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OVER THE BORDER
ACADIA
THE HOME OF "EVANGELINE"
BY Eliza Chase
"Here lies the East...does not the day break here?"
JULIUS CAESAR, II
CONTENTS.
THE BAY OF FUNDY
THE BASIN OF MINAS
PORT ROYAL
ANNAPOLIS
DIGBY
HALIFAX
GRAND PRÉ
CLARE
L'ISLE DES MONTS DESERTS
CHRONOLOGY.
DATE
1604. De Monts' first landing on Eastern coast. (May 16)
1604. De Monts and suite arrive at Port Royal. (about June 1)
1606. De Monts returns from France with supplies for his colony.
1606. Port Royal abandoned.
1610. Return of De Poutrincourt.
1612. Jesuit priests sent oat from France. (Founding of St. Sauveur
colony at Mt Desert)
1613. Destruction of Port Royal by Argall. (after breaking up settlement
at Mt. Desert)
1628. Scotch colony broken up at Port Royal.
1634. Port Royal held by French under De Razilly.
1647. Feud between La Tour and D'Aulnay.
1654. Port Royal under Le Borgne yields to English.
1684. Incursions of pirates.
1690. Sir Wm. Phipps captures and pillages Port Royal.
1691. Port Royal held by French under De Villebon.
1707. Unsuccessfully besieged.
1710. Bombarded by seven English ships; the fort yields, name changed to
Annapolis Royal.
1713. Treaty of Utrecht, ceding Acadia to the English.
1727,1728. Oath of allegiance exempting French Acadians from taking arms
against France.
1744. Port Royal bombarded and besieged three months.
1745. De Ramezay's unsuccessful attack.
1755. Forts Beau-Séjour and Gaspereau taken by Moncton.
1755. Dispersion of the "Neutrals".
1763. Return of exiles, and founding of coast settlements. Treaty
between France and England
1781. Annapolis Royal surprised and taken by two war ships.
1850. Last occupation (by military force) of old fort at Annapolis.
INTRODUCTION
In the rooms of the Historical Society, in Boston, hangs a portrait of
a distinguished looking person in quaint but handsome costume of antique
style. The gold embroidered coat, long vest with large and numerous
buttons, elegant cocked hat under the arm, voluminous white scarf and
powdered peruke, combine to form picturesque attire which is most
becoming to the gentleman therein depicted, and attract attention to
the genial countenance, causing the visitor to wonder who this can be,
so elaborately presented to the gaze.
A physiognomist would not decide upon such representation as a
"counterfeit presentment" of the tyrannical leader of the expedition
which enforced the cruel edict of exile,--
"In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas; where
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand Pré
Lay in the fruitful valley."
Yet this is Lieutenant-Colonel John Winslow, great-grandson of one of
the founders of the Plymouth Settlement. Could _he_ forget that his
ancestors fled from persecution, and came to this country to find
peaceful homes?
It was not his place to make reply, or reason why when receiving orders,
however; and it seems that the task imposed was a distasteful one; as,
at the time of the banishment, he earnestly expressed the desire "to be
rid of the worst piece of service" he "ever was in."
He said also of the unhappy people at that time, "It hurts me to hear
their weeping and wailing." So we conclude that the pleasant face did
not belie the heart which it mirrored.
It is a singular coincidence that, for being hostile to their country
at the time of the Revolution, his own family were driven into exile
twenty years after the deportation of the unhappy French people.
Have not even the most prosaic among us some love of poesy, though
unacknowledged? And who, in romantic youth or sober age, has not been
touched by the tragic story of the dispersion of the people who
"dwelt together in love, those simple Acadian farmers,--
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics.
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows,
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of their owners;
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance."
Of the name Acadia, Principal Dawson says in "Canadian Antiquities--,
that "it signifies primarily a place or region, and, in combination
with other words, a place of plenty or abundance; ..." a name most
applicable to a region which is richer in the 'chief things of the
ancient mountains, the precious things of the lasting hills, and the
precious things of the earth and of the deep that coucheth beneath',
than any other portion of America of similar dimensions."
We naturally infer that the name is French; but our researches prove
that it was originally the Indian _Aquoddie_, a pollock,--not a poetic
or romantic significance. This was corrupted by the French into
_Accadie, L'Acadie, Cadie_.
So little originality in nomenclature is shown in America, that we
could desire that Indian names should be retained; that is, when not too
long, or harsh in sound; yet in _this_ case we are inclined to rejoice
at the change from the aboriginal to the more musical modern title.
Though a vast extent of territory was once embraced under that name, it
is now merely a rather fanciful title for a small part of the Province
of Nova Scotia.
Acadia! The Bay of Fundy! There's magic even in the names; the very
sound of them calling up visions of romance, and causing anticipations
of amazing displays of Nature's wonders. Fundy! The marvel of our
childhood, filling the mind's eye in those early school days with that
astounding picture,--a glittering wall of green crystal, anywhere from
ten to one hundred feet in height, advancing on the land like the march
of a mighty phalanx, as if to overwhelm and carry all before it! Had it
not been our dream for years to go there, and prove to our everlasting
satisfaction whether childish credulity had been imposed upon?
