Farther and farther down, and sudden Revelation of the Truth.—Rising
superior to Circumstances.—The “Pot of Money,” and other buried
Treasures.—They take all these exhumed Treasures to Dr. Porter.—Singular
Reception of the excited Visitors.
IN deep excitement they
continued to dig in silence, and thus came gradually nearer to the object
of their search. At last the loose earth was all thrown out, and only the
old hardbound soil was left; while there, at the bottom of the cavity, lay
exposed a portion of an iron surface, dented now and scratched by the
blows which it had received. It was very rusty; the rust, in fact covered
it in great scales, showing that it must have been buried there for many
years. As yet only a few square inches of the surface were visible, and it
was impossible to tell as yet what it was. But they all felt sure that it
was an iron chest.
Bruce now took his pickaxe, and began loosening the hard-bound earth that surrounded the hole.
“It’s lucky it’s so near the surface,” said Bart.
“I suppose he hadn’t time to bury it any deeper,” said Phil.
“No,” said Arthur; “he must have been hurrying off, you know.”
“Perhaps we won’t be able to lift it,” said Tom. “What’ll we do then?”
“We’ll have to get Solomon and Captain Corbet,” said Phil.
“For that matter,” said Bart, “we can rig up blocks and pulleys, and hoist it up. We’ll have to dig all around it, though.”
“We may not have it done to-night.”
“If it’s very heavy, we won’t.”
“But we must.”
“O, yes, it wouldn’t do to leave it till morning.”
“Can’t we get lights?”
“If we do get lights, we’d better postpone it till midnight.”
“But we ought to do as much as we can by daylight.”
“O, of course, while the daylight lasts, we’ll keep at it.”
Bruce now laid down his pickaxe, and they went to work with their shovels, and at last the loose earth was thrown out once more. They had now uncovered what seemed like one side of the top of the box, and its edge was plainly apparent. The rest of it was still covered by the superincumbent soil.
“That’s the edge of the box,” said Bart. “We didn’t hit it fair in the centre.”
“It’s a good-sized box, too.”
“And it’ll be awfully heavy.”
“I wonder if it is much larger.”
“We’d better uncover the rest of it, so as to see the size of it. There don’t seem to be any kind of rivets here, or anything of that sort.”
“O, you can’t tell. It’s so covered with rust.”
“Countersunk rivets on an iron plate would be quite concealed if they were all covered with scales of rust.”
“Come, I’ll dig more on this side,” said Bruce, taking up his pickaxe again. A few blows directed against the other side served to loosen the earth there, and the eager boys soon threw it out, and laid bare more of the surface. Bruce worked away with his pickaxe at the same time. There was now room for only two to work. The others looked on with beating hearts.
“Hallo!” cried Bruce, suddenly.
“What?” asked Bart.
“Why, the top’s loose!”
“Loose! Hurrah! We can lift it off then, and get into the box.”
Bruce said nothing, but stooped down. Bart, who had been digging, stooped down, too. The other boys crowded around.
Bruce dug his fingers into the earth by the edge of the iron, and rattled it with his hands. Then he tried to lift it up.
It moved!
As it moved, he worked his fingers underneath it, and raised it up on its edge.
He said not one word, but lifted it up, and held it before the eyes of the “B. O. W. C.”
And as they looked at it they were struck dumb, and stood paralyzed with amazement and disgust.
For there, in Bruce’s hands, held up to the light of day, the iron lid of the iron money-chest, that coffer lid that concealed so much treasure, buried long ago by the fugitive Frenchman, to be exhumed by their fortunate hands,—that iron lid which had been the source of so much excitement and hope, had resolved itself into nothing better than a rusty old ploughshare!
Again holding it till he was tired, Bruce handed it solemnly to Bart.
“Here, Bart,” said he, “I’ll give all my share to you.”
“And I present all that you give me and all my own to Tom,” said Bart, taking it and passing it on to Tom.
Tom took it and handed it to Arthur.
“I make it over to you, Arthur,” said he.
“And I make it over to Phil,” said Arthur.
Phil took it.
