And the model conductor plies us with bits of information, which we
devour with the avidity of cormorants.
GRAND PRÉ.
Finally the brakeman shouts "Grand Pree;" and Octavia remarks, "Yes,
indeed, this is the grand prix of our tour," as the party step off the
train at this region of romance. The gallant conductor, with an air of
mystery, leads the way to a storage room in the little box of a station,
and there chops pieces from a clay-covered plank and presents us as
souvenirs. "Pieces of a coffin of one of the Acadians, exhumed at Grand
Pré fourteen months ago, near the site of the old church," we are told;
and when he continues: "A woman's bone was found in it", one unromantic
and matter-of-fact member of the Octave asserts, "Evangeline's
grandmother, of course"; while another skeptically remarks, "That's more
than I can swallow; it would give me such a spell o' coughin' as I
couldn't get over"; but the conductor and others staunchly avouch the
genuineness of the article, affirming that they were present "when it
wus dug up."
The "forest primeval", if it ever stood in this region, must have
clothed the distant hills which bound the vast meadow, and now are
covered with a dense growth of small trees which are not "murmuring
pines".
A superannuated tree in the distance it is said once shaded the smithy
of "Basil Lajeunesse", that "mighty man of the village"; and only stony
hollows in the ground mark the site of the house of "Father Felician"
and the village church.
It was to this spot, then, that the wondering peasants were lured by
stratagem, when, -
"with a summons sonorous
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.
Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without in the churchyard,
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head
stones
Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them,
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor
Echoed the sound of their brass drums from ceiling to casement, -
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers."
After refreshing ourselves with pure, clear, and cold water from the old
well, - made by the French, and re-walled a few years ago, - we turn away,
with "a longing, lingering look behind", and continue our drive through
the great prairie, which resembles the fertile meadow land along the
Connecticut River. We stop a few moments near a picturesque little
church of gray unpainted wood, and look off over the verdant fields to
the point where a distant shimmer of water catches the eye, and the
hills bound the picture. Near at hand, on the right, the trunk of an
aged apple tree, "planted by the French", shows one green shoot; and
about the church are Lombardy poplars, which, though good sized trees,
are perhaps only shoots from those planted by the Acadians, in
remembrance of such arboreal grenadiers of their native land.
The old French dike is surmounted by a rough rail fence, and is now far
inland, as hundreds of acres have been reclaimed beyond, -
"Dikes that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant
Shut out the turbulent tides"
Our lamented American poet never visited this region which he describes
so delightfully; his reason being that, cherishing an ideal picture, he
feared reality might dissipate it. Yet an easy journey of twenty-eight
hours would have brought him hither; and we, feeling confident that he
could not have been disappointed, shall always regret that he did not
come.
As an appropriate close to this sentimental journey, we drive through
the secluded Gaspereau valley, along the winding river, which is hardly
more than a creek, toward its wider part where it flows into the Basin,
which stretches out broad and shining. With such a view before us, we
cannot fail to picture mentally the tragic scenes of that October day
in 1755, when the fleet of great ships lay in the Basin, and
"When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed,
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile,
Exile without an end, and without an example in story,"
those whom Burke describes as "the poor, innocent, deserving people,
whom our utter inability to govern or reconcile, gave us no sort of
right to extirpate," were torn from their happy homes, and
"Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean."
In the midst of these peaceful scenes was perpetrated a cruel wrong,
and an inoffensive people banished by the mandate of a tyrant!
In that beautiful poem, parts of which one unconsciously "gets by
heart", or falls into the habit of quoting when sojourning in this
lovely region, Basil the blacksmith says: -
"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau-Séjour nor Port Royal;"
and having held an impromptu history class on the subject of the last
mentioned, we turn our attention to the other fortified points of which
"the hasty and somewhat irascible" sledge-wielder spoke.
By the treaty of Utrecht in 1713 Acadia was ceded to the English; but
the French colonists, in taking the oath of allegiance to their new
rulers (1727-28), were promised that they should not be required at any
time to take up arms against France. They were now in the position of
Neutrals, and by that name were known; but this placed them in an
awkward predicament, as they were suspected by both contending powers.
The English hated them, believing their sympathies to be with the
French; while even their countrymen in Canada were distrustful of them,
urging them to withdraw.