Our proposed tourists, eight in number, being a company with a leaning
towards music, bound to be harmonious, desiring to study the Diet-tome
as illustrated by the effects of country fare and air, consolidate under
the title of the Octave. The chaperone, who we all know is a dear, is
naturally called "Do"(e); one, being under age, is dubbed the Minor
Third; while the exclamatory, irrepressible, and inexhaustible members
from the Hub are known as "La" and "Si."
Having decided upon our objective point, the next thing is to find out
how to reach it; and here, at the outset, we are surprised at the
comparative ignorance shown regarding a region which, though seemingly
distant, is in reality so accessible. We are soon inclined to quote
from an old song,--
"Thou art so near and yet so far,"
as our blundering investigations seem more likely to prove how not to
get anywhere!
But we set to work to accumulate railroad literature in the shape of
maps, schedules, excursion books; and these friendly little pamphlets
prove delightful pathfinders, convincing us how readily all tastes can
be suited; as some wish to go by water, some by land, and some by "a
little of both." Thus, those who are on good terms with old Neptune may
take a pleasant voyage of twenty-six hours direct from Boston to the
distant village of Annapolis, Nova Scotia, which is our prospective
abiding place; while those who prefer can have "all rail route," or, if
more variety is desired, may go by land to St. John, New Brunswick, and
thence by steamboat across the Bay of Fundy. At last the company departs
on its several ways, and in sections, that the dwellers in that remote
old town of historic interest may not be struck breathless by such an
invasion of foreigners.
The prime mover of the expedition, having already traveled as far east
as Bangor, commences the journey at night from that city. Strange to
say, no jar or unusual sensation is experienced when the iron horse
passes the boundary; nor is anything novel seen when the train known as
the "Flying Yankee" halts for a brief breathing spell at MacAdam
Station. A drowsy voice volunteers the information: "It is a forsaken
region here." Another of our travelers replies, "Appearances certainly
indicate that the Colossus of _Roads_ is absent, and it is to be hoped
that he is mending his ways elsewhere." Then the speakers, tipping their
reclining chairs to a more recumbent posture, drift off to the Land of
Nod.
With morning comes examination of travelers' possessions at the custom
house, with amusing exhibitions of peculiarly packed boxes and bags,
recalling funny episodes of foreign tours, while giving to this one a
novel character; then the train speeds on for seven hours more.
THE BAY OF FUNDY.
Ere long singular evidence of proximity to the wonderful tides of the
Bay of Fundy is seen, as all the streams show sloping banks,
stupendously muddy; mud reddish brown in color, smooth and oily looking,
gashed with seams, and with a lazily moving rivulet in the bed of the
stream from whence the retreating tide has sucked away the volume of
water.
"What a Paradise for bare-footed boys, and children with a predilection
for mud pies!" exclaims one of the tourists; while the other--the
practical, prosaic--remarks, "It looks like the chocolate frosting of
your cakes!" for which speech a shriveling look is received.
This great arm of the sea, reaching up so far into the land, and which
tried to convert Nova Scotia into an island (as man proposes to make
it, by channeling the isthmus), was known to early explorers as La Baie
Françoise, its present cognomen being a corruption of the French,
_Fond-de-la Baie_.
Being long, narrow, and running into the land like a tunnel, the tide
rises higher and higher as it ascends into the upper and narrowest
parts; thus in the eastern arm, the Basin of Minas, the tidal swell
rises forty feet, sometimes fifty or more in spring.
In Chignecto Bay, which extends in a more northerly direction from the
greater bay, the rise has been known to reach seventy feet in spring,
though it is usually between fifty and sixty at other times. Here, in
the estuary of the Petitcodiac, where the river meets the wave of the
tide, the volumes contending cause the Great Bore, as it is called; and
as in this region the swine wade out into the mud in search of shell
fish, they are sometimes swept away and drowned. The Amazon River also
has its Bore; the Indians, trying to imitate the sound of the roaring
water, call it "pororoca."
In the Hoogly it is shown; and in a river of China, the Teintang, it
advances up the stream at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour, causing
a rise of thirty feet. In some northern countries the Bore is called
the Eagre. Octavia says this must be because it screws its way so
_eagerly_ into the land, but is immediately suppressed, and informed
that the name is a corruption of Oegir, the Scandinavian god of the sea,
of whom we learn as follows:--
Odin, the father of the gods, creator of the world, possessing greatest
power and wisdom, holds the position in Scandinavian mythology that Zeus
does in the Greek. Like the Olympian Jupiter, he held the thunder bolts
in his hand; but differed from the more inert divinity of Greece in
that, arrayed in robes of cloud, he rode through the universe on his
marvelous steed, which had eight feet. This idea was characteristic of a
hardy race living a wild outdoor life in a rigorous climate. Oegir, the
god of the sea, was a jotun, but friendly to Odin. The jotuns were
giants, and generally exerted their powers to the injury of man, but,
not being gifted with full intelligence, could be conquered by men. The
first jotun, named Ymer, Odin subdued, and of his flesh formed the
earth, of his bones the mountains; the ocean was his blood, his brains
the clouds, while from his skull the arch of the heavens was made.