“Very well,” said he. “I hereby give and bequeath all my right, title, and interest, in and to the said ploughshare, to the Academy Museum, its curators and officials, to have and to hold forevermore, amen, and anything to the contrary thereof in any wise notwithstanding.”
By this time the boys had recovered from their astonishment, disappointment, and disgust.
“That comes of being so sanguine,” said Bart. “Boys, why would you allow yourselves to grow so excited?”
“Fancy a fugitive Acadian solemnly burying his plough.”
“It was all he had, poor wretch, I dare say.”
“But why bury it in his cellar? Why not in his potato field?”
“For my part, I don’t believe in the Acadian French.”
“I think they’re humbugs.”
“And this is all that remains of the wealth of ‘Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer in Grand Pré!”
“Perhaps he intended it as a quiet hint to show those who were in a hurry to get rich the true source of wealth. The plough is that, you know; so the copy-books all say, at any rate.”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve got even this. It makes archæologists of us. We’ll make it a present to the Museum, The doctor’ll be delighted. Perhaps he’ll give us an extra holiday. Every scale of rust will be precious in his eyes; and he’ll paste a nice label on it, with all our names immortalized, and the date of the discovery. It will be the chief treasure of the Museum. Where’ll David Diggs’s crystal be, or Billymack’s moss agate, or Jiggins’s petrifactions, beside our plough?”
“I wonder if we couldn’t find something else, so as to make a handsome thing out of it. An old rusty nail would be better than nothing.”
“That’s a capital idea,” cried Bruce, seizing his pickaxe again. “Never say die, boys. We’ll go back covered with glory, after all, and our names will be handed down to future generations of boys yet to come to the old place.”
Saying this, Bruce began working away once more with his pickaxe; and the others, excited by this new idea, and the prospect of gaining some kind of a reward for all their toil, took their shovels again, and waited till Bruce should loosen the earth sufficiently for them to dig it.
At length this was done, and they began to shovel it out. They had not worked five minutes before Tom cried,—
“Hallo! here’s something, at any rate.”
Saying this, he stooped down and picked something out of the ground, which he showed the boys. They examined it eagerly, and saw that it was a colter, probably belonging to the plough, from which the ploughshare had been taken. Scarcely had he handed this to the boys than he saw lying at his feet an iron bolt. This encouraged them all the more. The colter and the bolt were placed beside the ploughshare, and they worked on vigorously, each one hoping to make some discovery of his own.
In a little while Bruce struck something, which, on examination, proved to be the end of a chain. After diligent labor he succeeded in detaching it all from the ground, and laid it down upon the grass. It was an ox chain, about six feet long.
This, of course, only increased their excitement; so they all went to work again.
At last Phil, with all his strength, dragged something out of the ground, and with a shout put it down beside the other things. It was a small iron pot, which had been used for cooking. It was now full of earth, and Phil, seizing the colter, began to pick it out.
“This is the famous pot,” cried Phil, with a laugh; “but the money inside has all turned to dust because we dug it in the daytime.”
“Money?” cried Arthur. “Don’t laugh about money. What do you say to that?”
And he held out on his open palm three very dirty coins. What they were they could not tell, whether silver, or iron, or what. They looked like very dirty round stones. The boys took them and examined them carefully. Bart drew his knife, and scraped off the rust and canker.
“More of old Benedict Bellefontaine,” said he, at last. “We can’t make anything out of him. See here!”
And holding out the coin, he showed where he had scraped it. There they could read, faintly marked, letters, which formed the following:—
They were somewhat disappointed at this, and scraped the other coins, but found them all copper.
“Pooh!” said Arthur; “what’s the odds? To an archaeologist isn’t a copper coin as precious as a gold one? Of course it is. Hallo, Phil! Haven’t you got that pot cleaned out yet? I’ve got an idea. I’ll put these sous in the pot, and then we can say that we’ve found a pot of money. We’ll be generous, too—we’ll give it all to the Museum.” Phil’s pot by this time was empty, and Arthur laughingly threw the sous into it. After this they began their search again, and enlarged the hole in hopes of finding more around the sides. And in this they were successful, for they found, near, a dozen more copper coins, which made a very respectable appearance in the pot, and in addition to these, about a dozen bits of iron—nails, spikes, and bolts.
