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Updated: May 22, 2025
On the following day, under the stern guard of the Puritan soldiers, there was a funeral in the little cemetery on the hillside, and the frozen sods were heaped upon the last Acadian grave of Grand Pré village. Remi Corveau had chosen death rather than exile. And what was the jewel whose loss had caused such grief to Marie Beaugrand?
The decrepit figure in its quaint Acadian garb was one to be remembered. Old Remi Corveau was a man of means among the Acadian peasants. His feet were incased in high-top moccasins of vividly embroidered moose-hide, and his legs in gaiters, or mitasses, of dark blue woollen homespun, laced with strips of red cloth.
He waves his stick exultantly to welcome them. I know him, it is old Remi Corveau. They told me he died and was buried when the ships sailed away from Grand Pré. "There comes a great ship heading for Long Island shoal. Cannot the captain see how the waves break furiously before him? No ship will live a moment that strikes the shoal to-night. She strikes!
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