Over the Border: Acadia, the Home of "Evangeline" Part 7

to the region where

"On the banks of the Teche are the towns of St. Maur and St Martin,"

to the parish of Attakapas

"and the prairies of fair Opelousas"

in Louisiana, some of the exiles wandered. Their descendants live there at the present time, and are known as Cajeans. Though sometimes harshly treated in the towns where they were quartered, though shouldered off from one village to another when one grew weary of or made excuses for not maintaining them, the poor wanderers were mild, gentle, and uncomplaining.

A writer in "Canadian Antiquities" says: "None speaks the tongue of Evangeline; and her story, though true as it is sweet and sorrowful, is heard no more in the scenes of her early days."

The way in which it came about that Longfellow wrote his poem was in this wise: one day, when Hawthorne and a friend from Salem were dining with the poet, the Salem gentleman remarked to the host, "I have been trying to persuade Hawthorne to write a story based on a legend of Acadie and still current there,--the legend of a girl who, in the dispersion of the Acadians, was separated from her lover, and pa.s.sed her life in waiting and seeking for him, and only found him dying in a hospital when both were old." The host, surprised that this romance did not strike the fancy of the novelist, asked if he himself might use it for a poem; and Hawthorne, readily a.s.senting, promised not to attempt the subject in prose until the poet had tried what he could do with it in metrical form. No one rejoiced more heartily in the success of the world-renowned poem than the writer who generously gave up an opportunity to win fame from his working up of the sad theme.

Authorities differ widely regarding the number of persons expelled from Acadia, many historians giving the estimate at seven thousand. In a letter from Governor Lawrence to the governors of the different colonies to which the exiles were sent, he says: "As their numbers amount to near seven thousand persons, the driving them off with leave to go whither they pleased would have doubtless strengthened Canada with so considerable a number of inhabitants." Bryant says: "Seven thousand probably represented with sufficient accuracy the total French population of Acadia in 1755; but the entire number of the exiled did not exceed, if Minot be correct, two thousand, of whom many subsequently returned to Acadia."

Five years after the departure of the exiles a fleet of twenty-two vessels sailed from Connecticut for Grand Pre with a large number of colonists, who took possession of the deserted farms. They found sixty ox carts and yokes, while on the edge of woods of the inland country and in sheltered places heaps of bones told of cattle which had perished of starvation and cold after their owners were forced to leave them to such a fate. A few straggling families of the Acadians were also found, who had escaped from the search of the soldiers, and had lived in hiding in the wilds of the back country for five years, and during that time had not tasted bread.

CLARE

"Only along the sh.o.r.e of the mournful and misty Atlantic Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom.

In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still busy, Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story."

Resolved to see these curious "Clare settlements," extending for fifty miles on the coast, where descendants of the French Acadians live in peace and unity, we reluctantly take our departure at last from dear old Annapolis, which has been our restful haven so long, and where we have been reviving school days in studying history and geography seasoned with poetry and romance. Although it was expected that the W. C. R. R.

would be completed from Yarmouth to Annapolis by the latter part of 1876, we are pleased to find that this is not the case, and that we shall have to take steamer, train, and carriage to our destination; antic.i.p.ating that any place so out of the beaten track must be interesting.

The French settlements, a succession of straggling hamlets, were founded by descendants of the exiles, who,--

"a raft as it were from the s.h.i.+pwrecked nation,...

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune,"

drifted back to "L'Acadie" in 1763, the year of the treaty between France and England.

The lands of their fathers in their old haunts on the Basin of Minas were in possession of people from New England; and, having a natural and inherited affection for localities by the sea, they wandered down the coast and scattered along sh.o.r.e as we find them now.

A pleasant excursion by steamer to Digby, thence proceeding some miles by rail, finally a long but charming drive by the sh.o.r.e of St. Mary's Bay, and we are set down at the house of a family of the better cla.s.s, among these kindly and old-fas.h.i.+oned farming and fisher folk. This beautiful bay is thirty-five miles long, was christened Baie St. Marie by Champlain, and here the four s.h.i.+ps of De Monts lay in calm and secure harbor for two weeks in 1604, while the adventurers were examining the sh.o.r.es of Nova Scotia,--explorations in which the discovery of iron pyrites deluded them with the belief that this would prove an El Dorado.

