Fire in the Woods / Illustrated

by James De Mille

Yet it was in this very place that the boys found the greatest attraction, for Mr. Smith happened to say, in a casual way, that the people were Acadian French. No sooner had he mentioned that name than the boys asked the meaning of it. They were informed that these people were the descendants of the Acadians, and that the ancestors of most of them had been expelled from their homes in Nova Scotia, and fled to this place. This at once excited the deepest interest in their minds. All that had reference to the old Acadians was most attractive to them, and in the persons of the Shippeganders they hoped to find reproduced the forms of those gentle, poetic, and simple-minded peasants, with whom they had become acquainted in the beautiful verses of Evangeline.

This unexpected enthusiasm of the boys delighted Mr. Smith, who at once deserted his saw-mill, and proceeded to show them the place. It was of no very great extent, and contained not more than forty or fifty small cottages. These were all built of frame, and shingled over. The road was grass-grown, and did not appear to have any very intimate acquaintance with wheeled vehicles. The people had an unmistakably foreign aspect, but were very pleasant in their looks and manners. The women wore short homespun frocks, with a jacket, and a head-dress consisting of a handkerchief of bright colors. Some of them were spinning at the doors of their cottages, others were knitting, others attending to the duties of the dairy. In the fields were the men making hay. Children laughed and danced, in their play, about the cottage doors. In the middle of the village was a small, simple chapel, with a cross upheld from one point of its roof, and a small belfry from the other.

As the party walked down the road they were greeted with pleasant smiles, in which there were both natural curiosity and kindly welcome. Mr. Smith spoke to the people some friendly words in the patois used by them, which he seemed to understand perfectly; and the answers, though unintelligible to the boys, had a pleasant meaning to their minds, on account of the merry laughter and amiable faces of the speakers. The little children stopped in their sport as the strangers came along, and stood, with their round, merry faces, staring with laughing black eyes.

On the whole, the boys found in this scene all that they could wish, and more than they had anticipated. It realized very closely the ideas which they had formed from the description in Evangeline; and Bart, as he looked around, could not help repeating the well-known words:
"There, in the midst of its farms, 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 days of the
Henrys.
There, in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the
sunset
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chim
neys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white cap, 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 affeetionate welcome.
Then came the laborers 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 ascend
ing,
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and con
tentment.
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers;
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free
from
Fear that dwells with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of repub
lics.
Neither looks had they to their doors, nor bars to their win
dows;
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the
owners.
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abun
dance.”

After traversing the village, they approached a house at the other end, which, though of the same simple construction, was larger and better than the others. Two or three of those tall poplar trees, which were so dear to the Acadians, grew in front. A massive porch was before the door, around which grew a honeysuckle. Two or three barns indicated the comfortable circumstances of the owner. As they drew near, they saw an old man sitting in the porch smoking, who looked at them, and rose with a pleasant smile. His figure was slightly bent, his hair, mustache, and beard quite gray, and his whole aspect venerable in the extreme.

“It’s Benedict Bellefontaine!” exclaimed Bart. “I thought we’d find him, too. Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand Pre. Here he is, in life, dwelling on his goodly acres.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Mr. Smith, with a laugh. “His name is Grousset, but he’ll do very well for Bellefontaine. At any rate, you can judge for yourselves, for I'm going to introduce you to him.”

By this time they had reached the house, and Mr. Smith, after shaking hands with the old man, introduced the boys. Monsieur Grousset greeted each one with a paternal smile, and upon learning their errand, at once invited them all to stay at his house while they were in the village. At first the boys refused; but the old man was so urgent, and the prospect of seeing an Acadian home was so attractive, that they at length accepted the kind invitation.

The resemblance which Bart had found between Mr. Grousset and “Benedict Bellefontaine” was, indeed, sufficiently striking to be marked even by one less imaginative. The old man, the house, and the surroundings, all might have stood for Longfellow’s description; for though there might be a difference in minor things, the general character was the same:
"Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea, and a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing
around it.
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a foot
path
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow.
Under the sycamore tree were hives overhung by a pent-house
Such as the traveller sees in regions remote, by the road-side,
Built o’er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary.
Farther down on the slope of the hill was the well, with its
moss-grown
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses.
Shielding the house from storms, on the north were the barns
and the farm-yard.
There stood the broad-wheeled wains, and the antique ploughs,
and the harrows.
There were the folds for the sheep, and there, in his feathered
seraglio,
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the self
same
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter.
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In
each one,
Far o’er the gable, projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase
Under the sheltering eaves led up to the odorous corn-loft.
There, too, the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent
inmates,
Murmuring ever of love; while above, in the variant breezes,
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.
Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of
Grand Pré
Lived on his sunny farm.”

For some time they remained outside, and Mr. Grousset talked with them. He spoke English very well, and seemed to be a man of much general information for one of his class, and in so remote a place. He was thoroughly simple-minded, however, unworldly, and guileless.