The Lily and the Cross: A Tale of Acadia

by James De Mille

But, though not visible from this point, the settlements of man were here, and the works of human industry lying far away on the slopes of distant hills and the edges of low, marshy shores.

It was not without much caution that they had passed through the strait. They had waited for the tide to come in, and then, with a favorable wind, they had made the venture. Borne onward by wind and tide together, they sailed on far into the bay, and then, directing their course to the southward, they sailed onward for a few miles farther. The captain had been here before, and was anxious to find his former anchorage. On the former occasion he had waited outside and sent in for a pilot, but now he had ventured inside without one, trusting to his memory. He knew well the perils that attend upon navigation in this place, and was not inclined to risk too much. For here were the highest tides in the world to be encountered, and swift currents, and sudden gusts of wind, and far-spreading shoals and treacherous quicksands, among which the unwary navigator could come to destruction only too easily.

But no accident happened on this occasion; the navigation was made with the utmost circumspection, the schooner being sent ahead to sound all the way, and the ship following. At length both came to anchor at a distance from the shore of about five miles. Nearer than that the captain did not dare to go, for fear of the sand-banks and shoals.

Here a boat was lowered, and Cazeneau prepared to land, together with the aged Laborde and Mimi. The Abbé Michel also prepared to accompany them.

Ever since Laborde had been saved from the wreck, he had been weak and listless. It seemed as though the exhaustion, and exposure, and privation of that event had utterly broken down his constitution. Since he had been taken to the ship, however, he had grown much worse, and was no longer able to walk. He had not risen from his berth since he had come on board the Aigle. Mimi's anxiety about him had been excessive, and she had no thought for anything else. The situation of Claude was unknown to her, and her distress about her father's increasing weakness prevented her from thinking much about him. Her only hope now was, that on reaching the shore her father would experience a change for the better, and be benefited by the land air.

On removing Laborde from his berth, it was found that he not only had not strength to stand, but that he was even so weak that this motion served of itself to exhaust him fearfully. He had to be placed on a mattress, and carried in that way by four sailors to the ship's side, where he was carefully let clown into the boat. There the mattress was placed in the boat's stern, and Laborde lay upon this, with his head supported against Mimi, who held him encircled in her arms. In this way he was taken ashore.

It was a long row, but the water was comparatively smooth, and the landing had been postponed until the flood tide, which made the boat's progress easier and swifter.

The nearest shore was very low, and the landing-place was two or three miles farther on. In the distance the land rose higher, and was covered with trees, with here and there a clearing. The land which they first approached was well wooded on the water side, but on passing this the whole scene changed. This land was an island, about two miles distant from the shore, with its inner side cleared, and dotted with houses and barns. Between this and the shore there extended a continuous tract of low land, which had evidently once been a salt-water marsh, for along the water's edge the coarse grass grew luxuriantly; but a little distance back there was a dike, about six or eight feet high, which ran from the island to the shore, and evidently protected the intervening level from the sea. The island itself thus served as a dike, and the artificial works that had been made ran where the sea had the least possible effect.

At length they approached the main land, and here they saw the low marsh-land all around them. Here a turbid river ran into the Basin, which came down a valley enclosed between wooded hills, and, with voluminous windings, terminated its course.

At this place there was a convenient beach for landing, and here Laborde was removed from the boat and carried up on the bank, where he was laid on his mattress under a shadowy willow tree. This point, though not very elevated, commanded a prospect which, to these new comers who had suffered so much from the sea, might have afforded the highest delight, had they been sufficiently free from care to take it all in. All around them lay one of the most fertile countries in all the world, and one of the most beautiful. The slopes of the hills rose in gentle acclivities, cultivated, dotted with groves and orchards, and lined with rows of tall poplars. The simple houses of the Acadian farmers, with their out-buildings, gave animation to the scene. At their feet lay a broad extent of dike-land, green and glowing with the verdure of Juno, spreading away to that island, which acted as a natural dike against the waters of the sea. Beyond this lay the blue waters of Minas Basin, on whose bosom floated the ship and the schooner, while in the distance rose the cliff which marked the entrance into the Basin, and all the enclosing shores.