We resolved to witness the singular spectacle of the Oegir of Fundy;
but, not receiving answer to our application for accommodations at
Moncton, proceeded on our way, consoling ourselves with the thought that
we could see a bore any day, without taking any special pains or going
much out of our way.
The Basin of Minas! What a "flood of thoughts" rise at the name. Fancy
paints dreamy and fascinating pictures of the fruitful and verdant
meadow land, the hills, the woods, the simple hearted, childlike
peasants; upright, faithful, devout, leading blameless lives of placid
serenity:
"At peace with God and the world."
It seemed that there must be some means of crossing the beauteous Basin
whence the broken hearted exiles sailed away so sadly; and that any
tourist with a particle of romance or sentiment in his composition would
gladly make even a wide detour to visit it. Therefore we were surprised
to learn that railroad schedules said nothing of this route, and that
it seemed almost unknown to summer pleasure seekers. Not to be deterred,
however, what better can one do than write direct for information to
Parrsboro,--a pretty village, which is the nearest point to the Basin.
Thus we learn that a short railway, connecting with the Intercolonial,
will convey us thither, though not a road intended for passenger
service.
"It will only add to the novelty and interest of our tour," we say. We
rather hope it will prove a very peculiar road, and are prepared for
discomfort which we do not find; although, at Spring Hill, the point of
divergence from the main line, such a queer train is waiting, that one
exclaims, "Surely we have come into the backwoods at last!"
The car is divided in the middle, the forward part devoted to baggage,
while in the rear portion, on extremely low backed and cushion less
seats, beside tiny, shade less windows, sit the passengers. And such
passengers! We mentally ejaculate something about "Cruikshank's
caricatures come to life." With much preliminary clanking of chains, a
most dolorous groaning and creaking of the strange vehicle, a shudder
and jar, the train is in motion, and slowly proceeding through densely
wooded and wild country,--a coal and lumber district, where only an
occasional log house relieves the monotony of the scene,--log huts which
look as if they have strayed away from the far South and dropped down in
this wilderness. At intervals, with a convulsive jerk which brings to
their feet some new travelers on this peculiar line, the train halts to
take on lumber; and one of our tourists remarks, "This old thing starts
like an earthquake, and stops as if colliding with a stone wall;" and
continues: "Do you think the poet who longed for 'a lodge in some vast
wilderness', would have been satisfied with this?" Without waiting for
a reply, the next remark is: "We are looking for summer accommodations;
don't you think we could find board cheap here?" The prosaic one,
ignoring such an attempt at pleasantry, replies, "Five dollars per
thousand feet, I have been told."
When the conductor, in a huge straw hat and rough suit, sans collar or
cravat, comes to collect tickets, the satirical one asks, "Will he
punch them with his penknife, or clip them with a pair of old scissors?"
We have
"Heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,
That was built in such a logical way
It ran a hundred years to a day,"
and conclude that the S. H. & P. R. R. resembles it somewhat; and that,
although there is a "general flavor of mild decay" about it in some
respects, it will not be in danger of wearing out from high rate of
speed; but who cares about _time_ when on a holiday?
At last, in the distance, a range of blue hills becomes visible, with a
faint, far gleam of water; and, as the blue line abruptly descends to
the glistening streak below, we know in an instant what that promontory
must be, and ecstatically quote with one voice,--
"Away to the northward Blomidon rose,"
regardless of geography, as that Cape happens, in this case, to be
south of us.
Having received information by mail that "hosses and carages" are to be
found at Parrsboro, and that the sailing of the steamer is "rooled by
the tide," eager looks are cast about on alighting at that charming
village, the natives of which, to our surprise, are not backwoodsmen or
rough countrymen. Mine host, genial and gentlemanly, becomes visible;
and we are soon bowling merrily along through the neat village, the
picturesque country beyond, and are set down at a refreshingly
old-timey inn directly on the shore of the Basin of Minas, which bursts
suddenly upon the view, amazing one by its extent and beauty. We exclaim
in surprise, "Why, it looked no larger than one's thumb nail on the
map!"
THE BASIN OF MINAS
A curving beach with rolling surf, a long and very high pier, showing
the great rise of the tide,--at this point sixty feet in the spring,--
and directly before one the peculiarly striking promontory of Blomidon,
with the red sandstone showing through the dark pines clothing his
sides, and at his feet a powerful "rip" tossing the water into chopped
seas; a current so strong that a six-knot breeze is necessary to carry
a vessel through the passage which here opens into the Bay of Fundy.
This is the place where schedules said nothing of a boat to convey the
tourist across the inland sea--of thirty miles' width--to the railroad
on its south shore,--the line which bears on its rolling stock the
ominous initials W. A. R, but passes through the most peaceful country
nevertheless. Yet our genial host's assurances that such a vessel will
come are not to be doubted; and, after a dainty repast, a group sits on
the pier, watching ghostly ships and smaller craft emerge from and
vanish into the mist. As the mists disperse and the moon comes out
clearly, it reveals the "Hiawatha" approaching,--a graceful propeller
of five hundred tons burden, and one hundred and some odd feet in
length.
