Chapter VI
PIERRE AND POINT A L'EGLISE
"Ah, why should she wish to see you, the American young lady? You havemuch conceit, Pierre."
The words were French, the voice was Madame Bourque's, and Amy, quicklytranslating what she overheard, perceived that Madame Bourque wasthrowing obstacles in the way of the little boy's seeing her.
"Madame Bourque," she cried, stepping out into the hall, "I asked him tocome to see me. It is as he says."
"Oh, then excuse me, Mademoiselle. I did not understand. I did not knowthat you had seen Pierre."
"Ah, yes, he helped me find my way last evening. He may come in, may henot?"
"Ah, surely, since you wish it. Pierre talks much, and I have knownthose whom he tired. But enter, Pierre, since you have been invited."
Then Pierre followed Amy into the little sitting-room, where Priscillaand Martine were already seated near an open fire; for the gray and dampearly morning had introduced a foggy day, and at present sightseeing wasout of the question. Priscilla had been writing letters, Amy had beenreading a history of the Acadians, and Martine, before Pierre's arrival,had been looking through "Evangeline."
"Pierre," Amy asked, not knowing just what to say to the old-fashionedboy, "do you care for 'Evangeline'?"
"Surely, yes," he replied, his face lighting up. "Your Longfellow hassympathy for the Acadians. A lady who stayed here last summer lent mehis poems, but best I understand the 'Evangeline.'
"'Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the wayside, Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses!'"
Pierre recited with much expression.
"Ah," he continued, "I can say much of that beautiful poem, and indeedit makes me weep to think how they were treated, those poor Acadians, myancestors. The English were most cruel."
"Amy," half-whispered Martine, "my history is a little rusty, so pleasetell me if the Acadians were driven out from Little Brook."
"No, my dear, Little Brook was founded by some who made their way backfrom exile. Pierre," she added in a louder tone, "you are so interestedin your people, can you tell us about those who founded Little Brook?"
"Yes, Pierre can tell you all the story," interposed Madame Bourque, whohad entered the room to put wood on the fire. "He knows it all from hisgrandmother, and he remembers."
Pierre, thus commended, flushed even more deeply than he had when Amymade her request; but he remained silent until she spoke again.
"Perhaps it is not everything that you would wish to hear," he said,"that I shall tell; but my grandmother told me that it was all forest inClare when the Acadians were driven from their homes by the cruelEnglish. There were no farms here then, and so Petit Ruisseau has no sadmemories of poor people driven from their homes. But you know thatAcadians from Annapolis and Grand Pre and other places farther northwere carried off to the English settlements that are now the States, andwere treated like beggars; for they had no money, and spoke but astrange tongue. Fathers were separated from children, and brothers andsisters were not often in the same ship. But all were strong in theirhearts, and determined to come back to their beautiful Acadia. Somebegan to come back before the Peace, and walked all the way--hundredsand hundreds of miles--from Boston and New York, until they reached thecoast of the Bay. When the war was over, and there was a great Peace,many, many more came, and walked all the way around from New Brunswickto Nova Scotia to find their homes again."
"But I thought that all their houses were burned and that they had nohomes to return to."
"That is true; but some knew not this, and even those who had seen thefires from the ships did not believe that everything of theirs wasdestroyed. So they were very sad when they could find no signs of theirold homes, and saw that everything belonged to the English settlers. Itwas a great crime, sending them away, oh, so many; I am proud mygreat-great-grandparents were exiles and my great-grandmother was bornin Salem; so perhaps I am half Yankee; that's why I speak some English."
At that moment Madame Bourque took part in the conversation. "Ah, it isterrible to think of their sufferings, people of such worth,--it is thecrime of history. Just think of Belliveau; you tell about him, Pierre."
"Oh, he was very brave, and the first exile to land in Clare. He and hiswife came across the bay in a little boat, bringing their baby too, andthey landed safely on the shore that you can see from the window. Theyhad a terrible passage--and to think to-day that some people fear tocross the bay to St. John, even in a steamboat! At first they did havenothing, but they cut wood, and soon other Acadians joined them who hadwalked all the way around on land."
