what they would charge to take a young man to board in camp; and driver
indignantly replies, "_Nothin'_! Do you suppose we'd charge board? No,
_indeed_! Just let him come; and if we didn't give him a good time, and
if he didn't get strong and hearty, then we'd be ashamed of ourselves
and _sell out_."
Here we approach a cove which driver calls the Joggin (as it makes a cut
or jog-in, we presume); and beyond, a wide arm of the Basin is spanned
by a rickety old bridge, at least a quarter of a mile long, named in
honor of her Majesty,--hardly a compliment to that sovereign, we think.
The boards are apparently laid down without nails, and rattle like a
fusillade as our vehicle rolls over them. Here and there planks are
broken or gone entirely, showing the green swirling water beneath. Our
chaperone, having more faith in her own feet than those of the horses,
dismounts and walks across; while we, being naturally reckless and
romantic, are willing to risk our necks for the sake of the charming
views.
The village of Digby stretches along the shore, and from the hills
surrounding it the Basin with its islands, the Gap, and Annapolis
River, are charming.
Disciples of old "Izaak" would be likely to meet with greater success
here than at Annapolis; as the current of the river at the latter place
is so strong that, as a general thing, only the "old salts" are anglers;
and they being most of the time out in the Bay or off on cruises, it
follows that fish are scarce in the market.
An "ancient and fish-like smell" pervades the atmosphere in some parts
of the village where the herring--humorously known as "Digby
Chickens"--are spread on racks to dry; but this odor, the odd little
shops and restaurants, the clumsy and queer lumber boats, the groups of
tars gossiping about doorways and wharves, only add to the nautical
character of the place, and suggest reminiscences of "Peggoty", "Ham",
and others of Dickens's characters.
We ignore the pleasant embowered hotel "in bosky dell", far up the
street this time, though we visit it in a later sojourn; and, "just for
the fun of it", take lunch in one of the peculiar little restaurants;
where, seated at a minute table in one of the tiny calico curtained
alcoves, we partake of our frugal repast (the bill of fare is extremely
limited), amusing ourselves watching the odd customers who come to make
purchases at the counter across the room, and "making believe" that we
are characters in an old English story.
On the bluff beyond the village, beneath great old Balm of Gilead trees
whose foliage is perpetually in a flutter from the breeze through the
Gap, there are several cannon, which it seems could not possibly have
any hostile intent, but appear to be gratifying a mild curiosity by
peering across the Basin and up the river beyond.
The long and very high pier stretches far out into the Basin, and upon
it picturesque groups unconsciously pose for us, adding to the effect
of the picture.
That the climate is salubrious and conducive to longevity we are
convinced after visiting the cemetery, where one tomb records the
demise of a man at the age of one hundred and two!
A peculiar taste for wandering among the tombs we have acquired in this
summer jaunt. Here we see the tomb of one recorded proudly as "descended
from the noble families of Stuart and Bruce", who, tradition says, was
supposed to have held the position of servant to said scions of
nobility. One who was known as a scoffer during life here is virtuously
represented ah "a sincere worshipper of Eternal, Almighty and ever just
God"; reminding us of the popular adage, "lying like an epitaph". Twice
have we seen one stone made to do service for two in an amusing manner:
on the upper part the usual, "Sacred to the memory of," etc.; then
half-way down had been carved a hand pointing to one side, and under it
the words "There lies"; while the name, age, etc., of the later
decedent was inscribed below the first.
One old tomb we were with this epitaph:--
"Tho' gready worm destroy my skin
And gnaw my wasting flesh
When God doth build my bones agen
He'll cloath them all afresh."
and another:--
"What says the silent dead
He bids me bear my load
With silent steps proceed
And follow him to God."
We notice that the English rule of the road maintains here, and our
driver turns to the left when other vehicles are approaching. Captain
C., who is from the States, tells us that he did not know of this
custom, and in his first drive nearly collided with another vehicle, the
driver of which thereupon used strong language. On being informed that
he had almost overturned the conveyance of the Governor of Prince
Edward's Island, the rash Yankee, undismayed, remarked, "Well, I don't
care who he is, he don't know how to drive!"