Partridge Island, which is close at hand, commands exceptionally fine
views, as Blomidon does also; the famous Capes d'Or and Chignecto, seven
hundred and thirty to eight hundred feet high, with Advocate Harbor,
are within pleasant driving distance. There are twenty varieties of
minerals on Blomidon; as many more, with jaw-testing names, on Partridge
Island "and thereabout"; so in this locality a geologist would become
quite ecstatic. Some of the finest marine scenery of the Provinces, as
well as lovely inland views and the noted and singular Five Islands, can
be seen within a radius of twenty miles.
"No country is of much interest until legends and poetry have draped it
in hues that mere nature cannot produce," says a pleasant modern
writer.
Geologists believe that the range of hills known as the North Mountain
was once a long narrow island, and that a shoal gradually formed near
Blomidon, in time filling in until that headland became part of the
mainland.
This striking cape, five hundred and seventy feet high, one would
naturally expect to find associated with strange wild myths of the
aborigines; and
"Ye who love a nation's legends,
That like voices from afar off
Call to us to pause and listen,"
attend then!
It seems that this was the favorite resort of Glooscap, the Indian
giant, who, like "Kwasind the Strong Man," in "Hiawatha," entered into
a fierce combat here with the Great Beaver (Ahmeek, King of the Beavers,
is spoken of in that same poem), and contended with the gigantic
creature in similar manner, throwing huge masses of rock, which, falling
in the water, became, in this case, the Five Islands. The Indian legend
says that at this point a stupendous dam was built by the Great Beaver;
and because this was flooding the Cornwallis valley, Glooscap, whose
supernatural power was unlimited, broke and bent it into its present
shape, forming Cape Blomidon, afterwards strewing the promontory with
gems, some of which he carried away to adorn "his mysterious female
companion." Here also he held a wonderful feast with another giant; and,
ordinary fish not sufficing to satisfy their enormous appetites, the two
embarked in a stone canoe, sailed out into the Great Lake of Uniras, as
they called the Basin, and there speared a whale, which they brought
to the shore and devoured at short notice. The approach of the white man
causing the Indian giant to desert his old haunts, he sailed out on the
great water and vanished from sight; but some day, when men and animals
live together in peace and friendship, he will return and resume his
royal sway on the Basin of Minas. Before his departure he gave a
farewell feast to all the animals, who swarmed from all over the
country, turned his dogs into stone, and left his kettle overturned in
the shape of an island near Cape Spencer, across Minas Channel. Since
that time the loons, who were his hunters, wander sadly about the
wildest lakes and rivers, searching for their master, uttering their
dolorous cries; and the owls keep up their part of the lament, crying
"Koo koo skoos," which, being Indian language, they evidently learned
from the giant, and, being interpreted, signified "I am sorry."
The crown of France is adorned with a fine amethyst from Blomidon; and
those early explorers, De Monts and Co., "found in the neighborhood" (of
Parrsboro) "crystals and blue stones of a shining colour, similar in
appearance to those known by the name of Turkeese." One of the company,
"having found a beautiful specimen of this kind, broke it into two
pieces, and gave one to De Monts, and the other to Poutrincourt, who,
on their return to Paris, had them handsomely set by a jeweler, and
presented them to the King and Queen."
At the base of Cape d'Or there is a very powerful current with great
maelstroms; this is known as the Styx, and through these terrible
whirlpools two fishermen were carried this season (1883), one losing his
life; while the other, an expert swimmer and athlete, was saved by less
than a hair's breadth, and afterwards described most thrillingly his
sensations on being drawn into and ejected from the frightful vortices.
Just at daybreak, when Blomidon looks out all glowing from the gauzy
veil of mist, as the lazy zephyr wafts it aside, and the placid water
repeats the glorious tints of radiant clouds, we regretfully take our
departure. Cape Sharp and Cape Split, bold promontories which stand like
mighty sentinels guarding the entrance to the Bay of Fundy, appear in
clearest azure and violet; while the mountains of the north shore are
sharply defined in pure indigo against the brilliant sky, as the
propeller steams away. The sail across, two hours and a half in length,
is a vision of ideal and poetic beauty, all too brief; and as we step
ashore we feel tempted to quote, "Take, oh boatman, thrice thy fee!"
At this point (Hantsport) we take the W. and A. R. R, and in a few hours
are set down at the place which we have been so long planning to reach;
the place of which our host, who is probably not familiar with the
history of St. Augustine, Florida, wrote proudly as "the oldest town in
North America."
It certainly is one of the oldest settlements in North America, having
been founded in 1604, and, until 1750, it was the capital of the whole
peninsula of Nova Scotia: Annapolis,--the old Port Royal, the historical
town which has been the scene of so many struggles and bitter
contentions; but is now the very picture of peace and utterly restful
quiet.
