Rose a Charlitte by Marshall Saunders

"Pools and shadows merge Beneath the branches, where the rushes lean And stumble prone; and sad along the verge The marsh-hen totters. Strange the branches play Above the snake-roots in the dark and wet, Adown the hueless trunks, this summer day. Strange things the willows whisper. " J. F. H.

"There is a story among the old people," said Agapit, "that a band of Acadiens, who evaded the English at the time of the expulsion, sailed into this Bay in a schooner. They anchored opposite Sleeping Water, and some of the men came ashore in a boat. Not knowing that an English ship lay up yonder, hidden by a point of land, they pressed back into the woods towards Sleeping Water Lake. Some of the English, also, were on their way to this lake, for it is historic. The Acadiens found traces of them and turned towards the shore, but the English pursued over the marshes by the river, which at last the Acadiens must cross. They threw aside their guns and jumped in, and, as one head rose after another, the English, standing on the bank, shot until all but one were killed. This one was a Le Blanc, a descendant of Rene Le Blanc, that one reads of in 'Evangeline. ' Rising up on the bank, he found himself alone. Figure the anguish of his heart, -- his brothers and friends were dead. He would never see them again, and he turned and stretched out a hand in a supreme adieu. The English, who would not trouble to swim, fired at him, and called, 'Go to sleep with your comrades in the river.'