HALIFAX
Of course, as we are in the neighborhood, we must see the locality to
which--in mild and humorous profanity--States people are sometimes
assigned; and therefore proceed to Halifax and thoroughly "do" that
sedate, quiet, and delightfully old-fashioned city.
_En route_, as the train passes beyond Windsor, one says, "Here we are
out of sight of land"; and we then understand that it must have been
some one from this locality who christened the valley of Annapolis the
Garden of Nova Scotia; for here a scene of utter sterility and
desolation meets the view: not a foot of earth is to be seen, but rocks
are piled in wild confusion everywhere. A few dead trees stand among the
_débris_, emphasizing the loneliness; and Conductor says when the world
was created the "leavings" were deposited in this dreary tract.
By special arrangement with "Old Prob", there are none of the
prevailing fogs during our stay; and Aurora Borealis gets up a special
illumination. Regiments of red-coats, with torches and band,--aware
doubtless of the presence of such distinguished strangers,--march past
our hotel in the evening.
Though we are quartered in what is called the best hotel, it is a musty,
fusty, rusty old building; and we agree with our friends among the
residents (who vie with each other in showing us true English
hospitality) who say they need an enterprising Yankee to start a good
new hostelry, and "to show 'em how to run it."
Just at this time of year the city is full of summer tourists, many of
whom come direct from Baltimore by the ocean steamships, which touch at
this port; but, as we are subject to _mal-de-mer's_ tortures, we rejoice
that we came by "overland route".
Though our friends have engaged rooms for us beforehand, we are
fortunate in securing apartments on the fourth floor, where peculiar
coils of rope by the windows at once attract our attention. These, on
examination, we find have big wooden beads (like the floats of a seine)
strung on them at regular intervals; and this peculiar arrangement is a
primitive fire escape, which we are positive that no creature but a
monkey could use with safety.
The prevailing fogs, and the use of soft coal, cause the buildings to
appear dingy and rusty; but we like them all the better for that, as
the city has a more foreign air, and, in some parts, quite strongly
suggests Glasgow.
In the Parliament building we study the old portraits, concluding that
the wigs must have been uncomfortable. Octavius wickedly hints that
there _is_ a fashion among ladies of the present time!--but as he does
not tread on our toes, we ignore this insinuation, and turn our
attention to the elaborate ornamentation of the woodwork--which is all
antique hand-carving--in the council chambers; and are much interested
in some rare old books in the Library,--among them a copy of the Psalms,
three hundred years old; and another, with music, dated 1612. Here also
we see and are actually allowed to handle a book,--
"PRESENTED
TO
THE LEGISLATIVE LIBRARY
OF
NOVA SCOTIA
IN MEMORY OF HER GREAT AND GOOD HUSBAND
BY
HIS BROKEN-HEARTED WIDOW
VICTORIA R."
and of course are duly overpowered at beholding the valuable autograph
of that sovereign.
In one of the churches we are informed that a certain balustrade "is
from America, and is all _marvel_" but do not find it marvelously
beautiful nevertheless.
Of the gardens the natives are justly proud, as in this moist atmosphere
plants, trees, and flowers flourish remarkably; still, we are not
willing to concede that they are "the finest in America", as we have
been told.
We conclude, as we pass the large Admiralty House, with its spacious
and beautiful grounds, that Sir Somebody Something must find it a
comfortable thing to be
"monarch of the sea, the ruler of the Queen's nave,"
and may with reason say,--
"When at anchor here I ride, my bosom swells with pride,"
while Halifax herself, with her famous harbor, in which the navy of a
great and powerful nation could find safe anchorage, with room to spare,
might justly finish out his song with the appropriate words concluding
the verse:--
"And I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts!"
