Introduction
Acadian Reminiscences, depicting the True Life of Evangeline, is
a
story centered about the life of the Acadians whose descendants
are now residents of the Teche Country also known as the Land of
Evangeline.
These people lived a pure and simple life with an unbounded
devotion
to their religion and with an unshakable faith in their God. Their
love for one another is unparalleled in the annals of human
history,
to which may be attributed their fortitude and perseverance in
their
travels from Canada, upon being expelled by the British, to their
chosen Land on the banks of Bayou Teche.
The author, Judge Felix Voorhies, relates the story as it was
told to
him by his
grandmother.
The story begins by telling of the native
land
of these
Acadians
and of the village of St. Gabriel from which
they
were driven when the French Province was surrendered to the
British.
It tells of members of the same families being separated and
placed
aboard different ships and some never to see each other again. The
story tells of their landing in Maryland and after some time,
hearing
that members of theirs and other families having landed in
Louisiana.
This news brought encouragement and determination, in face of
great
dangers, to travel to the beautiful Land of the Teche.
The author was best able to present this story as it was handed
down
to him by word of mouth by his grandmother who
adopted Evangeline
when orphaned at an early age. The writer repeats the story in a
simple narrative manner characteristic of the Acadians.
To this day travelers may visit the quaint town of St.
Martinsville on
the banks of Bayou Teche and pay their respects at the grave
shrine of
Evangeline and for a few fleeting moments live the life of these
early
settlers.
Because of the demands for this story and in tribute to Judge
Felix
Voorhies, my grandfather, a man of noble character, staunch
patriotism
and unerring judgment, I, together with all members of the
Voorhies
family, dedicate this book.
FELIX BIRNEY
VOORHIES.
Chapter One
Acadian
Reminiscences
With the true
Story of Evangeline
t seems but yesterday, and yet sixty
years have passed away since my
boyhood. How fleeting is time, how swiftly does old age creep upon
us
with its infirmities. The curling smoke, dispelled by the passing
wind, the water that glides with a babbling murmur in the gentle
stream, leave as deep a mark of their passage as do the fleeting
days
of man.
I was twelve years old, and yet I can picture in my mind the
noble
simplicity of my father’s house. The homes of our fathers were not
showy, but their appearance was smiling and inviting; they had
neither
quaintness nor gaudiness, but were as grand in
their simplicity as
the boundless hospitality of their owners, for no people were more
generous or hospitable than the Acadians who settled in the
magnificent and poetical wilds of the Teche country.
My father’s house stood on a sloping hill, in the center of a
large
yard, whose finely laid rows of china trees, interspersed with
clusters of towering oaks, formed delightful vistas. On the
declivity
of the hill the orchard displayed its wealth of orange, of plum
and
peach trees. Farther on was the garden, teeming with vegetables of
all
kinds, sufficient for the need of a whole village.
I can yet picture that yard, with its hundreds of poultry, so
full of
life, running with flapping of wings and with noisy cacklings
around
my mother as she scattered the grain for them morning and evening.
At the foot of the hill, extending to the Vermillion Bayou, were
the
pasture grounds, where grazed the cattle, and where the
bleating
sheep followed, step by step, the stately ram with tinkling bell
suspended to his neck. How clearly is that scenery pictured in my
mind
with its lights and shadows! Were I a painter I could even now
portray
with striking reality the minutest shadings and beauties of that
landscape.
How strange that I should recall so vividly those things, while
scenes
that I have admired in my maturer years have been obliterated from
my
memory! Ah! the child’s mind, like soft wax, is easily molded to
sensations and impressions that never fade, while man’s mind,
blunted
by the keenness of life’s deceptions, can no longer receive and
retain
the imprints of those impressions and sensations.
If this be true, does not a kind Providence suggest to us, in
this
wise, the wisdom of molding the child’s mind and intelligence with
the
fostering care of parental solicitude, that he may become an
upright
man, a good citizen and a reproachless husband and father.
My father was an Acadian, son of an Acadian, and proud of his
ancestry. The term Acadian was, in those days, synonymous with
honesty, hospitality and generosity. By his indomitable energy, my
father had acquired a handsome fortune, and such was the
simplicity of
his manners, and such his frugality, that he lived, contented and
happy, on his income.
Our family consisted of my father and mother, of three children,
and of my grandmother, a centenarian, whose clear and lucid memory
contained a wealthy mine of historical facts that an antiquarian
or
chronicler would have been proud to possess.
In the cold winter days the family assembled in the hall, where a
goodly fire blazed on the hearth, and while the wind whistled
outside,
our grandmother, an exile from Acadia, would relate to us the
stirring
scenes she had witnessed when her people were
driven from their homes
by the British, their sufferings during their long pilgrimage
overland
from Maryland to the wilds of Louisiana, the dangers that beset
them
on their long journey through endless forests, along the
precipitous
banks of rivers too deep to be forded, among hostile Indians, that
followed them stealthily, like wolves, day and night, ever ready
to
pounce upon them and massacre them.
And as she spoke, we drew closer to her, and grouped around her
and
stirred not, lest we lose one of her words.
When she spoke of Acadia, her face brightened, her eyes beamed
with a
strange brilliancy, and she kept us spellbound, so eloquent and
yet so
sad were her words, and then tears trickled down her aged cheeks
and
her voice trembled with emotion. Under our father’s roof she
lacked
none of the comforts of life. We knew that her children vied with
each
other to please her, and we wondered why it was that
she seemed to be
sad and unhappy. We were then mere children and knew nothing of
the
human heart, grim experience had not taught us its sorrowful
lessons,
and we knew not that a remembrance has often the bitterness of
gall,
and that tears alone will wash away that bitterness.
She sat in her rocking chair, with hands clasped on her knees,
her
body leaning slightly forward, her hair, silvered over by age,
could
be seen under the lace of her cap, her dress was neat and
tasteful,
for she always took pride in her personal appearance.
She called us “petiots” meaning “little ones,” and she took
pleasure
in conversing with us. My father remonstrated with her because she
fondled us too much. “Mother,” he would say, “you spoil the
children,”
but she heeded not his words and fondled us the more. These
details
are interesting to none but myself, and I dwell, perhaps, too long
upon them. Alas! I am an old man, reviewing the joys and sorrows
of
my boyhood, and it seems to me that I have become once more a
little
child when I speak of days gone by, and when I recall the memory
of
those I loved so well and who are no more.
I shall now attempt to repeat the story of my grandmother’s
misfortunes, and as she has related it to us time and again.
Chapter Two
My Grandmother’s
Narrative
She Depicts Acadian Manners
and Customs
etiots,” she said, “my native land is
situated far, far away, up
north, and you would have to walk during many months to reach it;
you
would have to cross rivers deep and wide, go over mountains
looming up
thousands of feet, and beneath impending rocks, shadowing yawning
valleys; you would have to travel day and night, in endless
forests,
among hostile Indians, seeking an opportunity to waylay and murder
you.
“My native land is called Acadia. It is a cold and desolate
region
during winter, and snow covers the ground during several months of
the
year. It is rocky, and huge and rugged
stones lie strewn over the
surface of the ground in many places, and one must struggle hard
for a
livelihood there, especially with the poor and meagre tools
possessed
by my people. My country is not like yours, diversified by rolling
and
gentle hills, covered the year round with a thick carpet of green
grass, and where every plant sprouts up and grows to maturity as
if by
magic, and where one may enrich himself easily, provided he fears
God
and is laborious and economical. Yet I grieve for my native land,
with
its rocks and snows, because I have left there a part of my heart
in
the graves of those I loved so well and who sleep under its sod.”
