mm jtes» H hHBBBBBSBHS nnB B8BB8B HH ■ Hi HH ffl HH H LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 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. -Page 156 M * MILTON BRADLEY COA1PANY SPR-INOFIELD • MASS \ Copyright, 1922, by MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY Springfield, Mass. s> 3 Bradley Quality Boohs PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA OCT -7 *■'- ©C1A683584 THE TABLE OF CONTENTS Michael the Fiddler Speaks ...... 1 Benedict Speaks to His Daughter .... 21 Rene the Notary Writes 34 John Winslow Writes 45 The Torture of Francois 55 Not Inhabitants of Any Town 66 A Quaker Speaks 101 Under Liberty Bell .115 Basil the Blacksmith Speaks . . . . . 123 The Home of the Homeless 143 A Poormaster Writes of Evangeline .... 147 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Facing Page Black were her eyes as the berry .Frontispiece "They will crown her with blossoms" 6 Decorating the church for Evangeline's wedding 18 "We sit alone for a while, awaiting the coming of Rene Leblanc" 30 "Write a proclamation/ ' said the Governor 42 "Benedict, the farmer of Grand Pre, it was who died" 52 Spinning flax for the loom 68 Rene Leblanc wrote with a steady hand 78 Evangeline brought the draught board 90 Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom 102 Many a farewell word and sweet good-night 112 Thronged were the streets with people 124 Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline 136 i Long at her father's door Evangeline stood 154 Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts 164 "If we love one another nothing can harm us" 176 " Be of good cheer. We will follow the fugitive lover " 186 Welcome once more to a home 198 She cried — "0 Gabriel! my beloved!" 224 Like a phantom she came and passed away 236 Within this quiet retreat Evangeline found her long- lost lover 244 FOREWORD After a very long and noble struggle for their inde- pendence against the Spartans, the Messenians, being sub- jugated, were driven without remorse from their blood- stained hearths and away from the honored graves of their ancestors to wander the roads of Greece and attempt to find a home for the houseless exile in the land of the stranger. There was also Jerusalem: "Solitary lieth the city, she that was full of people. How is she widowed that was great among the nations, princess among the Provinces! Sorely she weepeth in dark- ness. All her gates are desolate; her priests sigh, her virgins are afflicted and she is in bitterness. Is it nothing to all ye that pass by?" Later there was " Evangeline/ ' a tragedy of the humble which Henry Wadsworth Longfellow made into an American epic whose measures will always sing to us of the faith in affliction of an exiled American peasantry and of their belief that love is the ultimate conqueror. Because "Evangeline" has become immortal in our literature, there has been built around the poem a high wall of historical inaccuracies. So many critics have stated Mr. Longfellow's plan and authorities in the writing [vii] FOREWORD of the work that these expressions of opinion have become facts in the mind of the general reader, and have been accepted as the poet's statements. The pages which follow have been written to form a background of historical accuracy for " Evangeline.' ' They show, from a careful study of the manuscript writings of the Acadians themselves, the manuscripts remaining of those men in our history who knew the Acadians, from newspapers of the period, and from state archives, that Mr. Longfellow was completely in command of his facts, although these are in many instances so interwoven with his story as to seem as amazing as a piece of fiction. The origin of the poem is fairly well known. We may read in Hawthorne's American Note-Book, under the date of October 24th, 1838, this paragraph: H. L. C. heard from a French Canadian a story of a young couple in Acadie. On their marriage day, all the men of the province were summoned to assemble in the church to hear a proclamation. When assembled they were all seized and shipped off to be distributed through New England, among them the new bridegroom. His bride set off in search of him, wandering about New England all her life-time and at last, when she was old, she found her bridegroom on his death-bed. The shock was so great that it killed her. The authenticated notes in connection with "Evan- geline" state that this same "H. L. C." dined with Haw- FOREWORD ix thorne at Mr. Longfellow's home in Cambridge at about this time and, although Hawthorne did not see in the in- cident an idea for a novel, Longfellow seized upon it as the theme of an historical poem, an opportunity to preserve in verse a hitherto unsung page of our history. This was the inspiration for " Evangeline/ ' It was written, and received at once the popularity which it deserved. Mr. Longfellow wrote to his long-time friend, Hawthorne, after receiving from him his favorable notice of "Evan- geline" in a Salem newspaper: My dear Hawthorne, — I have been waiting and waiting in the hope of seeing you in Cambridge ... I have been meditating upon your letter, and pondering with friendly admiration your review of "Evangeline," in connection with the subject of which, that is to say, the Acadians, a literary project arises in my mind for you to execute. Perhaps I can pay you back in part your own generous gift, by giving you a theme for a story in return for a theme for song. It is neither more or less than the history of the Acadians after their expulsion as well as before. Felton has been making some researches in the state archives, and offers to resign the docu- ments into your hands. Pray come and see me about it without delay. Come so as to pass a night with us, if possible, this week, if not a day and night. Ever sincerely yours, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow No one, however, wrote that log of the wandering Acadians as they took their weary way from one port to FOREWORD another of our country, never welcomed particularly except by their own people at New Orleans, never making a place for themselves any better than did the Messenians or the Children of Israel. And there are certain papers, fast growing illegible, and hidden in the archives of the various states and among the records of historical societies, that do what Mr. Longfellow wished to have done. They make " Evangeline " history. They tell the story of the Acadians, above and beyond the limits of the poem. As a cul- tured Philadelphian said to me in the course of my research, "What a novel Nathaniel Hawthorne would have made of it!" More than this the records do; they shed light, new light, on certain characters of American history through their touch with Evangeline's people, through what these men said to them and what they wrote about them. The papers show the policies and attitudes of governments at that period. They prove practically every statement made by Mr. Longfellow in the poem to have been based upon a fact. It would seem that there are things unsaid in the former critical notes made about "Evangeline/' for in the light of the papers in the case the poet must have, himself, consulted them, particularly in relation to the condition of the Acadians in old Philadelphia. It is true that Rene FOREWORD Leblanc, the old notary of Grand-Pr£, died in Philadelphia alone and poor. One of his neighbors wrote about it and the paper is in existence. Whether the "Saint Anne" of the Acadians of whom the poormaster of Philadelphia wrote in 1771 as needing help because she gave all her time to the "assistance of them" was Evangeline; whether or not she may have had her counterpart in the wander- ing Marie Theresa of New England, a bill for whose board is to be found in the archives of the State of Massachusetts, matters very little. Where there are records of two Evan- gelines, may there not surely have been one? She lives in the spirit of a kindly, loving people forever seeking for a resting place and finding it in the green meadows of the Philadelphia almshouse. Characters briefly noted or unmentioned in the poem, in the light of the Acadian manuscripts, stand before us in a clearer light. Colonel John Winslow, writing his diary at Grand-Pre at the table of Father Landry, the "Father Felician" of the poem, in whose house he stayed during the expulsion of the Acadians, is not the villain of the piece he has been represented to be. He is the soldier of New England, doing his duty in obeying a higher command, but thinking of the length of the road from Grand-Pre to the sea and of the crying of the women as they came down it. Francis Bernard, who achieved little fame in his governor- xii FOREWORD ship of Massachusetts, must always be remembered as having appealed to the Boston Council in behalf of Evan- geline and her people. "Industry only waits for property to exert itself upon without which no one can be industrious/' Mr. Bernard said of the Acadians. That was a line worth the saying and worth thought in our relations with alien peoples of to-day. Benjamin Franklin showed his never-failing sense for the news when his Pennsylvania Gazette published a dispatch from Halifax just previous to the expulsion of the Acadians and stating the real reason for the tragedy. It was not a matter of the French Neutrals taking an oath of allegiance. The Crown states frankly in this dispatch that British farmers were to be put in possession of the Acadian farms that Halifax might be the better provisioned. And Franklin was the only newspaper publisher of the American colonies who printed the petitions of the Acadians themselves. We meet, through the yellowed writing of these records, a long company of Evangeline's people whom we never knew before. We read the names of the ships on which they voyaged their long way. We discover that it was Joseph Pynchon of Boston, or Anthony Benezet, the Huguenot Quaker of Philadelphia, who went on deck and spoke to them. There was the widow Landry who lived up to FOREWORD the time of the Revolution and was always poor and a town charge. "Father Felician" traveled with his people for years, persuaded them to promise to take the oath of allegiance to the British government, signed their petitions, and was always, as Winslow defined him, "their principal speaker." He appears to have been arrested in Philadel- phia for speaking too much! An Acadian blacksmith made a home and a name for himself in Louisiana, as did Basil. We meet the valiant John Baptiste Galerm, who braved the Pennsylvania Council and made a speech in behalf of his Acadian neighbors. We feel that, perhaps, it was a mercy that Bonny Landry voyaged blind. She was spared the loneliness for the green fields and the apple orchards of the home from which she was exiled. And among the records of Father Farmer, the Acadians' priest in Philadelphia who traveled during the Revolution from the Delaware to the Hudson, braving bullets and carry- ing the sacraments in his saddle bags, we find gleams of happiness. Pelagia, the merry daughter of John Baptiste Galerm, the Acadian, had a wedding in Saint Joseph's, at which Father Farmer officiated. And he baptized wee Mary Le Blanc, who may be recognized as perhaps a great granddaughter of Rene the