"Pierre," interposed Amy, "you describe things very well; what do youintend to be when you grow up?"
A shadow crossed Pierre's face. "I should like to be a sailor, and thena great captain, but I am not strong enough, and I shall never grow big;so I think I may be a teacher, and that is why I take trouble to speakand write English."
"You should be here," interrupted Madame Bourque, whose mind still dwelton the Acadians, "on the fifteenth of August; that is the day of thereturn from exile that all the people in Clare celebrate."
"We shall hardly be in this part of the country then, Madame Bourque,"responded Amy, "but we shall try to know all we can about the earlyAcadians before we leave Little Brook. But, Pierre," added Amy, "youhaven't told us all that you know, have you? Haven't you some storiesthat your mother or grandmother has told you?"
"One about the cane I like much."
"Then tell it to us."
"Well, there was one of our family, a great-grand-uncle, I think, wholived down near Cape Sable before the exile; one time he was very kindto a shipwrecked captain and took him into his house and gave himclothes and food; then when my relative was driven from home they tookhim to Boston, and he had to wander about, begging his bread, for hecould not speak English. And then he and his three sons with him wereput in jail; then the captain whom he had been kind to heard that theseFrenchmen were in jail, and, remembering the kindness he had had, wentto visit the prisoners. How surprised he was to find his oldacquaintance who had helped him after the shipwreck! My relative wasglad to see him too. Then the captain went to the governor and told himabout the kind Frenchman who was in jail, and the governor said to bringhim before him and perhaps he would pardon him. As my relative had noclothes fit to wear before the governor, the captain bought him abeautiful suit and a cane with a large head. Then the governor, when hesaw my grandfather, pardoned him and his three sons, and they stayed inBoston several years, until the Peace, when they all came back to NovaScotia. I know this story is true, because I have seen the cane, whichone of my cousins owns in Pubnico."
"Do you think that is true?" whispered Priscilla to Martine.
"Oh, true enough; it certainly is not very exciting. It has been handeddown so long that the point is evidently lost."
Pierre, once started, continued to tell many stories of the hardshipsborne by the early Acadians, beside which the tale of Evangeline seemedalmost cheerful.
"Now, Priscilla," said Martine, when Pierre paused, "you must admit thatthe English don't show themselves in a very good light compared with theAcadians. Did you ever hear of such cruelty?"
"There must have been some cause for it," rejoined Priscilla, stoutly;"we have heard only one side thus far. Perhaps the Acadians themselveswere a little in the wrong."
"They certainly were not perfect," interposed Amy, taking part in thediscussion, "as you will admit when you have read their history morecarefully. We have not time to go into things more fully now, and I havethought that Grand Pre would be the best place for our study of thecauses leading to the exile. It's putting the cart before the horse totalk too much of the effects before we know the causes."
Had Pierre exactly understood Amy he might have entered into adiscussion with her, but for the moment he had run to the front door toadmit Madame B
ourque's little daughters, whom he had seen entering theyard. When he was again in the room Madame Bourque once more joined thegroup.
"How does it happen, Madame Bourque," asked Martine, mischievously,"that your hotel is the Hotel Paris? You should have named it 'Acadia'or 'Evangeline,' or something like that."
"Ah," responded Madame Bourque, "it is that my husband is a Frenchman,from Paris, and I like my children not to forget that. Some day, whenthey grow up, they shall go to Paris."
"Have Acadians any real love for France?" asked Amy. "It is certainly along, long time since their ancestors left it."
"Yes, indeed," replied Madame Bourque, "just as the Englishman alwaysloves England, or the Irishman Ireland; they are still strangers in astrange land, though they must call the English Queen their queen," sheconcluded sentimentally. "Some Acadians go back to France to study, andsome French boys come out to the college at Church Point, and one ofthem--ah, it is so romantic!--married an Acadienne a few years ago."