“Hallo, boys! look here!” cried Bart, suddenly. He held in his hand an old, discolored bone. “Talking about relics,” said he, “here’s a relic of the original owner. The question is though, is it a human bone?”
“Pooh!” said Arthur; “it’s an ox bone, or a horse.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Bart. “I’m determined that it shall be Benedict Bellefontaine.”
“It’s a horse’s bone,” said Phil.
“No,” said Bart; “I’ll keep it carefully, and let the doctor have it. It will be the most precious article in the Museum.”
It was now growing too dark to work any longer. The sun had set, and they were satisfied with the result of their labors. So they gathered together their treasures, and set out for the Academy.
These treasures seemed to them to be by no means despicable.
They were,—
1 ploughshare,
1 colter,
4 bolts,
1 chain,
1 iron pot,
3 nails,
2 bits of iron,
2 spikes,
13 copper coins,
1 bone.
And any one who has ever been connected with a small museum, or has ever been acquainted with those who are connected with a valuable institution like that, will easily understand the value of articles like these, exhumed direct from the cellar of an old Acadian house.
The boys felt no doubt whatever as to the value of their treasure. In fact, they grew so excited over it that they began at last to think what they had found far better than what they hoped to find; and so it resulted that those who had gone out to find gold came back rejoicing in rusty iron.
On reaching the Academy they went at once to Dr. Porter’s house. They found the doctor at home, and were ushered up at once to his study.
The boys said nothing, but gravely, and in impressive silence, laid down their treasures on the doctor’s study table. It was covered with books and papers; but they were too oblivious of every thing, and too much absorbed in the contemplation of their own things, to think of that.
So Bruce entered first, and placed on the doctor’s table, right over some handsome volumes of Euripides, just received from London, the rusty, dirty old ploughshare.
“Hallo!” cried the doctor. “Why! what!—”
But before he could finish his sentence, Tom came up, and laid down a dozen old spikes and nails. Both of them turned and looked proudly at the doctor.
“Look here, boys,” cried the doctor, standing up; “what—”
He was interrupted by Phil, who came forward between him and the first boys, carrying an iron pot, which he triumphantly placed on a handsomely bound Hebrew Lexicon.
“What in the world—” began the doctor again, but was again interrupted by Arthur, who solemnly placed the colter on a new edition of Longinus, and then put the chain on some late English Quarterly Reviews. Just as the doctor was about to burst forth, Bart came immediately before him, and, with a face radiant with delight, laid down, right on the doctors blotting pad, that horrible, discolored, and disintegrated old bone.
For a moment it seemed that the doctor would burst forth in a fury. To him this behavior was the sublimity of unparalleled impudence; the act was so absolutely unequalled in its quiet audacity, that it actually made him dumb with amazement. The ploughshare, the colter, the iron pot, the rusty spikes and bolts, the old chain,—all these were so many stages up which his astonishment went to a climax which was fully attained when Bart put down the abominable old bone.
This was too much.
Then the doctor burst forth.
But not in fierce and furious indignation, and vehement and violent denunciation. It struck him in another way. It was his sense of the ridiculous that was affected. He forgot the ruin done to his precious editions of the classics, and his mind could only grasp the innocent, smiling faces of these five young rascals who had come into the awful seclusion of his own study to pile up his inviolable study table with old iron and old bones.
And so it was that the doctor burst forth into an uncontrollable fit of laughter,—not a common laugh, but one which was sent forth from the very depths of his nature,—all absorbing, overwhelming. Peal after peal, irrepressible. It was contagious, too. The boys caught it. They tried to restrain themselves at first. They tittered. They began to see themselves the absurdity of their act. The thought overcame them, and they all burst forth, too. The whole company thus went off into fearful explosions—cataclysms, in fact, of laughter.
It roused the house.
The family came running up to see the cause.
The doctor could not utter a word. Tears were running from his eyes; he could only point in silence to the old iron and old bone. The contagion seized upon the family also, and they all went off into the general laughter.