notary. Landrys, Le Blancs, many of the exiles listed by Winslow as having been sent by him aboard the British transports, are listed FOREWORD again by Father Farmer as he married the young folks, christened their babies, and commended their dead to rest in the graves dug by old Jeremy Carpenter. The whole story, incident by incident, may be checked up from these papers, unpublished, save as they have found a universal appeal in Mr. Longfellow's work. And so it seemed worth while to select the more important ones for a background for " Evangeline/ ' as if there were people in the wings who knew the truth of the play and were given, after a long and patient wait on their parts, an opportunity for speaking. It has been a painstaking labor to find and consult the manuscripts and other records which follow, and I wish to express my indebtedness to those who have helped in making the story of Acadie possible. Mr. John H. Edmonds, Chief of the Archives Division, the State House, Boston, has made a valuable index of the manu- script records in connection with the French Neutrals in Massachusetts, which he put at my service. Mr. George Maurice Abbot of the Library Company of Philadelphia gave me the only extant photograph of one of the Friends' almhouses, with permission for copying and using it. The Pennsylvania Historical Society kindly allowed me to con- sult its manuscript division. And I was able to consult church records through the courtesy of one of the priest- FOREWORD hood of old Saint Joseph's, the Acadians' church in Philadelphia, who prefers to be known only as a Father ministering daily to the the poor at the same altar, the warmth of whose candlelight dried the tear-filled eyes of Evangeline and her people one hundred and fifty years ago. Carolyn Sherwin Bailey. New York, 1922. L'ACADIE Let me essay, Muse! to follow the wanderer's footsteps; Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence; But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley: Far 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 murmur; Happy at length if he find a spot where it reaches an outlet. THE STOEY OF EVANGELINE MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS Wooden shoes and dancing feet, a mottled waistcoat, and ruddy cheeks like the coals of a fire when the embers are brushed away! A merry tune for every village feast and dance! So enters Michael the Fiddler of Grand-Pre. But I say that I have heard three strange songs from my fiddle, sometimes when I climbed the mountain alone with it under my arm, sometimes when I stood by the sea when the surf rolled against the rocks, but most often as my fiddle strings vibrated with the speech of the mighty pines and hemlocks that murmur to each other from one season to another with no rest. These are songs that no one else has heard, nor could hear unless I chose to repeat them. I am now an old man, and my hair is of the whiteness of the winter's snow as it lies for so many long months on the crown of our Mount of Blomidon. It may seem to you strange and of a part with an old man's dotage that I should set down certain matters with which my fiddle alone has made me familiar, as I wait here for the summons to play at the betrothal party of one of our [i] THE STORY Of EVANGELINE maidens of Grand-Prd in this part of New France known as Acadie. It is an ancient fiddle, having been the prop- erty of my grandfather, who played at the Court of King Louis, and come to this shore when Acadie was new. It has listened for more than a century to the winds of this forest and to these tides which keep in their hearts Acadie's songs and tears from the beginning. A fiddle has a greater power of speech than a man, and when one has lived as long as I have with one, there grows a com- panionship between the man and the voice of the instru- ment which can scarce be described in words, but it is well known to all musicians. So I say that my fiddle has heard matters which should be set down in the annals of our history of Acadie as history. I say it in spite of the ridicule of our good notary of Grand-Pre, Rene Leblanc, who scorns any records save those made by his papers and his inkhorn. He reasons and argues in regard to human relationships solely from realities. He sees no far- ther than the point of a goose quill. But my fiddle feels, and with my years it has spoken a language to me through which I am able to translate the experiences of the past into prophecies of what may come. There is no new harmony or rhythm on earth. That melody which tickles our ears to-day is of a part with the MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS old chords played on the harps of minstrels, but so com- bined as to sing for us a different and more pleasing melody. And so it is, I have come to think, with all history. It is but a saga, set to a rhythm of major chords or, often, to those of a minor key. History is a symphony made of a people singing or sighing as it happens, with all the notes of Nature for accompaniment, and the instruments of the orchestra are the tools of the farmer and the hammer and anvil of the blacksmith and the heavy looms of women weaving their overtones through all. Fiddling foolery of an old man, you laugh, Rene? Ask Benedict the farmer, or Basil the blacksmith, if our valley be not a song to them, to each his own song? They may not state it in just my words, but I warrant you they will understand. And I say again that my fiddle knows three old pieces, which it has played for me and which I now take the time to write down. One is the Song of Gluskap, the Spirit of Blomidon. One is a Song of Swords, and the third is the Song of a Maid of Acadie. Our Mount of Blomidon, whose gigantic head juts so nobly over our Basin of Minas, knew Gluskap before either the Red Man or his White Brother from France came to THE STORY OF EVANGELINE the shores of Acadie. He held his court on the summit of the mountain, and anyone looking there to-day at the hour of sunset may see his reflection as the forest did in former days. Deep red, like the red of sandstone, was the color of Gluskap's cloak and it was gorgeously embroid- ered with such jewels as the amethyst, the chalcedony and the crystal. When the light of the sunset had faded and Gluskap's cloak had taken on the tint of deep indigo, his great eye of amethyst could be seen as far as the shore of the sea, making a line of purple brilliancy that glowed on the dull sands. In those days all the animals of the north paid court to Gluskap, climbing the steep sides of Blomidon to do him honor. Then came the Great Beaver whose home was in the Basin of Minas. He thought, in his strength, that he would be able to overcome Gluskap and take his place as ruler of the mountain. The thunder still repeats the sounds of that battle in which our Five Islands were the missiles which Gluskap threw, tearing open the passage between Blomidon and the west shore of Acadie so that the waters poured in. Then the Great Beaver was routed and took on the small size that is his to-day. It was at that time also that the Moose, who was so colossal that he covered the hills with his stride and ate the children of the newly come Red Man, met the un- MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS daunted Gluskap, who fought him and crushed him to the stature of the moose, his brother, as we know him now. And since then the moose has eaten only green branches. Thus the Red Man came and built his village at the feet of this great spirit of the mountain, and Gluskap was of a mind to protect him. They were men of the race of the Micmacs, of which race Gluskap also was sprung. Hunting and fishing and the building of lodges began, and when the braves of the village were called away on a hunting expedition, the spirit of the mountain watched over the old men and the women and children who were left unprotected. The gales of winter that sweep down now from the bleak heights of Blomidon tell, as they crash their way through our pines, of a war party of hostile Red Men from the south which descended on this village of the Micmacs when the warriors were away. Then Gluskap gathered his cloak about him and came to the village, waving his great bow over the green fields of corn and the lodges. It was summer, but the air became frosty in the camp of the enemies, their breath froze, and they were taken suddenly with a strange desire to sleep. Their camp turned white with winter, and these cowardly men vanished in hoar frost, while summer still smiled among the women and children of the unprotected village in the valley of Blomidon. So Gluskap sealed the THE STORY OF EVANGELINE sleep of the unjust to an eternal stillness. Who has not felt this stillness of death when the winds of winter pause? But a stranger came to the valley of Blomidon, came by way of the sea, and his face was pale. He came in a ship with wings, very different from the canoes of the Micmacs, and he brought his friends, his tools, his desire for conquest with him. He angered Gluskap with his petty digging and his chipping of the bright veins that embroidered Blomidon like the jeweled tracery of a mon- arch's garments. And this White Man committed a crime. He stole Gluskap's great amethyst eye and sent it back to France to be set in fine gold and hoarded among the crown jewels. It may be seen there to-day, since which time of its coming, the purity of the lily of France has been reddened with blood. And Gluskap, the spirit of Blomidon, now blind, took his stumbling way down from his mountain fastnesses to the shores of Minas. As he went he scattered his bright stones which had been his pride, his mottled agates, his chalcedony, his crystals of white and rose and purple. He left the heritage of a long winter for Acadie to punish his white destroyer, and the crew of his devils, who followed his footsteps, Gluskap turned into huge, black rocks and stones which the White Man would have to lift from his fields before he would be able to plant maize or set out fruit trees. MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS As Gluskap, blinded, took his way to the waters of our coast, which were to carry him away from Acadie forever, he was heard to sing farewell to his country. It was near sunset and the wind was still, And down the yellow shore a thin wave washed Slowly; and Gluskap launched his birch canoe, And spread his yellow sail, and moved from shore, Though no wind followed, streaming in the sail And roughening the smooth waters after him. And all the beasts stood by the shore and watched. Then in the west appeared a long red trail Over the wave; and Gluskap sailed and sang Till the canoe grew like a little bird, And black, and vanished in a shining trail. And when the beasts could see his form no more, They still could hear him singing as he sailed, And still they listened hanging down their heads In long row where the thin wave washed and fled. But when the sound of singing died, and when They lifted up their voices in their grief, Lo! in the mouth of every beast a strange New tongue! Then rose they all and fled apart, Nor met again in council from that day. II As I said before, there is a Song of Swords known by my fiddle. From the day of the coming of the Sieur de Champlain to these coasts of