Madame M. at first looks dismayed at the appearance of such a group of strangers at her door, and is sure she cannot accommodate us; but her daughters slyly jog her elbow, saying something in an undertone, as if urging her to consent, and we are made most comfortable.

At first the family are a little shy, but in a couple of days we become quite well acquainted; and, when the time comes for our departure they "wish we could stay longer",--a wish which we heartily re-echo.

Madame proudly displays her treasures in hand-spun and home-woven linen and blankets; also a carpet, the material for which she first spun, then dyed, and finally wove; and, though it has been in use for ten years, it is still fresh and shows no apparent wear. In response to our entreaties, she shows us the loom, and brings out her spinning wheel to instruct us in that housewifely accomplishment. How easy it looks, as the fleecy web moves through her fingers, and winds in smooth, even yarn on the swiftly turning reel; and, oh, what bungling and botching when we essay that same! The two pretty, modest, and diffident daughters are quite overcome at last, and join in our peals of merriment.

One--oh bliss!--is named _Evangeline_, and, if we understand correctly, there is an old name similar to this among these people. Though they sing some charming old French chansons for us, the two sweet girls cannot be induced to converse in that language. Madame laughs, saying, "Dey know dey doant speak de _goot_ French, de fine French, so dey will only talk Angleesh wid you." But in the evening, when Octavia sings an absurd college song, with a mixture of French and English words, they enjoy the fun; and immediately set to work to learn:--

"Oh, Jean Baptiste, pourquoi vous grease My little dog's nose with tar?

Madame, je grease his nose with tar Because he have von grand catarrh, Madame, je grease his nose Parcequ'il he vorries my leetle fite chat."

Then the pretty Evangeline in turn becomes instructor, the theme being an ancient peasant song of France which her grandmother used to sing.

One plays the melody from memory, while the other hastily rules a bit of paper and writes off the notes, afterwards copying the words from a sc.r.a.p of tattered ma.n.u.script; and thus the lady from "America" feels that she has secured a pretty souvenir of the visit:

LES PERLES ET LES eTOILES.

1.

Comme les perles et les e - tol ? les Or-nent de - ja le front des cleux La nuit e-tend partout votle Elle vient de ju fermer mes yeux, Re - viendras tu dans un doux songe, O mon bel ange, tor que j'adore Me re - pe - ter divers mensonges Me re - pe - ter -ye taime encore--

2.

Sur un soup-con tu t'es en?fuie Je pleure belas ton a - ban ? don Par un bais er je t'en supplie Viens m?accorder undous pardon Oh crois le bien ma bonne a se Pour te revoir oh om, un jor, Je donnerais toute ma vie Je donnerais tous mes amours

The word "_mensonges_" has not the meaning in French which our literal translation would give it. It probably signifies the pretty falsehoods or white lies to which lovers are somewhat addicted. The next day is Sunday, and troops of people, in their peculiar costume, appear on the road from all directions, wending their way to the great white wooden church.

Despite the innate grace of the French, of which we hear so much, we see that the young men among these peasants are not unlike the shy and awkward country lads of Yankee land. Before and between the services they roost on the fence opposite the church, while the young girls--totally oblivious of their proximity, of course--gather in groups on the other side of the road, gossiping. We infer that many have come a long distance to attend service, as we see several families eating their lunch, picnic fas.h.i.+on, in the fields near the church. In the church, what a sensation the strangers make, and how interesting is the service!

To one of us, at least, the grand service of Notre Dame of Paris was not so impressive as this. In the one case, a famous Bishop, robed in priceless lace and cloth of gold, with a troop of acolytes at the altar, while the most famous singers of the Opera filled the vast structure with rapturous melody; in the other, a large plain wooden building with glaring windows of untinted gla.s.s; the priest in vestments of coa.r.s.e Nottingham lace and yellow damask,--but with spiritual, benignant countenance,--and a choir of untrained voices. A company of men droned out Gregorian chants in painfully nasal tones, using antique books with square headed notes; then the sweet voice of our host's daughter, Evangeline, sounded solo, and her youthful companions in the choir took up the chorus of the Kyrie Eleison:--

"Then came the evening service.