And as she spoke thus, her eyes streamed with tears and emotion
choked
her utterance.
“I have promised to give you an insight into the manners and
customs
of your Acadian ancestors, and to tell you how it was that we left
our
country as exiles to emigrate to Louisiana. I now keep my promise,
and
will relate to you all that I know of our sad history:
“You must know, petiots, that less than a hundred years ago
Acadia was
a French Province, whose people lived contented and happy. The
king of
France sent brave officers to govern the province, and these
officers
treated us with the greatest kindness; they were our arbiters and
adjusted all our differences, and so equitable were their
decisions,
that they proved satisfactory to all. Is it strange, then, that
being
thus situated we prospered and lived contented and happy? Little
did
we then dream of what cruel fate had in store for us.
“Our manner of living in Acadia was peculiar, the people forming,
as
it were, one single family. The province was divided into
districts
inhabited by a certain number of families, among which the
government
parceled out the land in tracts sufficiently large for their
needs.
Those families grouping together formed small villages,
or posts,
under the administration of commandants. No one was allowed to
lead a
life of idleness, or to be a worthless member of the province. The
child worked as soon as he was old enough to do so, and he worked
until old age unfitted him for toil. The men tended the flocks and
tilled the land, and while they plowed the fields, the boys
followed
them step by step, goading on the work-oxen. The wives and
daughters
attended to the household work, and spun the wool and cotton which
they wove and manufactured into cloth with which to clothe the
family.
The old people not over active and strong, like your grandmother,”
she
would add with a smile, “together with the infirm and invalids,
braided the straw with which we manufactured our hats; so that you
see, petiots, we had no drones, no useless loungers in our
villages,
and every one lived the better for it.
“The land allotted to each district was divided into two unequal
parts; the larger portion was set apart as the tillage ground, and
then
parceled out among the different families; and yet the clashing
of interests, resulting from that community of rights, never
stirred
up any contentions among your Acadian ancestors.
“Although poor, they were honest and industrious, and they lived
contented with what little they had, without envying their
neighbors,
and how could it be otherwise? If any one was unable to do his
field
work because of illness, or of some other misfortune, his
neighbors
flew to his assistance, and it required but a few days work, with
their combined efforts to weed his field and save his crop.
“Thus it was that, incited by noble and generous feeling, the
inhabitants of the province seemed to form one single family, and
not
a community composed of separate families.
“These details, petiots, are tedious to you, and you would rather
that
I should tell you stories more amusing and captivating.”
“No, grandmother, we feel more and more interested
in your narrative.
Speak to us of Acadia, your native land, which we already love for
your sake.”
“Petiots,” she said, “I love my Acadia, and you will learn to
love it
also, when you shall have been made acquainted with the worth of
its
honest and noble inhabitants; besides,” added she, with a sad
smile,
“the gloomy and sombre part of my story remains to be told. When
you
shall have listened to it, you will then understand why it is that
I
feel sad and weep, when the remembrances of the past come crowding
in
my heart. But to resume, contiguous to the village ground lay the
pasture grounds, well fenced in, and which were known as the
common.
In these grounds, the cattle of the colonists were kept, and thus
secured in that safe enclosure, our herds increased every year.
Thus
you see, petiots, we lacked none of the comforts of life, and
although
not wealthy, we were not in want, as our wishes were few and
easily
satisfied.
“Plainness and simplicity of manners are the mainsprings of
happiness,
and he that wishes for what he may never have or acquire, must be
miserable, indeed, and worthy of pity. Alas! that this simplicity
of
our Acadian manners should have already degenerated into
extravagance
and folly! Ah! the Acadians are losing, by degrees, the
remembrance of
the traditions and customs of the mother country, the love of gold
has
implanted itself in their hearts, and this will bring no happiness
to
them. Ere you live to be as old as I,” she would say shaking her
head
mournfully, “you will find out that your grandmother is right in
her
prediction.
“In Acadia, as we prized temperance, sobriety and simplicity of
manners more than riches, early marriages were highly favored.
Early
marriages foster the virtues which give to man the only true
happiness, and from which he derives health and longevity.
“No obstacle was thrown in the way of a loving couple
who desired to
marry. The lover accepted by the maiden obtained the ready consent
of
the parents, and no one dreamed of inquiring whether the lover was
a
man of means, or whether the destined bride brought a handsome
dowry,
as we are wont to do nowadays. Their mutual choice proved
satisfactory
to all, and, indeed, who better than they could mate their hearts,
when they alone were staking their happiness on the venture? and,
besides, it is not often that marriages founded on mutual love
turn
out badly.
“The bans were published in the village church, and the old
curate,
after admonishing them of the sacredness of the tie that bound
them
forever, blessed their union, while the holy sacrifice of mass was
being said. Petiots, it is useless for me to describe the marriage
ceremony and the rejoicings attending the nuptials, as you have
witnessed the like here, but I will speak to you of an old Acadian
custom which prevails no more among us, one which we no longer
observe.
“As soon as the marriage of a young couple was determined, the
men of
the village, after having built a cozy little home for them,
cleared
and planted the land parceled out to them; and while they so
generously extended their aid and assistance, the women were not
laggards in their kindness to the bride. To her they made presents
of
what they deemed most necessary for the comfort and utility of her
household, and all this was done and given with honest and willing
hearts.
“Everything was orderly and neat in the home of the happy couple,
and
after the marriage ceremony in the church and the wedding feast at
the
home of the bride’s father, the happy couple were escorted to
their
new home by the young men and the young maidens of the village.
How
genial was the joy that warmed our hearts and brightened our souls
on
these occasions; how noisy and light the gaiety of the young
people;
how unalloyed their merriment and happiness!”
Chapter Three
Rumors of War Disturb
the Peace and Quiet
of the Acadians
hus far, petiots, I have briefly
depicted to you the simple manners
and customs of the Acadians. I will now relate to you what befell
them, and how a cruel war sowed ruin and desolation in their
homes. I
will tell you how they were ruthlessly treated by the English,
driven
away from Acadia, and despoiled of all their worldly goods and
possessions; how they were scattered to the four winds as wretched
exiles, and how the very name of their country was blotted out of
existence. My narrative will not be gay, petiots, but it is meet
and
proper that you should know these things, and that you should
learn
them
from the lips of the witnesses themselves.
“It was on a Sunday, I remember this as if it were but yesterday,
we
were attending mass, and when our old curate ascended his pulpit,
as
he was wont to do every Sunday, he announced to us that war was
being
waged between France and England. ‘My children,’ said he in sad
and
solemn tones, ‘you may expect to witness awful scenes and to
undergo
sore trials, but God will not forsake you if you put your trust in
his
infinite mercy’; and then kneeling down, he prayed aloud for
France,
and we all responded to his fervent voice, and said amen! from the
depths of our hearts. A painful silence prevailed in the little
church
until mass was over; it seemed as if every one of us was attending
the
funeral of a member of his family. As we left the church, the
people
grouped themselves on all sides to discuss the sad news. There was
no
dancing on the greensward in front of the little church that day,
petiots, and we retired mournfully and quietly to our homes.
“This intelligence troubled us, and we tried, in vain, to shake
off
the gloom that darkened our souls. When we conversed together, the
words died on our lips, and our smiles had the sadness of a sob.
