At last, supposing
that the wanderer had fallen a prey to wild animals, the explorers
sailed away, and, finding the entrance to Annapolis Basin, began to
make preparation for colonizing at Port Royal.
Sixteen days after the disappearance of the priest, some of De Monts'
men returning to this Bay to examine the minerals more thoroughly, were
attracted by a signal fluttering on the shore, and, hurrying to land,
there found the poor priest, emaciated and exhausted. What strange
sensations the distracted wanderer must have experienced in these forest
wilds, with starvation staring him in the face! No charms did he see
in this scene which now delights us; and doubtless, with Selkirk, would
have exclaimed, "Better dwell in the midst of alarms, than to live in
this beautiful place."
This strange wild coast and the Cod Banks of Newfoundland were known to
and visited by foreign fishermen at a very early date. "The Basques,
that primeval people, older than history," frequented these shores; and
it is supposed that such fisheries existed even before the voyage of
Cabot (1497). There is strong evidence of it in 1504; while in 1527
fourteen fishing vessels - Norman, Portuguese, and Breton - were seen at
one time in the Bay of Fundy, near the present site of St. John.
When we question our hostess as to the species of finny tribes found in
these waters, she mentions menhaden, mackerel, alewives, herring, etc;
and, proud of her English, concludes her enumeration with, "Dat is de
most only feesh dey kotch here."
Another drive of many miles along the shore brings us to the
neighborhood of the very jumping off place of the Scotian peninsula,
with novel sights to attract the attention en route. Now and then a
barn with thatched roof; here a battered boat overturned to make Piggy
and family a habitation; there heavy and lumbering three wheeled
carts, with the third rotator placed between the shafts, so the poor ox
who draws the queer vehicle hasn't much room to spare.
Huge loads of hay pass us, and other large farm wagons, drawn invariably
by handsome oxen. The ox-yokes are a constant marvel to us; for,
divested of the bows, they are fastened with leather straps to the bases
of the poor creatures' horns. Evidently there is no "S. P. C. A." here;
and we cannot convince those with whom we converse on the subject that
the poor animals would pull better by their shoulders than by their
heads. At several places we see the clumsiest windmills for sawing wood;
not after the fashion of the picturesque buildings which Don Quixote so
valiantly opposed, but a heavy frame work or scaffolding about twelve
feet in height. To this is attached a wheel of heaviest plank with five
fans, each one shaped like the arm of a Greek cross, and the whole so
ponderous we are confident that nothing less than a hurricane could
make it revolve.
Here is a house entirely covered with diamond shaped shingles, having
also double and triple windows, which are long, narrow, and pointed at
the top, yet not suggestive of the gothic.
Next we pass a point where an old post inn once stood, and where the
curiously curved, twisted, and strangely complicated iron frame which
once held the swinging sign still remains.
Many a bleak ride did that mounted carrier have, no doubt, in days of
yore; and we can imagine him saying: -
"The night is late, I dare not wait, the winds begin to blow,
And ere I gain the rocky plain there'll be a storm, I know!"
At our final halting place all is bustle, in preparation for a two days'
fête, which commences next day; nevertheless, had we been princes of the
realm, we could not have been shown truer hospitality. Père Basil Armand
himself waits upon us, while his wife is cooking dainties for the coming
festival; and the pretty Monica, giving up her neat apartment to one of
our party, lodges at a neighbor's.
Monsieur R., though seventy-eight years of age, retains all his
faculties perfectly, is straight as an Indian, his luxuriant hair
unstreaked with gray, and he is over six feet in height. He reminds us
of the description of Benedict Bellefontaine: -
"Stalwart and stately in form was the man of seventy winters,
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow flakes,"
but our host is even a finer specimen of vigorous age. Then his books -
for he is collector of customs, a post which he has held for twenty-five
years - would amaze many a younger clerk or scribe; and he is amused, but
apparently gratified, when we ask for his autograph, which he obligingly
writes for each in a firm, clear, and fine hand. He says of the people
of this settlement, that they generally speak patois, though many, like
himself, can speak pure French; that they are faithful and true hearted,
industrious and thrifty. He adds: "We are not rich, we are not poor,
but we are happy and contented."
During the fearful scenes of 1793 an amiable priest of great culture, a
man noble in character, as by birth, fled from the horrors of the French
Revolution, and found among this simple, childlike people a peaceful
haven and happy home. This earnest man, Abbé Ségoigne, devoted himself
in everyway to their good, governing them wisely and well, and might
truly have said, in the words of Father Felician, -
"I labored among you and taught you, not in word alone but in deed."
Many years he resided here. His memory is now venerated almost as that
of a saint, and we are of course greatly interested when Monsieur R.
brings out, with just pride, his greatest treasure, - a cumbersome and
quaint old volume which was once the property of the good priest.
