Childhood's home; consequently the farms are
"long drawn out", extending sometimes in very narrow strips for a mile
or more inland.
Abbé Raynal writes most poetically, although not absolutely in rhyme, of
this gentle brotherhood, "where every misfortune was relieved before it
could be felt, without ostentation on the one hand and without meanness
on the other. Whatever slight differences arose from time to time among
them were amicably adjusted by their elders."
Our driver says "étwelles" for étoiles, "fret" for froid, "si" for
oui, etc.; the dancing crests of the waves he calls "chapeaux blancs",
which is similar to our appellation, and also speaks of "un bon coop
de thé", showing that an English word is occasionally adopted, though
hardly recognizable in their peculiar phraseology.
One pleasant acquaintance, Dr. R, who lived here several years after he
"came out" from England, tells us that the mackerouse, a wild duck, is
found here; and, as it subsists upon fish, the people are allowed to eat
that bird on Fridays. He also says that the pigs wade out into the mud
at low tide to root for clams; while the crows, following in their
tracks, steal the coveted shell fish from under the very noses of the
swine. Of the remarkably long nasal appendages of this peculiar porcine
species he adds, "They do say that they'll root under a fence and steal
potatoes from the third row!"
In this locality we hear Yarmouth spoken of as if it were a port equal
to New York in importance, and so it doubtless seems to these simple
un-traveled people. In reality it is a prosperous maritime town owning
one hundred and thirty thousand tons of shipping, and is a mildly
picturesque place when the tide is high.
The Indian name appropriately signifies "end of the land," and one might
naturally suppose, when arriving there, that he had reached "that famous
fabled country, 'away down east';" though, should he continue his
travels to Labrador, that mythical region would still lure him on. The
inhabitants are mainly seafaring men, - many of the captains of Cape Ann
fishing fleets came from here originally, - and they call the Atlantic
from Cape Ann to Yarmouth all Bay of Fundy, though that is "rather
stretching it."
It was near here that De Monts made his first landing and caught a
nightingale (May 16, 1604). Not far beyond, about the shores of Argyle
Bay, a great many "French Neutrals" found refuge in 1755 (though an
English ship tried to rout them); and they were hunted like wild
animals about here for two or three years after.
We conclude that the hamlets on the upper part of St. Mary's Bay are
most interesting, and that it is hardly worth while to continue down
the coast unless one desires to take steamer from this port to Boston.
In our strolls about the village, we come to a point on the shore where
a boy has a quantity of fine large lobsters which he has just taken from
the trap; and when one of our party asks for what price he will sell
some, the answer - "One cent each" - is so astounding that the query is
repeated, so we may be convinced that we have heard aright. Pere Basil
is evidently surprised at our taste when he sees us returning with our
purchases, as he remarks, "We don't think much of those at this time of
year;" from which we infer that at some seasons they have to depend so
much upon fish, lobsters, etc., that they become weary of them.
There is such Gallic atmosphere about this place (and trip) that Octavia
is infected, and perpetrates doggerel on a postal, which is to be mailed
from the "land's end" to acquaint foreign relatives with our advent in
a foreign country also! -
Tout est "0. K."
Je suis arivée
Dans ce joli pays,
Avec bonne santé,
Mais bien fatiguée.
Adieu. E. B. C.
(O quelle atrocité!
Mais je n'ai ni grammaire
Ni dictionnaire français.)
"Pleasantly rose next morn the sun,"
and though we are up and out betimes, -
"Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor
Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gate of the morning.
Now from the country around, from the farms and the neighboring
hamlets,
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants.
Many a glad good morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk
Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows,
Group after group appeared, and joined or passed on the highway.
Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced.
Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house
doors
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together.
Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted,
For with this simple people, who lived like brothers together,
All things were held in common, and what one had was another's."
Père Basil is surprised to find that we have not come especially to
attend the festival, of which we had not heard until our arrival,
though he evidently thinks the fame of their elaborate preparations has
traveled far and wide. While we are waiting for the vehicles which are
to convey us to the railroad station (a long drive inland) many most
picturesque groups pass the door; some walking, some riding on ox-carts,
and all carrying flowers, pyramidal and gorgeously ornamented cakes, or
curious implements for games, totally unknown to us moderns! Our host
has a pleasant greeting for all, and receives cordial reply, and
sometimes merry jest and repartee from the happy revelers.
Much to our delight, our route to the station passes the grounds where
the fête is held; and here we see booths of boughs, a revolving swing
(which they call a "galance"), fluttering flags, and gay banners.
