GRAND PRE.
Nearly thirty years before this, the French government had been
compelled to give up the possession of Acadie to the English, and to
retire to the Island of Cape Breton. Here they had built a stronghold
at Louisbourg, which they were enlarging and strengthening every
year, to the great disgust and alarm of the New England colonies. But
though Acadie had been given up to the English, it could hardly be
said to be held by them. Only two posts were occupied, the one at
Canso, in the strait that separated Cape Breton from Acadie, and the
other at Annapolis Royal. At Canso there was a wooden block-house,
with a handful of soldiers: while at Annapolis Royal, where the
English governor resided, the fortifications were more extensive, yet
in a miserable condition. At this last place there were a few
companies of soldiers, and here the governor tried to perform the
difficult task of transforming the French Acadians to loyal British
subjects.
But the French at Louisbourg never forgot their fellow-countrymen,
and never relinquished their designs on Acadie. The French
inhabitants of that province amounted to several thousands, who
occupied the best portions of the country, while the English
consisted of only a few individuals in one or two posts. Among the
French Acadians emissaries were constantly moving about, who sought
to keep up among them their old loyalty to the French crown, and by
their pertinacity sorely disturbed the peace of the English governor
at Annapolis Royal. The French governor at Louisbourg was not slow to
second these efforts by keeping the Acadians supplied with arms and
ammunition; and it was for this purpose that the Aigle had been sent
to the settlements up the Bay of Fundy.
Up the bays he now sailed, in accordance with the wish of Cazeneau.
His reason for this course was, that he might see the people for
himself, and judge how far they might be relied on in the event of
war, which he knew must soon be declared. It was his intention to
land at Grand Pre, the chief Acadian settlement, and thence proceed
by land to Louisbourg. He had understood from Captain Ducrot that an
Indian trail went all the way through the woods, which could be
traversed on horseback. Such a course would impose more hardship upon
the aged Laborde and Mimi than would be encountered on shipboard; but
Cazeneau had his own purposes, which were favored, to a great extent,
by the land route. Besides, he had the schooner with him, so that if,
after all, it should be advisable to go by water, they could make the
journey in her.
The Aigle sailed, and the schooner followed. The wind had changed,
and now blew more steadily, and from a favorable quarter. The
currents delayed them somewhat; but on the third morning after the
two vessels had met, they reached the entrance of the Basin of Minas.
The scenery here was wild and grand. A few miles from the shore there
rose a lofty rocky island, precipitous on all sides save one, its
summit crested with trees, its base worn by the restless waves.
Opposite this was a rocky shore, with cliffs crowned with the
primeval forest. From this pond the strait began, and went on for
miles, till it reached the Basin, forming a majestic avenue, with a
sublime gateway. On one side of this gateway were rocky shores
receding into wooded hills, while on the other was a towering cliff
standing apart from the shore, rising abruptly from the water, torn
by the tempest and worn by the tide. From this the precipitous cliff
ran on for miles, forming one side of the strait, till it terminated
in a majestic promontory.
This promontory rose on one side, and on the other a lofty, wooded
island, inside of which was a winding shore, curving into a harbor.
Here the strait terminated, and beyond this the waters of the Basin
of Minas spread away for many a mile, surrounded on every side by
green, wooded shores. In one place was a cluster of small islands; in
another, rivers rolled their turbid floods, bearing with them the
sediment of long and fertile valleys. The blue waters sparkled in the
sun under the blue sky; the sea-gulls whirled and screamed through
the air; nowhere could the eye discern any of the works of man. It
seemed like some secluded corner of the universe, and as if those on
board the ship
"were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea."
But, though not visible from this point, the settlements of man were
here, and the works of human industry lying far away on the slopes of
distant hills and the edges of low, marshy shores.
It was not without much caution that they had passed through the
strait. They had waited for the tide to come in, and then, with a
favorable wind, they had made the venture. Borne onward by wind and
tide together, they sailed on far into the bay, and then, directing
their course to the southward, they sailed onward for a few miles
farther. The captain had been here before, and was anxious to find
his former anchorage. On the former occasion he had waited outside
and sent in for a pilot, but now he had ventured inside without one,
trusting to his memory. He knew well the perils that attend upon
navigation in this place, and was not inclined to risk too much. For
here were the highest tides in the world to be encountered, and swift
currents, and sudden gusts of wind, and far-spreading shoals and
treacherous quicksands, among which the unwary navigator could come
to destruction only too easily.
But no accident happened on this occasion; the navigation was made
with the utmost circumspection, the schooner being sent ahead to
sound all the way, and the ship following. At length both came to
anchor at a distance from the shore of about five miles. Nearer than
that the captain did not dare to go, for fear of the sand-banks and
shoals.
Here a boat was lowered, and Cazeneau prepared to land, together with
the aged Laborde and Mimi. The Abbe Michel also prepared to accompany
them.