Acadie, there has been THE STORY OF EVANGELINE naught but a record of the clashing of arms between France and England, each striving for foothold on this coast, because of its great stores of game and fish. And my grandfather, who came on the ship of De Razzily in the year 1632 to these shores, that company of French gentlemen arriving with a new grant from their monarch, Louis the Thirteenth, related that they set foot on this bleak coast with a high hope of conquest and a desire to plant the lily of France firmly in this soil. So the prelude of this Song of Swords is tuned to the lapping of waves on the sides of the small ship named L'esperance en Dieu. She was an armed pinnace of one hundred tons, bringing, besides the gentlemen and my grandfather, three Capuchin friars and a number of peas- ants, and such artisans as the Company of New France deemed necessary for the welfare of the Port Royal of Acadie. They found a spacious harbor easy of access, a considerable river and the whole coast from east to west abounding with fish. And a fortification was im- mediately raised, the ruined foundations of which can still be found not far from our village of Grand-Pre. It stood on a little hillock of three or four acres and was built like all the Acadian forts of that day, a palisaded enclosure, with bastions of stone at the four corners. The Indians were friendly at that time, and De Razilly MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS felt the colony of English to the south at Plymouth too weak to be a menace. Daily the nets of the Acadian fishers brought in great hauls. They discovered the abundance of cod, sturgeon, halibut, salmon and shad, which we of Grand- Pr6 still enjoy. They hunted the wild cattle, foxes and sea horses, and established themselves as feudal lords of this land, trying to copy the manners and ways of the court of Louis as well as they could in a strange land so many leagues from home. But that other troupe of wanderers at Plymouth, under the leadership of one Captain Standish, looked with ill feeling on the colony of the Sieur de Razilly. The planting of this French colony was watched at Boston with apprehen- sion, although those Puritans ought to have known that we of France are not a migratory race and have always established indifferent colonies. We are but Frenchmen wherever we be, not pioneers. This matter was spoken of by De Razilly just before he died, three years after arriving at Acadie. He had heard already the echo of clashing swords among our gentlemen. There were La Tour and Charnissay, who sailed with him on L'esperance en Dieu, fellow Frenchmen, but cankerous with hot jealousy and an ambition to rule Acadie. "Acadie needs not the glitter of arms nor the splendor 10 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE of titles/' said De Razilly, when he was on his death bed. "The fabric of every nation's prosperity rests on the shoulders of the humble sons of toil. I am leaving my work of strengthening New France unfinished and I see these English colonies growing in might with the years to come, finding a vigor of manhood, while Acadie remains cursed with the weakness of a sickly infancy/' This prophecy of the Sieur De Razilly was but too true. And the English could not understand, nor can I of to-day, the freebootery of our pirateers. The English had estab- lished for themselves a trading post at Penobscot, on the coast. One of our buccaneering pinnaces, seeing the weakened condition of the bastion at Penobscot, landed there, overpowered with the sword the few men who were trying to protect the position for the English, and loaded the pinnace with its entire stores, consisting of three hundred weight of beaver, besides a good amount of trading stores, such as coats, rugs, blankets, biscuit and the like. It was said to value five hundred pounds sterling of their currency. And at the death of the Sieur De Razilly his relative, this Sieur d'Aulnay Charnissay, a much be-laced and jewelled gentleman of the French court, established himself in charge of the bastion at Penobscot. The English had a meeting in regard to the matter at Boston, and said among themselves that it might MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS 11 be the part of wisdom at some future time to remove the French from Acadie and a coast on which there did not seem to be room for both the friars' beads and the long-faced deacons' longer exhortations. And into this discord came the gallant young Charles La Tour, but a lad when he came to Acadie with his father on L'esperance en Dieu, and brought up like a savage among the Micmac Indians, from whom he learned to be cautious, to aim an arrow straight, and to hate an enemy until death. But La Tour was also a Frenchman with the polish of a courtier and an amazing suavity of speech. He built for himself a fortification of four bastions, one hundred and fifty feet square, on the river named for Saint John, and here he dwelt in state like a feudal lord, with a great number of soldiers and a welcome for the bands of painted savages coming down the river in their canoes with the pelts which were making La Tour rich in trade and a great man of Acadie. Plenty and a life of careless freedom ruled at the castle of La Tour, and Charles took as his bride a fair young Huguenot girl, whose dark eyes reflected the depths of shallow pools in the forest when the shadows of leaves veil them, and her hair was as softly dark as an Acadian night lighted only by the stars. Within the fort the Lady La Tour led a quiet life of household duties and in a great love of her lord. She 12 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE found her happiness in the prideful fruit of her looms, her far-famed butter and cheeses, and the simples and herbs of her garden. If she ever sighed for the spinet and the minuets and the brocades she had left behind her in Paris, Lady La Tour never spoke of these things to her lord. She had donned the homespun of an Acadian woman and her heart was bound to our forests as closely as its roots are bound. And she did not hear the echoes of swords which were beginning to ring in the clash of civil war. Charles La Tour and this Charnissay held a feud of blood, one with the other. There was not room for their two rival bastions in Acadie, in spite of the mighty sweep of our shores. And the court of France was ripe for bickerings in her colony of New France. Anyone will tell you of the weakness of Louis the Thirteenth, and the power over him which the Cardinal de Richelieu exercised so craftily. And when the Sieur de Charnissay brought influence to bear on Richelieu against Charles La Tour, being jealous of the stronghold he had made for himself up there to the north of the Saint John River, his plan succeeded. In the year 1641 La Tour received an order from the court to return to France and answer charges of intrigue and dishonesty in his conduct of affairs of trade in Acadie. MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS 13 And this Sieur Charles La Tour, firmly entrenched in his bastion on the River Saint John, although threatened by the forces of Charnissay, refused to obey the royal edict. Ill Most composers, trying to translate the voices of women into music, set them to the tempo of a berceuse or that of a pastoral. But listening with the ears of memory to the voice of this Huguenot maid, the Lady La Tour, as it comes to me on the vibrations of my fiddle strings, I hear a more heroic measure whose accompaniment is that of her wandering footsteps as she essayed to follow her lord. Separated by this civil war, in which even the English were drawn on the side of La Tour, from her be- loved, she voyaged our shores and was even seen in France, his welfare in her hands and his safety in her beating heart. Listen to the pleading words of a long time stranger before the dissolute court of France, for thither did the Lady La Tour sail from Acadie alone in a small ship, to beg supplies and arms for the defense of her lord's bastion. Her plain kirtle and wide lace-trimmed cap must have caused much scorn among the powdered and rouged beauties of Louis' favor. But her voice had the notes of an Acadian springtime when the white-throat first sings 14 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE of the blooming of the arbutus, and she had no thought, no care for anything save the hope for which she had sailed back to France across a perilous waste of waters. My grandfather says that, bereft of the council and support of his lady, La Tour became as a lost man, himself wandering as far as the little English settlement at Boston, begging for help and men, having waited wearily for months expecting her return by the shores of the Saint John River. Perplexed by a thousand doubts and fears, he appeared before John Endicott, an Englishman, who was at that time the governor of Massachusetts, and his elders. Scant sympathy did this Papist receive from the psalm-singing men of New England, who looked askance at his ruffles and jewelled sword. But they gave him a few provisions and sent the train bands to guard him as his ship sailed out of Boston Harbor, which was a mercy. An armed ship belonging to Charnissay waited for him near Penob- scot, from which he escaped. But scarcely had the battered masts and patched sails of La Tour's ship faded on the sky line when another pinnace, still shabbier, touched the harbor. It docked to the tune of Roger Williams' hymns, that stern elder who had come to New England to found the plantation of Providence. Before she passed the weary sails of La Tour, she had escaped the armed ship of de Charnissay MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS 15 farther north on the coast. And hidden in the hold of this same ship as brought the doughty Roger was a noble lady of Acadie, her kirtle worn and her lace-trimmed apron patched, but with the hope of God in her heart. So the Lady La Tour passed her lord and love on the high seas. Scarce had she made arrangements at Boston to carry a cargo of arms to the bastion of La Tour and reached her despairing husband, than new tribulations came to Acadie. When Charnissay learned that the Lady La Tour had escaped from Boston and reached her husband with sup- plies, he was possessed of a blind rage. He indited a letter to the governor of Massachusetts charging the elders of Boston with being responsible for the escape of a traitor to New France and he threatened them with vengeance from his master, the King of France. It is said that the cheeks of the stern Puritan burned with anger when he read the insult in which his honor as a magistrate was attacked. He, in turn, wrote to Charnissay declaring that the God of New England was stronger than the Papist fools who had brought shame to France's lily. And when the letter was received at the bastion at Penobscot, it further enraged Charnissay, so that he lodged the messenger bearing it in a gunner's house without the gate; this was an insult to Endicott. So the breach between New England and New France widened. 