"Oh, tell us about it," exclaimed Martine; "I love anything romantic."
"Well, then," said Madame Bourque, "there was such a pretty girl atChurch Point in the convent, and this youth was sent by his parents tostudy at the College of St. Anne. He fell in love with the pretty girland would marry her, and oh, his father and mother they felt so bad, forthey thought Acadians were something like Indians; and so they hurriedout to Nova Scotia, and when they saw the girl they fell in love withher too, and knew she was no savage, and say their son can marry her.But the girl would not leave her people, and as the son would not giveup the girl, the parents decided to come to Acadia to live, for he wasan only son and they were rich. So they have bought much land up beyondWeymouth, and they call it New France. They have a great mill where theycut timber, and a railroad of their own twenty miles long, by which theysend it to the sea, and good houses and electric lights--all on accountof a pretty Acadienne."
"That's just the kind of story I like," cried Martine. "I supposehistory is just as true, but someway I have more interest in things thatare happening to-day."
Madame Bourque now left the room to make arrangements for the earlydinner. She had foretold that the fog would lift before noon, andaccordingly Priscilla, looking out the window, was not surprised tocatch a fleeting glimpse of the sun through an opening in the veil ofmist.
"We'll take your word that the sun will shine," exclaimed Amy, "and I'llrun upstairs and ask mamma if she will drive this afternoon. I imaginethat the most there is to be seen is at Church Point, and the sooner wego there the better."
Madame Bourque, when asked, promised to have two carriages ready earlyin the afternoon, for Amy had not only invited Pierre to dinner, butintended to take him to drive with her.
"Mamma," said Amy, as she gave her mother an account of the morning,"you will find Madame Bourque very amusing. She evidently believes theAcadians to be the salt of the earth; but though I sympathize with theirsufferings, I do not believe they were quite the superior beings thatshe paints them."
"It might be unkind," replied Mrs. Redmond, "to suggest that this ispart of her stock in trade; the more remarkable she can represent theold Acadians to have been, the more interested will her guests be in theplaces associated with them. They were a good, honest people."
"But they were peasants, were they not, mamma? You would think to hearher talk that they were very near nobility."
"Oh, among the Acadians of to-day are doubtless many descendants of menof good family in France. Indeed, some of them can claim for ancestorsCharles de la Tour and Baron D'Entremont; but the peasant blood is inthe ascendant, and the strain of nobility must be very slight."
At the dinner-table Pierre won Mrs. Redmond's heart by the gentleness ofhis manner, and she told Martine that Amy's protege would be a closerival of hers.
"No, indeed," replied Martine; "no one can rival Yvonne. Just think ofher voice and her little curls and her pink cheeks."
"I'll admit that Pierre lacks these characteristics, though all in allthey would hardly enhance his value. From what Amy says, however, Ishould judge that Pierre, even if he has neither curls nor pink cheeks,has a voice that is very effective when he uses it in telling stories."
Fearing that Pierre might overhear these personalities, Mrs. Redmondchanged the conversation. "Amy," she said in a somewhat louder voice,"where do you suppose Fritz is now?"
"Oh, if Pubnico is as fascinatingly French as he expected it to be, heis probably there still. I doubt if he will be better entertained thanwe have been."
"I almost wish he were with us," rejoined Mrs. Redmond, "for he isalways a fund of entertainment in himself; I have thought of him manytimes this dull morning, and I hope that we shall find a letter from himawaiting us at Digby."
If Amy agreed with her mother, she did not so express herself at thismoment; yet if the truth were known, it must be said that more than oncesince their parting at Yarmouth she had regretted that she had not atleast given Fritz a chance to join their party.
When the carriages came to the door in the afternoon Amy recognized themas having formed part of the funeral procession; they were shabby, withhard seats, and the horses, as well as the vehicles, looked as if theyhad seen better days. It was arranged that Amy and Pierre should go inthe small carriage, as Madame Bourque's husband assured them that thehorse was perfectly safe for a lady to drive. "Ah, he could not runaway!"