Ever since Laborde had been saved from the wreck, he had been weak
and listless. It seemed as though the exhaustion, and exposure, and
privation of that event had utterly broken down his constitution.
Since he had been taken to the ship, however, he had grown much
worse, and was no longer able to walk. He had not risen from his
berth since he had come on board the Aigle. Mimi's anxiety about him
had been excessive, and she had no thought for anything else. The
situation of Claude was unknown to her, and her distress about her
father's increasing weakness prevented her from thinking much about
him. Her only hope now was, that on reaching the shore her father
would experience a change for the better, and be benefited by the
land air.
On removing Laborde from his berth, it was found that he not only had
not strength to stand, but that he was even so weak that this motion
served of itself to exhaust him fearfully. He had to be placed on a
mattress, and carried in that way by four sailors to the ship's side,
where he was carefully let clown into the boat. There the mattress
was placed in the boat's stern, and Laborde lay upon this, with his
head supported against Mimi, who held him encircled in her arms. In
this way he was taken ashore.
It was a long row, but the water was comparatively smooth, and the
landing had been postponed until the flood tide, which made the
boat's progress easier and swifter.
The nearest shore was very low, and the landing-place was two or
three miles farther on. In the distance the land rose higher, and was
covered with trees, with here and there a clearing. The land which
they first approached was well wooded on the water side, but on
passing this the whole scene changed. This land was an island, about
two miles distant from the shore, with its inner side cleared, and
dotted with houses and barns. Between this and the shore there
extended a continuous tract of low land, which had evidently once
been a salt-water marsh, for along the water's edge the coarse grass
grew luxuriantly; but a little distance back there was a dike, about
six or eight feet high, which ran from the island to the shore, and
evidently protected the intervening level from the sea. The island
itself thus served as a dike, and the artificial works that had been
made ran where the sea had the least possible effect.
At length they approached the main land, and here they saw the low
marsh-land all around them. Here a turbid river ran into the Basin,
which came down a valley enclosed between wooded hills, and, with
voluminous windings, terminated its course.
At this place there was a convenient beach for landing, and here
Laborde was removed from the boat and carried up on the bank, where
he was laid on his mattress under a shadowy willow tree. This point,
though not very elevated, commanded a prospect which, to these new
comers who had suffered so much from the sea, might have afforded the
highest delight, had they been sufficiently free from care to take it
all in. All around them lay one of the most fertile countries in all
the world, and one of the most beautiful. The slopes of the hills
rose in gentle acclivities, cultivated, dotted with groves and
orchards, and lined with rows of tall poplars. The simple houses of
the Acadian farmers, with their out-buildings, gave animation to the
scene. At their feet lay a broad extent of dike-land, green and
glowing with the verdure of Juno, spreading away to that island,
which acted as a natural dike against the waters of the sea. Beyond
this lay the blue waters of Minas Basin, on whose bosom floated the
ship and the schooner, while in the distance rose the cliff which
marked the entrance into the Basin, and all the enclosing shores.
But none of the party noticed this. Cazeneau was absorbed with his
own plans; Laborde lay extended on the mattress, without any
appearance of life except a faint breathing and an occasional
movement; over him Mimi hung in intense anxiety, watching every
change in his face, and filled with the most dreadful apprehensions;
at a little distance stood Pere Michel, watching them with sad and
respectful sympathy.
Captain Ducrot had come ashore in the boat, and, leaving Laborde, he
accompanied Cazeneau to a house which stood not far away. It was
rather larger than the average, with a row of tall poplars in front
and an orchard on one side. A road ran from the landing, past this
house, up the hill, to the rest of the settlement farther on.
An old man was seated on a bench in the doorway. He rose as he saw
the strangers, and respectfully removed his hat.
"How do you do, Robicheau?" said Ducrot. "You see I have come back
again sooner than I expected. I have brought with me his excellency
the governor of Louisbourg, who will be obliged if you can make him
comfortable for a few days. Also there are the Count de Laborde and
his daughter, whom I should like to bring here; but if you cannot
make them comfortable, I can take them to Comeau's."
Upon this, Robicheau, with a low bow to Cazeneau, informed him that
he thought there might be room for them all, if they would be willing
to accept his humble hospitality. The old man spoke with much
embarrassment, yet with sincere good will. He was evidently
overwhelmed by the grandeur of his visitors, yet anxious to do all in
his power to give them fitting entertainment. Ducrot now informed him
that the Count de Laborde needed immediate rest and attention;
whereupon Robicheau went in to summon his dame, who at once set to
work to prepare rooms for the guests.
