THE STORY OF ACADIA.
Once upon a time, in a country in the north dwelt a very happy race of
people. The land did not lie so far north but that it had bright springs
and sunny summers, and all through the valleys lay pretty little
villages surrounded with orchards and fields and meadows. And little
dark-eyed children wandered through the orchards in the morning
sunshine, and broke off boughs of pink-tinted blossoms whereon the dew
lay not yet dried, and through green-carpeted fields, where the young
grain waved, and through the high meadow-grass, gathering daisies and
sweet, wild forget-me-nots. All day long the place was bright and happy
with children's faces and children's voices.
[Illustration: THE DRIVING OUT OF THE ACADIANS.]
The tiny streams that crept down from the mountains loved the little
faces that leaned over them, and the little hands that threw dainty
flowers on their merry, rippling waves; even the birds that flew down
into shady, silent corners to drink showed no fear if, perchance, they
found a little child there before them. The wind that sung through the
pines at the foot of the mountain sung only words of peace, and the
whole place seemed only to know blue skies, sweet fragrant breezes, and
floods of golden sunshine.
And when the bright, happy days came to an end, then the children would
gather on the doorsteps of the quaint little houses, and, while they
watched the moon rise large and silvery over the spire of the church,
they would listen to the stories told by their fathers and mothers of
the land beyond the great sea, which their ancestors had sailed away
from forever when they came to find a new home in this northern land.
The children dearly loved to hear the stories of that far-away France
which their great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers but dimly
remembered; for, although their own homes were in America, they always
thought of themselves as French. They knew nothing of England or
English customs, and English children would have seemed strangers to
them, while the little Indian boys and girls with whom they played
seemed dear and familiar friends; for in this northern land, which the
French people called Acadia because it was such a lovely and beautiful
place, the Indians had always been well treated by the whites, and they
were very fond of them in return.
The Indian children played in the streets with the French children, and
wandered with them through the meadows and forests. The Indian fathers
and mothers went to the village churches, and learned of the good
priests how to lead useful and happy lives; and they brought their
children to be baptized and confirmed, and wanted them to grow up
knowing how to live the same kind of lives that their little French
neighbors would live when they grew up.
And so for many years these people lived in this pleasant country, and
were contented and happy. But by and by trouble came. Acadia was taken
away from the French and given to the English, who sent their soldiers
there. The Acadians were very sorry for this; they did not want to
belong to England, for they were French and loved France. At that time
both England and France had armies in America, and both were trying to
get as much land as they could; and, as the English were the more
successful in this war, they got possession of Acadia and changed its
name to Nova Scotia.
Then there was an English governor sent there to rule the country; and,
although the Acadians loved the French, they promised not to help them,
but said they would give help neither to the English nor the French.
But the English were not satisfied with this. They were all the time
afraid that the Acadians would help the French. So one day the English
commander sent a fleet of vessels to Acadia, and all the Acadians were
told to gather in the churches and listen to the reading of some papers
that had been sent there by him; the Acadians came, but no sooner were
they all gathered together than the English soldiers drove them all down
to the harbor, where the ships lay. Then they were driven on the ships
in crowds, and neighbors and friends and families were all separated;
perhaps a father in one ship, a mother in another, and their children in
a third. There was no time to say good-by to their pretty little
homes--no time to say good-by to dear friends.
As soon as they had been crowded on the ships the soldiers set fire to
their homes, and soon the peaceful villages of Acadia were utterly
destroyed. Nothing remained of the once lovely place but heaps of ashes,
burned fields, and desolate tracts of country.
The ships sailed away to different ports, and the Acadians were
scattered all over the country. Friends who had been separated often
never met again, and the little boys and girls who had played so happily
in the green fields of Acadia were now to go sorrowing all their lives
for the dear playmates they would never see again.
It was a very cruel thing to do. It was an act unworthy the heart of an
English soldier, who could not but remember his own home in fair, green
England. It was something that the English ought to have been ashamed
to do, for the Acadians were a peaceful people and not likely to make
them any trouble.
But sometimes, in war, men forget that they are men, and act cruelly and
wrongly; and that is what the English did when they drove the Acadians
from their homes to wander homeless and poor and sad all over the
country.
If you should go to Nova Scotia to-day you would not find the Acadia of
that far-off time. The country is English now, and the only memories of
Acadia are those that linger in the lonely mountain echoes, in the sad
sighing of the pines, in the wild flowers of the meadow, which make you
think of the children that once played there; in the soft murmur of the
streams, which seem to sing, as you listen, long-forgotten tunes; and in
the deep roar of the sea, on whose waves the Acadians were borne away
forever from that beautiful, happy land which became but a dream of the
past.