At length the boys took the things off the table, and put them on the floor. Gradually the doctor recovered his self-control, and asked the boys what it all meant. They told him all about it. He listened to them with a serious face, which, however, was occasionally disturbed by a tendency to another outburst, as again and again the thought of the past scene forced itself back. Finally, he managed to get the whole story, and by that time his laughter passed, and was succeeded by a new sensation.
It was one of intense delight at such discoveries. Now they appeared before him, not as old iron and old bone, but in their true character. He was an enthusiastic antiquarian, and all connected with the Acadian French excited his passionate interest. He looked affectionately at the ploughshare. He handled the colter tenderly. He examined one by one, with minute inspection, the spikes and the bolt. He scanned narrowly and admiringly the iron pot. He passed every link of the rusty chain through his fingers. He lingered long and lovingly over the coins, closely examining every one of them. He looked at the bone with an intense curiosity, mingled with deep sympathy for the unfortunate race of which it was the reminder.
He threw himself into his admiration over these with the same abandonment of feeling that had characterized his laughing fit. It was a proud and a delightful moment for the boys when they found that their discoveries were so highly prized. The doctor declared that there was nothing in the Museum to be compared with them, and finally sent for Messrs. Simmons and Long. These gentlemen soon appeared, and exhibited an interest in these Acadian relics which was fully equal to that of the doctor.
But the wonder was, to all of them, how in the world the boys had happened to think of digging in that particular place. They questioned them closely, though good humoredly, about this; and Bart, after vain efforts at eluding the questions, finally told the whole story.
Bart told that story in such a whimsical way, and with such an eye to effective representation, that in five minutes he had all his audience in another roar of laughter, worse than the first. He mimicked Captain Corbet with his mineral rod. He told about the lights and the magic ceremonies. He took off Solomon capitally, and finally spoke of the donkey’s bray, and its result, concealing nothing of their own terror. Bart went on, interrupted all the time by the laughter of his hearers, and at last succeeded in bringing his story down to the moment in which he was speaking.
The Doctor’s Proposal.—Blomidon.—The Expedition by Land.—The Drive by Morning Twilight.—The North Mountain.—Breakfasting amid the Splendors of Nature.—The illimitable Prospect.—The Doctor tells the Story of the French Acadians.
“B OYS,” said the doctor, after Bart had
ended his narrative, “it isn’t often that such nonsense as yours was turns
out so well in the end. I’d rather have this old iron pot, with these old
black sous, than even that pot of gold which dazzled your imaginations so
when you were digging. If all mineral rods were to be so very lucky as
Captain Corbet’s was, we might go and test every old French cellar in the
country. I can assure you this is a gift of no common value. The rust
marks and the mud which you have made on my books and papers are rather
welcome than otherwise. Bart’s bone ought to receive a very careful
examination. I think we ought to dig up the whole cellar, and we may find
more bones there.
“But I’ve got a proposal to make, which, perhaps, you will think a reward for your discovery. To-morrow is Saturday. How would you like to go off with me on an excursion for the day,—you and the other boys,—the same party, in fact, that went with Mr. Long?”
“An excursion!” cried the boys, with radiant faces.
“Yes,” said the doctor. “I’ve been intending to make one for some time. I was disappointed in not going with you in the schooner. These relics have revived an idea which I had last year, but was not able to put in practice. It is this: I have good reason to believe that somewhere on the top of Blomidon there once stood a French fort, and that the ruins are very distinctly visible yet. I have a very clear idea in my mind of the exact locality, and think I can find it without any trouble. I am very anxious to go there, and perhaps we can find more French relics to add to our little stock in the Museum.
“Now, my plan is this: I will take my carriages and horses, and the whole party can be accommodated. We will take provisions for the day. We must start as early as four o’clock, so as to be at the mountain early. We can breakfast over there. After we have found the French fort, I wish to have a few hours for a quiet examination of the cliffs. I know some good places for minerals, and I think I can obtain a basket full without much trouble. I will see about the baskets, shovels, and hammers. We shall want a spade or two, and I think, under the circumstances, we can spend a very pleasant day. Now, what do you say to that?”
The answer of the delighted boys came in a perfect chorus of incoherent and unintelligible words, in which, however, could easily be perceived the language of intense excitement and of joyous assent.
