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Thosa 'coo larga to ba antiraly included in ona axposura ara filmad beginning in tha uppar laft hand cornar, laft to right and top to bottom, aa many framas as raquirad. Tha following diagrama illustrata tha mathod: Las cartas, planchas, tablaaux, etc., pauvant Atra filmte A das taux da rAduction dlff Arants. Lorsqua la documant ast trop grand pour Atra raproduit an un saul clichA. il ast filmA A partir da I'angia supAriaur gaucha, da gaucha A droita, at da haut an baa, an pranant la nombra d'Imagas nAcassaira. Las diagrammas suivants illustrant la mAthoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 ! 4 5 6 A TALE OF ACADIE. BY IIRNRY WAT:)SW0RTII LONGFELLOW. BOSTON: TICKNOU, REED, AND FIELDS. MOCCCI,. i ' ' EVANGELINE '■■ill ILLUSTRATED I I ii i si WITH FOin'Y-FIVK KNGllAVINCiS ON WOOD, rilUM DESIGNS 1!Y .TANK ll. BENIl.VM, ISTUKET FOSTEU, AND JOHN OILUEUT. 1 ( t !'■ n J % b o Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by H. W. LoNGFKLLOW, ill ihc Clerk's Oflito, of tho District Court of the District of Massachusetts. ■'ll^ if EVANGELINE PART THE FIRST. ^ / / / r LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. EVANGELINE. PART THE FIRST. I. " The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green." uisiiiaNiiu uv r/Mi LIHT OK ILLI'STHATIONS. ▼ lICHKlltKn 111 lAllf. XXIIT. " LowiiiR thoy waited, undloiipr, nttlip well-known Imis of the fmm- ' yard Wuitedund liiukcd in vuln for the voice and the huiidol'tho inilkniuld," Hikkkt Kostk.u, lt» XXIV. " Suddenly nwc from the «outh a li(,'ht, an in uiituinn the hlood-rcd Moon climbs the crystal wull» of heaven, and o'er the hori/oa Titun-likc Huctchcs its hundred hands uiwn mountain and meadow." IUrkkt t ostkh , i2 XXV. " IIuvin(ir the i^laro of the burning vilhiBO for funeral torchen, But without bell («• book, they buried the farmer of Grand Pr(5." Biukf.t I'oviku. 4 J XXVI. " Then rccommcnceil once more the stir and noise of cmbarkinK ; And with the ebb of that tide tlie Mhipu sailed out of the harbour." Uiukkt Fostku. 40 PART THE SECOND. XXVII. " Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered. Lowly and meek inspirit, and patiently suffering all things." .IaneK. Bknuam. 47 XXVllI. " Into tho golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi, Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen." Birket Fostku. ')l XXIX. " Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plume-like Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current." Biiiket Fosteu. o2 XXX. " Lovely the moonlight was us it glancid and gleamed on the water." Biiiket Foster. 5t3 XXXI. " Resplendent in beauty, the lotus Lifted her golden crown above tlic heads of the boatmen." Birket Foster. 55 XXXII. " Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about on tho greensward. Tired witli their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumbered." Birket Foster. ^ I XXXIII, " Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless islands, Dai'ted a light, s\\ift boat, that sped away o'er the water." BiHKET I'oster. 57 i VI LIST or ILLUHTUATIONS. XXX rv, " The hoimo ItMclf wiik of tlmberrt Ilcwn from tlie eypioHH-trct', anil cunfiiUy HtU'il tDKctlurr." IIHIUNKII UY r4UII lIlUKn roNTKU. lio XXXV. "HmUlunly out of the ki'uxh the Iohk white hoinx of the cuttle Uose like flukoft of foiim on the udvcrHC currents of occim." BlUKBT FoHTKIt. fl'2 XXXVI. *' ' LoHK live Michucl,' they cried, ' our brave Acudlan mlnHtrvl !' Ah they bore him iiloft in triumphal procession." Janr K. Hknham. 05 BlUKKT FUHYISU, 70 XXXVII. '* With horses ond guides, and companions, Gabriel left tlie viUuge, and took the road of the pruiries." ^ * ! , '' ... ■. XXXVIII. " Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark mountains, Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him." Bikkkt Fosteii. 71 XXXIX. " Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, • ' Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children." BlllKET FoSTKIl. 70 • XL. " In that delightful land wWch is washed by the Delaware's waters, • . Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle, Standson the bunks of its beautiful stream the city he founded." Hiuket Fosteu. HO XLI. " Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper." BiBKET B'OSTEIt. 82 XLII. " Day after day, in the grey of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market. Met he that meek, pule face, returning home from its wutchings." .IaneE.Beniiam. 83 XLIII. . '<■ Through the hush that succeeded ^Vhi8pered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, ' Gabriel ! O my beloved !' and died away into silence." XLIV. " Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, In the heart of the city." Jane E. Benham. 87 Birket Foster. 88 XLV. " Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun. And by the evening fire repeut Evangeline's story." Biuket Fostek. 89 ? / 3 EVANGELINE. Tliis is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roc, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman ? Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, — Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands. Darkened hj shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven ? Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers for ever departed ! Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October Seize them, and whiil them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand Pre. Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is i)aticnt, Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of wonuni's devotion. List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest ; List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, liomc of the happy. m r^ Lje,y^^ Ai£Uxif^:--, I. In the Acadian land, on tlie shores of the Basin of Minas, Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand Pre Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward. Giving the village its name, and pastm-e to flocks without number. Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labour incessant. Shut out the tm'bulent 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 theii' tents, and mists fi:om the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. t 'W,r* >1 l ' f ?! . ■ ■* ■ . ' W yW i /; EVANGELINE. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chesnut, 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 cliimneys, Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps, and in kii'tles 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 childi'en 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 laboiu'ers home from the field and serenely the Sim sank Down to his rest, and twilight pi'evailed. Anon from the belfry Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the ^'illage 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. Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tjTant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks liad they to their doors, nor bars to their windows ; EVANGELINE. But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the ownei-s ; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. < Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand Pre, Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household. Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. Stal worth and stately in form was the man of seventy winters ; Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with snow-flakes ; White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oak leaves. Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside. Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses! ' Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in the meadows. When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was the maiden. Fairer was she when, on Smiday mom, while the bell fi'om its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, Down the long street she ^)assed, with her chaplet of bead" and her missal. Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings. Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heir-loom. Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — I KVANGKLINK. Shone on her fuce and encircled her form, when, ufter confession. Homeward serenely she walked with Cod's benediction upon her. I When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music. 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. Kudeh' carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a foot-path « I KVANGEUXK. f 'ii .:' Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in tlie meadow. Under the sycamore tree were hives overhung by a pent-house, Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the road-side, lUiilt 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. I '' 11 1 8 KVANGELINE. There stood the broad-whcded wains and the nnticjuc ploughs and the harrows ; There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in his feathered seraglio, Strutted the lordly tui-key, and erowed the cock, with the selfsame 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 dovecot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates Mm'mming 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 VrO Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. ^ J n EVANGELINE. Many a youth, as he knelt in the chui'ch and opened his missal, Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest devotion ; Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment ! Many a siutor came to her door, by the darkness befiiended, And as he knocked, and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps. Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron ; Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village, Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered 1 10 A,., KVANOELINE. Hiiniod words of love, that seemed a part of tlic music. But, among all who came, younp; Gabriel only was welcome ; Gabriel Lajeunnesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, Who was a mighty man in the village, and honom'cd of all men ; For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood Grew up together as brother and sister; and P'athcr Felician, i \ - ; KVANGELINE. a I'ricst and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them theii- letters Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the ehurch and the plain-song. But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything. Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tiic of the cart-wheel Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness Bm'sting with light seemed the smithy, thi'ougli every cranny and crevice, Warm by the forgo within they watched the labouring bellows, And as its pantings ceased, and the sparks exi)ired in the ashes, Merrily laughed, and said they were nmis going into the chapel. 1(1 « ■il.V.1 M KVANOELINK. Ott on HlcdgOB in winter, tM swift us the swoop of the cap;le, Down the hill-side bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. Oft in the bams they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow Brings &om the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings; Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow ! Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were childi'en. He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning. Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. " Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called ; for that was the sunshine Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples ; She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance. Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. II; KVANCJKLINK l.-i i u II. Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. Bu'ds of passage sailed tlirough the leaden air, from the ice-bound, Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the winds of September Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian himters asserted Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints I I i „ 14 KVANdKMNi:. I'Mllcd was the air with u diramy and magical light ; and tlio hmd- weapc TiUy ns it' ncw-crcutcd in all tho fiVMlinc'ss of tliildhood. Peace seemed to reign u])()n earth, and the restless heart of the oeean Was for a moment consoled. All wounds were in harmony blended. Voices of eliildren at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, Whir of wings in tlie drowsy uir, and the cooing of i)igeons. All were subdued and low as the murmius of love, and the great sun Looked witli the eye of love through the golden vapours around him, While ai'raycd in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, IJright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of the forest Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with mantles and jewels. Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. Day with its bm'den and heat had departed, and twilight descenduig Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the home-stead. Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, And with thcu* nostrils distended inlialing the Ireshness of evening. Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer. Proud of her snow-wliite hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar. Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of himian affection. Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the sea-side. Where Avas their favouiite pastme. Behind them followed the watch-dog. KVANOKMNK. 1% I'utii'Jit, full of iinportmuc, mid p^niiul in tlit' pride of his instinct, Walking from side to side with a loidly nil", und superbly Wiivin^ his bushy tail, and urpfin^ forward the strn^^'lers ; Uef^ent of Hocks was ho when tlie sheplu rd slept \ \\\v\v proteetoi', When from tlic forest at niglit, throu-'b the stmiy bilencc, the wolves howled. ■• -^-ulii-. Si.. -uPiL^^w',,, •f. frJfr^^ ■•T>-^ Late, with the risiuf^ moon, returned the wains from the marshes, Laden with briny hav, that filled the aii* with its odour. Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks. While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson. Nodded in bright array, like liollyhocks heavy with blossoms. 16 EVANGELINE. Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in regular cadenee Into the sounding pail the foaming streamlets descended. liOwing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness ; Heavily closed, with a creaking sound, the valves of the barn-doors, llattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. In-doors, warm by the ^nde-mouth fu'eplace, idly the farmer Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames and the smoke- wreaths Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind him, Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestiu'cs fantastic, J )artcd his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair Laughed in the flickering light, and the jiewter plates oil the dresser Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Cliristmas, Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before him Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vineyards. Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline seated, Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner behind her. Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent shuttle, AVhile the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone of a bagpipe, Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments together. As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals ceases. f i I il -^MM^.-JiL»'^^.i-4,^r :nit^JtMTlf«:;dtu:A£ea>VnUiMaeMU^dlbiiB.^E3ai»^ :^'itn»!!i' ttir'.t . iMt:i EVANGELINK. 17 Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest at the altar, So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the elock clicked. II Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, Soimded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it Avas Basil the blacksmith. And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. " Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold. " Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy place on the settle Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee ; Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; Never so much thyself art thou, as when, through the curling Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy Mendly and jovial face gleams. Round and red as the harvest moon tlirough the mist of the marshes." Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the Blacksmith, Taking with easy au* the accustomed seat by the fireside : — " Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad ! Fj\cr in cheerfuUest mood art thou, when others are filled with Gloomy forebodings of ill, and sec only ruin before them. Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him. And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : — " Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. Wliat their design may be is unknown ; but all are commanded On the morrow to meet in the church, where His Majesty's mandate D If. II V 18 EVANGELINi:. Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the meantime Many siu-mises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." Then made answer the farmer : — " Perhaps some friendlier purpose Brings these ships to om' shores. Perhaps the harvests in England By the untimely rains or untimelier heat liave been blighted, And from our bursting barns they would feed theii* cattle and children." i I " Not so thinketh tlic folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, Shaking his liead, as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, he continued : — « i EVANGELINE. 10 i " Louisbiu*g is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Koyal. Many already have fied to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-moiTow. Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds ; Nothing is loft but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer : — " Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our com fields, Safer within these peaceftil dikes, besieged by the ocean, Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract. Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the glebe round about them. Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children ? " As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, Blusliing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, And as they died on his lips the worthy notary entered. I' 1. ^ KVANGELINE. III. Bent like a labouiing oar, that toils in the siirf of the oceaii, Bent, but not broken, by age was the fonii of the notary public ; Shocks of yellow haii', like the silken floss of the maize, hung Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and glasses with horn bows Sat astride on his nose, with a look of -v^nsdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundied Children's childi'en rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. KVANOKLINK. 81 I /I • a Four lonpf years in the times of the war hud he languished a captive, Suffering much in an old French fort as the fnend of the English. Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, Kipe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. Ho was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest. And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children ; And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable. And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nut-shell. And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, With whatsoever else was vn-it in the lore of the village. Then up rose from his seat by the fii'eside Basil the blacksmith, Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, "Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village. And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and theii* errand." Then with modest demeanom* made answer the notary public : — " Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser ; And what their eiTand may be I know not better than others. Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention Brings them here, for we arc at peace ; and why then molest us ?" "God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible black- sniith : WK B Ml J p i iillJpipp ia^j^'ii-v'.-., 22 KVANGELINE. "Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore ? Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest ! " But, without heeding his warmth, continiicd th(> notaiy public : — "Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice Triumphs ; and well I remember a storj', that often consoled me. When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Iloyal. " This was the old man's favourite tale, and he loved to repeat it Whenever neighbours complained that any injustice was done them. " Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand. And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted ; Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaflbld, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice, As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, Lo ! o'ei the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of the thunder Smote the s<^«tuc of bronze, and hui'led in wrath from its left hand EVANGELINE. a;{ Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, Into whoso clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksinitli Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language ; And all his thoughts congealed into lines on his face, as the vapours Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. ' Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table. Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand Pre ; While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and ink-horn, Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. Orderly all tilings proceeded, and duly and well were completed, And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and tlie bridegroom. Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drark to their welfare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed. While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, Till FiVangeline brought the di'aught-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre ; BJKSsitei' u KVANGELTNR. Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. Meanwhile, apai't, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from the belfry Rang out the horn' of nine, the village curfew, and straightway Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in uie household. KVANO KLINE. « Many a farewell word and sweet j^ood-niglit on the door-step Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and hlled it with Lrladnes^ I Careiully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the tarmer. Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. Up the staircase moved a laminous space in the darkness, E RtMa?.'^*.-..^'-'--'fe3:^:i«^!*e^*{^^^ 26 KVANCELIXi:. Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white and its clothes-press Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. This was the precious dower she would bring to lier husband in man'iage. Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till' the heart of the maiden Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean . Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber ! Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, Waited her lover, and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. And as she gazed from the window she saw serenely the moon pass Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps. As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar ! I', EVANOELTNK. IV. Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand Fa ': . Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, A^^lerc the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor, Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labour M EVANOKLINK. ^ Knocked with its hutulrcd hiuuls at the ^oldoii ^'ntcs of the inoriiiiij;. Now from the country around, from the fanuH and the neighbouring hamlets, Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. Many a glad good morrow and jocund laugh from tlie young folk Made the biiglit aii' brighter, as up from the numerous nuiidows, Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the higliway. Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labour were silenced. F.VANfJKf.INi;. I Thronpod wore the Htroots with ]m>o|)U>; and noisy p^itality seemed more ahnndant : ]''or I'iVanffeline stood amonjif the quests of her father ; Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and ffladncHs Fell from her beautifnl lips, ond blessed the cup as she pave it. Under the open sky, in the odorous oir of the orchard, Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notoi y seated ; There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. Not far withdrawn fi*om these, by the eider-press and the beehives, Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and of waistcoats. Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face of the fiddler Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers. Gaily the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, Ihus les lioKrffcoi's do Chartrcs, and 7,e Carillon de Dwikerqtie, And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. :u» KVANGELINK. ^y/.VKtl '■■-•■ Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances Under the orchard-trees and down the patli to the meadows ; Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. Fairest of all the maidc was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter I Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the blacksmith ! So passed the morning away. And lo, with a summons sonorous Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the nu'adows a drum beat. Thronged (ue long was the church with men. Without, in the chmx'h-vard. EVAXGELI.NE. .•)l Wttited the women. They stood hy the «^mves, and hung- on the head-stones Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. ( *^^ ^--'^^r-:, Then came the guard from the ships, and, marching proudly among them, Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangom' Echoed the sound of theii* brazen diums from ceiling and casement, — Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. " You are convened this day,'' he said, *' by His Majesty's orders. n If 1*. i). Si EVANGELINE. m \ Clement and kind lias ho been ; but how you have answered his kindness /Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my temper Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the Avill of oui" monarch ; Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this province Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there .Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! Prisoners now I declai'c you ; for such is His Majesty's plcasiu'e ! " As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, Hiding the sun, and strewing the gromid with thatch from the house-roofs, Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosm*es ; So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the sj)eaker. Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the door-way. Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce imprecations Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the others Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, As on a stormy sea a spar is tossed by the billows. Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and wildly he shouted, •* Down with the tyrants of England ! we never have sworn them allegiance ! .^' V EVANGELINE. 33 Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!" More he fain woidd have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote liiui upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician Entered, with serious mien, and asc ndcd the steps of the altar. Raising his reverend hand, witli a gesture he awed into silence All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his people ; Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and mournful Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. "What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you ? Forty years of my life have I laboured among you, and taught you. Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations ? Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness ? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred ? Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his oross is gazing upon you ! See ! in those sorrowfal eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer — *0 Father, forgive them!' Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us. Let us repeat it now, and say, * Father, forgive them !' " Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people F saasaigBiBaBsr^anx;, 34 EVANGELINE, Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that passionate outbreak ; And they repeated his prayer, and said, " O Father, forgive them ! " Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed from the alttu*. Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded, Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave Maria Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devction translated, Rose on the ardour of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides Wandered, wailing, from house to house, the women and childi'en. Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, descending, Lighted the village street with mysterious splendour, and roofed each Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its windows. Lo ! within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table ; There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey, fragrant with wild flowers; There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy ; And at the head of the board the great ai*m-chaii' of the farmer. Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sunset Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows. KVANGELIXE. 35 iVh ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial ascended, — Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience I Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the village. Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of the womiii, As o'er the darkening fields with Ungcring steps they departed, BJBMniMi i llB IK m M EVANGELINE. Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. Down sank the gi'eat red sun, and in golden^ glimmering vapours Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai. Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline lingered. All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the windows Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome by emotion, " Gabriel ! " cried she, aloud, with tremulous vc'ce ; but no answer Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave of the living. Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of her father. Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the boai'd stood the supper untasted, Empty and drear was each i-oom, and haunted with phantoms of terror Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. In the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain fall Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore tree by the window. Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of the neighbouring thunder Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created ! Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of heaven ; Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefrilly slumbered tillmoming. > f -. T • ■r.>*ye • E VANG KLINE. V. Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm-house. Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful procession, Came from the neighbom'ing hamlets and farms the Acadian women, Driving in ponderous wains theii' household goods to the sea-shore, 81 EVANGELINE. I'uusing and looking back to gaze once more on thcii- dwellings, Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the wootUand. Close at their sides their cliildi'cn ran, and urged on the oxen. While in their little hands they clasped some fragments of playtliings. l»/rt m K ( Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and there on the sea-beach I'iled in confiision lay the household goods of the peasants. All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ; All day long the wains came labouring down from the village. Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting. Echoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the chm'chyard. Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the chm'ch-doors Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. Even as pilgrims, who journey afai from their homes and theii* country. Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and way-worn, So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended Down from the church to the shore, amid theii* wives and their daughters. Foremost the young men came ; and, raising together their voices. Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions : — " Sacred heart of the Savioiir ! O inexhaustible fountain ! Fill our hearts tliis day with strength and submission and patience ! " Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the way-side. Joined in the sacred psalm, and the bii'ds in the simshine above theni Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spuits depaited. KVANGKLINK. .•VJ Halt-way down to the shoi'e Evanf^clino waited in silence, Not overcome with gi'ief, but strong in the hour of affliction, — ■ Calmly and sadly waited, until th^^ -'"ocession approached her, And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him. Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered, " Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one another, Notiung, in truth, can hann us, whatever mischances may happen ! " Smiling slie spake these words ; then suddenly paused, for her father Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was his aspect ! Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fii'c from liis eye, and liis footstep Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary heart in liis bosom. But, with a smile and a sigh, she clasped liis neck and embraced him. Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. Thus to the Gaspercau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion Wives were torn fi'om their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their childi'en Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, AVhile in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the refluent ocean w^ 40 KVANOr.I.INE. ^1 1 Fled away from tlie shoi'o, and lift the Vuw of the sand-hooch Covovod witli waifs of tho tidi>, with kolp and the Hli])])ory soa-wood. Farther hack, in Iho midst of tho honsoliold j^'oods and tlie waggons, Like to a f^ipsy camp, or a lea{>;uor after a hattle, All escajjo out off hy the sea, and the sentinels near them, Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. IJack to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean. Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving Inland and far iij) the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from theii* pastures ; Sweet was the moist still aii* with the odom* of milk from their udders; Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farmyard, — Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. r.VANOKLTNK. II Silonco rc'ijfnrd in the stroots; from tlio clmrch no An^'chis sonndod. Rose no Hmoko from tho roofs, nnd p;lonmrd no li^lits from tlio windows. But on tlic shores meanwhile tlie cveninj; fires had been kindled, Ruilt of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks in the tempest. Round them shapes of ^loom ai.d sorrowful faces were gathered, Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the cryinj? of children. Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, Wandered the faithful priest, consolinf^ and hlessinp; and checrinfj, Fiike unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore. Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her fathej'. And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man. Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either thought or emotion, E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. V^ainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, Vainly oifei*ed him food; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not, Rut, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire light. ^' Benedicife !'" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents Faultercd and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a tlircshold, Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, G Ml I III II 40 KVANT.KLTNF. liaising liis eyes, full of teal's, to the Hilnit .stars that above them Moved on their way, uupertinhed by tlie wrongs and sorrows of mortals. Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silenee. .#-_. J&i ■ '/ ■' ■"'''^"""i.-. ■■■- Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the horizon Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain and meadow. Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together. Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the village, KVANOKMNi;. 4» (ilcaiiu'd on the sky uiul tlio mcu, and tlic sliips that lay iti tla> nmd- nU'ud. (oluinns of shilling sniokf upnwf, and Haslas (;f Hanu- wcro 'riirnst thvonf^li tlitir folds and withdrawn, like the (luiveiing hands of a nuu'tvr. 'I'hen as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning thateh, anil, uplifting, >\'hirled them ah)ft thnmgh the air, at onee from a hundred house-tops Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame intermingled. These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. Spee(!hless at hrst they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, '• We shall be]u)ld no more our homes in the village of Grand Pre !" Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm-yards, Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the lot\'ing of cattle (Anne on the evening breeze, ])y the barking of dogs interrupted. Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping encampments Fur in the western prauies or forests that skirt the Nebraska, When the wild horses afl'righted sweep by with the sped of the w'hirlwind, Or the loud belloAving herds of buffaloes rush to the river. Huch was the sound that arose on the night, as the herds and the horses Broke thnnigh their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the meadows. mK mmm 44 EVANGELINK. Overwiielint'cl with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden Gazed on the scene of tenor that reddened and widened before them ; And as they turned at lenjj^th to speak to their silent companion, Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore ]Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. Slowly the priest uphfted the lifeless head, and the maiden Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. Tlu'ough the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber ; And when she awoke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her. Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, — C " Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season J Brings us again to our homes from the luiknown land of our exile, V Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard. " Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the seaside, * Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, But -without l)ell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand Pre. And as the voice of the priest re])eated the service of sorrow, KVANGELINK. 