16 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE There were two friars whom the Lady La Tour had received at her castle and treated with great kindness, but these men, being secretly in the employ of Charnissay, reported back at Penobscot that the bastion of La Tour was in a weakened condition and ripe for attack. It was an Easter Sunday, a century ago, that the Lady La Tour was at her devotions in the chapel, and outside the air was sweet with the freshness of the wind from the river and the odor of the apple-blossoms. Her lord was again absent, on a mission of trade at Boston, and her garrison was small and in charge of a Swiss whom she greatly trusted. But the singing of the Pentecostal chants drowned the sound of the landing of Charnissay's soldiers that morning at the gates of the La Tour fortifica- tions. And Charnissay bribed the Swiss guard so that his men were well over the walls before the bastion could be roused to arms. Dressed in white garments and bearing in her arms a spray of lilies, the Lady La Tour led the forces of her husband against the invaders. She so inspired her men that at first Charnissay despaired of taking the bastion. He was repulsed with losses, and under a flag of truce resorted again to base treachery in winning his ends. The Sieur de Charnissay, her fellow countryman, offered this noble lady freedom and peace to her garrison MICHAEL THE FIDDLER SPEAKS 17 if she would permit him to enter the fortifications for a day's rest, it being Easter Sunday. And once inside her walls, he put a rope of execution about the white throat of this lady and compelled her to watch the murder by the sword of her garrison to the last man in the vault of the place, expecting her own death when the others were finished with. And my grandfather said that her courage was so great that it inspired a fear that she was not of the earth among the band of murderers, so that they allowed her to live. But her great heart was broken and she felt that her life was done, she not being born for captivity. There she was, you understand, separated from her beloved to whose fortunes she had been so faithful, and she could scarcely expect to see him again, except as the prisoner of his enemy and countryman, the Sieur de Charnissay. So the Lady La Tour took to wandering away from the bas- tion, unpursued by her captors, who saw that she would never again be able to do them any injury. She would cry aloud for her husband on the banks of the river, or go seeking him along the dim lanes of the forest glades. So she wandered and faded away, day by day, until her spirit left its earthly house and they laid her at rest by the banks of the water which she loved so well and beside which she had lived for so long. 18 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE There she lies, among a wilderness of sweet ferns, and in a little time wild flowers blossomed above her, yet none braver after the winter or fairer than she. In a small while the grass was green again where she had stepped in her wandering and her radiant soul rested on the breast of God, herself forgotten in Acadie. Forgotten, did I say, the Lady La Tour unremembered? My grandfather knows these things, having gone from house to house with his fiddle in those early days of our Acadie, and he told me that civil war weakens a land, and he also felt that we would yet have trouble with the English who have well entrenched themselves along this coast. He said also that the Lady La Tour's spirit lives again in a brave Acadian maiden each generation, whether she sits in industry at her spinning wheel, or walks beside her beloved. As I said in the beginning, I am waiting here for the summons to play at the betrothal feast of one of our Acadian maidens, the fairest child of all our village of Grand-Pre. They will crown her with garlands of blos- soms and dance about her on the green, while I fiddle beside that mighty old apple tree of which her father is so justly proud. We who live in Grand-Prd now are all descendants -i O :"j." '■"<'■"-« O^ £T 3 ®§J% : r+ # [ %i\ :'H.>1> .■'- o' ? 1^ ; . CO ■M ;;viU £ P-' ^*; 5V V"'.'..-n|' v ':.s ! rt. : ;t&$&% 13- mMM- ■,:jV""" ;'?;■ : ".^.*.:. o :/?i'.;--i : ^':.'\\''v o Vi;" ,; ^ ;-■;;:;;• ■ < o o o BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 125 last, in the late spring of the year, with the sun like wine to us, to a village partly on the sea and partly on a river. We were fearful of approaching in the broad light of the daytime lest we be seized and put in barracks, so we waited in the boats until the cover of the twilight. Then we pulled through the mud and marsh to the levee. The town was called New Orleans. I am minded how I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was awake. It was like nothing we had ever seen before in our lives. Naught save dimness at first as we stepped ashore, dragging ourselves wearily and climbing through the oozy mud of the banks. I do remember how we were near naked and all destitute that year, and how we ended by making a place for ourselves in the country second to none. The sons of Acadie were destined to be the pride of the state of Louisiana, but I am over-reaching my tale. Here we were, then, on shore in the town of New Orleans, and in the midst of a gay night on the levee! I blinked my eyes at the glimmering candle thrust in my face by a sturdy black wench, with a scarlet kerchief wrapped round her head and dangling hoops of gold in her ears. She had lights for sale, there being none in the streets then; ill-smelling, smoky candles they were, made of the green wax myrtle, but welcome at that. Seeing our 126 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE penniless state, some of the French along the levee provided us with candles. How kind they were to us from the first moment of our drawing ashore in this gay, careless, bounti- ful village of mud and blacks and palmettos and crinoline! The Place d'Armes it was that had welcomed us, and where everything was crowded together, the cathedral of Saint Louis, the convent of the Capuchins, the Govern- ment house, the Prison and the log houses with their fragrant gardens from which issued such gay ladies of France in their silks and curls and powder as we of Acadie had only dreamed. Around this Place were small eating places and the market, where the next morning we saw dis- played wild beef and venison, ducks, partridges, pheasants, geese, pineapples, watermelons, rice, wild peas, figs and and bananas. At the restaurants we could see through the small glazed windows lazy noblemen, perhaps banished here for their too great activity at the court of Castile, partaking of a dish of hominy cooked with rich grease and pieces of meat and fish, washed down with fragrant wine. You remember we were hungry — I, Basil of Grand-Prd, and the ragged men I had brought with me. "Nine o'clock, and the weather is fair!" That was the hourly call of the guardsman who walked the levee, very grand in his cocked hat, his deep blue frock coat, his breast straps of black leather supporting a cartridge BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 127 box. He had a bayonet in its scabbard, a flint-lock musket, and a short sword which was the terror of the slaves out after hours in the town. We feared he would challenge us vagabond Acadians, but he passed us by with a friendly nod. We met other boatmen, their pirogues drawn up to the levee beside ours and they themselves as unkempt as we. Three months they had spent coming the same way we had, through the bayous, and now they were lordly drunk, spending their gold like kings, and why not? Had they not earned the right? I remember the loneliness of the bayous, and they would be going back the same way soon. I They called this levee the King's Road. They had planted it with a few sparse willows, and although there were no paving stones we saw a painted coach and horse dash along it that night by the light of our candles. What else we saw, wandering the whole night unmolested, nay, welcomed as we were, seemed a bright dream to us. Now we passed a group of fiery Creoles, nowhere else to be found but here in Louisiana, their rapiers shining at their sides. We met, here, a yellow siren from San Domingo speaking to us in her soft, bastard French, although we but chucked her under her pretty chin and went on. We saw certain staid and haughty men with flaxen hair and 128 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE white faces, but speaking pure French. The German planters these were, come on horseback through the marshes to buy supplies. Blacks of all shades there were, clad only in the braquet and their dirty shirts. Ex-galley slaves, adventurers and pirates from the islands roundabout, the milk and coffee women bearing great cans on their shoulders, the peddlers of cakes wheeling their little carts along the road. They fed us, God bless them, not asking for a single piesto! Shop-keepers, Spaniards in their Castilian capes and with their great black hats pulled low over their foreheads, Kentucky herdsmen, the Italian fishermen in yellow caps and very quick with their knives if one did not speak civilly to them. All of these we met, and it was a wonderful night for us. In spite of the strangeness of it, in spite of our memory of exile and lost neighbors and burned farms, we yet felt that we were come home. So we wandered all the soft, candle-lit dark through the lanes and along the levee of New Orleans. And when morning dawned came our great surprise. I was standing in my ragged garb of a voyageur, my axe in my belt in front of the market, when a man strangely familiar to me in his sturdy, stalwart bearing, his high cheek bones, his bronzed cheeks, stopped there to buy some fodder. He rode an odd little mustang, the kind BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 129 of horse I had seen here, and his dress was also familiar, with a blue shirt of the same home-spun cotton as we used to spin and weave in Acadie. With him were others of his like. "Les habitants! From Acadie !" I heard some one say to these herders with respect. Then he glimpsed me. He stretched out his hand. He was an Acadian! We were home, if home be the place where kindness and consideration find their place beside the hearthstone! This man told me that my friends and neighbors to the number of many hundreds had voyaged, as I had, this year to the savannas. They were welcomed by the govern- ment, both the citizens and the gentlemen of the Council. He said we would be given herds and lands for beginning life anew. He asked us to settle in Saint Martin on the Teche River, where he was living in peace and raising cane and tending his cows. All through the country of Atta- kapas and on the wide prairies of Opelousas this habitant told me we would be welcome. It was a new Acadie, the same turbulent waters to subdue as we had in the north, the same fertile earth waiting for my ploughshares to cut its deep furrows. This man took me to the Government house in New Orleans and had me shown a certain paper, the finest piece of writing, to my mind, of any that the Acadians of to-day 130 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE can boast of. We keep it among the archives in a cedar wood box, and it escaped the burning of our papers by the Spaniards. Here it is then: April Fourth, Seventeen Hundred and Sixty-five A Contract between Antoine Bernard Dauterive, former Cap- tain of the Infantry of New