would be a delicate, a considerate, and a grateful act, if he were to
prepare a dinner for the ship’s company, and have it ready for them on
their return. An examination of the stores showed him various things
which his skill could combine into palatable dishes; but some thing was
still wanting; and it seemed to him that nothing could so well supply
that want as the fragrant and aromatic flavor of broiled trout. In
the brooks that meandered through the surrounding country, trout were
plentiful; and if he should now go after some, it would not only be in
the line of his duty, but he would also be able to fill up the time in
the pleasantest possible way.
So Solomon prepared his lines, which he had carried in his pocket ever
since the day when they had started off after Phil, and rowing back to
the shore, he walked back over the road till he came to a stream which
he remembered, for by that very stream he had made his escape from the
woods. Up this he went, and having cut a rod from the woods suitable for
his purposes, he proceeded up the stream in search of fish.
After an absence of several hours, he emerged once more from the woods,
at the mouth of the stream. An ecstatic smile illumined his dusky
countenance, his steps were light and active, and from time to time he
cast proud and happy glances at something which he carried in his hand.
And, in truth, that burden which he bore was worthy of exciting pride
and happiness in any bosom, for there, strung on a willow twig, were two
noble salmon, of fine proportions, sufficient for the dinner of a large
company.
With these Solomon returned to the schooner, and in due time readied it.
He then prepared the fish, and kindled the fire, and began the important
and exciting business of cooking them. While engaged upon this, however,
an idea seized upon him which sent him off into fits, in the shape of
one of those breakdowns, by which he was accustomed to let off steam.
This was what he did.
He undressed himself.
He looked all around very stealthily, and saw no signs of any human
being.
Then he jumped into the boat, sculled it ashore to the place where he
had found it, tied it to the tree, and threw the oar inside.
Then he jumped into the water, and swam back to the schooner.
Then he dressed himself.
And then, in the solitude of that lonely hold, he once more let
off steam, and proceeded to indulge in a breakdown, which was more
prolonged, more enthusiastic, more sustained, more vehement, more
emotional, more expressive, more African, more hilarious, and at the
same time more perfectly outrageous and insane than all the other
breakdowns put together.
After which he subsided into a comparative calm, and resumed his
professional duties.
Thus the hours of the day passed away, and at length evening began to
draw near.
It was near sundown when there emerged from the woods the party that had
gone into them in the morning. They were all there. None were missing.
There were--
The Priest,
Captain Corbet,
Mr. Wade,
Bruce,
Arthur,
Bart,
Tom,
Phil,
Pat.
They were not talkative; they were not demonstrative; but walked along
in silence. They came out of the woods about a quarter of a mile away
from the house, and in this silent and dejected way they walked towards
the place where the boat was. Whether that silence and dejection arose
from their disappointment at not finding Solomon, or simply from the
fatigue of a long tramp, with nothing in particular to eat, need not now
be considered; suffice it to say, that they were silent, and they
were dejected; and what is more, they were all in a state of perfect
starvation.
“The boat can’t take more’n half of us at a time,” said Captain Corbet.
“You, boys, choose among yerselves who’ll go fust.”
“Won’t you come now?” asked Bart of the priest.
“O, no,” said he. “I’ll wait. I must see about my horse. You go, and
I’ll be ready the next time.”
“Sure an I’ll wait too, an help ye wid the horse,” said Pat, who had so
utterly overcome his fears of the “leper praist” that he had struck up
a violent friendship with him. And no wonder, for the “praist” was a man
after Pat’s own heart--warmhearted, cordial, affectionate, brave, and
modest; a man who loved his fellow-men, and gave himself up to them,
even if they were abhorred lepers; and who now was putting himself to no
end of fatigue and trouble for the sake of the lost companion of a set
of harum-scarum boys. Amid all this, he never ceased to cheer them up,
to stimulate their flagging energies, to inspire them with hope,
to rouse the manliest feelings of their generous young natures. And
therefore it was that Pat fell in love with him.
Captain Corbet was not anxious to go, and so it happened that Bruce,
Arthur, Tom, Phil, and Bart got into the boat, and made the first trip,
with the understanding that Bruce was to come back for the others.
The boat approached the schooner.
As they drew near they became suddenly aware of an odor that was
wafted to their nostrils--an odor penetrating, aromatic, fragrant, and
delicious beyond all description to their famished senses; an odor
that was suggestive of some great banquet; an odor so rich that these
starving boys felt as though they might almost feed upon it.
They looked up in astonishment. They saw that smoke was issuing from the
pipe that projected above the schooner’s deck.