The tapers gleamed from the altar, Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded, Not with their lips alone, but with their hearts; and the Ave Maria Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls with devotion translated, Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven."

The young girls array themselves in hats and costumes which are only two or three years behind the prevailing mode; but the attire of the middle aged and elderly women is striking and peculiar. For Sundays, this is invariably black throughout, and yet does not look funereal. The dress is of plain bombazine or alpaca, a shawl folded square, and over the head a large silk handkerchief, which must be put on with greatest exactness and care to make just so many folds at the sides with a huge knot under the chin; while the point at the back hangs below the neck, and generally has one or more initials neatly worked in colors ("cross-st.i.tch") in the corner. As most have clear olive complexion, with rich color in the cheeks, arid l.u.s.trous black eyes, this headdress is surprisingly becoming, giving quite a gypsyish effect.

During the week, a calico dress with long white ap.r.o.n is worn by women and children, and over the head a light chintz handkerchief, or a gay "bandanna";--quite suggestive of the every day wear of foreign peasantry. We are told that a girl's wealth is sometimes estimated by the number of handkerchiefs she owns. Mrs. R. says she has, in winter, seen a girl divest herself of no less than ten head-kerchiefs; taking them off, one by one, and carefully folding them in the most natural manner, as if there could be nothing uncommon or amusing in the proceeding.

The old women, in winter, wear enormous cloaks, made with a large square yoke, into which eight or ten breadths of material are closely plaited, --this unwieldy garment completely enveloping them from head to foot.

These distinctive features in costume are disappearing, and ere long our American peasantry may become commonplace and uninteresting. Let us hope that they may never lose the sweet simplicity, frankness, honesty, thrift, and other pleasing characteristics which they now possess.

In the houses is seen a peculiar rocking-settle, similar to those in use among the Pennsylvania Dutch. This odd piece of furniture has one end railed in front to serve for cradle; so papa, mamma, and baby can rock and "take comfort" together.

Towards evening we visit the convent, where the sisters--who probably do not receive frequent calls from visitors--seem glad of the opportunity for a pleasant chat and a bit of news from the outside world. They show us through their exquisitely neat establishment, where, in the culinary department, a crone who is deaf and rather childish approaches us with such strong evidence of delight, that we expect at least to be embraced; but a sign from the Superior relieves us from the impending demonstration.

At sunset, as we stroll along the road, three pretty little girls who are driving home a flock of geese tempt us to air our French a little, and a lively conversation ensues, causing their black eyes to sparkle and their white teeth to flash bewitchingly. One of the children explains why one of the awkward birds wears a clumsy triangular collar of wood, with a stake apparently driven through its throat, "to prevent it from going through the fences;" and when one of the strangers, imitating the waddling gait of the creatures, improvises,--

Bon soir, Madame Oie, Veux tu le ble? Il est a toi!

such a shout of merry laughter is heard as one might willingly go a long way to listen to. When one gives her name, "Therese _le Blanc_", our query, "Votre pere, est il _la Notaire_?" strange to say, puzzles her; but she probably is not familiar with a certain famous poem, although our hostess and her daughters have perused it.

As time pa.s.ses, and she feels better acquainted and at ease with us, Madame M.'s younger daughter amuses us by showing some mischievous tendency; and we conclude she is something of "a tease". In the most artless manner, and without intentional familiarity, she slides her arm through Octavia's in a confidential manner and imparts some important information "dans l'oreille". What is it? Well, remember it is _whispered_; and now _don't_ go and tell! It is that there _is_ a swain who is Evangeline's special devoted; and the quick blush which rises most becomingly on that damsel's cheek speaks for itself. We have seen for ourselves how

"Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, fixed his eyes upon her,"

and as our eyes turn to the lovely view of the Bay with its sheltering highlands we can readily imagine how, on just such evenings as this,--

"apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise Over the pallid sea,"

while