“Very well,” said the doctor. “You let the other boys know, and remember you must all be ready on the spot by four o’clock to-morrow morning—not a minute later.”
After this the boys retired in great spirits to let the others know the good fortune that awaited them on the morrow.
The following morning came, and all the boys were on the spot before the appointed time. The doctor had three double wagons ready, drawn by six horses, and filled with provisions, and all the implements that might, by any possibility, be needed. It was quite dark as yet, but they started in high glee, and as they drove along it became lighter every moment.
They all felt the importance of the occasion. No frolicking this time. No dressing up like scarecrows. No running ashore on mud flats. No getting lost in fogs. No feeding on clams. No starvation. Everything was now to be perfectly regular, perfectly orthodox, and rather dignified. They were going, in the twofold capacity of archaeologists and geologists, to search after the ruins of an ancient and historic fortress, and then to find the mate of that amethyst which was taken from here to delight a king of France.
At first, as they drove on through the level country, all the fields and woods around lay wrapped in shadow; but as they went on the shadows lessened, and they began to see the first rays of dawn. Leaving the higher country, they at length descended into the dike land, which they traversed, and at length reached the bridge that crosses Cornwallis River. Then they went off over the wide vale of Cornwallis towards the North Mountain.
On and on. The vale of Cornwallis has five different indentations, up which the sea once flowed; but these are now reclaimed, and here the green and fertile meadows spread out where once was red mud or salt sea. On the long ridges between these diked districts are the houses of the farmers, and woods, and orchards, and groves, and gardens. On every side are the evidences of plenty and prosperity. Here and there small villages appear, the centre of trade. The roads are numerous, running every way, and are known by the name of streets. Nowhere can a country be found which enjoys a greater abundance of all the richest gifts of nature, a larger measure of all that can charm the eye, or invigorate the body, or confer wealth and prosperity. Nowhere in the world can actual working farmers be found whose tables are so loaded with varied and substantial dishes. The Cornwallis farmers have not yet learned to use everything that they have for purposes of trade. They are satisfied with making money on one or two leading products, but reserve their turkeys, and chickens, and cheese, and hams, and eggs, and apples, and plums, to weigh down their own dinner tables.
On they went through streets, as they were called,—which in some places were so closely bordered with houses that they deserved the name,—past beautiful villas hidden among trees, past rich orchards, past long hedgerows, past churches which pointed heavenward their tapering spires; on they rode through busy little villages, over the broad dike lands, whose rich, green robe extended far away on either side; along the edge of deep mud gulches, which were to be filled by the rising tide; over roads where there was not a stone to be seen, but only that soft, red soil which makes such rich fields, but such wretched paths; and still, as they went on, it constantly grew brighter, until at last the red sun bounded up into the sky, and threw his glow over all the scene.
At length they approached the North Mountain. The place towards which they went was six or seven miles this side of Cape Blomidon, and the carriage road wound up it on its way to settlements on the shore of the Bay of Fundy. Up this road they went, and soon they all reached the top of the hill.
They drove for a mile along the ridge of the North Mountain, and at length came to a place where the roadside was bare of trees, and the hillside sloped very abruptly down towards the plain. It was a place well known to all of them. It was a favorite resort for the whole country on occasions of picnics or driving parties. Everything here was familiar—the brook where they could get water, the big stone against which they could build their fire. Here they drew up their horses, and prepared to take their breakfast. The fire was soon burning; the kettle was filled with water, and was soon boiling; the tea was made, and the ample repast was spread out upon the grass. Here they sat, satisfying their hunger, rendered keen by over two hours’ driving in the fresh morning air, chatting merrily, and looking forth from their lofty seat upon one of the most glorious views that can be conceived.
In truth, it was a glorious prospect. Beneath them lay the plains of Cornwallis, which all stood revealed to their elevated position with that peculiar effect known as “a bird’s eye view.” There the valleys spread away with their intervening ridges; there ran the long, straight streets; there rose the villas embowered among trees, the neat farm-houses, and the tapering spires of churches.
