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Updated: June 4, 2025
'Thanase Beausoleil, so tall and strong, so happy and hale, you do not look to-day like the poor decoyed, drugged victim that woke up one morning out in the Gulf of Mexico to find yourself, without fore-intent or knowledge, one of a ship's crew bound for Brazil and thence to the Mediterranean! "Make way, make way!"
So, at least, the curé told the ex-governor, as from time to time they talked of the absent Bonaventure and of his letters. However, they had to admit one thing: all this did not find 'Thanase. And why, now, should 'Thanase longer be sought? Was there any thing to gain by finding him dead?
Only a few weeks before, gaunt, footsore, and ragged, tramping the cross-ties yonder where the railway comes from the eastward, curving into view out of that deep green and gray defile, 'Thanase had come into this valley. So short a time before, because almost on his start homeward illness had halted him by the way and held him long in arrest.
I understand; yes. What State Alabama, yes, Alabama. You must excuse me, I didn't understand you at first. Yes, this is Alabama." "Thank you, sir. Have you seen anywhere, coming back from the war, a young man named 'Thanase Beausoleil?" "Back from the war! Why, everybody done got back from the war long ago."
Sosthène was just beyond the limit of age, and 'Thanase two years below it; but 'Thanase's father kept a horse saddled all the time, and slept indoors only on stormy nights. Do not be misled: he was neither deserter nor coward; else the nickname which had quite blotted out his real name would not have been Chaouache savage, Indian. He was needed at home, and it was not his war.
Ah, poor unpitied mother! go back to your toils; they are lightened now a little; the cooking, the washing, the scrubbing. Spread, day by day, the smoking board, and call your spared husband and your little ones to partake; but you your tears shall be your meat day and night, while underneath your breath you moan, "'Thanase! 'Thanase!" It was an unexpected and capital exchange.
"'Thanase! Bah! What has 'Thanase to do with it? Who was even thinking of 'Thanase? Was he there last night? Ah yes! I just remember now he was. But even he could dance if he chose; while you you can't learn! You vex me. 'Thanase! What do you always bring him up for? I wish you would have the kindness just not to remind me of him!
He came into great demand for the Saturday-night balls. When the courier with a red kerchief on a wand came galloping round, the day before, from île to île, for these descendants of a maritime race call their homestead groves islands, to tell where the ball was to be, he would assert, if there was even a hope of it, that 'Thanase was to be the fiddler.
Tell me this; if he that was yours until ten years ago was looking down now and could speak to us, don't you believe he'd say yes?" "Oh! I dunno. Not to-day! Not dis day!" The widow's eyes met his gaze of tender inquiry and then sank to the ground. She shook her head mournfully. "Naw, naw; not dis day. 'Tis to-day 'Thanase was kill'!" Mr. Tarbox relaxed his grasp and Zoséphine's hand escaped.
Since the war almost every one went armed not for attack, of course; for defence. 'Thanase was an exception. "My fists," he said, in the good old drawling Acadian dialect and with his accustomed smile, "my fists will take care of me."
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