motion, they seemed to be without motion, and to be floating on a stagnant sea. There was no sight to meet their eyes through the dense surrounding fog, and no sound came to their ears through the wide, surrounding stillness.
At last the evening of that day came on, and the fog lessened. Land appeared on either side of them. Gradually the atmosphere cleared, and to their amazement they found themselves drifting up a long channel that seemed like a river. Up this river the tide seemed to run, carrying them with it at a great rate of speed. As they went on the shores approached more closely, the stream grew narrower and more winding; but still the swift waters lost nothing of their speed. The shores on either side were a wilderness, covered with the primeval forest, with not a sign of any human habitation. The strangeness of the place and the suspense which they felt at finding themselves here prevented them from trying to land. They rather chose to drift onward, and allow themselves to be borne wherever the current might carry them.
At length darkness began to come on, and the fugitives thought that they had drifted far enough. They therefore flung out the rude anchor which they had in the boat. It caught, and their progress was stopped. They felt safe at last. Here, in this remote place, no pursuer would follow them, and they might rest. They had not slept during all the time of their flight, and were very greatly fatigued. It seemed to them that the boat was safer than this unknown shore, and to sleep there at anchor floating on the water would be better than in those unknown woods where wild beasts or prowling Indians might be lurking; and thus, as soon as the boat came to anchor, they flung themselves down in the bottom, and were soon in a sound sleep.
Their sleep was somewhat disturbed, and early on the following day they awaked. Pierre was up first, and he looked about in surprise. It was about dawn, and in that morning twilight surrounding objects were as yet indistinct. The first thing that he noticed was, that the boat was aground. The channel up which they had drifted on the preceding evening was now bare of water—a wide expanse, like those red mud flats of Grand Pré with which he was so familiar. These flats extended here above and below for miles, and on either side they ran for a great distance before they touched the shore.
Suddenly, in the midst of this survey, Pierre caught sight of an object which made his blood run cold, and caused his heart for a few moments to stop its beating. It was a dark object that appeared, on the mud flats, about a mile away, down the channel.
It was a boat!
That boat, like his own, had grounded, and lay there on her side.
Could that be the boat of their pursuers? Had they been followed all this time, and all this distance, so remorselessly? It seemed like it. Perhaps his pursuers had become bewildered by the fog, or perhaps they had allowed themselves to drift, as the surest way of keeping near to the fugitives; but whatever the reason was, it seemed as though the same currents that had borne them away had carried the pursuers after them.
And there it lay! It grew lighter as he looked, and then, as if to confirm his worst fears, there suddenly appeared something which put an end to all doubt.
A figure stood up in that boat. It was light enough to see the color of his dress.
It was red.
Scarcely had he seen this than other figures appeared—red-coated figures. They stood up. Pierre could no longer doubt. They were English soldiers. Even as he looked they began to leap out from the boat, and run towards him. As he looked his eyes caught sight of something beyond—something white—like a long, low, white wall; and from that far distance there arose a low, droning sound, which struck a strange terror into his soul.
In a moment he roused his brother. Paul stood up, and stared in the direction where Pierre was pointing. He saw the wide, flat river bed uncovered. He saw the red-coated English soldiers.
Pierre looked all around to find the best place for refuge.
On his right there projected a wooded cliff, its sides rising precipitously for fifty or sixty feet, and its summit covered with fir trees. This was the nearest land. If they ran towards this they might get out of sight of their pursuers in a few minutes, and plunge into the woods at a place where the cliff ended and the land sloped gradually down. To this place he directed Paul’s attention; and then calling upon him to follow, he leaped from the boat. Paul followed. The two brothers ran with their utmost speed over the treacherous mud flats towards the shore behind the point.
Up the channel, over the same treacherous mud flats, came their pursuers, who, at this unexpected sight of their prey, seemed to be filled with fresh fury. Seeing that prey about to escape, they fired after them. Report after report sounded through the air and echoed along the shore.
Six shots were thus fired, and then, as the last echo died out, there arose another sound. It was that low, droning sound which had come to Pierre’s ears before he left the boat but the sound was louder, and deeper, and nearer, and more dreadful. It was a sound of wrath. It was the voice of many waters! It was the sound of a pursuer more terrible than man—the sound of the pitiless march of innumerable waves.
The cliff rose overhead. They had reached it; but before they passed behind it they turned one glance at their pursuers. In that one glance a sight revealed itself which was never forgotten.
Far down arose a wall of white foam, formed by the advancing tidal wave of the Bay of Fundy—a dread mass of surging billows, rolling up the channel, extending all the way across. At the moment when they looked it had caught the boat and overwhelmed it, and then, in hungry fury, advanced towards the soldiers.
They had heard it! They had seen it—that terrible pursuer, the tremendous, the inevitable! They stood still in horror. Escape was impossible. On came the wave. Even the fugitives stood for a moment overwhelmed with the horror of that spectacle.
On came the wave!
The wall of white foam rose high. It rushed onward. It reared its curling crest. It fell in thunderous fury upon the wretched victims of its wrath. One wild, despairing yell burst forth, and then all sounds were drowned in the roar of the rolling waves.
The brothers fled. They reached the sloping bank, and clambered to a place of safety, from which they looked with pallid faces upon those waters, which, like the waves of the Red Sea, had saved the fugitives by overwhelming the pursuers.
After this they wandered through the woods for some days, and finally met with friendly Indians, with whom they went to the Miramichi.
Such is the substance of M. Grousset’s narrative.