Then the Citadel, the very name of which revives reminiscences of
Quebec, and suggests something out of the every-day order of summer
jaunts. As we ascend the hill to the fortress, the first thing
attracting our attention is amusing. The "squatty" looking clock tower,
which appears as if part of a church spire, had been carried away by a
high wind and dropped down on this embankment. Octavius says, "What a
jolly place for coasting, if it were not for the liability of being
plunged into the harbor at the foot!" as we mount the hill. At the gate
we are consigned to the care of a tall soldier, whose round fatigue cap
must be _glued_ to his head, or it certainly would fall off, so extreme
is the angle at which it inclines over his ear. A company of soldiers
are drilling within the enclosure, their scarlet coats quite dazzling
in the bright sunlight and in contrast with the cold gray granite; while
others, at opposite angles of the walls, are practicing signals with
flags, the maneuvers of the latter being quite entertaining as they
wave the banners, now slowly, now rapidly, diagonally, vertically,
horizontally, or frantically overhead, as if suddenly distraught.
Probably this exercise could be seen in any of our forts; but as we are
now beyond the borders of the United States, every detail interests us,
and we have become astonishingly observant. The gloomy and massive bomb
proof walls of the soldiers' quarters appear quite prison-like, with
their narrow windows; and our guide, speaking of the monotony of
garrison life, rejoices that in a few months his term of service will
expire, and then he "will go to the States".
"The States" seem to be a Land of Promise to many people of this region;
and, though this is gratifying to our national pride, we cannot but see
that many make a mistake in going to "America"; as, for instance, the
young girls of Annapolis, who, leaving comfortable homes, the away to
Boston, where, if they can get positions in an already crowded field,
they wear themselves out in factories; or, having a false pride which
prevents them from acknowledging failure and returning home, they remain
until, broken down by discouragement and disappointment, compelled to
accept charity. On this account the service at Annapolis is not what
might be desired; and Octavius humorously wonders, when the "green hand"
persistently offers him viands from the wrong side, "how he is expected
to reach the plate unless he puts his arm around her."
"But we digress." As our party, with other sight seers who have joined
the procession, promenade about the fort, a culprit in the guardroom
catches sight of the visitors as they pass, and, evidently for their
hearing, sings mischievously,--
"Farewell, my own!
Light of my life, farewell!
For crime unknown
I go to a dungeon cell"
We conclude, as he is so musical about it, that he does not feel very
much disgraced or oppressed by his imprisonment, though some one
curiously inquiring "why he is there", learns that it is for a trifling
misdemeanor, and that punishments are not generally severe; though the
guide tells of one soldier who, he says, "threw his cap at the Colonel,
and got five years for it; and we thought he'd get ten."
From the ramparts the picture extending before us southeastwardly is
very fine indeed, as, over the rusty houses shouldering each other up
the hill so that we can almost look down the chimneys, we look out to
the fortified islands and points, with the ocean beyond.
Point Pleasant, thickly wooded to the water's edge, hides the strangely
beautiful inlet from the harbor known as the North West Arm, which cuts
into the land for a distance of four miles (half a mile in width),
suggesting a Norwegian fiord; but that, and the country all about the
city, we enjoy in a long drive later.
On the return, regardless of the gaze of passengers astonished at our
unconventional actions, we sit on the platform of the rear car, while
"Pleasantly gleams in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas."
and the model conductor plies us with bits of information, which we
devour with the avidity of cormorants.
GRAND PRÉ.
Finally the brakeman shouts "Grand _Pree_;" and Octavia remarks, "Yes,
indeed, this is the _grand prix_ of our tour," as the party step off the
train at this region of romance. The gallant conductor, with an air of
mystery, leads the way to a storage room in the little box of a station,
and there chops pieces from a clay-covered plank and presents us as
souvenirs. "Pieces of a coffin of one of the Acadians, exhumed at Grand
Pré fourteen months ago, near the site of the old church," we are told;
and when he continues: "A woman's bone was found in it", one unromantic
and matter-of-fact member of the Octave asserts, "Evangeline's
grandmother, of course"; while another skeptically remarks, "That's more
than _I_ can swallow; it would give me such a spell o' coughin' as I
couldn't get over"; but the conductor and others staunchly avouch the
genuineness of the article, affirming that they were present "when it
wus dug up."