Orleans, and Joseph Broussard, Alexander Broussard, Joseph Guilliban, Jean Duga, Oliver Tibadau, Jean Baptiste Broussard, Pierre Arcenaud and Victor Broussard, Chiefs of the Acadians. Captain Dauterive promises to furnish each Acadian family with five cows with their calves and one bull for each six consec- utive years, and he will run the risk of the cattle the first year. As soon as he shall be notified of a loss he will immediately replace the animal by another of the same kind, without holding the Acadians responsible for losses by death during the first year. He reserves the right to rescind the contract after three years and to take back his cattle, all increase being equally divided between him and them. The Acadians may sell some of the cattle before the expiration of the contract provided they give him one-half percentage of the; sale. At the end of six years they must give back to Monsieur Dauterive the same number of cattle that they received from him and of the same age and kind as when received. All increases and profits to be equally divided between him and the Acadians. The contract signed before Garis, Notary, in the presence of Aubry, acting Governor of the Colony, Foucault, Ordinateur, and. La Freniere. Was there ever greater kindness than that of the Colony of Louisiana to a band of exiled voyageurs and BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 131 coureurs-des-bois such as we had become! Homes, property, a new chance at life were ours for the asking! They gave us rations, tools! And no question that we swear any sort of oath to the government. We were fair trusted by the Colony and this gallant Captain of the Infantry. So we drove our cattle toward the prairies, and reaching our lands we cut the cedars and builded us houses. We laid out gardens and once more heard the tuning of a fiddle. I grew to be a man of some importance in the region, but that is of a later portion of this tale. II Fine timber was the cedar, red stick, as we called it, and for which was named the town of Baton Rouge! We sang as we raised the posts and plastered our walls with mud and moss. We found it an adventure to follow our new herds through the dark mazes of the bayous, sometimes lost from us in the deep places where the live-oaks made small islands in the midst of seas of waving rushes and reeds. Soon we began riding back to New Orleans on our Creole ponies for supplies. There never was a horse like mine, taking the marshes with a springy gait that lifted me clear of the ooze every time. We were piercing the swamp lands one fall, a good number of us, with some of 182 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE the Teuton farmers who had settled the Acadian coast along the Teche before us, on our way to trade at the New Orleans Halles, when I met with that other man of iron. An Acadian like us, was he. The Spanish gentlemen in the town spoke of him with much scorn as the "man with the axe." He had come, as I had, his hatchet in his belt, from the north, to cut his way through the marsh forests and make a settlement for his people in the savannas. But I noted that this neighbor of mine, Joseph de Villere, was looked upon as a great man with the majority of the inhabitants hereabout. I liked him from the first. I would have you see this de Viller£ riding beside me through the mud to New Orleans. None could have been braver than this Canadian. He had everything a man needs, valor, fortitude and a freedom of mind. He was violent and fiery, but frank withal and loyal to our king, Louis the fifteenth, weak though he was for a monarch. And this de Villerd was of a good size, his step firm, his expression bold and martial, his love of the soil that was of France more than that of a patriot; almost a frenzy was it with him. He was the chief of us Acadians in the savannas. "Can you fight?" asked Joseph de Villere of me as we approached the King's Road of New Orleans this BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 133 October of the year 1768, and we carried fowling pieces with us in case we came upon any game in the forest. "I was ever a fighter/' I told him, wondering what his meaning was. "Then you may have need of your musket/ ' he told me. "You have been busy these three years with your herds and your building, but certain of the Acadians of this coast could tell of the danger in which we live. We are to see new ships along the levee to-day. After many warnings the Spanish governor, Antonio Ulloa, is in poses- sion of New Orleans. His soldiers are at our banks t@ enforce his rule/' "A Spanish governor!" I asked, unbelieving. "Aye/' said de Villerd. "I could show you the papers in the Government house by authority of which he came, a canting scholar, a sharp-featured hypocrite, who has already bargained for the sale of our men of the Acadian coast into slavery/ ' Then de Villere, as we neared the levee, told me the whole of it, how our Louis, in one of his mad moments, had given this colony of Louisiana by a secret treaty to Spain. "The French King cedes to his cousin of Spain, and to his successors forever, in full ownership and without any exception or reservation whatever, from the pure 134 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE impulse of his generous heart and from the affection and friendship existing between these two royal persons, all the country known under the name of Louisiana." So Louis had secretly written it. And there, at the banks of our city waited the soldiers of the Spanish inquisition to help take away from our hands the precious freedom we had as we held in them the lily of our ancient country, France. This thing had been seething for some years, although until now they had not dared the effrontery of establishing Ulloa to rule New Orleans. It seems that the French of Louisiana had petitioned Louis concerning his cession of our colony to Spain. "We would describe the barbarity with which the Acadians have been treated," they had writ to the Court at Fontainbleau but lately. "These people, the sport of fortune, had determined, under the impulse of a patriotic spirit, to forsake all that they might possess in the English territories in order to go and live under the happy laws of their ancient master. They arrived in this colony at a great sacrifice, and scarce had they cleared out a place sufficient for a poor thatched hut to stand upon, when, in consequence of some representations which they happened to make to the Spanish representative, it was threatened to drive them out of the colony. Mr. Ulloa would sell BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 135 them as slaves in order to pay for the rations which have been given them. 'Those who complain are threatened with imprison- ment, banished to the Balise, and sent to the mines. "Such oppressions are not dictated by the hearts of kings; they agree but ill with that humanity which con- stitutes their character, and directs their actions/' And now we saw the answer of our king, armed Spanish ships lying at anchor off New Orleans. We rode along the levee to better sight them. I remember how the Place d'Armes looked that day, so clear is it all stamped on my mind. There was a new fence of unpainted wood posts around it, a frail protection against the guns in the river, and the road was strangely quiet for our gay town. The Cathedral door was open, as had been our church door so many seasons past when the English ships came up the Gaspereau towards Grand- Pre. The stunted grass, of a somber brown, was growing in odd and scattered patches, giving the square the look of an old wives' shabby quilt. No one sang in the streets. The shutters were closed. In front of me, fastened to the levee by a ponderous drawbridge of wood, I saw floating a tall, three-decked galleon, her poop rising high into the air and adorned with many carvings in addition to being too fancifully painted 136 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE for a ship. From her masts and the ropes amid-ships a hundred cursing, ruffianly sailors gathered and jeered at our coarse clothes, waving a strange flag, the gold and red of Spain, flying to proclaim the savagery and cruelty of the inquisition. It was emblazoned with golden castles and a flaming scarlet lion and out in the stream, behind the galleon, were the brothers to it, flaunting their flags and like it in every respect. As we looked at the Spanish ships a crowd of the Creoles of the town who had welcomed us wanderers to New Orleans three years before gathered round us. Father Dagobert, the merry curate of the village, fat and rubicund in his fine apparel and usually readier to enjoy a wedding and a full cup than a funeral, looked with us toward the levee. A rosy cheek to pinch, a good game of cards, the mixing of joy with piety as we mix water with wine, these were our Father's delights, and I mind they interfered not a bit with his religion, which was a matter of daily kindness. But Father Dagobert smiled not now. Dainty ladies, pale beneath their rouge, their brocaded gowns and hoop petticoats dragging in the slime of the street, had come, holding tight to the arms of their lords lest they be parted. Our pretty Acadian girls, as fair as our lost daughters of Grand-Prd, a company of blacks who had armed themselves with pikes and sticks and knives ^ 3 O P w 3 3 g Or BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 137 although their uniform was but half a shirt apiece; La Freniere, our Tribune, so young he was scarce bearded yet, my de Villerd, his eyes flashing like two coals and his hand gripping his carbine — there we were, facing the Spaniards. In the second we waited, I saw in memory the other occasion so like this, when I would have fought for Acadie, but was unhanded and my freedom taken away from me. I mean that former autumn of the year 1755 when the ships of Great Britain lay at anchor in our Basin of Minas, as these Spanish galleons lay now at our New Orleans shore. Was the thing to happen twice? Not if the man with the axe, de Villere, and I, a blacksmith of Acadie, were able to fight! We tethered the ponies for their safety and we found a broken drum, but it was enough for calling them all, the noblemen, the blacks, the shopkeepers, the Acadians to battle. In an instant the lanes hummed and throbbed with courage, the eating places gave out a noisy, drunken crew to help us, arms were brought us from the villa of our little Versailles, the house of the beautiful Madame Pradel in whose garden, after her nightly feasts were over, it is said this small revolution had been planned in her perfumed alleys of roses and myrtles and magnolias. The light-o-love of our gay young Intendant, Foucault, it was said 138 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE Madame Pradel was. Howbeit, she gave us guns that memorable twenty-eighth of October, the year, 1768. Then we took the town. We Acadians and the other small planters from the Coast, led by de Villere, spiked the guns which were at our Tchoupitoulas gate. We blazed away with muskets, fowling pieces, anything we could lay our hands on. The blacks went mad and joined us. The town was in the moment a theatre of war as we sniped away at the Spanish soldiery who would have made a landing, and we