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Page 40
At the peace of 1748, Acadia had been ceded to England. But the French
still claimed a large portion of it, and built forts for its defence. In
1755, these forts were taken, and the whole of Acadia was conquered, by
three thousand men from Massachusetts, under the command of General
Winslow. The inhabitants were accused of supplying the French with
provisions, and of doing other things that violated their neutrality.
"These accusations were probably true," observed Grandfather; "for the
Acadians were descended from the French, and had the same friendly
feelings towards them, that the people of Massachusetts had for the
English. But their punishment was severe. The English determined to tear
these poor people from their native homes and scatter them abroad."
The Acadians were about seven thousand in number. A considerable part of
them were made prisoners, and transported to the English colonies. All
their dwellings and churches were burnt, their cattle were killed, and
the whole country was laid waste, so that none of them might find
shelter or food in their old homes, after the departure of the English.
One thousand of the prisoners were sent to Massachusetts; and
Grandfather allowed his fancy to follow them thither, and tried to give
his auditors an idea of their situation.
We shall call this passage the story of
THE ACADIAN EXILES.
A sad day it was for the poor Acadians, when the armed soldiers drove
them, at the point of the bayonet, down to the sea-shore. Very sad were
they, likewise, while tossing upon the ocean, in the crowded transport
vessels. But, methinks, it must have been sadder still, when they were
landed on the Long Wharf, in Boston, and left to themselves, on a
foreign strand.
Then, probably, they huddled together, and looked into one another's
faces for the comfort which was not there. Hitherto, they had been
confined on board of separate vessels, so that they could not tell
whether their relatives and friends were prisoners along with them. But,
now, at least, they could tell that many had been left behind, or
transported to other regions.
Now, a desolate wife might be heard calling for her husband. He, alas!
had gone, she knew not whither, or perhaps had fled into the woods of
Acadia, and had now returned to weep over the ashes of their dwelling.
An aged widow was crying out, in a querulous, lamentable tone, for her
son, whose affectionate toil had supported her for many a year. He was
not in the crowd of exiles; and what could this aged widow do but sink
down and die? Young men and maidens, whose hearts had been torn asunder
by separation, had hoped, during the voyage, to meet their beloved ones
at its close. Now, they began to feel that they were separated forever.
And, perhaps, a lonesome little girl, a golden-haired child of five
years old, the very picture of our little Alice, was weeping and wailing
for her mother, and found not a soul to give her a kind word.
Oh, how many broken bonds of affection were here! Country lost!--friends
lost!--their rural wealth of cottage, field, and herds, all lost
together! Every tie between these poor exiles and the world seemed to be
cut off at once. They must have regretted that they had not died before
their exile; for even the English would not have been so pitiless as to
deny them graves in their native soil. The dead were happy; for they
were not exiles!
While they thus stood upon the wharf, the curiosity and inquisitiveness
of the New England people would naturally lead them into the midst of
the poor Acadians. Prying busy-bodies thrust their heads into the
circle, wherever two or three of the exiles were conversing together.
How puzzled did they look, at the outlandish sound of the French tongue!
There were seen the New England women, too. They had just come out of
their warm, safe homes, where every thing was regular and comfortable,
and where their husbands and children would be with them at night-fall.
Surely, they could pity the wretched wives and mothers of Acadia! Or,
did the sign of the cross, which the Acadians continually made upon
their breasts, and which was abhorred by the descendants of the
Puritans--did that sign exclude all pity?
Among the spectators, too, was the noisy brood of Boston school-boys,
who came running, with laughter and shouts, to gaze at this crowd of
oddly dressed foreigners. At first they danced and capered around them,
full of merriment and mischief. But the despair of the Acadians soon had
its effect upon these thoughtless lads, and melted them into tearful
sympathy.
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