“Ah! Petiots, war, with its train of evils and of woes, is always
a terrible scourge, and it was but natural that we should ponder
mournfully on its consequences and dread the future. England had
enlisted hundreds of Indians in her armies, and we knew that the
bloodthirsty savages spared no one, and inflicted the most
exquisite
tortures on their prisoners; they dreamed of nothing but
incendiarism
and massacre, and these were the troops that were to be let loose
upon
us. The mere thought of facing such fiends, was enough to dismay
the
stoutest heart and to disturb the peace and quiet of a community
like
ours. We knew not what to resolve, but, come what may, we were
determined to die, rather than become traitors to our
King and to our
God.
“Then we argued ourselves into a different mood by thinking that
this
news might, after all, be exaggerated, and that our apprehensions
were
unfounded. Why should England wage war upon us? Acadia, so poor,
so
desolate, so sparsely peopled, was surely not worth the shedding
of a
single drop of blood for its conquest. The storm would pass by
without
even ruffling our peace and tranquillity. We argued thus to rid
ourselves of the gloomy forebodings that troubled us, but despite
our
endeavors, our fears haunted us and made us despondent and
miserable.
“The news that reached us, now and then, were far from being
encouraging. France, whelmed in defeat, seemed to have abandoned
us,
the English were gaining ground, and our Canadian brothers were
calling for assistance. Several of our young men resolved to join
them
to fight the battles of France and to die for their country, if
God so
willed it.
“Ah! Petiots, that was a sad day in the colony, and we all shed
bitter
tears. The brave young men that were sacrificing their lives so
nobly,
wept with us, but remained as firm as rocks in their resolve. We
had,
at last, realized the fact that the threatening ruin was frowning
upon
us, and that it had struck at our very hearts.
“On the day of their departure, the noble young men received the
holy
communion, kneeling before the altar, and they listened to the
encouraging words of the old curate, while every one wept and
sobbed
in the little church. After having told them to serve the king
faithfully and to love God above all else, he gave them his
blessing,
while big tears rolled down his cheeks. Alas! how could he look
upon
them without emotion and grief? He had christened them when they
were
mere babes; he had watched them grow to manhood; he knew them as I
know you, and they were leaving their homes and those that they
loved,
never, perhaps to return.
“They departed from St. Gabriel, sad but resolute, and as far as
they
could be seen, marching off, they waved their handkerchiefs as a
last
farewell. It was a cruel day to us, and from that moment,
everything
grew from bad to worse in Acadia.”
Chapter Four
Threatening Clouds Overcast the
Acadian Sky
The Elders of the Colony Meet in Council
to Discuss the Situation
ix months passed away without our
receiving the least intelligence
of what had become of our brave young men. This contributed, not a
little, to increase our uneasiness, and to sadden our thoughts,
for we
felt in our hearts that they would never return. Our forebodings
proved too well founded,” said my grandmother, with faltering
voice,
“we have never ascertained their fate. We knew, however, that the
war
was still progressing, and that the French were losing ground
every
day. The English directed all their efforts against Canada, and
seemed
to have lost sight of Acadia in the turmoil and fury of battle.
In
spite of our anxiety and apprehensions, the peace and quiet of the
colony remained unruffled. Alas! we had been lulled to security by
deceitful hopes, and the storm that had swept along Canada, was
about
to burst upon us with unchecked fury. Our day of trial had dawned,
and, doomed victims of a cruel fate, we were about to undergo
sufferings beyond human endurance, and to experience unparalleled
outrages and cruelties.”
Our grandmother, at this point, was overcome by her emotion and
hung
her head down. Awed into admiration, mingled with reverence, for
her
noble sentiments and for the ardent love she still cherished for
her
lost country, we gazed upon her in silence, and understood now why
it
was that she always wept when she spoke of Acadia. Having mastered
her
emotions, she brushed away her tears and resumed her narrative as
follows.
“Petiots,” she said in a sweet sad tone, “your grandmother always
weeps when the remembrance of her sufferings and of her
wrongs comes
back to her heart. She is an old woman and her tears soothe her
grief.
Scars of a wounded heart never heal entirely, joy and happiness
alone
leave no trace of their passage, as you shall learn hereafter. But
why
should I speak thus to you? Soon enough you shall learn more from
the
teachings of grim experience, than from all the sayings and
maxims,
how wise and judicious soever they may be.
“It was bruited at St. Gabriel that the English were landing
troops in
Acadia, whence came the rumor, no one could tell, and it would
have
been impossible to trace it to its source, and yet, uncertain as
it
was, it created considerable uneasiness in the community. Bad news
travels fast, petiots, and it looks as if some evil genius took
delight to despatch winged messengers to scatter the tidings
broadcast
over the land. The rumor was confirmed in a manner as tragical as
it
was unexpected.
“One morning, at dawn of day, a young man was lying unconscious
on the
green near the church. His arm was shattered, and he had bled
profusely; it was with the greatest difficulty that we restored
him to
life. When he opened his eyes his looks were wild and terrified,
and,
despite his weakness, he made a desperate effort to rise and flee.
“We quieted him with friendly words, and he heaved a deep sigh of
satisfaction. He had a burning fever, and his parched lips
quivered as
he muttered incoherent words. We removed him to the priest’s
house,
where his wounds were dressed, and when he had recovered from the
exhaustion occasioned by the loss of blood, he related to us what
had
happened to him, and we listened to his words with breathless
suspense
and anxiety.
“‘The English’, said he, ‘have landed troops on the eastern coast
of
Acadia, and are committing the most atrocious cruelties. Their
inhumanity surpasses belief. They pillage and
burn our villages, and
even lay sacrilegious hands on the sacred vessels in our churches.
They tear the wives from their husbands, the children from their
parents, and they drive their ill-fated victims to the seashore,
and
stow them on ships which sail immediately for unknown lands. They
spare only such as become traitors to their Faith and to their
King.
They raided our village at dusk yesterday, and have perpetrated
there
the same wanton outrages and cruelties. They reduced it to ashes,
and
the least expostulation on our part exposed us to be shot down
like
outlaws. They have driven its inhabitants to the seashore like
cattle,
and when through sheer exhaustion, one of their victims fell by
the
road side, I have seen the fiends compel him with the butts of
their
muskets, to rise and walk. I have escaped, in the darkness of
night,
with an arm shattered by a random shot, and I have run exhausted
by
the loss of blood, I fell where you have found me. They will overrun
Acadia,
and they will not spare you, my friends, if you show any
hostility to them. Your town will be raided shortly, and you
cannot
resist them, my friends. Abandon your homes, and seek safety
elsewhere, while you have the time and chance to do so.’
“You may well imagine, petiots, that our trouble was great when
we
heard this terrible news. We stood there, not knowing what to do,
although time was precious, and although it was necessary that we
should devise some plan for our safety and protection. In our
predicament and in so critical an emergency, our only alternative
was
to apply to our old curate for advice.
“He gave us words of encouragement, and withdrew with our elders
to
his room. We remained in the churchyard, grouped together and
speaking
in whispers, our souls harrowed by the most gloomy and despairing
thoughts.
“Ah! Petiots, we often speak of a mortal hour, but the
hour that
passed away while these men were holding counsel in the curate’s
room,
seemed to encompass a year’s duration. Our happiness, our all, our
life itself, in fact, were at stake and turned on their decision,
and
we awaited that decision in dreadful suspense. At last our elders,
accompanied by our old curate, sallied out of that house with
sorrowful countenances, but with steady step and firm resolve
written
on their brows.”
