"Oho," thought Martine, though she said nothing, "then it is as I thought; he is easily scared."
"At the time of the deportation," said Mr. Knight, as they took their places again in the carriage, "the water came much nearer the village. Since the days of the Acadians thousands of acres of dyke-lands have been reclaimed. When the Connecticut settlers came they found many dykes broken, through which the sea was rolling in, and they might have had a hard time repairing them if they had not found a few Acadians still left in the country, who had managed to escape the English and were lurking in the neighborhood of their old homes."
"That reminds me," said Priscilla; "who were the Acadians, that is, where did they come from in the first place? I have never thought of this before."
"Why, Priscilla, they were—" then Amy stopped, not feeling quite sure of her ground.
"Oh, they were French, from—" and Martine could get no farther.
"Of course they were French, but why did they know so much about dykes and such things?"
When no one else seemed inclined to answer the question, Mr. Knight undertook to reply.
"The Acadians of Grand Pré, like the Acadians of Annapolis, were nearly all descended from a group of peasants from Rochelle, Pictou, and Saintonge, who came out with D'Aunay and Razilly about 1630. They came from a region of marshes, and they brought with them the art of building dykes. The aboiteaux that they built were marvels, and before you go we must try to show you one of the dykes at low tide, when all the wonderful method of building will be displayed. Pierre Terriau, by the way, was the name of the first Acadian to settle in the Grand Pré region. He came to the shores of the Habitant in 1671. Others soon joined him. The people at Minas were so shut off from Port Royal that they grew very independent. Indeed, this desire to escape the close observation of those at the Fort was what sent Acadians from Port Royal to this new region. In time there were three parishes in Minas,—St. Joseph, St. Charles, and Grand Pré,—and the people were like one great family, constantly inter-marrying, and always ready to help one another.
"'Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance,'
as your Longfellow says;" and Martine, had she been inclined, might have taken this as an apology for the disrespect she had imagined cast on her poet a little earlier.