The "forest primeval", if it ever stood in this region, must have
clothed the distant hills which bound the vast meadow, and now are
covered with a dense growth of small trees which are _not_ "murmuring
pines".
A superannuated tree in the distance it is said once shaded the smithy
of "Basil Lajeunesse", that "mighty man of the village"; and only stony
hollows in the ground mark the site of the house of "Father Felician"
and the village church.
It was to this spot, then, that the wondering peasants were lured by
stratagem, when,--
"with a summons sonorous
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.
Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without in the churchyard,
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the head
stones
Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them,
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor
Echoed the sound of their brass drums from ceiling to casement,--
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers."
After refreshing ourselves with pure, clear, and cold water from the old
well,--made by the French, and re-walled a few years ago,--we turn away,
with "a longing, lingering look behind", and continue our drive through
the great prairie, which resembles the fertile meadow land along the
Connecticut River. We stop a few moments near a picturesque little
church of gray unpainted wood, and look off over the verdant fields to
the point where a distant shimmer of water catches the eye, and the
hills bound the picture. Near at hand, on the right, the trunk of an
aged apple tree, "planted by the French", shows one green shoot; and
about the church are Lombardy poplars, which, though good sized trees,
are perhaps only shoots from those planted by the Acadians, in
remembrance of such arboreal grenadiers of their native land.
The old French dike is surmounted by a rough rail fence, and is now far
inland, as hundreds of acres have been reclaimed beyond,--
"Dikes that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant
Shut out the turbulent tides"
Our lamented American poet never visited this region which he describes
so delightfully; his reason being that, cherishing an ideal picture, he
feared reality might dissipate it. Yet an easy journey of twenty-eight
hours would have brought him hither; and we, feeling confident that he
could not have been disappointed, shall always regret that he did not
come.
As an appropriate close to this sentimental journey, we drive through
the secluded Gaspereau valley, along the winding river, which is hardly
more than a creek, toward its wider part where it flows into the Basin,
which stretches out broad and shining. With such a view before us, we
cannot fail to picture mentally the tragic scenes of that October day
in 1755, when the fleet of great ships lay in the Basin, and
"When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed,
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile,
Exile without an end, and without an example in story,"
those whom Burke describes as "the poor, innocent, deserving people,
whom our utter inability to govern or reconcile, gave us no sort of
right to extirpate," were torn from their happy homes, and
"Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean."
In the midst of these peaceful scenes was perpetrated a cruel wrong,
and an inoffensive people banished by the mandate of a tyrant!
In that beautiful poem, parts of which one unconsciously "gets by
heart", or falls into the habit of quoting when sojourning in this
lovely region, Basil the blacksmith says:--
"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau-Séjour nor Port Royal;"
and having held an impromptu history class on the subject of the last
mentioned, we turn our attention to the other fortified points of which
"the hasty and somewhat irascible" sledge-wielder spoke.
By the treaty of Utrecht in 1713 Acadia was ceded to the English; but
the French colonists, in taking the oath of allegiance to their new
rulers (1727-28), were promised that they should not be required at any
time to take up arms against France. They were now in the position of
Neutrals, and by that name were known; but this placed them in an
awkward predicament, as they were suspected by both contending powers.
The English hated them, believing their sympathies to be with the
French; while even their countrymen in Canada were distrustful of them,
urging them to withdraw.
The English colonists, fearing the extension of the French possessions,
and having Puritanical aversion of Roman Catholicism,--of which the
Neutrals were devout adherents,--entered upon the expedition against
the French forts with the zeal of fanatics, seeming in some instances to
consider their incursions in the light of religious crusades.
These "men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands",
whose descendants are to this day childlike and simple hearted, could
not understand these political distinctions, and naturally clung to the
pleasant farms which they had reclaimed from the sea and cultivated so
diligently, being most reluctant, of course, to leave those
"Strongly built 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 doorway."