Chapter Five
The Acadians resolve to leave
Acadia as exiles
rather than submit to English rule — Before leaving
St. Gabriel, they apply the torch tothe houses,
and it is swept away by the flames.
heir countenance bespoke the gravity of
the situation, far more
serious, indeed, than we then realized, and as they approached us,
in
the deathlike silence that prevailed, we could distinctly hear the
throbbings of our hearts. We were impatient to learn our fate, and
yet
we dreaded the disclosure. Our anxiety was of short duration, and
one
of our elders spoke as follows. I repeat his very words, for as
they
fell from his lips with the solemn sound of a funeral knell, they
became engraved upon my heart. ‘My good friends,’ said he, ‘our
hopes
were illusory and the future is big with ominous threats
for us. A
cruel and relentless enemy is at our doors. The story of the
wounded
man is true, the English are applying the torch to our villages,
and
are spreading and scattering ruin as they advance. They spare
neither
old age nor infirmity, neither women nor children, and are tender
hearted only to renegades and apostates. Are you ready to accept
these
humiliating conditions, and to be branded as traitors and
cowards?’
“‘Never,’ we answered; ‘never! Rather proscription, ruin and
death.’
“‘My friends,’ he added, ‘exile is ruin; it is despair, it is
desolation. Pause a while and reflect, before forming your
resolve.’
“Not one of us flinched, and without hesitancy, we all cried out:
‘Rather than disown our mother country and become apostates, let
exile, let ruin, let death, be our lot.’
“‘Your answer is noble and generous, my good friends, and your
resolve
is sublime,’ said he; ‘then let exile be our lot.
Many a one has
suffered even more than we shall suffer and for causes less
saintly
than ours. Let us prepare for the worst, for to-day, we bid adieu
forever, perhaps to Acadia, to our homes, to the graves of those
we
loved so well. We leave friendless and penniless for distant
lands; we
leave for Louisiana, where we shall be free to honor and reverence
France, and to serve our God according to our belief. My good
friends,
we barely have the time to prepare ourselves; to-night, we must be
far
from St. Gabriel.’
“These words chilled our hearts. It seemed to us, that all this
was a
dream, a frightful illusion, that clung to our hearts, to our
souls;
and yet, without a tear, without a complaint, we resigned
ourselves to
our fate.
“Ah! it was a cruel day to us, petiots. We were leaving Acadia,
we
were abandoning the homes where our children were born and raised,
we
were leaving as malefactors, without one ray of hope to lighten
our
dark future, and it seemed to us that poor, desolate Acadia was
dearer
to us, now that we were forced to leave her forever. Everything
that
we saw, every object that we touched, recalled to our hearts some
sweet remembrance of days gone by. Our whole life seemed centered
in
the furniture of our desolate homes; in the flowers that decked
our
gardens; in the very trees that shaded our yards. They whispered
to us
ditties of our blithe childhood; they recalled to us the glowing
dreams of our adolescence illumined with their fleeting illusions;
they spoke to us of the hopes and happiness of our maturer years;
they
had been the mute witnesses of our joys and of our sorrows, and we
were leaving them forever. As we gazed upon them, we wept
bitterly,
and in our despair, we felt as if the sacrifice was beyond our
strength. But our sense of duty nerved us, and the terrible ordeal
we
were undergoing did not shake our resolve, and submitting to the
will
of God,
we preferred exile and poverty, with their train of woes and
humiliations, before dishonoring ourselves by becoming traitors
and
renegades.
“In the course of the day our grief increased, and the scenes
that
took place were heart-rending. I never recall them without
shuddering.
“Our people, so meek, so peaceable, became frenzied with despair.
The
women and children wandered from house to house, wailing and
uttering
piercing cries. Every object of spoil was destroyed, and the torch
was
applied to the houses. The fire, fanned by a too willing breeze,
spread rapidly, and in a moment’s time, St. Gabriel was wrapt in a
lurid sheet of devouring flames. We could hear the cracking of
planks
tortured by the blaze; the crash of falling roofs, while the
flames
shot up to an immense height with the hissing and soughing of a
hurricane. Ah! Petiots, it was a fair image of pandemonium. The
people
seemed an army of fiends, spreading ruin and
desolation in their
path. The work-oxen were killed, and a few among us, with the hope
of
a speedy return to Acadia, threw our silverware into the wells.
Oh,
the ruin, the ruin, petiots; it was horrible.
“We left St. Gabriel numbering about three hundred, whilst the
ashes
of our burning houses, carried by the wind, whirled past us like a
pillar of light to guide our faltering steps through the
wilderness
that stretched before us.”
Chapter Six
A Night of Terror and of Misery. The
Exiles are Captured by the
English Soldiery
Driven to the seashore and embarked for deportation—They
are thrown as cast-aways on the Maryland
shores—The hospitality and generosity
of Charles Smith and of Henry Brent
s darkness came, we cast a sad look
toward the spot where our
peaceful and happy St. Gabriel once stood. Alas, we could see
nothing
but the crimson sky reflecting the lurid glare of the flames that
devoured our Acadian villages.
“Not a word fell from our lips as we journeyed slowly on, and as
night
came its darkness increased our misery, and such was our
dejection,
that we would have faced death without a shudder.
“At last we halted in a deep ravine shadowed by projecting rocks,
and
we sat down to rest our weary limbs. We built no fires and spoke
only
in whispers, fearing that the blazing fire, that the
least sound
might betray us in our place of concealment; with hearts failing,
oppressed with gloomy forebodings, the events of the day seemed to
us
a frightful dream.
“Oh! that it only had been a dream, petiots! Alas! it was a sad
reality, and yet in our wretchedness, we could hardly realize that
these events had actually happened.
“Our elders had withdrawn a few paces away from us to decide on
the
best course to pursue, for, in the hurry of our departure, no plan
of
action had been decided upon, our main object being to escape the
outrages and ill-treatment of a merciless and cruel soldiery. It
was
decided to reach Canada the best way we could, after which, after
crossing the great northern lakes, our journey was to be overland
to
the Mississippi river, on whose waters we would float down to
Louisiana, a French colony inhabited by people of our own race,
and
professing the same religious creed as ours.
“But to carry out this plan, petiots, we had to travel thousands
of
miles through a country barren of civilization, through endless
forests, and across lakes as wide and deep as the sea; we were to
overcome obstacles without number and to encounter dangers and
hardships at every step, and yet we remained firm in our resolve.
It
was exile with its train of woes and of misery; it was, perhaps,
death
for many of us, but we submitted to our fate, sacrificing our all
in
this world for our religion, and for the love of France.
“We knelt down to implore the aid and protection of God in the
many
dangers that beset us, and, trusting in His kind Providence, we
lay
down on the bare ground to sleep.
“As you may imagine, petiots, no one, save the little children
slept
that night. We were in a state of mental anguish so agonizing that
the
hours passed away without bringing the sweet repose of a
refreshing
sleep.