Here the Eight settle down for a long sojourn; basking in the delicious
atmosphere, devoting themselves to searching out the most picturesque
views, in a series of rambles, drives, and excursions, and visiting all
points for miles around, to which history and romance have added charms
almost as great as those of river and mountain which they always
possessed.
Those of our party who hail from the city of Brotherly Love naturally
feel a special interest in Acadia and the sad story of Longfellow's
heroine; as a patent for the principality of Acadia, which included the
whole American coast from Philadelphia to Montreal, was given by the
"impulsive and warmhearted monarch," Henry IV. of France, to Pierre du
Guast, the Sieur de Monts, constituting him governor of that country,
and giving him the trade and revenues of the region.
Consequently some of the ancestors of our Philadelphia friends were
Acadians, though not French peasantry. There also:--
"In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters,
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle,
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded.
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty,
And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest,
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile,
Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country."
In that sedate and sober city was--
"the almshouse, home of the homeless.
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands,
Now the city surrounds it, hut still, with its gateway and wicket
Meek in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo
Softly the words of the Lord,--'The poor ye have always with you'"
There the sad exile's weary search was at last rewarded; the long parted
lovers were reunited, though but for a moment on the verge of the grave;
and thus was ended--
"the hope and the fear and the sorrow,
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing,
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience,"
The city almshouse stood, we are told, at the corner of Twelfth and
Spruce Streets; but the belief is quite general (and we incline
decidedly to that) that our beloved poet intended by his description to
portray the quaint building formerly known as the Friends' Almshouse,
which stood in Walnut Place (opening off of Walnut Street below Fourth),
and which was torn down in 1872 or 1873 to give place to railroad and
lawyers' offices.
The entrance from the street, by "gateway and wicket", as the poem says,
led through a narrow passage way; and there faced one a small, low
roofed house, built of alternate red and black bricks (the latter
glazed), almost entirely covered by an aged ivy which clambered over the
roof. The straggling branches even nodded above the wide chimneys; at
both sides of the door stood comfortable settles, inviting to rest; and
the pretty garden charmed with its bloom and fragrance. The whole formed
such a restful retreat, such an oasis of quiet in the very heart of the
busy city, that one was tempted often to make excuses for straying into
the peaceful enclosure.
In a book printed for private circulation in Philadelphia some years
ago, there is an item of interest about the Acadians. The author
narrates that she and a young companion, in their strolls to the
suburbs, where they went to visit the Pennsylvania Hospital (Eighth and
Pine Streets, now in the heart of the city), were timid because obliged
to pass the place where the "French Neutrals" were located.
These people, because they were foreigners, and there was some mystery
about them which the girls did not then understand, inspired them with
fear; though Philadelphia residents of that time testify that the
homeless and destitute strangers were in reality a very simple and
inoffensive company, when, "friendless, homeless, hopeless, they
wandered from city to city." Through the influence of Anthony Benezet, a
member of the Society of Friends, they were provided with homes on Pine
Street above Sixth, where the two little wooden houses still stand; one,
when we last saw it, being painted blue.
What a picturesque company of adventurers were those French noblemen,
who, turning their backs upon the luxuries and fascinations of court
life, sailed away to this wild and distant land, where, in the pursuit
of gain, fame, or merely adventure, they were to suffer absolute
privation and hardship; consorting with savages in place of the plumed
and pampered denizens of palaces.
After a probably tempestuous voyage across the bleak Atlantic, and a
merciless buffeting from Fundy in the spring of 1604, the prospective
Governor of the great territory known as Acadia was sailing along this
coast, which presents such a forbidding aspect from the Bay, making his
first haven May 16. At that time, we can readily imagine, in this
northern region the weather would not be very balmy. Even now the wild
rocky shore stretches along drearily--though with certain stern
picturesqueness--as far as eye can reach, and then must have been even
less attractive, as it showed no sign of habitation.
Champlain was somewhat familiar with these shores from former voyages,
and so had been chosen as pilot; but De Poutrincourt and Pontgravé,
other associates of Pierre du Guast, the Sieur de Monts, doubtless
looked askance at each other, or indulged in the expressive French shrug
as the cheerless panorama parsed before them. On that 16th of May, at
the harbor where the little town of Liverpool is now situated, De Monts
found another Frenchman engaged in hunting and fishing, ignoring, or
regardless of, the rights of any one else; and without ado this
interloper (so considered by De Monts) was nabbed; the only consolation
he received being the honor of transmitting his name, Rossignol, to the
harbor,--a name since transferred to a lake in the vicinity.
After a sojourn of two weeks at another point (St. Mary's Bay), the
explorers proceeded northward; and at last a particularly inviting
harbor presented itself, causing the mental vision of the new Governor
and his company to assume more hopeful aspect, as they turned their
course thither and pronounced it "Port Royal"!
PORT ROYAL
Here they managed to exist through the winter with as much comfort as
circumstances would admit of; but with the return of summer were on the
wing again, in search of more salubrious climate and more southerly
locality for the establishment of a colony, sailing along the coast of
Maine and Massachusetts as far as Cape Cod.