The vivid green of the dike land surrounded all this, streaked here and there by the long lines of woodland that rose on the low ridges, dotted by groves and orchards, and intersected by the red-colored soil of the roads. Far away on the opposite side lay the slopes of Grand Pré, with the gleaming white of the houses dotting the green fields, and there were the outlines of familiar objects, conspicuous among which was the Academy, which rose immediately opposite, though many miles away. Between them the sea rolled its waters, extending far away towards the left, where the shores were so low that in one place the sea and sky seemed to blend together; but in other places the shores stood out in bolder reliefs, and there arose precipitous cliffs, and abrupt bluffs, and lofty hills. These were on the extreme left, where the eye could embrace a prospect that extended for fifty miles, while on the right the eye could wander for many a mile, far away along that valley which lies between the North Mountain and the South, and out of which there now came the Cornwallis River, with many a winding to receive the flood tide of the Basin of Minas.
It was upon this scene that they gazed as they took their breakfast; and while the emotions of each were different, all felt the same general glow that was naturally produced by the exhilaration of such a prospect and such a position. Blomidon could not be seen, for that was hidden behind a projection on the coast-line that ran down towards the cape, and thus the scene was deprived of that grand figure which from every other point is so attractive. Yet the elevation of their position here, and the peculiar way in which the plain lay spread out at their feet, and the vast extent of country which was embraced by the eye, served, in some measure, to make amends for the absence of the majestic cliff.
And there, beneath them, the waters spread afar, red and turbid near the shore, but farther out changing to deep blue; while towards the left, where Blomidon lay hid, guarding the strait, they could see a mass of fog, which had been thrust in from the outside bay, and stood there a gray opaque wall, towering high above the water. Even as they gazed, there shot out from that gray mass of fog a little schooner, which had thus leaped in a moment from darkness into sunlight, and, like a bird escaping suddenly from some gloomy cage, seemed to spread her wings joyously, and move exultantly through the fresh, clear air.
“What a glorious prospect!” exclaimed Dr. Porter, who had been silently enjoying the view for a long time. “Is it any wonder that the old Acadians loved this country of theirs so passionately, and made such desperate struggles to get back after they had been driven out?”
“Did they try to get back, sir?” asked Bart.
“I should think they did; and many succeeded, though they could not live again in Grand Pré. But what a bitter thing it was to be torn, as they were torn, from such a home as this, and scattered at random over all the coast of North America!”
“Wasn’t the government sorry for it afterwards?” asked Tom.
“O, no; it was one of the cruelties of war. After all, it was not as bad as the sack of a city, or even the bombardment of one. All these things are alike abominable, and full of horror. The government considered themselves well rid of people who were a trouble to them. That’s all.”
“But I don’t see why they couldn’t have let them alone.”
“It’s a sad story,” said the doctor, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you about it.”
At this the boys all gathered around him. Some of them knew that story pretty well; but others did not, and even those who did were very glad of the chance of hearing it again.
“You all know about the discovery of America by Columbus,” began the doctor, “and the voyages of Cabot immediately after. The French soon rivalled the English, and Spanish, and Portuguese. Cartier and Champlain sailed over all these seas, and by all these coasts, devoting themselves chiefly to what is now British America. It is certainly a strange thing that the part of America which was originally British should now have passed away from British rule, and the only British America now should be that which was originally French.
“Many years passed away, and no colonies were formed. At last, at nearly the same time, the French and English both began. The French, however, were first. They came over, and in 1606 founded Port Royal—now Annapolis, you know. A year or two after, the English founded Jamestown, and the French Quebec. So, you see, our little Annapolis is the oldest place on the continent of America founded by Europeans, with, perhaps, the exception of St. Augustine, in Florida.
“This beginning showed how things would go. The English took the Atlantic seaboard, from Massachusetts to the Carolinas, while the French took those countries that are now British provinces. At first but little progress was made in this country. Its history consists chiefly of the rivalry of two leading French families, who maintained trading stations, and struggled for the preeminence out here, and for support from the French government. Still the settlements grew, and not long after Port Royal was founded, the French established other places also, and among them Grand Pré settlement. They came here, cleared the forest, diked the marshes, and soon became a prosperous and a happy community.
“So things went on. Meanwhile, the French and English were engaged in continual war’s. Port Royal was captured some half a dozen times. But at length one of these wars was concluded by the peace of Utrecht, in 1713, by which this province was ceded to the English.