saw to it that not one got across the levee. The Spanish frigate broke the bridge that held her to our bank and moved to cast her anchor in deeper water. , That caused a rumor that the Spaniards would fire on the town, so we closed the doors of all the public and private houses and we patrolled the streets, still sounding our cracked drum. Last, we dragged that smug Spaniard, Ulloa, with his proud wife, from their house and hurried them aboard one of the galleons. So the Spaniards, for the time, were ousted. We had, in a way, made up to ourselves for our exile from Grand- Pre. We had held a town against a foreign power that would have again sent us into slavery. Without doubt, the success of the revolution against Ulloa was all due to that brave man of the axe, Joseph de Villere. But I was reading not long since, together with a company of my BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 139 friends I was entertaining for supper, a writing about the revolution. It spoke of certain leaders of the insurrection, noting them for bravery. Toward the end of the list, "a black- smith of popularity " was bespoke among our Acadians. That blacksmith was I. Ill One more of an old man's memories, the wedding we celebrated the night we put the Spanish governor Ulloa aboard a frigate on the levee! We had been driven from a wedding feast at our expulsion from Grand-Pre, but here we were, captains of the town of New Orleans, and since a wedding had been planned for that night there seemed to be no reason why it should not take place. And they invited us, who were the men of the hour, to join the happy pair in the ban- queting and carousal which lasted all the night and until the morning dawned. Being unskilled in the minuet and the polka, I wan- dered through the rooms of the house, taking note of the fineries, and wishing with a break in my heart that our lost daughter of Grand-Pre might have been the happy bride, the feasting and the gayety of the night hers. It was 140 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE a most luxurious bridal chamber I saw, the walls well whitewashed, and linen hangings at the window. It had a cypress bedstead, three feet wide by six in length, with a mattress of corn shucks and one of feathers upon the top, a bolster of corn shucks, and a cotton counterpane made probably by the lady herself. There were two chairs of cypress wood as well, with straw bottoms, and a brass candlestick which held a new wax candle, unlighted. Then I watched the ladies dance. So dainty and perfumed are these French women, living though they must with scant luxury such as they left at home. But here they trip with their powdered curls, their little slippers with red heels, their 'broidered silks, and the gentlemen who are their dancing partners seem as fine in their lace-trimmed coats and the silver buckles on their shoes. French they are, and so they will always be, good to look at and our fellow-countrymen for whom we saved the town that day of our fight. So the feasting and drinking went on until one pale star showed in the morning dawn above the water. Then, the revels ceasing and it seeming fit to leave the contracting parties to themselves, the young men crowded, singing and laughing, into the King's Road. A noisy band of care-free youths they were, and nothing would do them but they must have me at their head, the fighting black- BASIL THE BLACKSMITH SPEAKS 141 smith as they called me. So we came roystering along to the levee, and there in the silver dawn that turned the water to gray mist lay the frigate, grim and menacing, on which we had driven Antonio Ulloa and his hated Spanish advisors. " See the dawning of the star ! " cried one of the youths. "It heralds the last day of the Spaniard's rule!" And as if that gave the youngsters a mischievous idea, what did they do but wade out, the young mad-heads, into the water and cut the cables that held Ulloa's boat to our New Orleans. Like a giant who is routed, she slowly moved and clumsily, then took her vanquished way downstream toward the sea. That night I rode back to my ranch and my herds. We are looking forward, now that we are so well established here in the savannas, to welcoming more of the exiles of Acadie to our new homes in the near future. We are still separated one from another, but we have had word that a small party of our neighbors from Grand-Pre is on its voyage toward the south, following the reed- covered banks of these waterways through the vast swamp prairies, piercing the tropical jungle of hanging vines and moss, the straggling clumps of palmettoes and the slimy oaks and cypress trees that keep them from us of the 142 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE Attakapas and Opelousas; that separate their love from our longing for them. They will find homes and property here amongst us. God grant they find their way! *THE HOME OF THE HOMELESS In 1729 they erected a long, low stone house at Third and Pine Streets, in old Philadelphia, that was known as the Green Meadows, the almshouse. It had a high base- ment, one story and garret and tall chimneys, with an extra story over one-third the front. The front extended the full width of the lot. The entrance, through an arch- way, passed into the garden which was well shaded and planted with herbs, flowers and vegetables. Here the elder members of the Friends passed their hours in peace and quietness. At the western extremity of the front stood for many years a quaint, low house with a door and two large windows occupying nearly the whole front, and surmounted by a very sloping roof with a curiously built garret window. There were high steps and two cellar doors. Here lived Joseph Wigmore, a bottler, and after him his widow, a celebrated molasses-candy maker. On the eastern ex- tremity of the almshouse were two fine residences, the one next the almshouse occupied by Edward Stiles, and the one below by Benjamin Chew. While commerce has been so hard at work in the ♦Watson's Annals of Philadelphia, 1879 [143] 144 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE lower part of Walnut Street that she has completely hidden from sight old Saint Joseph's Church, darkening its win- dows with the high brick walls of railway establishments, she has left almost untouched a singularly quiet spot within a stone's throw of the busy thoroughfare, a little square so hidden by overshadowing walls that the front might be passed hundreds of times without a suspicion of its whereabouts. Entered through a little green gate and a little dark alley is a square of ground a couple of hundred feet each way, between Third and Fourth Streets and Walnut Street and Willings Alley, containing three antiquated buildings and one of comparatively modern shape. Brick, stone and gravel walks divide the grounds in all directions, and the remains of little flower beds may be seen here and there, and occasionally a low marble post set deep in the earth, that might have been either a gate-post or a grave-stone. Two of the oldest of the buildings, quaint, two-story bricks, front on Willings Alley, the ten or fifteen feet between them having been filled up with a two-story shed. North of this, and within a very short stone's throw of Walnut Street, is the oddest little house of them all, if, indeed, it is not the oddest that ever was built. A thick bed of green moss covers the southern side of the roof, green even in the winter. The roof reaches far down THE HOME OF THE HOMELESS 145 in front, making a covering for the front door, and beside the solitary front window is an old-fashioned, heavy bench, so comfortable looking that it is hard to keep from sitting down on it. A wide-spreading elm tree hovers over this cozy nook, with a pleasant suggestion of summer shades and autumn leaves, and the whole little place is as comfortable to the eye as it must be to the two old ladies who brew their tea and stroke their cat within its walls. The buildings that front on Willings Alley do not differ from hundreds of others that were built in the good old days of Benjamin Franklin. They may be a little older perhaps, and a little more ready to tumble down, but this is all. In each building there might be room for two small families with another, possibly, in the shed. The house in the center of the yard is divided into three small dwellings, making room for seven families in all, and these were built and supported by the charitable Quakers for the housing of such people of the faith as were unable to take care of themselves. When the charity was started, the attendants of Saint Joseph's Church, the church of the Acadians, one of whose yellow brick walls overshadows the little buildings, gave it the name of the Quaker Nunnery, and this in time was changed to the Quaker Almshouse, accommodations having been provided for thirteen families. For the last hundred 146 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE and fifty-six years these buildings have been occupied by tenants who paid no rent, not even by the Friends always, but unfailingly by those who needed to be helped. And although they lived in the charity houses they were not beggars. A watchmaker named Brewer did a flourishing busi- ness in one of the little tenements not long ago, and there a schoolmaster once taught his little school. Many will remember old Nancy Brewer, who raised her herbs on the Friends' farm and sold them, but who, unable to keep pace with the race against time, gave it up one day and now rests with "94" as her age chiselled on her tombstone. Another old resident of the Quaker Almshouse was " Crazy Norah," who, after making sport for half a dozen genera- tions of school boys, found her reason and her Maker together from the quiet Quaker settlement. Popular belief will have it that it was in this friendly retreat that Evangeline found her long-lost lover after the two had been torn from their Acadian home. A POORMASTER WRITES OF EVANGELINE All expenditures should be set down in their proper order. I have before me here, this year, 1771, certain lists of the needs and comforts we keep record of, the monies the Almshouse of Philadelphia has spent for the French Neutrals for whom we have been providing since they came to our city. There has been sickness, want, death among these Acadians, and since at this time there is no Sisterhood at their church of Saint Joseph's in Willings Alley, and since our Almshouse is so adjacent to the neigh- borhood, we have been working together, Friends and Fathers alike, for the bettering of these wanderers. Their women have helped us as well, although there is more want than the ability to nurse among them. Our Almshouse records show that we have bought sugar and tea, wine and candles, old soft rags for the sick, spirits for the weak, camomile flowers and other herbs for the Philadelphia Acadians. There are also many items of general expenditures for them set down in our account book. Many times I have written in Jasper Carpenter's bills for grave-digging. He digs a fair grave; we have had [147] 148 THE STORY OF EVANGELINE him to do our work of this sort for some time. Occasion- ally I buy a quire of paper for the office, but it comes high. Here is an item for the weaving of 36 yards of tow linen, another