Away from Tracadie.—The Gulf of St. Lawrence.—The Bay de Chaleur.—The innumerable Fishing Boats.—Along Harbor—Shippegan.—The Acadians.—The Memories of Grand PrÉ. Far away on the right extended the waters of the gulf, till the view was bounded by the horizon. Before and behind was the same illimitable prospect. But on the left lay the land,—a low, wooded coast,—and their course lay parallel with this. Their destination was the Bay de Chaleur, around which they proposed to take a cruise; but this proposed cruise seemed now to promise but little in comparison with the adventures which one half of the party had already met with, and the fortunes of Bart’s party, far from creating pity in the minds of the other boys, only excited their envy; for there was not one of them who did not wish that he had been in the burning forest. About midday the wind grew lighter, and the schooner’s progress slower. They passed two openings that led into the bay which divided two islands from the main land. The first one was Shippegan Island; and the other, which lay beyond this, was called Miscou Island. These two extended along at the mouth of the bay in such a way as to form a natural breakwater. They sailed past these, and by evening they rounded Point Miscou, entered the bay, and as the wind was now adverse, they anchored for the night. The Bay de Chaleur is about seventy miles long and twenty wide. On account of the islands at its mouth it is sheltered from the worst gales, while on every other side it is land-locked. It thus becomes a vast harbor, affording throughout its whole extent an excellent shelter for vessels. Around its shores, particularly on the south, are smaller harbors, upon which little villages are already rising. The bay divides the Province of New Brunswick from that of Quebec; and on account of its many advantages, it will, no doubt, become well known to the world before many years. On the following morning the wind changed, and blew more favorably. It was Captain Corbet’s design to go first to the settlement of Shippegan, and in this direction they now sailed. As they went on their way, they were amazed at the vast number of sails that dotted the surface of the sea. They were all fishing boats, and appeared to be on their way to the gulf. As they came to Miscou Gully, which separates Miscou and Shippegan Islands, they saw the fishing boats passing through; and further on, at Shippegan Gully, which lies between the main land and the island of that name, they found it traversed by a still larger number. “I’ve ben in these here waters,” remarked Captain Corbet, in answer to some inquiries, “onst or twist, afore, an its allers ben the same. All these craft air fishin boats; an I never see the place yet, in all my born days that can turn out on a pinch sich a lot of small fishin craft as this here bay.” Two or three miles of a run down a long, narrow harbor, where the waters were deep enough for large ships, brought them at last to their destination. A wharf lay there, at which the Antelope drew up, and the boys all stepped joyfully ashore. The village of Shippegan was a small settlement, with scattered houses of very simple construction. Close by the wharf stood the most prominent structure in the place, being a huge saw-mill, which now, as they landed, sent forth that hissing, cutting, slashing, grinding howl and uproar characteristic of such establishments. Towards this place the boys first directed their steps; and on reaching it they were greeted in a very pleasant manner by a gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Smith. He was the owner of the mills, and though the place was so remote, he was not at all discontented, but, on the contrary, showed an enthusiastic attachment to this country, which he affirmed to be the best place in the world to live in. No sooner did he learn the object of the party, than he at once began to give a glowing account of the beauties and attractions of the Bay de Chaleur. In particular he urged them to visit the Restigouche Valley, at the extremity of the bay, where he affirmed they would find some of the most magnificent scenery, and some of the finest sport in the world. Yet it was in this very place that the boys found the greatest attraction, for Mr. Smith happened to say, in a casual way, that the people were Acadian French. No sooner had he mentioned that name than the boys asked the meaning of it. They were informed that these people were the descendants of the Acadians, and that the ancestors of most of them had been expelled from their homes in Nova Scotia, and fled to this place. This at once excited the deepest interest in their minds. All that had reference to the old Acadians was most attractive to them, and in the persons of the Shippeganders they hoped to find reproduced the forms of those