“At the time of the cession it was supposed that all the French population would retire. The English allowed them a year to sell their property and depart; with the permission to remain, however, if they would take the oath of allegiance. But none were willing to take the oath. As to going away, that soon proved to be a difficult matter. In the first place, it was impossible for them to sell their farms, for there were none to buy them. In the second place, it was impossible to get away, for there were no ships to take them. The French government would not send ships, for they hoped in the course of time to get back the country, and preferred that this French population should remain. The English, on the other hand, wouldn’t send their ships, first, because they thought it was the business of the French government to do so; and secondly, because the state of affairs out here scarcely excited any attention whatever in the home government.
“Meanwhile, the English held the country, after a fashion. They didn’t establish any towns, or send out any emigrants, but merely sent a governor to Annapolis, as they now called Port Royal, with a nominal regiment of soldiers. These soldiers were neglected most abominably. Their numbers dwindled down to a small company; they were ragged, and without sufficient arms and ammunition. The fort went to ruin. One governor went to England, and lived there, drawing his pay, and letting the soldiers and the fort get along the best way they could.
“At length one of the governors made an effort to do something. The French, instead of quitting the country, had increased in numbers to an alarming extent. So an attempt was made to get them to sign an oath of allegiance to the King of England. This they refused to do, unless a proviso were inserted in the oath, ‘that they should not be called upon to bear arms.’ The governor, after some demur, acceded to this request, and wrote the proviso on the margin of the document, which was then signed. After this the English government repudiated this as utterly unreasonable, and other governors made various efforts to get the French to sign an unconditional oath, but only with partial success. The majority of them claimed that indulgence which had been granted by the proviso, and in accordance with this they determined to help neither party, not even their own countrymen. They assumed the name of Neutrals, by which they were known to both parties.
“The English could do nothing. There was only a handful of soldiers at Annapolis, and though they were afterwards taken better care of, yet the soldiers and the fort formed but a weak representation of the power of Britain. The French were increasing in numbers. Here in Grand Pré they were most numerous and most prosperous. They were peaceable, and happy, and industrious, and contented. As a general thing, they maintained most faithfully their position of neutrality. French agents came among them to rouse them to action, but met with no response. French missionary priests, acting as agents for the French governors of Quebec and Louisbourg, tried to stir up their patriotic ardor, but without much success. An expedition came from Louisbourg against Annapolis, but the Aca-dians did not join it. Only a few joined the invading army, and when they made an attack on Annapolis, the little English garrison was able to beat them off. No fact can speak more plainly than this in favor of the utter peacefulness of their dispositions, and their fixed determination to keep out of all difficulties. That neutrality which they professed they maintained as perfectly as it was possible for any community.
“So things went on until the year 1749, when the English government took the affairs of the long-neglected Province of Nova Scotia into their consideration, and determined to colonize it on a large scale. So they sent out a fleet with thousands of emigrants, and built the town of Halifax. This was intended to be a counterpoise to Quebec, and also an assertion of their power in the Province of Nova Scotia. Besides this place, which they made the capital, instead of Annapolis, they formed other settlements.
“But they soon found themselves cramped. The French, having been there first, had taken possession of all the most eligible lands. The places to which emigrants would most wish to go were already filled up. Annapolis, and Grand Pré, and other places were occupied; and the English who wished to settle had to go to places which were far inferior. Besides this, the English wanted every man in the country to be an active assistant,—not a neutral. All these things combined to make the question of the Acadians a very troublesome one. The very faithfulness with which they had maintained their professions of neutrality made it all the more difficult; and for some years the English settlers found themselves thus shut out from the best part of the province, and confined to those portions which could never be developed to any extent.
