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Near to the
bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, from whose
branches
Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic
mistletoe flaunted
Such as the Druids cut down with
golden hatchets at Yule-tide,
Stood, secluded and
still, the house of the herdsman. A garden
Girded it
round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms,
Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of
timbers
Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully
fitted together.
Large and low was the roof; and on
slender columns supported,
Rose-wreathed,
vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda,
Haunt
of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it.
At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the
garden,
Stationed the dovecots were, as love's
perpetual symbol,
Scenes of endless wooing, and
endless contentions of rivals.
Silence reigned o'er
the place. The line of shadow and sunshine
Ran near
the tops of the trees; but the house itself was in a
shadow,
And from its chimney-top, ascending and
slowly expanding
Into the evening air, a thin blue
column of smoke rose.
In the rear of the house, from
the garden gate, ran a pathway
Through the great
groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie,
Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending.
Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy
canvas
Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless
calm in the tropics,
Stood a cluster of trees, with
tangled cordage of grapevines.
Just where the
woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie,
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and
stirrups,
Sat a herdsman arrayed in gaiters and
doublet of deerskin.
Broad and brown was the face
that from under the Spanish sombrero
Gazed on the
peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master.
Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were
grazing
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the
vapoury freshness
That uprose from the river, and
spread itself over the landscape.
Slowly lifting the
horn that hung at his side, and expanding
Fully his
broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that resounded
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of
the evening.
Suddenly out of the grass the long white
horns of the cattle
Rose like flakes of foam on the
adverse currents of the ocean.
Silent a moment they
gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er the prairie,
And
the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the distance.
Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the
gate of the garden
Saw he the forms of the priest and
the maiden advancing to meet him.
Suddenly down from
his horse he sprang in amazement, and forward
Rushed
with extended arms and exclamations of wonder;
When
they beheld his face, they recognised Basil the
blacksmith.
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his
guests to the garden.
There in an arbour of roses,
with endless question and answer
Gave they vent to
their hearts, and renewed their friendly embraces,
Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and
thoughtful.
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now
dark doubts and misgivings
Stole o'er the maiden's
heart; and Basil, somewhat embarrassed,
Broke the
silence and said, -"If you came by the Atchafalaya,
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat on
the bayous?"
Over Evangeline's face at the words of
Basil a shade passed.
Tears came into her eyes, and
she said, with a tremulous accent, -
"Gone? is
Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face on his shoulder,
All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept and
lamented.
Then the good Basil said, -and his voice
grew blithe as he said it, -
"Be of good cheer, my
child; it is only today he departed.
Foolish boy! he
has left me alone with my herds and my horses.
Moody
and restless grown, and tried and troubled, his spirit
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence.
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever,
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles,
He at length had become so tedious to men and to
maidens,
Tedious even to me, that at length I
bethought me, and sent him
Up the town of Adayes to
trade for mules with the Spaniards.
Thence he will
follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains,
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the
beaver.
Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow
the fugitive lover;
He is not far on his way, and the
Fates and the streams are against him.
Up and away
tomorrow, and through the red dew of the morning
We
will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison."
Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks
of the river,
Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came
Michael the fiddler.
Long under Basil's roof had he
lived like a god on Olympus,
Having no other care
than dispensing music to mortals.
Far renowned was he
for his silver locks and his fiddle.
"Long live
Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian minstrel!"
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and
straightway
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline,
greeting the old man
Kindly and oft, and recalling
the past, while Basil, enraptured,
Hailed with
hilarious joy his old companions and gossips,
Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and
daughters.
Much they marvelled to see the wealth of
the cidevant blacksmith,
All his domains and his
herds, and his patriarchal demeanour;
Much they
marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate,
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who
would take them;
Each one thought in his heart, that
he, too, would go and do likewise.
Thus they ascended
the steps, and crossing the airy veranda,
Entered the
hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil
Waited his late return; and they rested and feasted
together.
Over the joyous feast the sudden
darkness descended.
All was silent without, and,
illuming the landscape with silver,
Fair rose the
dewy moon and the myriad stars; but within doors,
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends and the
glimmering lamplight.
Then from his station aloft, at
the head of the table, the herdsman
Poured forth his
heart and his wine together in endless profusion.