gentle, poetic, and simple-minded peasants, with whom they had become acquainted in the beautiful verses of Evangeline. This unexpected enthusiasm of the boys delighted Mr. Smith, who at once deserted his saw-mill, and proceeded to show them the place. It was of no very great extent, and contained not more than forty or fifty small cottages. These were all built of frame, and shingled over. The road was grass-grown, and did not appear to have any very intimate acquaintance with wheeled vehicles. The people had an unmistakably foreign aspect, but were very pleasant in their looks and manners. The women wore short homespun frocks, with a jacket, and a head-dress consisting of a handkerchief of bright colors. Some of them were spinning at the doors of their cottages, others were knitting, others attending to the duties of the dairy. In the fields were the men making hay. Children laughed and danced, in their play, about the cottage doors. In the middle of the village was a small, simple chapel, with a cross upheld from one point of its roof, and a small belfry from the other. As the party walked down the road they were greeted with pleasant smiles, in which there were both natural curiosity and kindly welcome. Mr. Smith spoke to the people some friendly words in the patois used by them, which he seemed to understand perfectly; and the answers, though unintelligible to the boys, had a pleasant meaning to their minds, on account of the merry laughter and amiable faces of the speakers. The little children stopped in their sport as the strangers came along, and stood, with their round, merry faces, staring with laughing black eyes. On the whole, the boys found in this scene all that they could wish, and more than they had anticipated. It realized very closely the ideas which they had formed from the description in Evangeline; and Bart, as he looked around, could not help repeating the well-known words: After traversing the village, they approached a house at the other end, which, though of the same simple construction, was larger and better than the others. Two or three of those tall poplar trees, which were so dear to the Acadians, grew in front. A massive porch was before the door, around which grew a honeysuckle. Two or three barns indicated the comfortable circumstances of the owner. As they drew near, they saw an old man sitting in the porch smoking, who looked at them, and rose with a pleasant smile. His figure was slightly bent, his hair, mustache, and beard quite gray, and his whole aspect venerable in the extreme. “It’s Benedict Bellefontaine!” exclaimed Bart. “I thought we’d find him, too. Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand Pre. Here he is, in life, dwelling on his goodly acres.” “No, it isn’t,” said Mr. Smith, with a laugh. “His name is Grousset, but he’ll do very well for Bellefontaine. At any rate, you can judge for yourselves, for I'm going to introduce you to him.” By this time they had reached the house, and Mr. Smith, after shaking hands with the old man, introduced the boys. Monsieur Grousset greeted each one with a paternal smile, and upon learning their errand, at once invited them all to stay at his house while they were in the village. At first the boys refused; but the old man was so urgent, and the prospect of seeing an Acadian home was so attractive, that they at length accepted the kind invitation. The resemblance which Bart had found between Mr. Grousset and “Benedict Bellefontaine” was, indeed, sufficiently striking to be marked even by one less imaginative. The old man, the house, and the surroundings, all might have stood for Longfellow’s description; for though there might be a difference in minor things, the general character was the same: For some time they remained outside, and Mr. Grousset talked with them. He spoke English very well, and seemed to be a man of much general information for one of his class, and in so remote a place. He was thoroughly simple-minded, however, unworldly, and guileless. At length he invited them all to come inside. Mr. Smith excused himself, as he had to go back to the mill; but the boys entered, and their host introduced them to his wife and granddaughter; who were in the house. The wife was about the same age as her husband, and the granddaughter was about eighteen. Her gentle face and sweet smile at once charmed all the boys, who saw in her a very good representative of Evangeline. Leaving the boys with his wife and granddaughter, the old man went out to give some directions about bringing up the luggage from the schooner. The boys would have been charmed to engage in conversation with the old lady and the young “Evangeline,” but unhappily this was not possible. The old lady and “Evangeline” could not speak a word of English, and the boys could not speak a word of French, and