“When the moon rose, dispelling by degrees the darkness of night,
we
again pursued our journey. We made the least noise possible as we
advanced cautiously, our fears and apprehensions increasing at
every
step. All at once our column halted; a deathlike silence
prevailed,
and our hearts beat tumultuously within us. Was it the beat of the
drum that had startled us? No one could tell. We listened with
eagerness, but the sound had died away, and the stillness of night
remained undisturbed. Our anxiety became intense. Was the enemy in
pursuit of us? We remained in painful suspense, not knowing what
danger lurked ahead of us. The few minutes that succeeded seemed
as
long as a whole year. We drew close together and whispered our
apprehensions to one another. We moved on slowly, our footsteps
falling noiselessly on the roadway, while we strained our eyes to
pierce the shadows of night to discover the cause of our fears.
The
sound that had startled us was no more heard, and
somewhat
encouraged, our uneasiness grew less.
“We had not advanced two hundred yards when we were halted by a
company of English soldiers. Ah! Petiots, our doom was sealed. We
were
in a narrow path surrounded by the enemy, without the possibility
of
escape. How shall I describe what followed. The women wrung their
hands and sobbed piteously in their despair. The children,
terrified,
uttered shrill and piercing cries, while the men, goaded to
madness,
vented their rage in hurried exclamations, and were determined to
sell
their lives as dearly as possible.
“After a while, the tumult subsided, and order was somewhat
restored.
“The officer in command approached us; ‘Acadians,’ said he, ‘you
have
fled from your homes after having reduced them to ashes; you have
used
seditious language against England, and we find you
here, in the
depth of night, congregated and conspiring against the king, our
liege
lord and sovereign. You are traitors and you should be treated as
such, but in his clemency, the king offers his pardon to all who
will
swear fealty and allegiance to him.’
“‘Sir,’ answered Rene Leblanc, under whose guidance we had left
St.
Gabriel, ‘our king is the king of France, and we are not traitors
to
the king of England whose subjects we are not. If by the force of
arms
you have conquered this country, we are willing to recognize your
supremacy, but we are not willing to submit to English rule, and
for
that reason, we have abandoned our homes to emigrate to Louisiana,
to
seek there, under the protection of the French flag, the quiet and
peace and happiness we have enjoyed here.’
“The officer who had listened with folded arms to the noble words
of
Rene Leblanc, replied with a scowl of hatred: ‘To Louisiana you
wish
to go? To Louisiana you shall go, and seek in vain, under
the French
flag, that protection you have failed to receive from it in
Canada.
Soldiers,’ he added, with a smile that made us shudder, ‘escort
these
worthy patriots to the seashore, where transportation will be
given
them free in his majesty’s ships.’
“These words sounded like a death knell to us; we saw plainly
that our
doom was sealed, and that we were undone forever, and yet, in the
bitterness of our misfortune, we uttered no word of expostulation,
and
submitted to our fate without complaint. They treated us most
brutally, and had no regard either for age or for sex. They drove
us
back through the forest to the seashore, where their ships were
anchored, and stowing the greater number of our party in one of
their
ships, they weighed anchor, and she set sail. The balance of our
people had been embarked on another vessel which had departed in
advance of ours.
“Is it necessary, petiots, that I should speak to you of our
despair
when thus torn from our relatives and friends, when we saw
ourselves
cooped up in the hull of that ship as malefactors? Is it necessary
that I should describe the horror of our plight, our sufferings,
our
mental anguish during the many days that our voyage on the sea
lasted?
“This can be more easily imagined than depicted. We were huddled
in a
space scarcely large enough to contain us. The air rarefied by our
breathing became unwholesome and oppressive; we could not lie down
to
rest our weary limbs. With but scant food, with the water given
grudgingly to us, barely enough to wet our parched lips; with no
one
to care for us, you can well imagine that our sufferings became
unbearable. Yet, when we expostulated with our jailers, and
complained
bitterly of the excess of our woes, it seemed to rejoice them.
They
derided us, called us noble patriots, stubborn French
people and
papists; epithets that went right to our hearts, and added to our
misery.
“At last our ship was anchored, and we were told that we had
reached
the place of our destination. Was it Louisiana? we inquired. Rude
scoffs and sharp invectives were their only answer. We were
disembarked with the same ruthless brutality with which we had
been
dragged to their ship. They landed us on a precipitous and rocky
shore, and leaving us a few rations, saluted us in derision with
their
caps and bidding farewell to the noble patriots, as they called
us.
Our anguish, at that moment, can hardly be conceived. We were
outcasts
in a strange land; we were friendless and penniless, with a few
rations thrown to us as to dogs. The sun had now set, and we were
in
an agony of despair.
“Our only hope rested in the mercy of a kind Providence, and with
hearts too full for utterance, we knelt down with one accord
and
silently besought the Lord of Hosts to vouchsafe to us that pity
and
protection which he gives to the most abject of his creatures.
Never
was a more heartfelt prayer wafted to God’s throne. When we arose,
hope, once more smiling to us, irradiated our souls and dispelled,
as
if by magic, the gloom that had settled in our hearts. We felt
that
none but noble causes lead to martyrdom, and we looked upon
ourselves
as martyrs of a saintly cause, and with a clear conscience, we lay
down to sleep under the blue canopy of the heavens.
“The dawn of day found us scattered in groups, discussing the
course
we were to pursue, and our hearts grew faint anew at the thought
of
the unknown trials that awaited us.
“At that moment, we spied two horsemen approaching our camp. Our
hearts fluttered with emotion. The incident, simple as it was,
proved
to be of great importance to us. We felt as if Providence had
not
forsaken us, and that the two horsemen, heralds of peace and joy,
were
his messengers of love in our sore trials.
“We were not mistaken, petiots. When the cavaliers alighted, they
addressed us in English, but in words so soft and kind, that the
sound
of the hated language did not grate on our ears, and seemed as
sweet
as that of our own tongue. They bowed gracefully to us, and
introduced
themselves as Charles Smith and Henry Brent. ‘We are informed,’
said
they, ‘that you are exiles, and that you have been cast penniless
on
our shores. We have come to greet you, and to welcome you to the
hospitality of our roofs.’ These kind words sank deep in our
hearts.
‘Good sirs,’ answered Rene Leblanc, ‘you behold a wretched people
bereft of their homes and whose only crime is their love for
France
and their devotion to the Catholic faith,’ and saying this, he
raised
his hat, and every man of our party did the same. ‘We thank you
heartily for your greeting and for your hospitality so
generously
tendered. See, we number over two hundred persons, and it would be
taxing your generosity too heavily, no one but a king could
accomplish
your noble design.’
“‘Sir,’ they answered, ‘we are citizens of Maryland, and we own
large
estates. We have everything in abundance at our homes, and this
abundance we are willing to share with you. Accept our offer, and
the
Brent and Smith families will ever be grateful to God, who has
given
them the means to minister to your wants, assuage your afflictions
and
soothe your sorrows.’
“How could we decline an offer so generously made? It was
impossible
for us to find words expressive of our gratitude. Unable to utter
a
single word, we shook hands with them, but our silence was far
more
eloquent than any language we could have used.”
Chapter Seven
Assisted by Their Generous
Friends
The Acadians become prosperous, but yearn to rejoin
their friends and relatives in Louisiana
he same day, we moved to their farms,
which lay near by, and I shall
never forget the kind welcome we received from these two families.
They vied with each other in their kind offices toward us, and
ministered to our wants with so much grace and affability, that it
gave additional charm and value to their already boundless
hospitality.
“Petiots, let the names of Brent and of Smith remain enchased
forever
like precious jewels in your hearts, let their remembrance never
fade
from your memory, for more generous and worthier beings never
breathed
the pure air of heaven.
Catholic Church, St. Martinsville, La.