for buying 1 cord of wood for an Innocent Neutral Babe. One pair of scissors is set down, certain monies to help a Poor Woman to Salem, more to get Mary Stockman and her five children to Virginia. Here is an item of six combs, here one for linen to clothe the child Mary Mead had, Will Clifton being its father. We gave money freely to a Poor Man as is stated on this page. So the record proceeds at great length, but I have other matters of which to write to-day. I have been asked to give an accounting, to the best of my ability, of such of the Acadians as remain here in Philadelphia at this date, and my word as to which of them are in urgent need of our help. Well, the list of them is not difficult of making out, being but short. And I may state that I am in a position, after a careful examination of these people now remaining in Philadelphia, after walking among them and talking with them, to know which are worthy of help. The Widow Landry is still living, but old, infirm and blind, in consequence of which she is unable in any respect to earn a living. The Widow Ancoix is a striking object of charity being very weakly and with a large family, one A POORMASTER WRITES OF EVANGELINE 149 of which is foolish. Daniel Le Blanc has a large family and when he is sick he stands in need of assistance. The Widow Bourg is an industrious but sickly woman, fre- quently requiring assistance. We have with us an Acadian named James Le Compte, very low and weak as if he were in a consumption. There are others, but before I write of them I would like to recommend for help a woman who gives all her life to these Acadians. *Anne Bujauld: a woman who acts as schoolmistress to the children and that kind of Assistance. She cannot work for a livelihood, her whole time being taken up in the care of Them. *Being listed in the records of Saint Joseph's Church at this period as Anne Boudrot, this Acadian woman was the witness to a marriage. She would seem to have been devoting her life, like a sister of mercy, to the help of that neighborhood. EVANGELINE PRELUDE This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, 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 wood- lands, [151] 152 EVANGELINE Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven? Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed! Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October Seize them and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Prd. Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest; List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. PART THE FIRST I In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Prd Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. Dikes, that the hands of farmers had raised with labor incessant, Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates Opened and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the moun- tains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic [153] 154 EVANGELINE Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock, Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting Over the basement below protected and shaded the door- way. There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. r o o o m < o o a- I3 - EVANGELINE 155 Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens, Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense 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 tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of their owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abun- dance. Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, 156 EVANGELINE Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand- Pr£, Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing his household, Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village. Stalwart 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 Sunday morn, while the bell from its turret Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his hyssop EVANGELINE 157 Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon them, Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of beads 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 heirloom, Handed down from mother to child, through long gener- ations. But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. 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 the hill commanding the sea; and a shady Sycamore stood by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it. Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath 158 EVANGELINE Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow. Under the sycamore tree were hives overhung by a pent- house, Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside, Built o'er a box for the poor, or a 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 farmyard; There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows; There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his feathered seraglio, Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the 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 dove-cote stood, with its meek and innocent inmates EVANGELINE 159 Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of muta- tion. Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pr<* Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. Many a youth, as he knelt in the church 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 suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended, 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 Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. But among all who came young Gabriel only was welcome; Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men; 160 EVANGELINE 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 Father Felician, Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church 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 black- smith. 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 tire of a cart-wheel Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired to ashes, EVANGELINE 161 Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests in the rafters, Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow Brings from 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 children. 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; 162 EVANGELINE She too would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance. Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. II Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. Birds of passage sailed through 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 hunters asserted Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed the beautiful season, Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All- Saints! EVANGELINE 163 Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the great sun Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors around him; While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yellow, Bright 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 burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. 164 EVANGELINE Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar, Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers; Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept, their protector, When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled. Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, EVANGELINE 165 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 hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. Lowing 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 jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was quiet. Indoors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, 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 gestures fantastic, Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into darkness. 166 EVANGELINE Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm-chair Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates on the dresser Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the sunshine. Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christmas, 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 its diligent shuttle, While 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, 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 clock ticked. Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, sud- denly lifted, EVANGELINE 167 Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. Benedict knew by the hobnailed shoes it was 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 friendly and jovial face gleams Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes/' Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fire- side: — "Benedict Belief ontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad! 168 EVANGELINE Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others are filled with Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see 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. What their design may be is unknown; but all are com- manded On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the mean- time Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." Then made answer the farmer: — "Perhaps some friendlier purpose Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England EVANGELINE 169 By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children/ ' "Not so think the folk in the village/ ' said warmly the blacksmith, Shaking his head as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh he continued: — "Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau S^jour, nor Port Royal. Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds; Nothing is left 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 cornfields, Safer within these peaceful dikes besieged by the ocean, Than 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 this hearth; for this is the night of the contract. 170 EVANGELINE 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, Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. Ill Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public; Shocks of yellow hair, 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 wisdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred EVANGELINE 171 Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. Four long years in the time of the war had he languished a captive, Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. Now, though warier grown, without all guile and suspicion, Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and child- like. He 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 un- christened 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 nutshell, And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the black- smith, 172 EVANGELINE 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 their errand/' Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public: — "Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser; And what their errand may be I know no better than others. Yet I am not of those who imagine some evil intention Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why molest us?' "God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith; 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, continued the notary public, — "Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often con- soled me, EVANGELINE 173 When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it When his neighbors 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 cor- rupted; 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. 