the consequence was, that they could only express their mutual good feeling by amiable smiles. Apart from the regret which this created in their minds, it was very pleasant for them thus to find themselves presented to an Acadian interior. It seemed as though they had been carried back into the past, and suddenly plunged into the midst of that old Acadian life which all of them loved so much to think about and talk about. Here were the old scenes of which they had read—the village—the house—the Acadian farmer—his family—and the crowning grace of all, the gentle Evangeline. The room into which they had been shown was a large one. At one end was an enormous fireplace, over which was a marble piece containing a store of curiosities, such as shells and stones of peculiar shape. There was no carpet on the floor, but a number of home-made rugs covered the middle of it. The chairs were old-fashioned, high-backed, rush-seated constructions, singularly comfortable, however, and in every way adapted to carry out the intention of a chair to the utmost perfection. A large wooden settee stood opposite the fireplace. Overhead the rafters were bare, and nails were driven in them, from which hung a store of domestic goods, such as skeins of yarn and flitches of bacon. The partitions of the room were of boards, and upon these were pasted a great variety of pictures, which Mr. Grousset had probably obtained from some stray illustrated paper, that had penetrated to this place, and fallen into his hands. These pictures had a modern character, which was somewhat out of keeping with the rest of the interior; but after all, there was a simplicity in such a mode of decoration which took away the sense of discord that might otherwise have been felt. After a short absence the old man returned, and, seating himself, began to talk with the boys, occasionally translating to his wife and granddaughter what they said. He asked them all where they came from, and Bart narrated their recent adventures, while the old man listened with the greatest interest. “We all belong to the same school,” said Bart, at length, in answer to the old man’s question; for he was puzzled to know how they had come together from such remote places. “We belong to the same school. Our school is in a place that you may have heard of. It is Grand PrÉ.” At this name the old man started and stared at them. “What?” he asked. “Grand PrÉ,” repeated Bart. “Grand PrÉ!” exclaimed the old man. “Grand PrÉ? What! On the Basin of Minas?” “Yes.” “Grand Ciel!” exclaimed the other. “And you have been there! And you have lived there! How easy it must be to go there! And I was never there—never! Alas! why did I not go to see, that place when I was a young man?” His emotion was so strong that his wife asked him the cause. He explained. And Bart noticed that the old lady and the granddaughter both looked at them with deeper interest as they repeated the name—Grand PrÉ! “None of my countrymen live there now, I suppose.” said the old man, looking at Bart interrogatively. Bart shook his head. “Ah, I thought so,” said the old man. “All gone. They had to go. They were banished. They dared not return to that place. They came back, but could not get their homes again. Their houses were burnt up, and their farms were given away to strangers. Ah, Grand Ciel! what injustice! And they so good, so pious, so innocent!” “They were shamefully wronged,” exclaimed Bart, in a burst of indignation,—“most shamefully, most foully wronged!” “True,” said the old man. “You are right. They were wronged. They were robbed. Ah, how I have heard my grandfather tell about that mournful day! How he loved that dear home in Grand PrÉ, which he never dared to revisit! He was a young man when he was driven away, and he lived to be an old man; but he never lost his love for his old home. He was always homesick; never content.” “Your grandfather!” said Bart, with the deepest interest. “Did he live in Grand PrÉ?” “He lived in Grand PrÉ,” said the old man. “He was one of those that the English drove away.” “And he must have been one of those who managed to come back again,” exclaimed Bart, eagerly. “I’ve heard that a great many found their way back from Massachusetts, from New York, from the Southern States, and even from the West India islands.” “Yes,” said the old man, “but my grandfather was never carried away. He escaped, and ran for his life. He was pursued, and almost caught; but by God’s help he was saved from his enemies, and came here, where he lived to grow old.” “Escaped?” said Bart. “O, how I wish you would tell us all about it!” The old man smiled. The eager faces of all the boys showed how deeply they were interested; and with such listeners as these it could not be otherwise than pleasant to tell a story.
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