"I should think not," said Amy. "If he manages to carry us even thethree miles to Church Point I shall be surprised; he seems so dispiritedthat I imagine the funeral has made more impression on him than onMadame Bourque herself."
Mrs. Redmond, Priscilla, and Martine were in the second carriage, andMadame Bourque was the driver.
Amy noticed in gardens and windows fewer hollyhocks, oleanders, andother bright flowers than she had seen at Meteghan. The houses, too,were painted in less bright colors, and the village street had a lessstirring appearance.
Pierre was a good cicerone; he pointed out near the edge of the sea thespot where the first of the returning exiles had landed. He also showedAmy a little one-story house on a slight elevation, said to be theoldest in the town, and to date but little later than the landing.
"It is hard," he said in his precise way, "to imagine that it was allforest here in those first years, since now there is hardly a tree insight except the fruit trees in the orchards. The first comers had largegrants of land from the government; thus the English tried to make upfor the wrong they had done."
"But the farms are very small now," ventured Amy. "The yards are soclose together."
"Ah, yes, that is it; each father had many children and divided his landamong his sons, and as every one wanted his house to be on the villagestreet, they have kept it up, cutting it up into long narrow strips, someof them running back one or two miles; and away at the end of the stripsthere are still forests that are worth money."
Some time before they reached Church Point, the lighthouse and thecollege buildings were seen in imposing outline in the distance.
Their horse justified Amy's forebodings, and when they overtook MadameBourque and her party the latter were standing near a monument beforethe large building that Pierre had said was the College of St. Anne.Amy, though undisturbed by Martine's gibes at the slowness of her steed,was glad enough to get out of the carriage. Both horses were left incharge of a boy whom Madame Bourque knew, while the sight-seers startedto walk to the shrines of the Acadians--for by this term did MadameBourque describe the burying-ground and site of the early houses.
"It is not a long walk," the voluble Frenchwoman had explained, "unlessyou go out to the lighthouse, for which we have not time to-day."
Priscilla lingered behind the others to copy the inscription on themonument. It was in honor of the Abbe Sigogne, to whom the Acadians ofClare owe more than to any other one person.
Priscilla, reading the inscription, wondered why she had never beforeheard of this man, who evidently had been so much to his own people.Acadia is not far
from Massachusetts, and yet already she realized thatthis was a corner of the world of which she knew far too little. Amy,however, could tell her what she wished to know, and she hurried on tojoin the others, who were now far ahead.
"Amy," she cried, overtaking her friend, "tell me something about theAbbe Sigogne; I am ashamed to say that I never heard of him before."
Pierre glanced at the American girl with an expression of absoluteamazement at her ignorance.
"There is so much to tell," said Amy, "that it would be too long a storyfor the time that we have now; yet as we walk along I can give you alittle idea of his work. He was a French priest of good family, whobarely escaped losing his head during the French Revolution. Afterfleeing from France he lived a few years in England. When he heard thatthe poor Acadians of Clare were without a clergyman, he decided to go tothem, and from that time he made their lot his. This was in 1799, aboutthirty years after their return from exile, and though they had clearedthe forest and built houses, they had made little progress in otherways; they were without schools and almost without religion, but thegood Abbe built them a church, established schools, and made frequentvisits to all the little settlements along St. Mary's Bay, oftentravelling along the coast in a small, open boat. He taught them manythings besides religion. He made them firm in their allegiance to GreatBritain, and when he died, in 1844, he was bitterly mourned by all whoknew him, whether English or French."
When Amy and Priscilla and Pierre caught up with the others, they werein a large field, looking at a spot of ground on which Madame Bourquesaid had stood the very first house at Point a l'Eglise, built after theexile. Near by was a little old graveyard, where the first generation ofreturning exiles had been buried. Only a few graves were marked, andthese with rough stones without inscriptions. A rude arch of whaleboneformed the entrance to this little enclosure. It was not very far fromthe point of land on which stood the lighthouse, near which, along theedge of the sea, a file of black-coated priests was walking. Though theywere indistinctly seen in the distance, their large caps and flappingsurtouts gave them a picturesque appearance.
