Acadian Reminiscences : The True Story of Evangeline Part 3

"Emmeline 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 s.e.x, 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _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 seash.o.r.e, 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 G.o.d'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, G.o.d'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 antic.i.p.ating 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 ash.o.r.e, 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.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: _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 G.o.d are always visited by sore trials? Was it that Emmeline was too ethereal a being for this world, and that G.o.d 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 G.o.d'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, G.o.d'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, G.o.d's little angel.

Chapter Nine

The Acadians 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_

"As 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 grat.i.tude 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 grat.i.tude. 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 canva.s.s 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 spa.r.s.er and spa.r.s.er, 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.