“Thus it was, petiots, that we settled in Maryland after leaving
Acadia.
“Three years passed away peacefully and happily, and during the
whole
of that time, the Smith and Brent families remained our steadfast
friends. Our party had prospered, and plenty smiled once more in
our homes. We lived as happy as exiles could live away from the
fatherland, ignorant of the fate of those who had been torn from
us
so ruthlessly. In vain we had endeavored to ascertain the lot of
our friends and relatives, and what had become of them; we could
learn nothing. Many parents wept for their lost children; many a
disconsolate wife pined away in sorrow and hopeless grief for a
lost husband; but, petiots, the saddest of all was the fate of
poor Emmeline Labiche.”
Emmeline Labiche? Who was Emmeline Labiche? We had never heard
her
name mentioned before, and our curiosity was excited to the
highest
pitch.
Chapter Eight
The True Story
of
Evangeline
mmeline Labiche, petiots, was an orphan
whose parents had died when
she was quite a child. I had taken her to my home, and had raised
her
as my own daughter. How sweet-tempered, how loving she was! She
had
grown to womanhood with all the attractions of her sex, and,
although
not a beauty in the sense usually given to that word, she was
looked
upon as the handsomest girl of St. Gabriel. Her soft, transparent
hazel eyes mirrored her pure thoughts; her dark brown hair waved
in
graceful undulations on her intelligent forehead, and fell in
ringlets
on her shoulders, her bewitching smile, her
slender, symmetrical
shape, all contributed to make her a most attractive picture of
maiden
loveliness.
Evangeline
By Edwin Douglas
“Emmeline, who had just completed her sixteenth year, was on the
eve
of marrying a most deserving, laborious and well-to-do young man
of
St. Gabriel, Louis Arceneaux. Their mutual love dated from their
earliest years, and all agreed that Providence willed their union
as
man and wife, she the fairest young maiden, he the most deserving
youth of St. Gabriel.
“Their bans had been published in the village church, the nuptial
day
was fixed, and their long love-dream was about to be realized,
when
the barbarous scattering of our colony took place.
“Our oppressors had driven us to the seashore, where their ships
rode
at anchor, when Louis, resisting, was brutally wounded by them.
Emmeline had witnessed the whole scene. Her lover was carried on
board
of one of the ships, the anchor was weighed, and a stiff
breeze soon
drove the vessel out of sight. Emmeline, tearless and speechless,
stood fixed to the spot, motionless as a statue, and when the
white
sail vanished in the distance, she uttered a wild, piercing
shriek,
and fell fainting to the ground.
“When she came to, she clasped me in her arms, and in an agony of
grief, she sobbed piteously. ‘Mother, mother,’ she said, in broken
words, ‘he is gone; they have killed him; what will become of me?’
“I soothed her grief with endearing words until she wept freely.
Gradually its violence subsided, but the sadness of her
countenance
betokened the sorrow that preyed on her heart, never to be
contaminated by her love for another one.
“Thus she lived in our midst, always sweet tempered, but with
such
sadness depicted in her countenance, and with smiles so sorrowful,
that we had come to look upon her as not of this earth, but rather
as
our guardian angel, and this is why we called her no longer
Emmeline,
but Evangeline, or God’s little angel.
“The sequel of her story is not gay, petiots, and my poor old
heart
breaks, whenever I recall the misery of her fate,” and while our
grandmother spoke thus, her whole figure was tremulous with
emotion.
“Grandmother,” we said, “we feel so interested in Evangeline,
God’s
little angel, do tell us what befell her afterwards.”
“Petiots, how can I refuse to comply with your request? I will
now
tell you what became of poor Emmeline,” and after remaining a
while in
thoughtful revery, she resumed her narrative.
“Emmeline, petiots, had been exiled to Maryland with me. She was,
as I
have told you, my adopted child. She dwelt with me, and she
followed
me in my long pilgrimage from Maryland to Louisiana. I shall not
relate to you now the many dangers that
beset us on our journey, and
the many obstacles we had to overcome to reach Louisiana; this
would
be anticipating what remains for me to tell you. When we reached
the
Teche country, at the Poste des Attakapas, we found there the
whole
population congregated to welcome us. As we went ashore, Emmeline
walked by my side, but seemed not to admire the beautiful
landscape
that unfolded itself to our gaze. Alas! it was of no moment to her
whether she strolled on the poetical banks of the Teche, or
rambled in
the picturesque sites of Maryland. She lived in the past, and her
soul was absorbed in the mournful regret of that past. For her,
the
universe had lost the prestige of its beauties, of its freshness,
of
its splendors. The radiance of her dreams was dimmed, and she
breathed
in an atmosphere of darkness and of desolation.
“She walked beside me with a measured step. All at once, she
grasped
my hand, and, as if fascinated by some vision, she stood
rooted to
the spot. Her very heart’s blood suffused her cheeks, and with the
silvery tones of a voice vibrating with joy: ‘Mother! Mother!’ she
cried out, ‘it is he! It is Louis!’ pointing to the tall figure of
a
man reclining under a large oak tree.
“That man was Louis Arceneaux.
“With the rapidity of lightning, she flew to his side, and in an
ecstacy of joy: ‘Louis, Louis,’ said she, ‘I am your Emmeline,
your
long lost Emmeline! Have you forgotten me?’
“Louis turned ashy pale and hung down his head, without uttering
a
word.
“‘Louis,’ said she, painfully impressed by her lover’s silence
and
coldness, ‘why do you turn away from me? I am still your Emmeline,
your betrothed, and I have kept pure and unsullied my plighted
faith
to you. Not a word of welcome, Louis?’ she said, as the tears
started
to her eyes. ‘Tell me, do tell me that you love me still, and that
the
joy of meeting me has overcome you, and stifled your utterance.’
The Evangeline Oak
Near the “Poste des Attakapas”
“Louis Arceneaux, with quivering lips and tremulous voice,
answered:
‘Emmeline, speak not so kindly to me, for I am unworthy of you. I
can
love you no longer; I have pledged my faith to another. Tear from
your
heart the remembrance of the past, and forgive me,’ and with quick
step, he walked away, and was soon lost to view in the forest.
“Poor Emmeline stood trembling like an aspen leaf. I took her
hand; it
was icy cold. A deathly pallor had overspread her countenance, and
her
eye had a vacant stare.
“‘Emmeline, my dear girl, come,’ said I, and she followed me like
a
child. I clasped her in my arms. ‘Emmeline, my dear child, be
comforted; there may yet be happiness in store for you.’
“‘Emmeline, Emmeline,’ she muttered in an undertone, as if to
recall
that name, ‘who is Emmeline?’ Then looking in my face with fearful
shining eyes that made me shudder, she said in a strange, unnatural
voice:
‘Who are you?’ and turned away from me. Her mind was unhinged;
this last shock had been too much for her broken heart; she was
hopelessly insane.
“How strange it is, petiots, that beings, pure and celestial like
Emmeline, should be the sport of fate, and be thus exposed to the
shafts of adversity. Is it true, then, that the beloved of God are
always visited by sore trials? Was it that Emmeline was too
ethereal a
being for this world, and that God would have her in his sweet
paradise? It does not belong to us, petiots, to solve this mystery
and
to scrutinize the decrees of Providence; we have only to bow
submissive to his will.