Attempts were made to establish settlements, but the natives proved
unfriendly; the foreigners had not a sufficient force to subdue them;
and, as De Monts was obliged to return to France, De Poutrincourt and
his companions established themselves again at Port Royal. Here, to
while away the long winter, the gay adventurers established a burlesque
court, which they christened "L'Ordre de Bon Temps"; and of the merry
realm each of the fifteen principal persons of the colony became supreme
ruler in turn. As the Grand Master's sway lasted but a day, each one, as
he assumed that august position, prided himself on doing his utmost to
eclipse his predecessor in lavish provision for feasting. Forests were
scoured for game; fish were brought from the tempest-tossed waters of
the Bay, or speared through the ice of L'Équille; so the table fairly
groaned with the luxuries of these winter revelers in the wilds of
Acadia. With ludicrous caricature of court ceremonial, the rulers of
the feast marched to the table, where their invited guests, the Indian
chiefs, sat with them around the board; the squaws and children
squatting on the floor, watching for bits which the lively company now
and then tossed to them. "They say" that an aged sachem, when dying,
asked if he should have pies in heaven as good as those which he had
eaten at Poutrincourt's table!
To the Indians, the greatest delicacy of all on the table was bread.
This, to them a dainty viand, they were always ready to consume with
gusto; but were invariably averse to grinding the corn, although
promised half of the meal as recompense for their labor. The grinding
was performed with a hand-mill, and consequently so laborious and
tedious that the savages would rather suffer hunger than submit to such
drudgery, which they also seemed to think degrading to the free sons of
the forest.
Proverbially fickle are princes; and of this De Monts was convinced on
his return to France, for during his absence he had lost favor with his
sovereign, Henry IV., who revoked his commission; still he succeeded,
after many difficulties, in procuring supplies for his colony, and
arrived just in time to prevent his people from leaving Port Royal
discouraged and disheartened. One member of the little community of
Frenchmen was Lescarbot, a lawyer, who was talented, poetical, and did
much to enliven the others during the absence of their leader, who, on
his return, was received by a procession of masqueraders, headed by
Neptune and tritons, reciting verses written by Lescarbot. Over the
entrances to the fort and to the Governor's apartments were suspended
wreaths of laurel and garlands surrounding Latin mottoes,--all the work
of the pastimist (if one may coin such a word). The relief and
encouragement brought by De Monts were but temporary, and in the spring
(1606) news was received that nothing more could be sent to the
colonists, and they must be disbanded.
Imagination portrays the strange picture presented at this time in this
remote region, the gay French courtiers vanishing from the sight of
their Indian comrades almost as suddenly and mysteriously as they had
appeared but three years before, and leaving their dusky boon companions
lamenting on the shore. The eyes of the savages--that race who pride
themselves on their stoicism--were actually dimmed with tears as they
watched the vessel fading away in the distance.
For four years "ye gentle sauvage" pursued the even tenor of his way,
and consoled himself as best he could for the absence of the lively
revelers who had cheered his solitude; then, presumably to his delight
(in 1610), he saw Poutrincourt returning. That nobleman had promised the
king to exert himself for the conversion of the Indians. Three years
later a company of Jesuits sailed for this port with the same object in
view; but, losing their reckoning, they founded settlements at Mt.
Desert instead.
Madame de Guercheville, a true woman indeed, who was honored and
respected in a dissolute court where honor was almost unknown, had
become a zealous advocate of the conversion of Indians in America; and
through her means and influence several priests of the Jesuit order were
sent out in 1612 to this settlement. The sachems, with members of their
tribes living at Port Royal, were baptized, twenty-one at one time, with
much show of rejoicing typified by firing of cannon, waving of banners,
blaring of trumpets. Some doubt is expressed whether the savages fully
understood what it was all about, and what their confession of faith
fully signified; as one chief, on being instructed in the Lord's Prayer,
objected to asking for bread alone, saying that he wished for moose
flesh and fish also; and when one of the priests deliberately set to
work, with notebook and quill, to learn the language of the aborigines
by asking one man the Indian words for various French ones (to him
totally incomprehensible), the savage, with malice aforethought,
purposely gave him words of evil signification, which did not assist
the Frenchman in enlightening other members of this benighted race.
Perceiving the trick which had been played upon him by the savage, who
had been so perplexed by his questioning, the priest declared that
Indian possessed by the Devil! However, with all its discouragements,
this was the opening of the work of the Jesuits in America; in which
even those who might have thought their zeal at times mistaken could not
but respect them for the noble heroism, displayed during so many years,
in their work of civilizing and enlightening the savages. Even in these
olden times there were turbulent marauders abroad; and one such, Argall,
from Virginia, after destroying the settlement at Somes Sound (Mt.
Desert), pounced upon this peaceful station, destroying the fort and
scattering the colonists (1613).
The section known as Virginia was granted in 1606 to the London and
Plymouth Companies; and as that portion embraced the country between 34
degrees and 43 degrees north latitude, it seems that Argall pretended
that the French at Port Royal were interlopers, usurping his rights; but
as De Monts had received in 1604 a charter for the country deemed as
lying between 40 degrees and 46 degrees north latitude, Argall had no
right to dispossess De Monts or his successor.