174 EVANGELINE She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of justice. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language; All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors 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-Prd; EVANGELINE 175 While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, 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 things 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 the bridegroom, Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their wel- fare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, 176 EVANGELINE Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. Meanwhile apart, 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 was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straight- way Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household. Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door- step Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, V EVANGELINE 177 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 woolen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, Better than flocks and herds, being proof 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, exceedingly 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. 178 EVANGELINE 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! IV Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre. Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas, Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous labor Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. Now from the country around, from the farms and the neighboring hamlets, Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants. EVANGELINE 179 Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in the greensward, Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway. Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced. Thronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped to- gether. Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted; For with this simple people, who lived like brothers to- gether, All things were held in common, and what one had was another's. Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more abun- dant: For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father; Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome and gladness 180 EVANGELINE Fell from her beautiful lips and blessed the cup as she gave it. Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, Stripped of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the notary seated; There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-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. Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, Tons les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de Dunkerque, And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances Under the orchard trees and down the path to the meadows; Old folk and young together, and children mingled among them. EVANGELINE 181 Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's daughter! 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 the tower, and over the meadows the drum beat. Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without, in the church-yard, Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head-stones Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling to 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 com- mission. 182 EVANGELINE "You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders. Clement and kind has he 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 will of our 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 declare you, for such is his Majesty's pleasure!" 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 ground with thatch from the house-roofs, EVANGELINE 183 Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures; So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. 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 impreca- tions 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 black- smith, 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! Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests !" More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. 184 EVANGELINE 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 ascended the steps of the altar. Raising his reverend hand, with 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 labored 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 for- giveness? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? EVANGELINE 185 Lo! where the crucified Christ from His cross is gazing upon you! See! in those sorrowful 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, '0 Father, forgive them!' " Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, While they repeated his prayer, and said, "0 Father, forgive them!" Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed on the altar; 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 devotion translated, Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. 186 EVANGELINE Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. 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 splendor and roofed each Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned the windows. Long 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 arm-chair of the farmer. Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the sun- set Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambrosial meadows. Ah! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, $&•<&": - X; . ' ~ • EVANGELINE 187 And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial as- cended,- Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience! Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts of the women, As, o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of their children. Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors 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 voice; but no answer 188 EVANGELINE 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 board the supper untasted. Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phan- toms of terror. Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her chamber. In the dead of night she heard the disconsolate rain fall Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore tree by the window. Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the echoing 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 peacefully slumbered till morning. Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the fifth day EVANGELINE 189 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 neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian women, Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea-shore, Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their dwellings, Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the oxen, While in their little hands they clasped the fragments of playthings. Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; and there on the sea-beach Piled in confusion 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 laboring down from the village. Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the church-yard. 190 EVANGELINE Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient Acadian farm- ers. Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. Foremost the young men came; and, raising together their voices, Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions: — "Sacred heart of the Saviour! inexhaustible fountain! Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience!" Then the old men, as they marched, and the women who stood by the wayside Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits de- parted. EVANGELINE 191 Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of afflic- tion, — Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession ap- proached 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 Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen !" Smiling she 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 fire from his eye, and his footstep Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. 192 EVANGELINE Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of em- barking. Busily plied the freighted boats; and 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 en- treaties. So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, While 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 Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed. Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons, Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. EVANGELINE 193 Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the sailors. Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures; Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders; Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard, — Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. Silence reigned in the streets; from the church no Angelus sounded, Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights from the windows. i But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from the wrecks in the tempest. Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying of children. 194 EVANGELINE Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his parish, Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and cheering, Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea-shore. Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her father, 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. Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to cheer him, Vainly offered him food; yet he moved not, he looked not, he spake not, But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering firelight. "Benedicite!" murmured the priest, in tones of compassion. More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, and his accents Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on a threshold, Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence of sorrow. . EVANGELINE 195 Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that above them Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sorrows of mortals. Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. 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, Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that lay in the roadstead. Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame were Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quiver- ing hands of a martyr. Then as the winds seized the gleeds and the burning thatch and, uplifting, 196 EVANGELINE Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred house-tops Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flames inter- mingled. These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their anguish, "We shall behold no more our homes in the village of Grand-Pr