45 Lo ! with a mournful sound, like tlic voice of a vast congregation, Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the du-ges. T'was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean. With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ; And with the ebb of that tide the shii)s sailed out of the harbour, Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. immmmmm PART THE SECOND. I. Many a weary year had passed since the burnings of Grand Pre, When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, Bearing a nation, vnth all its household gods, into exile, Exile without an end, and without an cxami)le in story. HMMMi Mmf 48 kvangp:link. I I 11 ■ If ' pi t^'-f Far asuudci", on separate coasts, the Acadians landed ; Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the north-east Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the hanks of New- foundland. Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, r From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — From the bleak shores of the sea to the land where the Father of Waters Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, heart-broken, Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. Written theii' history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her extended. Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, Passions long extinguished, and liopes long dead and abandoned, As the emigrant's way o'er the western desert is marked bv Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished ; As if a morning of Juno, with all its music and sunshine. Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, i:VANOELINK. I'J Urged by a restless loiigiug, the hunger uutl thirst of the spirit, She would commence again her endless search and endeavoui" ; Sometimes in church-yards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tomb- stones, Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. Sjmetimes a rumour, a hearsay, an inarticulate wliisper, Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her .beloved and known him. But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten. '* Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said they ; " O, yes ! we have seen him. He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the prairies ; Coureiifs-dcs-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers." " Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " O, yes ! we have seen him. He is a Voyayeur in the lowlands of Louisiana." Then would they say,—" Dear child ! why dream and wait for him longer ? Are their not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? others \Vlio have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal ? Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be hai)py ! Thou art too fair to be left to braid Saint Catherine's tresses. " Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, — " I cannot ! Wliither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere. For when the heart goes before, like a lamj), and illumines the pathway Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness." n -* IB— nwniii w yi ri i .. , j km!'j ' "j^ ^^^mm^^ lii&e-aiitK'J'- 60 1 ; VAN GK LINK. And thereupon the priest, her friend and father-confessor, Said, with a sm?le, — " Oli, daughter ! thy God thus speaketh within thee! Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted ; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning IJack to theii' springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. Patience ; accomplish thy labour ; accomplish thy work of affection ! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. Therefore accomplish thy labour of love, till the heart is made godlike, l\irified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven !" Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline laboured and waited. Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean. But with its sound there was mingled a voice tliat whispered, \' Despair not ! " Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort, Ulcediiig, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence. Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ; — Not through each devious jiath, each changeful year of existence ; iJut as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley : I'ar from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ; Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it. Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous mm mur ; ] lappy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. EVAXGELINK. 61 II. It was the montli of !Ma^'. Far clown the Beautiful Kivet-, f \ Pant the Ohio sliorc, and past the mouth of tlie Wabash, Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississipi, Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. ^ j It was a band of exiles, a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked I Nation, scattered alonf>; the coast, now floating together, Bomid by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune ; Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opclousas. With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. Onward, o'er sunken sands, tlirough a wilderness sombre with forests, K!SS3SSS2S&*i tfl -rj ^.j, ' PWt'J-i EVANCJFJJVE. Day after day they glided ndowii the tinbuh'iit river ; Ni},'ht after nif^ht, by their blazing- fires, eneamped on its borders. Now through rushing elmtes, among green islands, where plumelike Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current , Then emerj^ed into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars r^ay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, f|i Sliining with snow-white plumes, larg-e flocks of pelicans A\aded. Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river. Shaded bv china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens. Stood the houses of planters, with negro cabins and dove-cots. They were a])]n'oaching the region where r(>igns perpetual sunnncr, Where through the golden coast, and groves of orange and citron. Sweeps with majestic curve the liver away to the eastward. They, too, swerved from their course ; and, entering the liayou of Plaquemiue, EVAXGELIXE. .'» Soon wore lost in a mnzo of sluj^f^ish and devious waters, Whicli, like a network of steel, ex- tended in every direction. Over their heads the towcrinj? and tenebrous boughs of the cypress Met in a dusky arch, and trailin}j^ mosses in mid aii* Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by tlio herons Home to thcii* roosts in the cedar- trees returning at sunset, Or by the owl as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, (jileamcd on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, J)own through whose broken vaults it fell as tln-ough chhdcs in a ruin. Dreamlike, andindistinct, and strange ^'' were all things around them ; And o'er their spirits their came a feeling of wonder and sadness, — Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. I BllflgJllllllUiBiWi LPaai|iiiJSPi>..jj ^^»«^^ ' ni KVANfiEI.INF. As, at the trnmi) of a horse's hoot' on the turf of the jn-airies, Far in a ' .Jice are closed the k'aves of the shrinking; niiniosii, So, at the hoof-heats of fate, witli sad forehodin{»;s of evil, Shrinks and closes the heart, ere th(^ stroke of doom has attained it. lint l"iVanj!;cline's heart was sustained hy a vision, that faintly Floated before her eyes, aiid beckoned her on throuf^h the moonlif^ht. It was the thouji^ht of her brain that assumed the shai)e of a i)hantom. 'riinmq'h those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, And every strolcc of the oar now brought liiui nearer and nearer. It 'l II Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventuro Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. Wild through the dark colonnadi^s and corridors leaty the blast rang. Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the forest. Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches ; But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkness ; And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence. Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight ; Silent at times, and then singing familiar Canadian boat-songs, \ Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers. And through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert, Far off, indistinct, as of wave or ^^ ind in the forest, Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. KVANUKLINK. :,.", TliUN ciT jnuithcr iioou tluy cmoi'i^cd tVom tliDsc hIuuIcs ; and bi'forc (lii'iii FiUy, in the f^oliUii sim, tlu' liikcs of (\w Atcluif'alayu. Watcr-lilk's in myriads rocked o'l the slight uiidulutious ,^^^ Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the lotus l-ifted her ■' ./ ■>'<* Fnignirit and tliii'klyiinliowt'rt'd with blossoiiiin^^ ht'(l^;'C'M ol" iohos, j> Near to whoHc whores thoy glided uloiij;, invited to shinihcr. Soon by tlic fainst of tlusc thdr \Maiy oars were suspended. Under the boujj^hs of Waeliita willows that grew by the niarj^in, Safely their boat was moored; and scattered about on the greensward, Tired with their midnight toil, the wearv travellers slund)i'red. Over them vast and liiyh c xtended the eope of a cedar. Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet flower and the grape-vine Hung their ladder of ropi s aloft, like the ladder of Jacob, On whose pendulous staiis the angels ascending, descending, g|^^^ Were the swift hunnning birds, that flitted from blossom to blossom. Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered beneath it. Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions celestial. KVANOLMNK. w Noarcr and ever m'urt>r, unum^^ the numbeik'HM iMlunds, Dartt'd a lif;lil, Hwit't boat, that wpcd away o'er the water, Ury;ed on its course by tlie Hiuewy arms of liunters and trappers. Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison and beaver. At the helm sat a youth, with coun- tenance thoughtful and careworn. Dark and neglected locks oversha- dowed lus brow, and a sadness Somewhat beyond liis yetlrs on his face was legibly written. Gabriel was it, who, wcaiy with waiting, unhappy and restless, Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sorrow. Swiftly they glided along, close under the leo of the island, Tkit by the opposite bank, and be- hind a screen of palmettoes. So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in the willows. And imdistm'bed by the dash of theii' oars, and unseen, were the sleepers; Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering maiden. fr--- ■Mnm ' .■|[JJJI.i ! tl $ 58 EVANGELINE. 111! m H k Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on the prairie. After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in the distance, As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the maiden Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, — " O Father r eiician ! Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wanders. Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ? Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit ? " Then, with a blush, she added, — " Alas for my credulous fancy I Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning." But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered, — " Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor arc they to me without meaning. Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward. On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. There the long- wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, There the long-absent pastor regain liis flock and his shcepfold. Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees ; Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." ;lii P'l And with these words of cheer they arose and continued theii- jom'ney. Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape ; EVANGELINE. 59 Twinkling vapours arose ; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. Then from a neighbouring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook fi'om his little throat such floods of delirious music. That the whole aii', and the woods, and the waves, seemed silent to listen. Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then soaring to madness Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. Then single notes were heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ; Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision. As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green Opelousas, And through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland. Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighbom'ing dwelling ;— Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. l ll UIIIIW | il | ll nmW i W I | |ll M ll l i WI l MiaMB I HB IJ jmj ^lMEiat 60 KVANGELTNE. •^-j. I 4 f< III. r p i;. '11- Near to the bank of the river, o'crshadowcd by oaks, from whose branches Garlands of Spanish moss aniL of mystic mistletoe flaunted, Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms. Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers EVANGELINE, 61 Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns supported, Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious verandah, Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden. Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself was in shadow, And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway Through the gr^iat groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie. Into whose sea of flowers the smi was slowly descending. Full in his track of light, like sliips with shadowy canvas Hanging loose from their span; in a motionless calm in the tropics. Stood a cluster of cotton-trees, with cordage of gi'ape-vines. Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stu-rups, Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. Broad and browii was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. Round about him were numberless herds of kinc, that were grazing Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapoury freshness WUKtMnLAV^m^'M-VWMUapB EVANGELINE. i' ' : i| That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expanding Fully liis broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded Wildly and sweet and far, thi'ough the still damp air of the evening. l» Suddenly out of the grass the long wliite horns of the cattle Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse cmTents of ocean. Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the prairie, And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance. EVANGELINE. 63 Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing to meet him. Suddenly down H'oni liis horse he sprang in amazement, and forward Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder ; When they heheld his face, they recognised Basil the blacksmith. Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the garden. There in an arboui* of roses with endless question and answer Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces. Laughing and weeping by tm-ns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts and misgivings Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed, Broke the silence and said, — " If you came by the Atchafalaya, How have you nowhere encomitered my Gabriel's boat on the bayous?" Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade passed. Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, — " Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her face on his shoulder, All her o'erbm-dened heart gave way, and she wept and lamented. Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew blithe as he said it,— " Be of good cheer, my cliild ; it is only to-day he departed. Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and my horses. Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit gTBa**'n»rtf5uCTi«W»ggNWMWM'i'W»Wi^^ m i' t 1: } I f 1 i . 4 i i- ''A i '.. i. I 04 EVANGELINE. Could no longer endui'e the calm of this quiet existence. Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, Hunting for furs in the forest, on rivers trapping the beaver. Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the fugitive lover ; He liis not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. Up and away to-mon-ow, and tlu'ough the red dew of the mornmg We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison." Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river. Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler. Long mider Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus, Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals Far renowned was he for liis silver locks and his fiddle. " Long live Michael, " they cried, " our brave Acadian minstrel !*' As they bore liim aloft in triumphal procession ; and straightway Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, wliile Basil, enraptured. Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, Laughing loud and long, and embracing ruothers and daughters. rr EVAX(iKLINK. Cf) ^' I Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith, All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanour ; Much they marvelled to hear his talcs of the soil and the climate, And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them ; Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the airy verandah, J imMnMmtM mmmmmmm i.M.JMMmmmsm'1 ¥ -fc....ai,.ftU,', .Mtj, J9»^*»»^," ■•«- 00 KVANOELINE. Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil Waited his late retiu'ii ; and they rested and feasted together. i I iil .1 ., I I ^ Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. All was silent without, and, illuminj^ the landscape with silver, Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but within doors. Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman Poui'ed forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened : — " Welcome once more, my friends, who so long have been friendless and homeless. Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old one ! Here no himgry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ; Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. Smoothly the ploughshare runs tlirough the soil, as a keel through the water. \ All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; and grass grows More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies ; Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests of timber With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. After your houses arc built, and your fields are yellow with harvests. EVANGELINK. No King George of England sliall drive you away fiom your homesteads, Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle." Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud fi'om his nostrils, And his huge, brawny hand came thundering down on the table, So that the guests all started ; and Father Felieian, astounded, Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuft' half-way to his nostrils, liut the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer : — " Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever ! For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate. Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell !" Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps approacliing Sounded upon the stau's and the floor of the breezy verandah. It was the neighbom*ing Creoles and small Acadian planters, Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil the herdsman. Merry the meeting was of ancient comi-adcs and neighbours : Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who before were as \ strangers, ^ Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each other, \ Drawn by the gentle bond of a common countiy together. But in the neighboming hall a strain of music, proceeding From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious fiddle, . Broke up all further speech. Away, like children delighted. All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the maddening Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music, Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. _i^ (i8 KVANGELlNi;. I. Meanwhili', upurt, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; While Evangeline stood like on entranced, for within her Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music I leaid she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sadness Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the garden. IJeautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the forest, Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river Fell here and there thi'ough the branches a tremulous g:leam of the moonlight, Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devious spirit. Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the j^^arden Poured out theii* souls in odours, that were theu* prayers and confessions Unto the night, as it went its wny, like a silent Carthusian. Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows and night - dews. Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings. As, thi'ough the garden gate, beneath the brown shade of the oak trees. Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless prairie. Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-tiies Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite numbers. Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens, Shone on the eyes of man, ^^ho had ceased to marvel and worsliij), Save '-'hen a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that temple, i;vAN(ii;i,iM:. As if a liaiul hud uppoarocl and written upon them, " I'pliursin. " And the soul of the niaidcu, hetweon the stars and tlie Hre-Hies, Wandered alone, and she eried, *♦ () Gabriel ! r.iy beloved ! Art thou so near unto me, and yet I eannot behold thee ? Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voiee docs not reach me ? Ah ! how often thy feet liave trod this path to the prairie ! Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands around me ! \ Ah! how often beneath this oak, returniiij^ frvuu labour, Thou hast lain down to rest, and to di-eam of me in thy slumbers. When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded about thee ? " lioud, and sudden, and near, the note of a whip-poor-will sounded Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neighbouriny; thickets. Farther and farther away it floated and di'oppcd into silence. •• Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness ; And from the moonlit meadow a sigh responded, " To-morrow !" Bright rose the sun next-day ; and all the flowers of the garden Bathed his shining; feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses AVitli the delicious balm that they bore in theu* vases of crystiil. " Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ; " See that you bring back the Prodigal Sou from his fastinj^ and famine. And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bvidegroom was coming;. " " Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. It ;'' 70 K VAN OK LINK. Thus boj^iiiiiiiif? tlicir journey with iiKiniini?, iiiul MUiiMhiiic, and ghulni'HH, Swiftly they followed the Hight of him wh(» wiis speeding before them, lUown by the bluHt of fate like a diad leaf over the desert. Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that suoeeeded, ImjuihI they traee of his course, in lake or forest or river. Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain liumours alone wore theii- guides through a wild and desolate country ; Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord. That on the day before, with horses and guides, and eomj)auious, Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. r ;■ t* i '1 t , 1 ^y'.yn! KVANfiKUNK. 71 *#^.- •Jt.. Far in the west there lies a desert land, where the mountains Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. Down from their desolate, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gatowaj', Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's waggon, "Westward the Oregon flows and the Wallcway and Owyhee ; 7« EVANGELINE. Eastward, with devious course, ainong- the Wiiul-river Mountains, Tlirou^h tlie Sweet-water VaUey precipitate leaps the Nebraska ; And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the deseit, Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean. Like the f?reat chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. Spreading between these stieams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies, Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, liright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. Over then' wander the buffalo herds, and the elk, and the roebuck ; Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses ; Fii'cs that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel ; Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war-trails Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, liike the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle. By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders ; Here and there rise groves froni the margins of swift-running rivers ; And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert. Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brook-side, And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, Lik(^ the protecting hand of God inverted above them. Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark mountains, (iabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. Day after day. with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil EVANGELINE. 73 Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but at nightfall, When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose featiu'es Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow. She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, From the far-off himting grounds of the cruel Camanches, Where her Canadian husband, a Com-eui'-des-Bois, had been murdered. Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them On the buffalo meat and the venison cooked on the embers. But when their meal was done, and Basil and all liis companions, Worn ^vitli the long day's march and the chase of the deer and the bison, Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the quivering fire-light Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in theii* blankets, K W«W»«»s*«Ji^Aiasi«j»»i 74 EVANGELINF. Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and rcpeatal Slowly, \vith soft, low voice, and the chann of her Indian accent. All the tale ot her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses. Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed. Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion, Yet in her sorrow pleased tliat one who had suffered was near her, She in turn related her love and all its disasters. Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had ended Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious hoi'ror Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis ; Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden. But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam, Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sunshine. Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest. Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weu'd incantation, Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom. That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight. Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden. Till she followed his gi'een and wavmg plume thiough the forest. And never more retiu-ned, nor was seen again by her people. Silent with wonder and strange sm*prise, Evangeline listened To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her Seemed like enchanted gromid, and her swarthy guest the enchantress. Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon rose, KVANOELINE. 75 Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendour Touching the sombre lea\^es, and embracing and tilling the woodland. With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers. Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret, Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror. As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow. It was no earthly fear. A breath fi'om the region of spirits Seemed to float in the aii* of night ; and she felt for a moment That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. And with tliis thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; and the Shawnee Said, as they journeyed along, — " On the western slope of these mountains Dwells in his little village the Black Ilobe chief of the Mission. Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus ; Loud laugh tlieii- hearts with joy, and WTcp with pain, as they hear him. " Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, E^ angeiino answered, — " Let us go to the Mission, for there goul tidings await is ! " Thither they tiu-ned their steeds ; and behind a spur of the mountains^ Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmm* of voices. And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river. Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, EVANGELINE. t li' ! I Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A eiucitix fastened High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grape-vines, Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling benearh it. This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers. Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. KVANGELINK. Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. But when the service was done, and the henediction had fallen From the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower. Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and hade them Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with henignant expression, Hearing the homelike sounds of his mothci'-tongue in the forest. And with words of kindness contacted them into his wigwnm. There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-car Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gom-d of the teacher. Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solcnmity answered : — " Not six suns have risen ar d set since Gabriel, seated On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey ! " Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness ; But on Evangeline's heart fell his -vords as in winter the snow-flakes Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. " Far to tile north he has gone, " continued the priest ; " but in autumn. When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission. " Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, — " Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted. " So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes on the morrow. Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, Homeward Basil returned, and riVangeline stayed at tlie Mission. «55ai 78 EVANGELINE. IM i< ' Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other, — ' Days, and weeks, and months; and the fields of maize that were springing Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squu-rels. Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens Blushed at oacli blood-red ear, for that betokened a lovei'. But at til rooked laughed, and called it a thief in the com field. Even the bio )d-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. "Patiei.ce !" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy prayer will bo ar- .>ed! Look at this delicate flower that lifts its head from the meadow. See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the magnet ; it is the compass-flower, that the finger of God hath suspended Here on its fragile stalk, to dii-ect the traveller's journey Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion. Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odom* is deadly. Only thiy humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter Crown us with asphodel flowers, th ;' arc >v'et with the dews of nepenthe." So came the autunui, and passed, and the winter, yet Gabriel came not ; KVANOEIJNF.. 79 ere ovc IS ,V1 ill Blossomed the opening sprinf?, and the notes of the robin and blue-bird Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. But on the breath of the summer winds a rumour was wafted Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odour of blossom. Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw river. And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of St. Lawrence, Saying a sad farewell, I'iVangelinc went from the Mission. When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches. She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, Found she the hmiter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin ! Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places Divers and distant far was seen the wa.i^dcring maiden ; — Now in the tents of grace of the meek Moravian Missions, Now in the noisy camps and the battle fields of the army. Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembercd. Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long jom-ney ; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. Each succeeding year stole something away from her beauty. Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and the shadow. Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of grey o'er her forehead. Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her e.uthly horizon. As in the eastern sky the first laint streaks of the morning. ,'>wa(aMu>^ n'i^ mmJ ii^-''- taiimAUmA I f I '• I! ' 1. M) KVANGELINK, V. m \H In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters, Guarding in Sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle, Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he foimdcd. There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest, As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, Finding among the children of Penn a home and a countr}-. m EVANGKLINi; 81 itcd. There old Rene Loblanc had died; and when lie departed, Saw at his side only one of all his liundred descendants. Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the eity, Something: that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger And her ear was pleased >nth the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, Wlierc all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. j '- So, when the fruitless search, the disai)pointed endeavour. Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncompkl:^iig. Thither, as leaves to the light, were tm'ned her thoujj,hts and her footsteps. As from a momitain's top the rainy mists of the morning Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us. Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and the pathway "^^Tiieh she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him. Only more beautiful made by liis death-like silence and absence. Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, but transfigured ; Ho had become to her heai't as one w ho is dead, and not absent ; Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others. This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices. Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air ^vith aroma. Il 11! fir 82 EVANGKI.INK. Other hope lind she iionc, nor winh in Hfr, but to follow Mtikly, with rovcront steps, the sacred feet of her Siivionr. Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; frcquentinf,' Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, \Vhere distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, Where disease and sorrow iii ^avwtH lanjynished neglected. Night after night, when the world was asleci), as the watchman repeated Loud, through the gusty streets,'^that all was well in the city. High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. EVANUKLlNi;. m t Day alter clay, in the grey of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, Met he that meek, pale face, retm'niiig home from its watchings. Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, '.1 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I |4£ ISO |2£ |2.5 1^ M 12.0 18 1.25 IJU |||||i^ ^ 6" ► y o\ /i .^' Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14510 (716) 872-4503 84 EVANGELINE. i i^ Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, So death flooded life, and, o'ei-flowing its natural margin. Spread to a brackish lake the silver stream of existence. . Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to chann, the oppressor ; But all perished alike beneath the scoui'ge of his anger ; — Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants. Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the homeless. Then in the subm'bs it stood, in the midst of meadows and wood- lands; — Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gateway and wicket Meek, in the midst of splendour, its humble walls seem to echo Softly the words of the Lord : — " The poor ye always have with you." Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there Gleams of celestial light encu'cle her forehead with splendoui'. Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles. Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial. Into whose shining gates ere long their spmts would enter. Thus, on a Sabbath mom, through the streets, deserted and silent, Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. Sweet on the summer air was the odom* of flowers in the garden ; And she paused on her way to gather the fau-est among them, KVANGELINK. 85 That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east wind, Distant and soft on her car fell the chimes from the belfiy of Chiist Church, And, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit ; Something witliin her said, — " At length thy trials ai'e ended ;" And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness. Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, Where on the pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the road-side. Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, Tm'ned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a piison. And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it for ever. Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time ; Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while a shudder Han tlu'ough her frame, and, forgotten, the flowrcts dropped from her fingers. And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. w f:VANGELINK. Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. On the pallet bc'fore her was stretched the form of an old num. Long, and thin, and gray were the locks tliat shaded his temples ; But, as Iv lay in the morning light, his face for a moment Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood ; So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fever, As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals, That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. Motionless, senseless, djing, he lay, and his spirit exhausted- Seemed to be sinking down thi'ough infinite depths in the darkness, Darkness of slumber and death, for ever sinking and sinking. Then through those realms of shade, in midtiplied reverberations. Heard he that cry of pain, and tlirough the hush that succeeded Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, '■ Gabriel ! O my beloved !" and died away into silence. Then he beheld, in a di'cam, once more the home of liis childhood ; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them. Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking under then" shadow. As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in liis vision. Teai's came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifti;d liis eyelids, Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered Died on liis lips, and their motion revealed what liis tongue would have spoken. m liVANGELINLl. 87 Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness, As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. x\ll was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow. All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing. All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! And, as she pr.essed once more the lifeless head to her bosom. Meekly she bowed her own, and mm'mured, " Father, I thank thee !" ii ti EVANGELINK. y should be pun- ished at his discretion ; and, if any attempts were made to destroy or molest the troops, he sliould take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth ; and, in short, life for life, from the nearest neighbour where the mischief should be performed. To hunt these people into captivity was a measure as impracticable as cruel ; and, as it was not to be supposed they would voluntarily suiTcndor themselves as prisoners, their subjugation became a matter of great difficulty. At a consultation held between Colonel Winslow and Captain Murray, it was agreed that a proclamation shoidd be issued at the different settlements, requiring the attendance of the people at the respective ports on the same day ; which proclamation should bo so ambiguous in its nature, that the object for which they were to assemble coidd not be discerned ; and so peremptory in its terms as to ensure implicit obcdicneo. This insti-ument having been drafted and approved, was distributed according to the original plan. That which was addressed to the people inhabiting the country now comprised within the limits of King's Country, was as follows : — \ \ •TO THE INHABITANTS OF THE DISTRICT OF GRAND PRE, MINAS, RIVER CANARD, &c., AS WELL ANCIENT AS YOUNG MEN AND LADS. "Whereas His Excellency the Governor has instructed us of his late resolution respecting the matter proposed to the inhabitants, and has ordered us to communicate the same in person. His Excellency being desirous that each of them shoiUd bo fully satisfied of His Majesty's intentions, which he has also ordered us to commimicate to you, such as they have been given to him; wo therefore order and strictly enjoin, by these presents, all of the inhabitants, as well of the above-named district as of all the other districts, both old men and young men, as well as all the lads of ten years of ago, to attend at the Church at Grand Pre, on Friday the fifth instant, at three of the clock in the afternoon, that we may impart to them what wo arc ordered to com- municate to them ; declaring that no excuse will be admitted on any pretence whatever, on pain of forfeiting goods and chattels, in default of real estate. " Given at Grand Pre, 2nd September, 1755, and 29th year of His Majesty's reign. John Winslow.' In obedience to this summons, four hundred and eighteen able-bodied men assembled. These being shut into the Church (for that, too, had become an liiillHii imi / 04 NOTES. IN K !.;l; »fi arsenal), Colonel Winf*low placed hinieolf with his officers in the centre, and addressed thenx tliiu : - " Gentlemen, — I have received from Ilia Excellency Governor Laurence the King's commission, which I have in my hand ; and by his orders you arc convened together to manifest to you Ilis Majesty's final resolution to the French inhabitants of this his province of Nova Scotia, who, for almost half a centiuy, have had more indulgence granted them than any of his subjects in any part of his dominions ; what use you have made of it you yourselves best know. The part of duty I am now upon, though necessary, is very dis- agreeable to my natural malco and temper, as I know it must bo grievous to you, who arc of the same species ; but it is not my business to animadvert but to obey such orders as I receive, and, therefore, without hesitation shall deliver you His Majesty's orders and instructions, namely, that your lands and tenements, cattle of all kinds, and live stock of all sorts, ore forfeited to the Crown, With all other your eflccl.^, saving your money and household goods, and you yoiu'selvcs to be removed from this his province. " Thus it is peremptorily His Mnjesly's orders that the whole French inliabitants of these dihtriets bo removed ; and I am, thiough Ilis Majesty's gooduesf, directed to allow you libcrfy to cairy off your money and house- hold goods, as mpny as you can, without discommoding the vessels you go in. I .'iLall do evciylUing in my power that all those goods bo secured to you, and that you arc not molested in carrying them off; also, that whole families shall go in the same vessel, and make this remove, which I am sensible must givo you a great detil of tioublc, as easy as His Majesty's sci vice will admit ; and hope that, in whulevcr pait of the woild you may fall, you may be faith- ful subjcc's, a peaceable and happy people. I must also infonn you, that it is His Majesty's pleasure that you remain in security, under the inspection and (liiection of the troops that I have the honour to command." And he then declared them the King's prisoners. The whole number of persons collected at Grand Pre finally amoimted to four himdred and eighty-three men, and three hundred and thirty-seven women, heads of families ; and their sons and daughters to five himdred and twenty-seven of the former, and five himdred and twenty-six of the latter; making, in the whole, one thousand nine hundred and twenty-three souls. Theii- stock consisted of one thousand two himdred and sixty-nine oxen, one thousand five hundred and fifty-seven cows, five thousand and seven young cattle, four hundred and ninety-three horses, eight thousand six hun- W *^! u.ki NOTES. (Ircd ond ninoty sheep, and four thoiiaanil one hundred and ninety-seven hogH. Ah some of these wretched inhabitants os(;aped to the woods, all possible measures were adopted to force them back to captivity. The coimtrj was laid waste to prevent theii* subsistence. In the district of Minas ulone, there wcro destroyed two himdred and fifty-five houses, two hundred and seventy-six boms, one himdi-od and fifty-five out-hoiiacs, eleven mills, and one church ; and the friends of those who refused to surrender, were threatened as the vic- tims of their obstinacy. In short, so operative were the terrors that siurounded them, that of twenty-four young men, deserted from a transport, twenty-two wore glad to return of themselves, the others being shot by sentinels; and one of their friends, who was supposed to have been accessory to their escape, was carried on shore to behold the destruction of his house and effects, which were burned in hia presence as a punishment fo'-liis temerity and perfidious aid to his comrades. The prisoners expressed the greatest concern at having incurred His Majesty's displeasure, and in a petition, addressed to Colonel Winslow, entreated him to detain a part of them as sureties for the appearance of the rest, who were de- sirous of visiting their families, and consoling them in their distress and misfortunes. To comply with this request of holding a few as hostages for the surrender of the whole body, wm deemed incoj^sistent with his instructions; but, as there could be no objection to allow a small number of them to retiun to their hoaies, permission was given to them to choose ten for the district of Minas (Ilorton), and ten for the district of Canard (Comwallis), to whom leave of absence was given for one day ; and on whose return, a similnr number were indulged in the same manner. They bore their confinement, and received their sentence with a fortitude and resignation altogether unexpected ; but when the hour of embarkation airived, in which they were to leave the land of their nativity for ever — to part with their friends and relatives, without the hope of ever seeing them again, and to bo dispersed among strangers whose language, customs, and religion were opposed to their own — the weakness of human nature prevailed, and they wore overpowered with the sense of their miseries. The preparations having been all completed, the 10th of September was fixed upon as the day of departure. The prisoners were drawn up six deep, and the young men, one himdrcd and sixty-one in number, were ordered to go first on board of the vessels. This they instantly and peremptorily refused to do, declaring that they would not leave their parents ; but expressed 90 NOTES, i;: i' ■nl h i\ If ^1 a willingness to comply with the order, provided they M'ere permitted to em- bark with their fiiniilies. This request was immediately rejected, and the troops were ordered to fix bayonets and advance towards the prisoners, a mo- tion which had the effect of producing obedience on the part of the yoimg men, who forthwith conunenccd their march. The road from the chapel to the shore, just one mile in length, was crowded with women and children, who, on theii' knees, greeted them as they passed with their tears and their blessings ; while the prisoners advanced with slow and reluctant steps, weeping, praying, and singing hymns. This detachment was followed by the seniors, who passed thi'ough the same scene of sorrow and distress. In this manner was the whole part of the male popiUation of the district of Minas put on board the five transports, stationed in the river Gaspcreau; each vessel being guarded by six non-commissioned officers and eighty privates. As soon as the other vessels anivcd, their wives and children followed, and the whole were trans- ported from Nova Scotia. The haste with, which these measures w v re carried into execution did not admit of those preparations for their comfort which, if unmerited by theii' disloyalty, were at least due in pity to the severity of their pimishment. The hurrj'-, confusion, and excitement connected with the embarkation had scarcely subsided, when the provincials were appalled at the work of their own hands. The novelty and peculiarity of their situation could not but force itself upon the attention of even the unreflecting soldiery. Stationed in the mi'lst of a beautiful and fertile comitiy, they suddenly found themselves wdthout a foe to subdue, and without a population to protect. The volumes of smoke which the half-expiring embers emitted, whUe they marked the site of the peasant's humble cottage, bore testimony to the extent of the work of destruction. For several successive evenings the cattle assembled round the smouldering ruins, as if in anxious expectation of the return of thou- masters ; while all night long the faithful watch-dogs of the neutrals howled over the scene of desolation, and mourned alike the hand that had fed and the house that had sheltered them. At Annapolis and Cumberland the proclamation was disobeyed by the French, in consequence of an apprehension that they were to be imprisoned or sent captives to Halifax. At the former i)lace, when the ships arrived to convey them from their countrj', a paity of soldiers was despatched up the river to biing them in by force ; but they found the houses deserted, and learned that the people had fled to the woods, carrying with them their wives and children. Hunger, fatigue, and distress finally compelled many of them I' 3 NOTES. 97 to return and surreudov themselves as prisoners, while some retired to the depths of the forest, where they encamped with the Indians, and others wandered through the woods to Chiegnecto, from whence they escaped to Canada. In Cumberland it was found necessary to resort to the most severe measures, and the country presented for several days a dreadful scene of con- flagration. Two hundi-ed and fifty-three houses were on fiie at one timt . in which a gieat quantity of wheat and flax were consumed. The miserable in- habitants beheld from the adjoining woods the destruction of their buildings and household goods, with horror and dismay ; nor did they venture to offer any resistance, until the wanton attempt was made to bum their Chapel. This they considered as adding insult to injury, and rushing iipon the party, who were too intent upon the execution of theii* orders, to observe the necessary precautions to prevent a surprise, they killed and wounded twenty - nine rank and file, and then retreated again to the cover of the forest. As the different Acadian settlements were too widely dispersed to admit of the plan of subjugation being carried into effect at once ; and as it had but par- tially succeeded at two of the most populous districts, only seven thousand of the inhabitants were collected at this time, and dispersed among the several British Colonies. One thousand arrived in Massachusetts Bay, and became a public expense, owing, in a great degree, to an unchangeable antipathy to theii- situation; which prompted them to reject the usual bcneficiaiy, but humiliat- ing establishment of paupers for their children. They landed in a most de- plorable condition at Philadelphia. The Government of the Colony, to relieve itself of the charge such a company of miserable wretches would require to maintain them, proposed to sell them, with their own consent ; but when this expedient for tlieir support was offered for their consideration, the neutrals refused it with indignation, alledging that they were prisoners, and expected to be maintained as such, and not forced to labour. But not- withstanding the severity of the treatment the Acadians had experienced, they sighed in exile to revisit their native laixd. That portion of them which had been sent to Georgia actually set out on theii- return, and by a cu-cuitous, hazardous, and laborious coasting voyage, had reached New York, and even Boston, when they M^ere met by orders from Governor Laui-ence, for their de- tention, and were compelled to relinquish their design. The others, denying the charges which had been made against them, petitioned His Majesty for a legal hearing. This petition, w hioh Haliburton gives at full length, sets forth, that by N g:; t ^4.l».»JJUI,. HL-.