THE HOME OF EVANGELINE
One day in the year 1755 consternation and dismay invaded every heart in what is now Nova Scotia, the large peninsula on the east of Canada that fronts the fierce Atlantic gales, and bears the full brunt of their fury without murmur or groan. At that time the inhabitants were nearly all, like those of Quebec and the St. Lawrence shore, descendants of people who came from France, more especially from Brittany and Normandy. Originally the country was called Acadia. It was James I. of England who changed that name to Nova Scotia, which is Latin, and means "New Scotland." But though the name of the country was changed, the people had not changed. They, like the habitants of the St. Lawrence shore, clung tenaciously to the customs and habits of their forefathers, and grew up in each successive generation with a passionate devotion for their mother-tongue, and a no less deep love for the land of their birth, Acadie.
The cause of the intense sorrow, rage, and despair which seized the inhabitants of this happy and prosperous community on the day mentioned was a proclamation of the British Governor. The countries of France and England had long been at war together, and for many years hostilities had waged with more or less bitterness between the colonists of the two countries settled in America. The Acadians were accused of having lent assistance in provisions and ammunition to the French at the siege of Beauséjour. It was resolved to punish them for their disloyal conduct, for they were at that time subjects of the King of England. Accordingly, all the men were suddenly seized and put into prison, and the women and children were ordered to gather, with their household effects, on the seashore. Then, despite their weeping and their grief, they were put on board the vessels of war, and taken away to the other British colonies in America all the way from the New England States to Jamaica. It is the fate of certain villagers of Grand Pré, who were taken away from their homes at this time, that Longfellow tells us about in his beautiful poem of "Evangeline."
"In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmer had raised with labour incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards, and cornfields,
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended.
There, in the midst of its farm, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut.
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the door-way.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maids sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs
of the maidens.
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them.
Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens,
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.
Then came the labourers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village
Columns 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."
No wonder, then, there was lamentation and weeping and woe when these poor people were torn so cruelly away from the homes where they had been so happy! Where, indeed, can you find a more beautiful picture of human happiness, peace, and contentment than this Acadian village of Grand-Pré?
A few years later the places of these unfortunate Acadians were taken by strangers from the British colonies farther south and from the Motherland.
CHAPTER XVI
REDSKIN, ESKIMO, AND CHINK
One day two gentlemen were driving by the side of a small but beautiful inland lake, when they met a little, shrivelled old man, with a forward tilt of the body, a lurching, shuffling gait, and a parchment-like wrinkled skin. Met! Yes, but when the odd-looking little man caught sight of the rig or vehicle approaching, he hastily turned off the road, and passed the conveyance at a good distance away. Yet as he passed he never once lifted his head.