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet
Natchitoches tobacco,
Thus he spake to his guests,
who listened, and smiled as they listened: -
"Welcome once more, my friends, who so long have been
friendless and homeless,
Welcome once more to a home,
that is better perchance than the old one!
Here no
hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers;
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer.
Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil as a keel
through water.
All the year round the orange-groves
are in blossom; and grass grows
More in a single
night than a whole Canadian summer.
Here, too,
numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies;
Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests
of timber
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and
framed into houses.
After your houses are built, and
your fields are yellow with harvests,
No King George
of England shall drive you away from your homesteads,
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your
farms and your cattle."
Speaking these words, he blew
a wrathful cloud from his nostrils,
And his huge,
brawny hand came thundering down on the table,
So
that the guests all started; and Father Felician,
astounded,
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff
halfway to his nostrils.
But the brave Basil resumed,
and his words were milder and gayer: -
"Only beware
of the fever, my friends, beware of the fever!
For it
is not like that of our cold Acadian climate,
Cured
by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a
nutshell!"
Then there were voices heard at the door,
and footsteps approaching
Sounded upon the stairs and
the floor of the breezy veranda.
It was the
neighbouring Creoles and small Acadian planters,
Who
had been summoned all to the house of Basil the
Herdsman.
Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades
and neighbours:
Friend clasped friend in his arms;
and they who before were as strangers,
Meeting in
exile, became straightway as friends to each other,
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together.
But in the neighbouring hall a strain of music,
proceeding
From the accordant strings of Michael's
melodious fiddle,
Broke up all further speech. Away,
like children delighted,
All things forgotten beside,
they gave themselves to the maddening
Whirl of the
dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the music
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering
garments.
Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the
hall, the priest and the herdsman
Sat, conversing
together of past and present and future;
While
Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within her
Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music
Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible
sadness
Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole
forth into the garden.
Beautiful was the night.
Behind the black wall of the forest,
Tipping its
summit with silver, arose the moon. On the river
Fell
here and there through the branches a tremulous gleam of
the moonlight,
Like the sweet thoughts of love an a
darkened and devious spirit.
Nearer and round about
her, the manifold flowers of the garden
Poured out
their souls in odours, that were their prayers and
confessions
Unto the night, as it went its way, like
a silent Carthusian.
Fuller of fragrance than they,
and as heavy with shadows and night-dews,
Hung the
heart of the maiden. The calm and the magical moonlight
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings,
As, through the garden gate, beneath the brown shade of
the oak-trees,
Passed she along the path to the edge
of the measureless prairie.
Silent it lay, with a
silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies
Gleaming and
floating away in mingled and infinite numbers.
Over
her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heavens,
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and
worship,
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the
walls of that temple,
As if a hand had appeared and
written upon the, "Upharsin."
And the soul of the
maiden, between the stars and the fire-flies,
Wandered alone, and she cried, -"O Gabriel! O my
beloved!
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot
behold thee?
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy
voice does not reach me?
Ah! how often thy feet have
trod this path to the prairie!
Ah! how often thine
eyes have looked on the woodlands around me!
Ah! how
often beneath this oak, returning from labour,
Thou
hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy
slumbers!
When shall these eyes behold, these arms be
folded about thee?
Loud and sudden and near the note
of a whippoorwill sounded
Like a flute in the woods;
and anon, through the neighbouring thickets,
Farther
and farther away it floated and dropped into silence.
"Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of
darkness;
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh
responded, "Tomorrow!"
Bright rose the sun next
day; and all the flowers of the garden
Bathed his
shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses
With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of
crystal.
"Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at
the shadowy threshold;
"See that you bring us the
Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine,
And, too,
the Foolish Virgin, who slept while the bridegroom was
coming."
"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and,
smiling, with Basil descended
Down to the river's
brink, where the boatmen already were waiting.
Thus
beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and
gladness,
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who
was speeding before them,
Blown by the blast of fate
like a dead leaf over the desert.
Not that day, not
the next, nor yet the day that succeeded,
Found they
trace of his course, in lake or forest or river;
Nor,
after many days, had they found him; but vague and
uncertain
Rumours alone were their guides through a
wild and desolate country;
Till, at a little inn of
the Spanish town of Adayes,
Weary and worn, they
alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord
That on the day before, with horses, and guides, and
companions,
Gabriel left the village, and took the
road of the prairies.
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