- i WI I U ill.t. i mnl]IIU« »W ' \u i '■ m rir *■ 98 NOTES, an agreement made between the British commanders in Nova Scotia and the forefathers of the petitioners, about the year 1713, the latter were to be permitted to remain in possession of their lands under an oath^f fidelity to the Bntish Government, with an exemption from bearing arms {l|j^dnst either French or Indians, and with the allowance of the free exercise of their reli- gion. Seventeen years later this agreement was renewed on the part of the British authorities by the Governor of New England ; and again, after the expiration of another seventeen years, in a declaration which the same Governor addressed to the Acadians in answer to a report at that time current which stated it to be the intention of the British Government to remove the French inhabitants of Nova Scotia from their settlements in that province. This declaration was further confirmed by a letter written in the same year by the chief commander in Nova Scotia to the Acadian deputies ; an extract from which was given by the Acadians in their petition. After stating the difficulties in which they foimd themselves placed by the frequent incursions made by the French through that portion of the pro- vince inhabited by the Acadian population, for the purpose of annoying the English, who were at that time engaged in fortifying and settling Halifax, the petitioners proceed to reply to what appears to have been the main charges made against them, and on the presumed truth of which their forcible removal from the province took place. The justification they plead is as follows : — "We were likewise obliged to comply with the demand of the enemy, made for provision, cattle, &c., upon pain of military execution, which we had reason to believe the Government was made sensible was not an act of choice on om- part, but of necessity, as those in authority appeared to take in good part the representations we always made to them after anything of that nature had happened. " Notwithstanding the many difficulties we thus laboured under, yet we dare appeal to the several Governors, both at Halifax and Annapolis-Royal, for testimonies of our being always ready and willing to obey their orders, and give all the assistance in oiu: power, cither in famishing provisions and materials, or making roads, building forts, &c., agreeable to Your Majesty's orders and our oath of fidelity, whensoever called upon, or required thereimto. " It was also our constant care to give notice to Your Majesty's com- manders of the danger they have been from time to time exposed to by the enemy's troops ; and had the intelligence we gave been always attended to, many lives might have been spared, particularly in the unhappy affiiir which I'mii NOTES. «)» tax. befcl Major Noble and his brother at Grand Pre, when they, with great numbers of their men, were cut off by the enemy, notwithstanding the frccjuent advices we had given them of the danger they were in ; and yet we have been very unjustly accuaed as parties in that massacre. "And although we have been thus anxiously concerned to manifest our fidelity in these several respects, yet it has been falsely insinuated that it had been our general practice to abet and support Your Majesty's enemies ; but we trust that Your Majesty will not suffer suspicions and accusations to be received as proofs sufficient to reduce some thousands of innocent people, from the most happy situation to a state of the greatest distress and misery ! No, this was far from our thoughts ; we esteemed oiu: situation so happy as by no means to desire a change. We have always desired, and again desire that we may be permitted to answer our accusers in a judicial way. lu the meantime permit us. Sir, here solemnly to declare, that these accusations arc utterly false and groundless so far as they concern us as a collective body of people. It hath been always our desire to live as our fathers have donej as faithful sub- jects imdcr Your Majesty's royal protection, with an unfeigned resolution to maintain our oath of fidelity to the utmost of our power. Yet it cannot be expected, but that amongst us, as well as amongst other people, there have been some weak and false-hearted persons, susceptible of being bribed by the enemy so as to break the oath of fidelity. Twelve of these were outlawed in Go- vernor Shirley's proclamation before mentioned ; but it will bo foimd that the number of such false-hearted men amongst us was very few, considering our situation, the number of oiu- inhabitants, and how we stood circumstanced in several rcspcits, and it may be easily made appear, that it was the constant (tare of our deputies to prevent and put a stop to such wicked conduct, when it came to their knowlcdg(\" This memorial had not the effect of procuring them redress, and they were left to undergo their punishniont in exile, and to mingle with the population among whom they were distributed, wit^ the hope that in time their language, predilections, and even the recollection of their origin, would be lost amids\ the mass of English people with whom they were iucorijorated. Such was the fate of these unfortunate and deluded people. Upon an impartial review of the transactions of this period, it must be admitted, that the transportation of tlie Acadians to distant colonies, with all the marks of ignominy and guilt pecidiar to convicts, was cruel ; and although such a conclusion could not then be drawn, yet subsequent events have disclosed that their expidsion was ,:,!> H'l P'i' t;v '•■ ;•:'■ 100 NOTES unnecessary. It seems totally irreeoncilable with the idea, as at this day entertained of justice, that those who are not involved in the guilt shall par- ticipate in the punishment ; or that a whole community shall suffer for the misconduct of a part. It is, doubtless, a stain on the Provincial Councils, and we shall not attempt to justify that which all good men have agreed to con- demn. But we must not lose sight of the offence in pity for the culprits, nor, in the indulgence of our indignation, forget that although nothing can be offered in defence, much may be produced in palliation of this transaction. Had the milder sentence of unrestricted exile been passed upon them, it was obvious that it would have had the effect of recniiting the strength of Canada, and that they would naturally have engaged in those attempts which the French were constantly making for the recovery of the rrovincc. ITiree hundred of them had been foimd in arms at one time ; and no doubt existed of others having advised and assisted the Indians in those nimierous acts of hostility, which, at that time, totally interrupted the settlement of the coimtry. When aU were thus suspected of being disaffected, and many were detected in open rebellion, what confidence could be placed in their future loyalty ? It was also deemed impracticable in those days of religious rancour for the English colonists to mingle in the same community with Frenchmen and Catholics. Those persons who are acquainted with the early history of the neighbouring colonies of New England, will easily perceive of what magnitude, this objection must have appeared at that period. Amidst all these difficulties surrounded by a vigilant and powerful enemy, and bxulhened with a population whose attachment was more than doubtful, what course could the Governor adopt, which, while it ensured the tranquility of the colony, shoiild temper justice with mercy to those misguided people ? "With the knowledge we now possess of the issue of a contest which was then extremely luicertain, it might not be difficult to point to the measures which should have been adopted ; but we must admit, that the choice was attended with circumstances of peculiai- embaiTassment. If the Acadians, therefore, had to lament that they were condemned unheard, that their accusers were also their judges, and that their sentence was disproportioned to their offence ; they had also much reason to attribute their misfortunes to the intrigues of their coimtiymen in Canada, who seduced them from their allegiance to a government which was disposed to extend to them its protection and regard, and instigated them to a rebellion, which it M'as easy to foresee, would end in their ruin. NOTES. jg Vmf meadotvs stretched to the eastward. Giving the village its name, a/id jHistnre tojlochs wiV out number. Bikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labour incessant, Shtd out the turbulent tides. — Page 3. " Hunting and fishing gave way to agricultui-c, which had been establisht-d in the marshes and lowlands, by repelling, Avith dikes, the sea and rivers which covered these plains. At the same time these immense meadows were covered with numcrons flocks." — JTaliburton. Hut their dtcellings ivere open as day and the hearts of the owners ; Tliere the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. — Page 5. " Ileal niisciy was wholly unknown, and benevolence anticipated the de- mands of poverty. Every misfortune was relieved, as it were, before it could be felt, without ostentation on the one hand, and without meanness on the other. It was, in short, a society of brethren." — Abbe Regnal. Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the ■village Strongly have built them and u'cll ; and, breaking the glebe round about them, Filled the barn with hay, and the house xvith food for a twelvemonth. — Page 19. " As soon as a young man arrived at the proper age, the community built him a house, broke up the lands about it, and supplied him with all the neces- saries of life for a twelvemonth. There ho received the partner whom he had chosen, and who brought him her portion in flocks." — Abbe Reynal. Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. — Page 21. " Rene Lehlanc (our pi.blic notary) was taken prisoner by the Indians when actually travelling in Your Majesty's service, his house pillaged, and himself carried to the French fort, from ^\■hencc ho did not recover his liberty, but with great difliculty, after four years' captivity." — Petition of the Acadians to the King. fr " H^ M »•' i m . i Is 1. «' 1 j 1^ : \ V ' •> lit 104 NOTES. In the confusion Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. — Page 39, " Parents woro separated from childi'cn, and Imsbands from wives, some of whom have not to this day met again ; and we were so crowded in the trans- port vessels, that wo had not room even for all our bodies to lay down at once, and, consequently, were prevented from carrying with us proper necessaries, especially for the support and comfort of the aged and weak, many of whom quickly ended their misery with their lives." — retition of the Aeadians to the King. Many, despairing, heart-hrokcn, Asked of the earth hut a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. Written their history stands on tabkts of stone in the churchyards.— 1''a.ge 48. " "We huve already seen, in this proA-ince of Ptinnsylvania, two hundred and fifty of our people, which is more than half the numhcr that were landed hero, perish thi'ough misciy and various diseases." — Petition of the Aeadians to the King. There old liene Lehlanc had died ; and when he departed. Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. — Page 81. " Jlcno Lcblanc, the notary-public before mentioned, was seized, confined, and brought away among the rest of the people, and his family, consisting of twenty children and about one hundred and fifty grandchildren, were scattered in different colonies, so that he was put on shore at Xew York, with only his wife and youngest children, in an infirm state of health, from whence he joined three more of his children at Philadelphia, where he died witho'it any more notice being taken of him than any of ua, notwithstanding his many years' labour and deep siifFcrings for Your Majesty's service." — Petition of the Aea- dians to the King. < & '^^ m 'vsiih'. y/s.— rAGK 18. I, two hundred it were landed the AauUans to Page 81. ized, fonfined, (/, coi/yf.sfhiff of "re scaUcrcd in 'i o)thj hifi wife ncc he joined lout any nior(> ; many years' on of the Aea- \ %v their children —Page 39, W'ivc3, some of A in the trans- T down at once, )cr neccsciarics, iiany of whom Acadians to the i