The Lily and the Cross: A Tale of Acadia

by James De Mille

At length they came in sight of the sea. The trees here were small, stunted, and scrubby; the soil was poor, the grass coarse and interspersed with moss and stones. In many places it was boggy, while in others it was rocky. Their path ran along the shore for some miles, and then entered the woods. For some distance farther they went on, and then emerged into an open country, where they saw before them the goal of their long journey.

Open fields lay before them, with houses and barns. Farther on there lay a beautiful harbor, about five or six miles long and one mile wide, with a narrow entrance into the outer sea, and an island which commanded the entrance. Upon this island, and also on one side of the entrance, were batteries, while on the side of the harbor on which they were standing, and about two miles away, was another battery, larger than either of these. At the farthest end of the harbor were small houses of farmers or fishermen, with barns and cultivated fields. In the harbor were some schooners and small fishing vessels, and two large frigates.

But it was upon the end of the harbor nearest to themselves that their eyes turned with the most pleasure. Here Louisbourg stood, its walls and spires rising before them, and the flag of France floating from the citadel. The town was about half a mile long, surrounded by a stockade and occasional batteries. Upon the highest point the citadel stood, with the guns peeping over the parapet. The path here entered a road, which ran towards the town; and now, going to this road, they went on, and soon reached the gate.

On entering the gate, they were stopped and questioned; but the priest, who seemed to be known, easily satisfied his examiners, and they were allowed to go on. They went along a wide street, which, however, was unpaved, and lined on each side with houses of unpretending appearance. Most of them were built of wood, some of logs, one or two of stone. All were of small size, with small doors and windows, and huge, stumpy chimneys. The street was straight, and led to the citadel, in which was the governor's residence. Other streets crossed at right angles with much regularity. There were a few shops, but not many. Most of these were lower down, near the water, and were of that class to which the soldiers and sailors resorted. Outside the citadel was a large church, built of undressed stone, and without any pretensions to architectural beauty. Beyond this was the entrance to the citadel. This place was on the crest of the hill, and was surrounded by a dry ditch and a wall. A drawbridge led across the ditch to the gate. On reaching this place the party had to stop, and the priest sent in his name to the governor or commandant. After waiting some time, a message came to admit them. Thereupon they all passed through, and found themselves inside the citadel.

They found this to be an irregular space, about two hundred feet in length and width, surrounded by walls, under which were arched cells, that were used for storage or magazines, and might also serve as casemates in time of siege. There were barracks at one end, and at the other the governor's residence, built of stone. Upon the parade troops were exercising, and in front of the barracks a band was playing. The whole scene was thus one of much animation; indeed, it seemed very much so to the eyes of these wanderers, so long accustomed to the solitude of the sea, or of the primeval forest. However, they did not wait to gaze upon the scene, but went on at once, without delay, to the commandant.

The commandant—Monsieur Auguste de Florian—received them with much politeness. He was a man of apparently about forty years of age, medium stature, and good-natured face, without any particular sign of character or talent in his general expression. This was the man whom Cazeneau was to succeed, whose arrival he had been expecting for a long time. He received the new comers politely, and, after having heard the priest's account of Mimi,—who she was, and how he had found her,—he at once sent for his wife, who took her to her own apartments, and informed her that this must be her home as long as she was at Louisbourg.

The commandant now questioned the priest more particularly about the Arethuse. Père Michel left the narration to Claude. He had been introduced under the name of M. Motier, and did not choose to say anything about his real name and rank, for fear that it might lead him into fresh difficulties. So Claude gave an account of the meeting between the schooner and the raft, and also told all that he knew about the fate of the Arethuse. The priest added something more that he had learned, and informed the commandant that he could learn all the rest from MimI. — The governor's polite attention did not end with this visit. He at once set about procuring a place where Claude might stay, and would have done the same kind office to Père Michel, had not the priest declined. He had a place where he could stay with one of the priests of the town, who was a friend; and besides, he intended to carry on the duties of his sacred office. Claude, therefore, was compelled to separate himself from the good priest, who, however, assured him that he would see him often. Before evening he found himself in comfortable quarters in the house of the naval storekeeper, who received him with the utmost cordiality as the friend of the commandant.

The next day Claude saw Père Michel. He seemed troubled in mind, and, after some questions, informed him that he had come all the way to Louisbourg for the express purpose of getting some letters which he had been expecting from France. They should have been here by this time, but had not come, and he was afraid that they had been sent out in the Arethuse. If so, there might be endless trouble and confusion, since it would take too long altogether to write again and receive answers. It was a business of infinite importance to himself and to others; and Père Michel, who had never before, since Claude had known him, lost his serenity, now appeared quite broken down by disappointment.

His present purpose was to go back and see about the burial of Cazeneau; but he would wait for another week, partly for the sake of rest, and partly to wait until Cazeneau's Indians had been heard from. He had sent out two of the Indians who had come with him to make inquiries; and when they returned, he would go. He was also waiting in the hope that another ship might arrive. There was some talk of a frigate which was to bring out some sappers and engineers for the works. It was the Grand Monarque. She had not come as yet, nor had she left by last advices; but still she was liable to leave at any moment.

"Still," said the priest, "it is useless to expect anything or to hope for anything. The king is weak. He is nothing. How many years has he been a roi fainéant? Fleury was a fit minister for such a king. Weak, bigoted, conceited, Fleury had only one policy, and that was, to keep things quiet, and not suffer any change. If wrongs had been done, he refused to right them. Fleury has been a curse to France. But since his death his successors may be even worse. The state of France is hopeless. The country is overwhelmed with debt, and is in the hands of unprincipled vagabonds. The king has said that he would govern without ministers; but that only means that he will allow himself to be swayed by favorites. Fleury has gone, and in his place there comes—who? Why, the Duchesse de Chateauroux. She is now the minister of France."