A strange structure like a shrine of open slats decorated with spruceboughs attracted Martine's attention, and she insisted on making asketch of it.
"It is a repository," explained Pierre, politely, "where the prieststands, as a station for the procession, on festival days."
When they returned to the College of St. Anne, Madame Bourque grew moreand more eloquent.
"Is it not wonderful," she said, "that all this great building isrestored since the fire of two years ago? You will come inside, ladies,and see how pleasant the rooms are."
"I will stay outside," replied Priscilla, "and watch the horses," sheconcluded rather lamely.
"Nonsense," began Amy, but looking at Priscilla, she saw that the younggirl was in earnest, and so insisted no further.
"Amy," whispered Priscilla, as her friend drew near her, "I was sorryafterwards that I went into the convent yesterday, and so I would muchrather not go into a priest's house."
"I had no idea that you would be so narrow," rejoined Amy.
"I don't mean to be narrow," responded Priscilla, "but I really don'tfeel like going inside."
So Priscilla sat down on the grass near the monument and all the otherswent inside the main building of the College of St. Anne. Not very longafterwards Mrs. Redmond came out again, with her sketch-book in herhand. "I thought it a good time now to make a sketch of the church. Ihave seen many other schools like this one, for, after all, it's only aboys' boarding-school. The girls enjoy practising their French with theEudist Father, who is taking them about, and it will probably be sometime before they are ready to leave. I think you make a mistake,Priscilla, in not joining them."
"It isn't a very old building," said Priscilla, implying that this wassufficient reason for her staying away from the party.
"It is certainly not very old," rejoined Mrs. Redmond; "the college hasbeen established less than ten years. It is a great thing to havefounded it here in the midst of the Acadians, and it has made the boysof Clare much more ambitious."
"What good is a college education to them?" asked Priscilla; "fishingand farming seem to be their chief occupations."
"This is really only a preparatory school," replied Mrs. Redmond, "andthe boys who are going into the Church or into the professions enterother colleges in Canada or in France. The Father told us with pride ofthe high standing of some of the graduates in their work in othercolleges."
"If I do not care for the college," said Priscilla, "I love this churchof Abbe Sigogne's; it makes me think of a New England meeting-house,with its white walls and steeple."
Mrs. Redmond's sketch was hardly finished when the others came out fromthe college. Madame Bourque was in her most talkative mood, as she ledthem across the road into the white church. This time Priscilla wentwith them and looked with some interest at the paintings on the wall,and the sacred emblems, and the tablet inscribed to the memory of AbbeSigogne.
Martine, it must be admitted, found something amusing even in thischurch, for inside the gallery where the choir boys sat were manypictures of little boats, and even of full-rigged ships scratched indeeply with a penknife, presumably by the fingers of mischievous youngsingers.
Pierre, who happened to be with Martine when she made this discovery,did not laugh with her, but shaking his head solemnly, said, "Ah, thosepictures show what really fills the heart of the Acadian boy."
Madame Bourque was disappointed that her party of Americans did not careto visit the girls' school near by, but the hour was late, and thetired-looking horses were not likely to make speed on the way home.
"We have really seen so much," said Mrs. Redmond, "that we shall need tothink it all over before seeing more, and you have been so good a guidethat in our one visit to Church Point we have learned as much as mostpersons do in two."
"We have learned a great deal," murmured Priscilla to Amy, "but I alwaysfeel that Madame Bourque paints the Acadians as much more remarkablethan they are. But I should like to have seen Father Sigogne baptizingIndian pappooses; they say that he used to wipe their faces with hisgown to find a spot where he could kiss them."
"Yes, and Madame Bourque says that there are people still living who canremember great crowds of Indians filing through the woods to ChurchPoint that they might receive Abbe Sigogne's blessing on St Anne's Day."