“You must remember that it was not the Province of Nova Scotia, but all the British colonies in America, that participated in this question. All along the Atlantic coast the provinces watched with eager interest the progress of the English settlement here. Hundreds, came to Halifax from Massachusetts and New York. They all belonged to that great English party which, on this side of the Atlantic, was carrying on a never-ending war with the French. It was a question between the French and English races, which should rule. The English were far superior as colonizers, the French as organizers. The English settlers increased and multiplied; the French kept up formidable forts and armies, and enlisted vast numbers of Indians on their side. There were a million and a half of English, but not a hundred thousand French; yet the French kept armies on foot which the English could barely equal. Besides, the French had a grand scheme by which they hoped to crush the growth of the English, and finally subdue them. They held all the valley of the St. Lawrence, and the valley of the Mississippi. They had settlements on both rivers, and their great scheme was to build a line of forts from the Mississippi to the St. Lawrence, which should act as a wall to hem in the English, and keep them within that narrow line of territory which lies along the Atlantic shore. All this alarmed the colonies. They were ready to fight against the French for this boundary line, and were determined from the very outset to recognize no barrier whatever against their progress westward. Nominal peace might be between France and England at home, but out here there was never peace. War went on all along the line of forts, and the French, with their Indians, struggled with the hardy English colonists. Between all the English colonies there was one universal sympathy; and while Nova Scotia watched the progress of her more southern sisters with intense interest, they, on their part, watched the progress of affairs in Nova Scotia with interest no less intense. All were alike struggling with one common enemy. Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, all were watching to see how Halifax would deal with the Acadians, or with Louisbourg; while Nova Scotia was waiting to see how they would deal with the Ohio forts.
“You may imagine, then, what was the feeling here when the news came of the expedition of that thick-headed and pragmatical fool General Brad-dock; of his disastrous and abominable defeat, when his army was ruined, and his own life thrown away, by a miserably inferior number of French and Indians. A panic spread everywhere, and that panic which ran through the other colonies was strong in Nova Scotia.
“Soon after, an opportunity arose to deal with the Acadians. The governor was a strong-willed, determined, and energetic man. A powerful fleet and army had assembled at Halifax. It was resolved to deal summarily with the Acadians.
“But how? That was the question. It would not do to march an army against them and expel them from their homes. They would merely fly to the woods, and when the army had left, they would come back. So it was resolved to expel them from their homes altogether.
“But how? Again the question arose. If they merely expelled them, giving them the liberty of flying anywhere, they would all go to Cape Breton, to swell the numbers of their foes. If they conveyed them away to any particular place, they might be formidable from their numbers, and find means of coming back in a body. So it was determined to carry them off from Nova Scotia, and scatter them as widely as possible over all the colonies along the Atlantic coast.
“By way of a beginning, they resolved to give the Acadians one last chance to take the oath of allegiance, though they knew that the offer was useless. So they sent for the leading men of the settlements, and brought them to Halifax. There they were told that they must take the oath, or submit to punishment. The Acadians refused, and pleaded their rights as neutrals. Their plea was rejected, and they were imprisoned.
“After this the measures which were taken were swift and summary. Before the Acadians could know what had happened, British troops appeared at each of the settlements. At Grand Pré they summoned all the inhabitants to a place of meeting. The Acadians came without suspicion. There they were all arrested. Vessels were all ready to receive them, and they were put on board. Husbands were separated from their wives, fathers from their children, never to meet again. They were all packed on board of the vessels. These vessels were nearly all small schooners, which had been chartered by the government for this business from some Boston merchants. Last year, when I was at Halifax, I saw among the Nova Scotia archives the accounts of these merchants against the government of Nova Scotia for the expenses of carrying off the Acadians. I took a copy of one or two, which I will show you some day.
“The Acadians were thus in a moment snatched from their pleasant homes in this beautiful country, and separated from one another, and packed in small schooners, and carried far away,—some to Massachusetts, some to New York, some to Philadelphia, some to Virginia, and some to the Carolinas. What the Acadians of Grand Pré suffered, all suffered. They were carried away, and scattered all over the Atlantic coast. A few found their way back. But most of them lived and died in exile; and there were friends divided, and husbands and wives severed, and families scattered, never to meet again on earth, but to wear out their lives in a foreign land, with the loss of all that was most dear. But what’s the use of enlarging on this? If you want to know more about it, go and read Longfellow’s Evangeline.”
The doctor ceased. The boys were silent, and in that silence the thoughts of all wandered sadly over that past, when these shores and these waters witnessed the mournful expulsion of the Acadians.