# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/The Ride to Death

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THE RIDE TO DEATH
AMONG the Indian gardens of fable was the lake country of the Blue Mountains, in Nova Scotia. A certain reverence for the spirits of its woods and waters made the Micmacs who dwelt there jealous of the advancing white men, yet they had received so many benefits at the hands of the French people that they could not refuse help to the latter in their extremity. For Annapolis Royal had been thrown into panic on the news that the English had burned Grand Pré, seized its farms and live stock, and sent all its people captive to other lands. Already the English officers had disarmed the Acadians, so that they could not even shoot ducks for food, yet with deportation to follow capture the Annapolitans determined to risk the harshness of the wilds rather than the cruelty of their fellow-men. Collecting what they might of their goods and stock, they set off for the Blue Mountains. Sometimes they suffered a lack of food, several babes died of hunger and exposure and were buried beside the trail, cattle fell by the way, and the nights were filled with dread when the growling and squalling of beasts came from the bush. Having no guns, they were without defence, except that of clubs and stones, but they reached the Micmac settlements just as a troop of English arrived within striking distance. The Indians beat back the pursuers and cared for the
​Acadians until they could help themselves, sharing fish and game, and building huts to shelter them. And friendship was strengthened between the red men and the white.
Among the French was a girl named Rachel, whose lover, Joseph, had disappeared on the day of the flight. Whether he had fled with another party or been deported to the southern colonies none could tell, but there was a fear that he had resisted the English and had been killed. A young Micmac sued for Rachel's hand, thinking that her heart was free, but she would not listen to him. Long he paid his court, but with no effect until the young man's father took on a tone half threatening. He reminded her how the French had been befriended by the Micmacs in this flight, and what ingratitude she would show if she behaved with coldness toward his son. Her own people also pleaded with her. Their lives depended on the friendship of these Indians; it was certain that she never again would hear of her white lover; in this marriage she would be gaining favors for all her people; beside, the hunter was a well-appearing lad, who had been Christianized, and might be won to the ways of the Acadians, as well as to their faith. Worn with these persecutions, indifferent in her sorrow, feeling that she had no friend, Rachel consented, and a day was fixed for the wedding.
The log chapel was decorated with flowers, all ​the people, both pale and dark, gathered to feast and dance, the priest awaited the couple at the altar, when a commotion arose without, for a young Acadian was come, eagerly calling for Rachel. It was Joseph. He had been carried with other exiles to Philadelphia, had but just succeeded in finding this remote colony of his people, and was filled with disgust and rage at discovering the apparent faithlessness of his fiancée. In a few words the girl explained that the marriage was not of her seeking, and begged him to take her away. The Indian, who had been haughtily regarding his rival, bade him begone, for he would not suffer the disgrace of giving up his wife to any man. The older heads were shaken sadly, because matters had now gone too far to be undone. The wedding must take place. The girl must dress quickly and follow her dusky groom to church. In a few minutes five little girls, wreathed in flowers, went to her door, whence she was to walk to her bridal. The Indian became impatient. He knocked; he called. There was no answer. He flung open the door; the place was empty. Instantly the village was in an uproar, the Indians clamoring for pursuit and revenge, the Acadians declaring their innocence, the old priest urging peace. A few bent grass-blades and broken twigs showed that the flight of the lovers had been toward the outlet of the lakes, and when the Indians reached the water Joseph and Rachel were seen in a canoe paddling ​down the river with all haste. The pursuers quickly embarked and gave chase. Believing that capture was certain, Joseph picked up his gun and was about to shoot his Micmac rival, but Rachel begged him not to fire, for the Indians might revenge the act upon the innocent. He dropped the gun and resumed his paddle. Presently they noticed that the Indians had fallen back, and their hearts bounded with a new hope, for liberty now seemed secure; but in another moment they knew the reason for this abandonment: the roar of a waterfall was heard, and their canoe was whirling toward the brink with growing speed. The paddles were useless. The lovers' lips met in a kiss; then, clasped in each other's arms, their voices joined in prayer, they rode into the abyss, to death.
In another version a happier ending is reached: the runaways leave their canoe at the head of the rapid and hide among the trees. The birch is found empty and crushed among the rocks below. Thus prosperously starting a belief in their death, they travel safely afoot to Halifax, where they beg the captain of a British ship to give them passage to the southern colonies, and in the warm, fertile lands of a more peaceful country they live happily for long years.