Notwithstanding that a member of Argall's company speaks of him as "a
gentleman of noble courage", that does not prevent us from considering
him a rascal; for at this time France and England were at peace, and he
was unauthorized in his base and tyrannous invasion of Port Royal.
Before his attack on this quiet, peaceful station, he had shown greatest
treachery at Somes Sound, Mt. Desert, where he stole Saussaye's
commission and cast adrift in an open boat fifteen of the colonists.
Poutrincourt's son, Biencourt, was now Governor of Acadia, and stationed
at Port Royal. He endeavored to make terms with Argall, and offered to
divide with him the proceeds of the fur trade and the mines; but this
was refused, and the settlement broken up, some of the unfortunate
Frenchmen joining Champlain at Quebec, some scattering into the woods
among the Indians, while others were carried to England and from thence
demanded by the French ambassador. Thus, after only a little more than
eight years from the time of settlement, the colony was entirely broken
up.
En passant: A friend of ours, who with his family passed a summer in New
Hampshire, "at the roots of the White Mountains", as someone expressed
it, surprised an old farmer by asking the names of hills in sight from
that particular locality. The reply was, "I dono, and I dono as I care;
but you city folks, when you come here, are allers askin' questions." We
conclude that we are liable to be classed in a similar category; and, in
fact, the Dabbler when sketching one day is asked, "Ain't some of your
party writing a book?" The interrogator's mind is set at rest by being
answered that the reason we have become animated notes of interrogation
is because we are interested in the history of the old town; but it is
fearful to think for what that innocent lad is responsible: putting
notions in people's heads, and causing this volume to be inflicted on a
suffering world!
To return to our subject. The olive branch was not yet to be the emblem
of this spot, now so peaceful, for a colony of Scotch people were next
routed (1628), and the place left in ruins, when a season of quiet
ensued; but this was virtually the commencement of the French and
English wars in North America, continuing, with slight intermissions,
until the treaty of 1763, by which France gave up her possessions in
America.
In 1634 Port Royal fell into French hands again, when Claude de Razilly
was Governor, and here for a short time lived La Tour, one of his
lieutenants, who kept up such bitter feuds with D'Aulnay, who held like
position to his own, and whose story Whittier relates in his poem, "St.
John, 1647".
Madatae de la Tour must have been one of the earliest advocates of
women's rights, as she so bravely held the fort of St. John in her
husband's absence.
"'But what of my lady?'
Cried Charles of Estienne
On the shot-crumbled turret
Thy lady was seen
Half veiled in the smoke cloud
Her hand grasped thy pennon,
While her dark tresses swayed
In the hot breath of cannon,
Of its sturdy defenders,
Thy lady alone
Saw the cross-blazoned banner
Float over St John.
Alas for thy lady!
No service from thee
Is needed by her
Whom the Lord hath set free:
Nine days, in stern silence,
Her thralldom she bore,
But the tenth morning came
And Death opened her door'"
Hannay says she was "the first and greatest of Acadian heroines,--a
woman whose name is as proudly enshrined in the history of this land as
that of any sceptered queen in European story."
For a long series of years this post of Port Royal was the bone of
contention between the French and English; the fort, being held for a
time by one power, then by the other, representing the shuttle-cock when
these contending nations battled at her doors. In 1654 the place was
held by the French under Le Borgne. An attack by the English was
successful, though the French were well garrisoned and provisioned.
In De Razilly's time La Tour, who might have been satisfied with his
possessions at St. John, assailed it; then English pirates took the
fishing fleet (1684); next Sir William Phipps captured and pillaged the
fort in 1690. Shortly after this, pirates from the West Indies plundered
the place; and in 1691 it again fell into the hands of the French under
De Villebon. It was still to undergo two sieges in 1707, when, under
Subercase, the besiegers were repulsed; and in 1710 seven ships with
English marines bombarded the fort for several days. The garrison at
last, being in starving condition, were forced to yield; and the victors
christened the place Annapolis Royal, in honor of their sovereign then
reigning in Great Britain.
The subjugation of this part of "New France" made Nova Scotia an English
province; and for a time this realm might have answered to the
description of Rasselas's Happy Valley; the thrifty, honest people
relieved from "wars and rumors of wars", and taking up the quiet,
contented routine of every-day life.
"Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way."
But in 1744 the reign of siege and terror began again, and the town was
destroyed by bombardment and incendiary fires, when, for nearly three
months, Laloutre and Duvivier besieged the fort. The garrison, augmented
by troops from Louisburg, and assisted by provisions and men from
Boston, finally repulsed their assailants. The next year there was
another assault under De Ramezay, which was unsuccessful; and after the
dispersion of the Acadians (1755), the much-fought-over place was
allowed to remain in quiet until 1781, when two American ships-of-war
sailed up the river at night. Their forces, taking the fort by surprise,
robbed the houses, after imprisoning the people in the old block-house.
