to the shore, and
evidently protected the intervening level from the sea. The island
itself thus served as a dike, and the artificial works that had been
made ran where the sea had the least possible effect.

At length they approached the main land, and here they saw the low
marsh-land all around them. Here a turbid river ran into the Basin,
which came down a valley enclosed between wooded hills, and, with
voluminous windings, terminated its course.

At this place there was a convenient beach for landing, and here
Laborde was removed from the boat and carried up on the bank, where
he was laid on his mattress under a shadowy willow tree. This point,
though not very elevated, commanded a prospect which, to these new
comers who had suffered so much from the sea, might have afforded the
highest delight, had they been sufficiently free from care to take it
all in. All around them lay one of the most fertile countries in all
the world, and one of the most beautiful. The slopes of the hills
rose in gentle acclivities, cultivated, dotted with groves and
orchards, and lined with rows of tall poplars. The simple houses of
the Acadian farmers, with their out-buildings, gave animation to the
scene. At their feet lay a broad extent of dike-land, green and
glowing with the verdure of Juno, spreading away to that island,
which acted as a natural dike against the waters of the sea. Beyond
this lay the blue waters of Minas Basin, on whose bosom floated the
ship and the schooner, while in the distance rose the cliff which
marked the entrance into the Basin, and all the enclosing shores.

But none of the party noticed this. Cazeneau was absorbed with his
own plans; Laborde lay extended on the mattress, without any
appearance of life except a faint breathing and an occasional
movement; over him Mimi hung in intense anxiety, watching every
change in his face, and filled with the most dreadful apprehensions;
at a little distance stood Pere Michel, watching them with sad and
respectful sympathy.

Captain Ducrot had come ashore in the boat, and, leaving Laborde, he
accompanied Cazeneau to a house which stood not far away. It was
rather larger than the average, with a row of tall poplars in front
and an orchard on one side. A road ran from the landing, past this
house, up the hill, to the rest of the settlement farther on.

An old man was seated on a bench in the doorway. He rose as he saw
the strangers, and respectfully removed his hat.