_EVANGELINE'S RETURN._
"Along my father's dykes I roam again,
Among the willows by the river-side.
These miles of green I know from hill to tide
And every creek and river's ruddy stain.
Neglected long and shunned, our dead here lain.
Here where a people's dearest hope has died,
Alone of all their children scattered wide,
I scan the sad memorials that remain.
The dykes wave with the grass, but not for me,
The oxen stir not while this stranger calls.
From these new homes upon the green hill-side,
Where speech is strange and this new people free,
No voice cries out in welcome; for these halls
Give food and shelter where I may not bide."
Early next morning the residents of Pierre Island, including old
Suzanne, and their American friends and a number of visitors from the
hotel were on board a large and powerful tugboat engaged for the purpose
of taking them to Grand-Pré. It was a pleasant party. Merry laughter and
conversation were heard from every part of the boat. Under the morning
sun that filled with glorious light the clear air, the whole blue sheet
of the Basin spread before them, and the white fog-veil of Blomidon
slowly melted away. The warm day lay open and full of delightful
repose, giving of its best everywhere. When at its best the glory of a
Nova Scotia day on the Basin of Minas is not to be equalled anywhere for
balmy freshness on the swelling flood of a Fundy tide fresh from the
ocean. Its cool, salty depths were clean and fleet to-day on its errand
to the marsh country of Grand-Pré.
Tide and steam were united in accomplishing the journey between
Cumberland Hills and Horton Heights. On the east the tide sped up into
the Cobequid Bay, where the land was lost sight of altogether. On the
west Blomidon lay like a sleeping beast. Where it sloped down to the
beginning of the more level country of farms and orchards the Cornwallis
Valley opens up. Here begin the red banks and dyked levels of the marsh
country. The blue tide has now its fringe of red run into its pure ocean
color from the alluvial deposits that fill all the river ways, many of
them running to the sea. As their course took them farther south the
fringe became broader, and doubling Kingsport Point long wedges of salt
marsh cut into the tide until their sedgy growth lay completely buried
by the current. The whole body of water around the boat was now red, and
the headlands were of the same color, and were cut down almost
perpendicular by the action of the sea.
The boat has now reached the Grand-Pré country. Pierre pointed out to
Winslow, who stood ever at his side, the different rivers, and where the
dykes ran, and the location of the many Acadian villages. On the west
were Habitant and Canard, once large rivers, but now dyked in and made
fruitful even to the bottom of the ancient channels. Here the dykes
crossed the rivers, and shut out the salt water. The Cornwallis on the
north-west, and the Avon on the east, with the historic Gaspereau
between them, yet flowed untrammelled by any obstruction, the winding
dykes following the sinuosities of the rivers, which were lost to view
up the valleys whence they came.
The wooded land in front is Long Island. Quickly the boat goes with the
tide till the island is on the right, and entering the mouth of the
Gaspereau, the Grand-Pré meadows lie before them, stretching level
between Long Island and the upland on the south. Here centre the events
of the story of Evangeline. Here was the Grand-Pré of a prosperous and
happy people. Here was the Grand-Pré made desolate and lost to its
people. Here is the Grand-Pré of another race, rich, beautiful, and for
ever to be known in its sad story.
The steamer was soon at the pier inside the broad mouth of the river
Gaspereau. Here were the Acadian people taken aboard the vessels by
boats under the careless eyes of the soldiery, who did not understand
their language and gave little heed to their grief. The season was cold
and late. The work was to be done, and the sooner over the better, after
the tedious delay of getting enough ships for the purpose, and being
kept in the country when they were looking forward to the time when they
might return to their homes. The people were hurried off, and the work
promised to be over with soon. The mornings were now unpleasantly cold
after uncomfortable nights in the canvas tents, and the ground was often
frozen. They were too glad to escape, and short work they made of
bustling the poor people into the ships. As there were not enough
vessels to take the people comfortably, they had to be stowed away as
well as possible in the few there were.
After viewing the scene, the whole party took the road along which the
Acadians came to the beach, and in a short time arrived at Grand-Pré. By
the row of French willows which the people had set out near the church,
they now stood to look up the gentle slope covered with fruit trees, and
beautiful with the young green of the year's crops. Here had stood the
village of Grand-Pré. Between the slope and the willows Colonel Winslow
had picketed his camp.
"Evangeline has returned to Grand-Pré," said Miss Forest, taking Marie's
hand as she spoke, "after an absence of a century and a half."
"Only to look upon her fathers' home," said Pierre, who stood near;
"only to stand near the graves of her ancestors, unmarked even by a
mound. Only to gaze into the hollow of a cellar once the foundation of a
Gotro home, or upon the deathless willow that grew in the place of a
people's love and marked the home of a trustful peasantry. To our name
has the Acadian Grand-Pré descended, but the Acadian Grand-Pré is no
more."
His friends listened to his words in silence, and appreciated the
feelings of the venerable old man, embodying in himself the convictions
of thousands of his race, their humility and calm, their melancholy
patience, the later generations of the Acadian people. They now wandered
over the ground near the willows where stood the church of St. Charles,
which had served as the prison for the four hundred and twenty-four male
inhabitants from ten years and upwards. They walked up the slope on the
old French road, while the last Gotro, the heir to Grand-Pré, pointed
out the homes of his ancestors. At last, from the hill they looked over
the vast stretch of dykeland and the numerous lines of dyke which had
been thrown up one beyond the other till the whole meadow had been
enclosed.
Winslow and Miss Gaston found themselves a little apart from the others,
the first time they had been alone since they had separated on the beach
at Pierre Island the day before.
"Mr. Winslow, will you permit me to say it, I think we have united our
interest in Marie. I feel that this makes a bond between us which I am
sure cannot be without value to either of us. I dare to believe that I
may rightfully hold this opinion. Am I right?"
"I cannot relinquish my service to the daughter of my friend Pierre. I
can share it with you with pleasure and in all confidence."
"I am very glad of it," she returned. "I must believe that our united
service is acceptable to Marie, as well as to her father. She accepts
yours no less than mine."
"I must take this opportunity to say good-bye, Miss Gaston. I shall not
return by the boat, as I go by train from here."
The approach of their friends prevented any further conversation of a
personal or private nature, and with many expressions of regret and
surprise on all sides, he boarded the train which soon arrived, and was
taken from among them.
Marie and Miss Gaston clung to each other almost as mother and child. In
Marie's eyes was the story of her grief. In her friend's heart was the
sad doubt that had come into it from the sudden departure of Winslow.
From that day began the patient waiting of the mourning Evangeline and
the long absence of her Gabriel.