Since that time the English have retained possession of this much
disputed territory; the fort has been unarmed and unoccupied (by
military force) since 1850, when the Rifle Brigade were stationed here;
but the tedium of garrison life proving still more irksome here, and
desertions being frequent, the fort was abandoned as a military post.
ANNAPOLIS
What a fascination there is about that old fort at Annapolis!--"the
hornet's nest", as it was called in the olden time; the stronghold
which withstood so many sieges, and was the subject of constant
contentions in by-gone years.
The hours slip by unnoted when one sits, on the ramparts dreaming and
gazing on the broad sweep of river, the distant islands, the undulating
lines of the mountain ranges. The sleepy looking cows wander lazily
about, cropping the grass on the embankments, and even clamber over the
ancient archway.
One peoples the place with imaginary martial figures, and is almost
startled when the stillness is broken by a rustle and approaching
footsteps, and turns, as if expecting to see glittering uniforms
appearing through the crumbling arch; but it is only old Moolly, who
deliberately walks into the inner enclosure, and, if "our special artist
on the spot" has left his sketch for a moment, probably puts her foot in
it, with the air of one who should say, "Who are you who dare invade my
realm?"
The quaint barrack building, with its huge chimneys and gambrel roof, is
now occupied by several families; and a whitewashed fence encloses a gay
garden. The small magazine, built of creamy sandstone sent from France
for the purpose, still remains, and its excessively sharp roof shows
above the ramparts; but the massive oaken door stands open wide and is
green with age; the roof is decidedly shaky; and the shingles hang
loosely, so that one would think that only a moderate gale would send
them flying like a pack of cards.
The block-house, built of massive logs and heavy planks of English oak,
stood within the past year by the bridge over the moat; but,
unfortunately, a person without reverence for antiquities has razed it,
thereby obtaining his winter fuel cheaply; and he now turns an honest
penny by selling canes, etc., of the wood.
When we indignantly ask some of the town's-people how they could have
permitted this, they reply, "Oh, it was getting rotten, and would have
tumbled down some day;" but we judge, by pieces which we see of the
sound, tough fibred oak, that it might have stood for fifty years more
without injury; while a little judicious propping and repairing,
perhaps, would have preserved it for a longer period than that. Poor
Annapolitans, who had no Centennial Exhibition to teach them the value
of historical relics and "old things".
On the Maine Central Railroad, quite near the track at Winslow, we
passed, on our way here, an old block-house, which is carefully
preserved.
Not long ago, the Canadian Government received orders that all
buildings, except the barrack and magazine, must be removed from the
fort enclosure; yet a garrulous old Scotchman still resides there in a
tiny house, and plies his trade as cobbler.
His delight is to regale strangers with preposterous "yarns", and
accounts of his adventures in her Majesty's service; accounts which must
be taken with considerably more than the proverbial grain of salt, but
to which we listened with delight and amazingly sober countenances. When
asked how it happens that he still remains in the fort grounds, he
answers, "I writ out home, to Angland, to say that I served in the
arrumy fur thurty yeer, and I know the ould gurrul will let me stay."
(There's respect for a sovereign!)
He talks wisely of the "bumpruf", a word which we have some difficulty
in translating into _bomb proof_; and we are, apparently, overpowered
with wonder as he explains how "with a few berrls av pouther they cud
send ivery thing flying, and desthroy the whole place, avery bit av
it."
Presumably misled by our simulated credulity, he goes on to describe a
well in front of the magazine, and says, "When they wanted to get red
av throoblesome preesoners, ploomp they'd go in the watter, and thet was
the last av 'em'" Suffice it to say, that the oldest inhabitant has no
recollection of the slightest trace of such a well.
The underground passage has fallen in; only the entrance being now
visible and accessible Old Gill says, "I as the last man iver in it; and
I got caught there with the wall fallin' in, and they were twinty fower
hours gettin' me out," (a li[e]kely story!) adding, "Oh, I was a divil
in them days!" and "I found in there a bit av a goon wrinch" (gun
wrench); and Mr. So and So, from Halifax, "gev me some money fur it,
an' he lapped it up in his han'kerchef like as if it had ben goold."
We are told of an ancient house "of the era of the French occupation,"
and go to see it; but learn, though it looks so aged, that it was built
upon the _site_ of the French house, and is not the old original. The
owner has reached the ripe age of ninety-four, and is a remarkable man,
with the polished manner of a gentleman of the old school In such a
climate as this, one would naturally expect to find centenarians. He
tells us many interesting things about old times here, and his grandson
brings out a barrel of Acadian relics to show us.
We are interested in noting the differences between these ancient
implements and those in use at the present time; here is a gridiron,
with very long handle and four feet (a clumsy quadruped), and we see in
fancy the picture of home comfort, as the busy housewife prepares the
noonday meal, where--
"Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer
Stood on the side of a lull commanding the sea, and a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it"
Here, too, are ox chains, a curiously shaped ploughshare, an odd little
spade used in mending the dikes, and digging clay for bricks, and also
the long and heavy tongs of the "blacksmith".
"Who was a mighty man in the village and honored of all men
For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people."