Ducrot now returned to the landing, and ordered the sailors to carry
Laborde to Robicheau's house. They carried him on the mattress,
supporting it on two oars, which were fastened with ropes in such a
way as to form a very easy litter. Mimi walked by her father's side,
while Pere Michel followed in the rear. In this way they reached
Robicheau's house. The room and the bed were already prepared, and
Laborde was carried there. As he was placed upon that bed, Mimi
looked at him with intense anxiety and alarm, for his pale, emaciated
face and weak, attenuated frame seemed to belong to one who was at
the last verge of life. An awful fear of the worst came over her--the
fear of bereavement in this distant land, the presentiment of an
appalling desolation, which crushed her young heart and reduced her
to despair. Her father, her only relative, her only protector, was
slipping away from her; and in the future there seemed nothing before
her but the very blackness of darkness.
The good dame Robicheau saw her bitter grief, and shed tears of
sympathy. She offered no word of consolation, for to her experienced
eyes this feeble old man seemed already beyond the reach of hope. She
could only show her compassion by her tears. Pere Michel, also, had
nothing to say; and to all the distress of the despairing young girl
he could offer no word of comfort. It was a case where comfort could
not be administered, and where the stricken heart could only be left
to struggle with its own griefs--alone.
A few hours after the first boat went ashore, a second boat landed.
By this time, a large number of the inhabitants had assembled at the
landing-place, to see what was going on; for to these people the
sight of a ship was a rare occurrence, and they all recognized the
Aigle, and wondered why she had returned. This second boat carried
Claude, who had thus been removed from the ship to the shore for the
purpose of being conveyed to Louisbourg. Captain Ducrot and Cazeneau
had already succeeded in finding a place where he could be kept. It
was the house of one of the fanners of Grand Pre, named Comeau, one
of the largest in the whole settlement.
Claude landed, and was committed to the care of Comeau, who had come
down to receive his prisoner. It was not thought worth while to bind
him, since, in so remote a place as this, there would be scarcely any
inducement for him to try to escape. If he did so, he could only fly
to the woods, and, as he could not support his life there, he would
be compelled to return to the settlement, or else seek shelter and
food among the Indians. In either case he would be recaptured; for
the Acadians would all obey the order of the governor of Louisbourg,
and deliver up to him any one whom he might designate; while the
Indians would do the same with equal readiness, since they were all
his allies. Under these circumstances, Claude was allowed to go with
his hands free; and in this way he accompanied Comeau, to whose
charge he was committed. He walked through the crowd at the landing
without exciting any very particular attention, and in company with
Comeau he walked for about half a mile, when he arrived at the house.
Here he was taken to a room which opened into the general
sitting-room, and was lighted by a small window in the rear of the
house, and contained a bed and a chair. The door was locked, and
Claude was left to his own reflections.
Left thus to himself, Claude did not find his own thoughts very
agreeable. He could not help feeling that he was now, more than ever,
in the power of the man who had shown himself so relentless and
persevering in his enmity. He was far away from any one whom he could
claim as a friend. The people here were evidently all the creatures
of Ducrot and Cazeneau. He saw that escape was useless. To get away
from this particular place of imprisonment might be possible, for the
window could be opened, and escape thus effected; but, if he should
succeed in flying, where could he go? Annapolis Royal was many miles
away; He did not know the way there; he could not ask; and even if he
did know the way, he could only go there by running the gantlet of a
population who were in league with Cazeneau.
That evening, as old Comeau brought him some food, he tried to enter
into conversation with him. He began in a gradual way, and as his
host, or, rather, his jailer, listened, he went on to tell his whole
story, insisting particularly on the idea that Cazeneau must be
mistaken; for he thought it best not to charge him with deliberate
malice. He hinted, also, that if he could escape he might bestow a
handsome reward upon the man who might help him. To all this Comeau
listened, and even gave utterance to many expressions of sympathy;
but the end of it all was nothing. Either Comeau disbelieved him
utterly, but was too polite to say so, or else he was afraid to
permit the escape of the prisoner who had been intrusted to his care.
Claude then tried another means of influencing him. He reminded him
that the governor of Louisbourg had no jurisdiction here; that the
Acadians of Grand Pre were subject to the King of England, and that
all concerned in this business would be severely punished by the
English as soon as they heard of it. But here Claude utterly missed
his mark. No sooner had he said this, than old Comeau began to
denounce the English with the utmost scorn and contempt. He told
Claude that there were many thousands of French in Acadia, and only a
hundred English; that they were weak and powerless; that their fort
at Annapolis was in a ruinous state; and that, before another year,
they would be driven out forever. He asserted that the King of France
was the greatest of all kings; that France was the most powerful of
all countries; that Louisbourg was the strongest fortress in the
universe; and that the French would drive the English, not only out
of Acadia, but out of America. In fact, Claude's allusion to the
English proved to be a most unfortunate one; for, whereas at first
the old man seemed to feel some sort of sympathy with his
misfortunes, so, at the last, excited by this allusion, he seemed to
look upon him as a traitor to the cause of France, and as a criminal
who was guilty of all that Cazeneau had laid to his charge.