“Emmeline never recovered her reason, and a deep melancholy
settled
upon her. Her beautiful countenance was fitfully lightened by a
sad
smile which made her all the fairer. She never recognized any one
but
me, and nestling in my arms like a spoiled child, she would give
me
the most endearing names. As sweet and as amiable as
ever, every one
pitied and loved her.
“When poor, crazed Emmeline strolled upon the banks of the Teche,
plucking the wild flowers that strewed her pathway, and singing in
soft tones some Acadian song, those that met her wondered why so
fair
and gentle a being should have been visited with God’s wrath.
“She spoke of Acadia and of Louis in such loving words, that no
one
could listen to her without shedding tears. She fancied herself
still
the girl of sixteen years, on the eve of marrying the chosen one
of
her heart, whom she loved with such constancy and devotion, and
imagining that her marriage bells tolled from the village church
tower, her countenance would brighten, and her frame trembled with
ecstatic joy. And then, in a sudden transition from joy to
despair,
her countenance would change and, trembling convulsively, gasping,
struggling for utterance, and pointing her finger at some invisible
object,
in shrill and piercing accents, she would cry out: ‘Mother,
mother, he is gone; they have killed him; what will become of me?’
And
uttering a wild, unnatural shriek, she would fall senseless in my
arms.
“Sinking at last under the ravages of her mental disease, she
expired
in my arms without a struggle, and with an angelic smile on her
lips.
“She now sleeps in her quiet grave, shadowed by the tall oak tree
near
the little church at the Poste des Attakapas, and her grave has
been
kept green and flower-strewn as long as your grandmother has been
able
to visit it. Ah! petiots, how sad was the fate of poor Emmeline,
Evangeline, God’s little angel.”
And burying her face in her hands, grandmother wept and sobbed
bitterly. Our hearts swelled also with emotion, and sympathetic
tears
rolled down our cheeks. We withdrew softly and left dear
grandmother
alone, to think of and weep for her Evangeline, God’s little
angel.
Chapter Nine
The Acadian leave Maryland
to go to Louisiana
Their perilous and weary journey overland—Death of
Rene Leblanc—They arrive safely in Louisiana
and settle in the Attakapas region on the
Teche and Vermillion Bayous
s I have already told you, petiots,
during three years, we had lived
contented and happy in Maryland, when we received tidings that a
number of Acadians, exiles like us, had settled in Louisiana,
where
they were prospering and retrieving their lost fortunes under the
fostering care of the French government.
“This news which threw us in a flutter, engrossed our minds so
completely, that we spoke of nothing else. It gave rise to the
most
extravagant conjectures, and the hope of seeing, once more, the
dear
ones torn so cruelly from us, was revived in our hearts.
This news
was deficient, however, in one respect: it left us ignorant of the
fate of those who, like us, had been exiled from St. Gabriel.
“That uncertainty cast a gloom over our hopes which marred our
joy and
happiness, and increased our anxiety.
“Our suspense became unbearable, and we finally discussed
seriously
the expediency of emigrating to Louisiana. The more timid among us
represented the temerity and folly of such an undertaking, but the
desire to seek our brother exiles grew keener every day, and
became so
deeply rooted in our minds, that we concluded to leave for
Louisiana,
where the banner of France waved over true French hearts.
“We announced our determination to our benefactors, the Brent and
Smith families, and, undismayed by the perils that awaited us, and
the
obstacles we had to overcome, we prepared for our pilgrimage from
Maryland to Louisiana.
“Our friends used all their eloquence to dissuade us from our
resolve,
but we resisted all their entreaties, although we were deeply
touched
by this new proof of their friendship. We disposed of the articles
that we could not carry along with us, and kept our wagons and
horses
to transport the women and children, and the baggage. In all, we
numbered two hundred persons, and of these, fifty were well armed,
and
ready to face any danger.
“We journeyed slowly; the wagons moved in the centre, while
twenty men
in advance, and as many in the rear marched four abreast. Ten of
the
bravest and most active of our young men took the lead a short
distance ahead of the column, and formed our advance guard. Our
forces
were distributed in this wise, petiots, for our safety, as the
road
lay through mountain defiles, and in a wild and dreary country
inhabited by Indians.
“We secured, as scouts and guides, two Indians well known to the
Brent
family, and in whom, we were told, we could place the
most implicit
confidence. We had occasion, more than once, to find how fortunate
we
had been to secure their services. We set out on our journey with
sorrow. We were parting with friends kind and generous; friends
who
had relieved us in our needs, and who had proved true as steel,
and
loving as brothers. We were parting from them, lured with hopes
which
might prove illusory, and when we grasped their hands in a last
farewell, words failed us, and our tears and sobs told them of our
gratitude for the benefits they had, so generously, showered upon
us.
They, too, wept, touched to the heart by the eloquent, though
mute,
expression of our gratitude. Their last words, were words of love,
glowing with a fervent wish that our cherished hopes might be
realized.
“We set out in a westerly direction, and we had soon lost sight
of the
hospitable roofs of the Brent and Smith families. We again felt
that
we were, once more, poor wandering exiles roaming
through the world
in search of a home.
“Our journey, petiots, was slow and tedious, for a thousand
obstacles
impeded our progress. We encountered deep and rapid streams that
we
could not cross for want of boats; we traveled through mountain
defiles, where the pathway was narrow and dangerous, winding over
hill
and dale and over craggy steeps, where one false step might hurl
us
down into the yawning chasm below. We suffered from storms and
pelting
rains, and at night when we halted to rest our weary limbs, we had
only the light canvass of our tents to shelter us from the
inclemency
of the weather.
“Ah! petiots, we were undergoing sore trials! But we were lulled
by
the hope that far, far away in Louisiana, our dreamland, we would
find
our kith and kin. That radiant hope illumined our pathway; it
shone as
a beacon light on which we kept our eyes riveted, and it steeled
our
hearts against sufferings and privations almost too
great to be borne
otherwise.
“Thus we advanced fearlessly, aye, almost cheerfully, and at
night,
when we pitched our tents in some solitary spot, our Acadian songs
broke the silence and loneliness of the solitude, and, as the
gentle
wind wafted them over the hills, the light couplets were re-echoed
back to us so clearly and so distinctly, that it seemed the voice
of
some friend repeating them in the distance.
“As long as we journeyed in Virginia, barring the obstacles
presented
by the roads of a country diversified by hill and dale, our
progress,
though slow, was satisfactory. The people were generous, and
supplied
us with an abundance of provisions. But when the white population
grew
sparser and sparser, and when we reached the wild and mountainous
country which, we were told, bore the name of Carolina, then,
petiots,
it required a stout heart and firm resolve, indeed, not to abandon
the
attempt to reach Louisiana by the overland
route we were following.
“During days and weeks, we had to march slowly and tediously
through
endless forests, cutting our way across undergrowth so thick, as
to be
almost impervious to light, brushwood where a cruel enemy might
lay
concealed in ambush to murder us, for we were now in the very
heart
of the Indian country, and the savages followed us, stealthily,
day
and night. We could see them with their tattooed faces and hideous
headgear of feathers, frightful in appearance, lurking around in
the
forest, and watching our movements. We were always on the alert,
expecting an attack at any moment, for we could distinctly hear
their
whoops and fierce yells.
“Ah! Petiots, it was then that our mental and bodily anguish
became
extreme, and that the stoutest heart grew faint under the pressure
of
such accumulated woes. Our nights were sleepless, and, careworn
and on
the verge of starvation, we moved steadily
onward, the very picture
of dejection and of despair. Thus we toiled on day after day, and
night after night, during two long weary months on our seemingly
endless journey, until, disspirited and disheartened, our courage
failed us.
