THE HOME OF EVANGELINE
One day in the year 1755 consternation and dismay invaded every heart
in what is now Nova Scotia, the large peninsula on the east of Canada
that fronts the fierce Atlantic gales, and bears the full brunt of
their fury without murmur or groan. At that time the inhabitants were
nearly all, like those of Quebec and the St. Lawrence shore,
descendants of people who came from France, more especially from
Brittany and Normandy. Originally the country was called Acadia. It
was James I. of England who changed that name to Nova Scotia, which is
Latin, and means "New Scotland." But though the name of the country
was changed, the people had not changed. They, like the habitants of
the St. Lawrence shore, clung tenaciously to the customs and habits of
their forefathers, and grew up in each successive generation with a
passionate devotion for their mother-tongue, and a no less deep love
for the land of their birth, _Acadie_.
The cause of the intense sorrow, rage, and despair which seized the
inhabitants of this happy and prosperous community on the day mentioned
was a proclamation of the British Governor. The countries of France
and England had long been at war together, and for many years
hostilities had waged with more or less bitterness between the
colonists of the two countries settled in America. The Acadians were
accused of having lent assistance in provisions and ammunition to the
French at the siege of Beauséjour. It was resolved to punish them for
their disloyal conduct, for they were at that time subjects of the King
of England. Accordingly, all the men were suddenly seized and put into
prison, and the women and children were ordered to gather, with their
household effects, on the seashore. Then, despite their weeping and
their grief, they were put on board the vessels of war, and taken away
to the other British colonies in America all the way from the New
England States to Jamaica. It is the fate of certain villagers of
Grand Pré, who were taken away from their homes at this time, that
Longfellow tells us about in his beautiful poem of "Evangeline."
"In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré
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 the farmer had raised with labour 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 mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended.
There, in the midst of its farm, 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 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 maids 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.
Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and maidens,
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome.
Then came the labourers 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."
No wonder, then, there was lamentation and weeping and woe when these
poor people were torn so cruelly away from the homes where they had
been so happy! Where, indeed, can you find a more beautiful picture of
human happiness, peace, and contentment than this Acadian village of
Grand-Pré?