The French dominions were guarded by a chain of forts extending all
along the Atlantic coast, from the St. Lawrence to the Gulf of Mexico.
That on Cape Breton Island, which protected the approach to the St.
Lawrence, was considered invincible, its walls being thirty feet high,
forty feet thick, and surrounded by a moat eighty feet in width.
Boston sent out a fleet of forty-one vessels and three thousand men to
Cape Breton, to assail the "Gibraltar of America", as the fort of
Louisburg was called. Forces from New Hampshire and Connecticut joined
the expedition at Canso; and this remarkable fortress, whose
fortifications alone cost five million dollars, was besieged, and
capitulated after forty-nine days, yielding to untrained soldiers; the
victory owing to "mere audacity and hardihood, backed by the rarest good
luck", as one English writer says. The conquerors themselves were amazed
at their success when they discovered the great strength of the fort.
Their victory was, in fact, due largely to maneuvers which deceived the
French regarding the strength of their forces.
This was ten years before the dispersion of the French Neutrals was
effected; and during those years the Acadians, being zealous Catholics
and devoted to the mother country, naturally but almost unconsciously
were drawn into the disputes between France and England; and it is not
to be wondered at, if, as some authorities state, there were three
hundred of their young men found in arms when the English attacked Fort
Beau-Séjour. The French had built Forts Beau-Séjour and Gaspereau on the
neck connecting the peninsula of Nova Scotia with the mainland, to guard
the entrance to their territory. A few hotheaded youths, who thought
they were honestly serving their country and people by taking up arms in
defense, might have been forgiven, particularly as it is known that some
were pressed into the service, and that the oath which they had taken
years before absolved them from taking arms against France, but did not
pledge them against serving in her defense.
These forts were taken by Lieutenant-Colonel Moncton in June, 1755, the
garrison of Beau-Séjour being sent to Louisburg on condition that they
should not take up arms in America for six months. Prince Edward's
Island--then called St. John's Island--fell into the hands of the
English when Cape Breton was taken, and the inhabitants were sent to
France. In the summer of 1755 matters seemed to be culminating, and the
bitter dissensions were brought to a crisis. The Neutrals were again
called upon to take the oath, the following being the form in which it
was presented to them: "Je promets et jure sincerement, en foi de
Chrétien, que je serai entierement fidele et obeirai vraiment sa Majesté
Le Roi George, que je reconnais pour le Souverain seigneur de l'Acadie,
ou nouvelle Ecosse--ainsi Dieu me soit en aide."
But this was not the "reserved oath", as the former one was called; and
the Acadians, feeling themselves bound by the old pledge, asked
exemption from this, and requested the restoration of arms which had
been taken from them, agreeing also to keep faithfully the old form of
oath.
Deputies from the settlements near Port Royal (which were above, below,
and almost on the site of the present town of Annapolis), at Pisiquid
(now Windsor), Minas, etc., were sent to Halifax, where a long
conference was held; but the deputies still declining to accept the new
oath, they were imprisoned, and the deportation of the Acadians decided
upon. In order to do this artifice was resorted to, to prevent the
people from suspecting what was in store for them, and that the poor
peasants might have no chance to leave themselves or carry away their
possessions. "Both old men and young men, as well as the lads of ten
years of age," were called, by a proclamation, "to attend at the church
at Grand Pré" at a certain time; and it was declared that "no excuse"
would "be admitted, on any pretence whatever, on pain of forfeiting
goods and chattels, in default of real estate."
The settlers on the Basin of Minas were immigrants from Saintonge,
Poitou, and La Rochelle, who came to this country in the early part of
the seventeenth century. The land which they had reclaimed from the
Basin was rich and fertile; they exported grain to Boston, and became
prosperous. The object of the call to the church does not seem to have
been suspected. When Basil says,--
"Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us
What their designs may be is unknown; but all are commanded
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate
Will be proclaimed as law in the land;"
Benedict responds,--