Some one was on board, and some one had made a fire. Some one was
cooking. Who was that some one? How did he get on board? What did it all
mean?
Such were the questions that each one asked himself; but none of them
spoke, for in fact their amazement was too great to allow them to utter
any audible words. Bruce, who was sculling, worked harder than ever,
twisting his head around at the same time that he tried to see who the
mysterious being was that had got on board the schooner. The others all
stared in the same direction; but to no purpose, for no one was visible.
At last the boat touched the schooner’s side, and they all clambered
upon the deck. Bruce was last, and had to wait a moment to fasten the
boat. When he had done this he sprang down into the hold.
He there beheld an astonishing sight. There were Arthur, and Bart, and
Tom, and Phil, close beside him, staring in silent wonder at a figure
beside the cooking-stove; while the figure beside the cooking-stove
stood with a ladle in one hand, and a dish cover in the other, enveloped
in the aromatic vapor of a broiling salmon, staring at them in equal
wonder.
“Mas’r Bart! Mas’r Phil! De sakes now!”
The ladle and the dish cover dropped from his hands. He had expected
to see only the two Rawdons and Tom; but he saw Bart and Phil also.
Consequently he was overwhelmed.
“Solomon!” cried the boys; and hurrying forward, they grasped one after
another his trembling, and perhaps slightly greasy hands.
“B’lubb’d bruddrn ob de Bee-see dubble ’Sociatium,” said Solomon
at last, in a voice that was tremulous with emotion, and with slight
indications of an approach to another breakdown. “Dis yer’s a great an
shinin casium. De sperinces we ben an had beat all creatium. We ben a
racin an a chasin arter one anoder in a way dat makes my ole head ache
to tink ob. An den to tink ob me gettin lost, and de last ob all de
venters to hab youns a marchin an a sarchin arter me! An me a huntin
roun for Mas’r Bart, an a comin dis way on de ole schooner! An den
to fine youns all heah, in good helf an sperits! B’lubb’d bruddrn, de
’motions dat’spire dis yer wenebble ole breast ain’t spressible no
ways. Durin de lass few weeks I ben called on to suffer ’flictiums,
but I nebber knowed anytin like de ’citement dat I now feels a surgin
an cumulatin inside o’ me. O, you get out! Go way, now! Sakes
alive! Ye-e-e-e-p! Hi--ya-a-a-a-h! Hi-i-i-i-i-i--ya-a-a-a-a-a-a-a
a-a-a-a-a-a-a-h!”
And Solomon here burst forth in a breakdown so tremendous and so absurd,
that the boys first started back, and then all burst into roars of
laughter, and laughed till they cried.
After which Bruce went back for the others, and brought them to the
schooner, and they all ate of Solomon’s banquet and were refreshed; and
the priest staid all night, and on the following morning bade them an
affectionate adieu; and shortly after the Antelope spread her white
wings to the breeze, and slowly, but gracefully, passed over the waters
of Tracadie lagoon, to the outer seas.
XXII.
_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._
IT was a beautiful morning; the wind blew fair, and the blue waters
of the Gulf of St. Lawrence spread far away before them as they left
Tracadie. Reunited so strangely after such wonderful adventures, they
had not yet satisfied their curiosity; but each one had still something
to ask the other. Pat had to tell once more the cause of his desertion;
Solomon had to explain his wanderings; Bart had another account to give;
while, above all, Phil had to recount, for the hundredth time, the whole
story of his adventures in the woods. The venerable Corbet, assisted by
his mate, Wade, navigated the vessel; Solomon resumed his duties in the
hold over the cooking-stove; while the eager boys gathered in knots to
talk over the inexhaustible themes above mentioned.
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:
“There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village;
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of
chestnut,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the days of the
Henrys.
There, in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the
sunset
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chim
neys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white cap, 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.
Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and
maidens,
Hailing his slow approach with words of affeetionate 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 ascend
ing,
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and con
tentment.
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 dwells with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of repub
lics.
Neither looks had they to their doors, nor bars to their win
dows;
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the
owners.
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abun
dance.”
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:
“Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea, and a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing
around it.
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a foot
path
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 road-side,
Built o’er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary.
Farther down on the slope of the hill was the well, with its
moss-grown
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses.
Shielding the house from storms, on the north were the barns
and the farm-yard.
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 self
same
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-cot stood, with its meek and innocent
inmates,
Murmuring ever of love; while above, in the variant breezes,
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.
Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of
Grand Pré
Lived on his sunny farm.”
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.