“It was a dark hour, full of alarming forebodings, and we
witnessed
the depression of our brother exiles with sorrow and apprehension.
“But a kind Providence watched over us. God tempereth the wind to
the
shorn lamb. The hope of finding our lost kindred stimulated our
drooping spirits. We had been told that Louisiana was a land of
enchantment, where a perpetual spring reigned. A land where the
soil
was extremely fertile; where the climate was so genial and
temperate,
and the sky so serene and azure, as to justly deserve the name of
Eden
of America. It smiled to us in the distance like the promised
land,
and toward that land we bent our weary steps, longing for the day
when
we would tread its soil, and breathe once more the
pure air in which
floated the banner of France.
“At last we reached the Tennessee river, where it curves
gracefully
around the base of a mountain looming up hundreds of feet. Its
banks
were rocky and precipitous, falling straight down at least fifty
feet, and we could see, in the chasm below, its waters that flowed
majestically on in their course toward the grand old Meschacebe.
It
was out of the question to cross the river there, and we followed
the
roadway on its banks around the mountain, advancing cautiously to
avoid the danger that threatened us at every step.
“That night, we slept in a large natural cave on the very brink
of the
precipice by the river. At dawn of day we resumed our march, and
as we
advanced, the country became more and more level, and after four
days
of toil and fatigue, we halted and camped on a hill by the
riverside,
where a small creek runs into the river. We met
there a party of
Canadian hunters and trappers who gave us a friendly welcome, and
replenished our store of provisions with game and venison. They
informed us that the easiest and least wearisome way to reach
Louisiana was to float down the Tennessee and Meschacebe rivers.
The
plan suggested by them was adopted, and the men of our party,
aided by
our Canadian friends, felled trees to build a suitable boat.
“There, petiots, a great misfortune befell us. We experienced a
great loss in the death of Rene Leblanc, who had been our leader
and
adviser in the hours of our sore trials. Old age had shattered his
constitution, and unequal to the fatigues of our long pilgrimage,
he
pined away, and sank into his grave without a word of complaint.
He
died the death of a hero and of a Christian, consoling us as we
wept
beside him, and cheering us in our troubles. His death afflicted
us
sorely, and the night during which he lay exposed, preparatory
to his
burial, the silence was unbroken, in our camp, save by our
whispered
words, as if we feared to disturb the slumbers of the great and
good
man that slept the eternal sleep. We buried him at the foot of the
hill, in a grove of walnut trees. We carved his name with a cross
over
it on the bark of the tree sheltering his grave, and after having
said
the prayers for the dead, we closed his grave, wet with the tears
of
those he had loved so well.
“My narrative has not been gay, petiots, but the gloom that
darkened
it will now be dispelled by the radiant sunshine of joy and of
happiness.
“Our boat was unwieldy, but it served our purpose well. We stored
in
it our baggage and supplies; we sold our horses and wagons to our
Canadian friends, and taking leave of our Indian guides, we cut
loose
the moorings of the boat. We floated down stream, our young men
rowing, and singing Acadian songs.
“Nothing of importance happened to us after our
embarkment, petiots.
During the day, we traveled, and at night, we moored our boat
safely,
and encamped on the banks of the river. At last we launched on the
turbulent waters of the Mississippi and floated down that noble
stream
as far as Bayou Plaquemines, in Louisiana, where we landed. Once
more
we were treading French soil, and we were freed from English
dominion.
“As the tidings of our arrival spread abroad, a great number of
Acadian exiles flocked to our camp to greet and welcome us. Ah!
petiots, how can I describe our joy and rapture, when we
recognized
countenances familiar to us. Grasping their hands, with hearts too
full for utterance, we wept like children. Many a sorrowing heart
revived to love and happiness on that day. Many a wife pressed to
her
bosom a long lost husband. Many a fond parent clasped in rapturous
embrace a loving child. Ah! such a moment repaid us a thousandfold
for
all our sufferings and privations, and we spent
the day in rejoicing, conviviality and
merriment.
Interior, Catholic Church, St.
Martinsville, La.
“The sequel of my story will be quickly told, petiots. Shortly
afterwards, we left for the Teche region, where lands had been
granted
to us by the government. We wended our way, to our destined homes,
through dismal swamps, through bayous without number and across
lakes
until we reached Portage Sauvage, at Fausse Pointe. The next day,
we
were at the Poste des Attakapas, a small hamlet having two or
three
houses, one store and a small wooden church, situated on Bayou
Teche
which we crossed in a boat.
“There, the several Acadians separated to settle on the lands
granted
to them.
“You must not imagine, petiots, that the Teche region was, at
that
time, dotted all over like nowadays with thriving farms, elegant
houses and handsome villages. No, petiots, it required the nerve
and
perseverance of your Acadian fathers to settle there. Although
beautiful and picturesque, it was a wild
region inhabited, mostly, by
Indians and by a few white men, trappers and hunters by
occupation.
Its immense prairies, covered with weeds as tall as you, were the
commons where herds of cattle and of deer roamed unmolested, save
by
the hunter and the panther. Such was the region your ancestors
settled, and which, by their energy, they have transformed into a
garden teeming with wealth.
“The Acadians enriched themselves in a country where no one will
starve if he is industrious, and where one may easily become rich
if
he fears God, and if he is economical and orderly in his affairs.
“Petiots, I have kept my promise, and my tale is told. Your
Acadian
fathers were martyrs in a noble cause, and you should always be
proud
to be the sons of martyrs and of men of principle.”
“Grandmother,” we said, as we kissed her fondly, “your words have
fallen in willing and loving hearts, and they will bear fruit. We
are
proud now of being called Acadians, for there
never was any people
more noble, more devoted to duty and more patriotic than the
Acadians
who became exiles, and who braved death itself, rather than
renounce
their faith, their king and their country.”
[FINIS]
Notes
-
Grandmother. Voorhies has
created a great deal of confusion about his story by claiming that it was true and that it was told
to him by his grandmother. In fact he made the whole thing up. Surprising as the idea of a
Louisiana politician lying may be, his "true story" did succeed in helping encourage Evangeline
tourism in Louisiana. People still visit the Evangeline Oak near Bayou Teche in St. Martinville, still visit the St. Martinville de Tours Catholic Church built in 1836 (100 years too late for the first Acadians to have visited it). A statue of Evangeline has been added to the scene; the actress who played Evangeline in the movie, Dolores del Rio, donated the statue because she was so moved at hearing Judge Voorhies' "true" story.
- Acadians.
Originally the inhabitants of Acadia, a colony in modern Nova Scotia. Beginning in 1755, British soldiers and American colonists expelled them in what was called the Great Expulsion or Le Grand Dérangement. The colonists were scattered, but many of them made their way to the colony in Louisiana. Their descendants are now called the 'Cajuns', a word derived from 'Acadians'. The story of Evangeline and Gabriel was a folk tale told against the backdrop of the expulsion. Longfellow turned the story into the epic poem Evangeline.
Source
Voorhies, Felix. Acadian Reminiscences: With the True Story of Evangeline. Boston: The Palmer Company, 1907. Internet Archive. 1 July 2006. Web. 02 Aug. 2012. <http:// archive. org/ details/ acadian reminisce 00voorrich>.
Anthology of Louisiana
Literature
