Chapter VIII

Off to Nova Scotia

It was several weeks later. My mother, Dr. Canfield, Duncan Hale, and I were sitting in a room in Boston, awaiting our turn for a promised interview with Lord Percy, who was still with the army. The battle of Bunker Hill had been won by the British; but, in spite of this success, General Washington, who arrived in July to take command of the army, had succeeded in drawing his lines uncomfortably close about the city. We, with thousands of others, had been forcibly driven from our beautiful homes in the country, to make quarters for Washington's soldiers. We had been allowed to take nothing away. From all that was most dear to us--from the luxury of a quiet life of culture; from rooms where hung portraits of hero ancestors; from walks and gardens that had become part of our life; from broad, rich fields and firm-set old mansions, with their wide halls and fine Corinthian architecture;--from all these, one day in late June, my sisters, my mother, and myself, had been driven by a mob-like body of rough, jeering men who called themselves patriot soldiers.

True, we might have remained. Indeed, as we passed down the path from our home, my mother was presented with a second paper, the signing of which would have restored to us all that from which we were being driven. She read a few lines, then, tearing the paper into bits, she threw these in the face of the soldier who stood before her. After this, without a single look backward upon our home--on foot, under the blazing June sun--we had hurried away toward the besieged city of Boston. None hindered us; but many jeered as we passed. We had lost much--much upon which we never again looked--but we felt we had gained in this: we were under the flag of the King.

But that was the past. What of the future? This was the question in the mind of each of us that day in Lord Percy's waiting-room, when a servant appeared, and asked us to follow him.

After receiving us all very graciously, his lordship asked us to be seated. I thought I had seldom seen a handsomer man. He was tall, graceful and youthful; his manners were polished, and his language bore all the marks of the utmost culture. He first addressed himself to my mother. After making some kindly references to my late father, and his services in the King's cause, he passed at once to a discussion of what was to be in the future.

'You cannot be unaware, madame,' he said, 'of the deep and sympathetic interest I take in the welfare of yourself and your family. The noble spirit of self-sacrifice manifested by you in voluntarily giving up your lands and home, I consider quite beyond praise; and it is with feelings of the profoundest regret that I feel myself obliged to say that it is quite beyond my power to offer compensation to you in any degree commensurate with your loss. As to the future of the rebellion, nothing definite can be said; for myself, I believe that the arms of the King will finally triumph; but this cannot be hoped for in the immediate future. You cannot remain here; the danger grows daily. What think you of Canada, madame? Or of Nova Scotia, of those wide, peaceful, loyal provinces of His Majesty to the north of us? Many of our people, as you know, have sailed for England--too many, I fear; others have asked to be sent to Canada.'

My mother did not answer for a time. Finally, she said: 'I like America; I was born here; I have now few friends in England, and I am without means.'

At the mention of Canada, I had seen Duncan Hale's face brighten; but he did not speak. A little later, Lord Percy turned to him.

'Tell us,' he said, 'what is said of Nova Scotia in the geographies? Is it really a habitable land?'

Duncan bowed very low.

'Yes, my lord,' he said, 'it is a country in no degree less fruitful than that in which we live. In addition to what is writ in our books of it, I have learned from traders that the soil is rich, that it is a land of delightful summers, of mighty rivers, and of boundless forests. The wealth of its fisheries and mines cannot be estimated; and best of all, your lordship, it is a land undefiled by the feet of traitors.'

The closing words were spoken in such a manner as to show that Duncan Hale was not one of those who had found it difficult to choose between King and people.

Doctor Canfield, who had so far said little, rose and walked to a large map of America that hung upon the wall.

'This is Nova Scotia,' he said, pointing to a large, irregular peninsula. 'Canada is further west, is it not?'

We gathered about the map, a new and peculiar interest attaching to it, owing to the situation in which we were placed.

Duncan Hale explained fully and clearly that all the land on both sides of the water marked Bay of Fundy was called Nova Scotia. This was a single province, which had a Governor who lived in Halifax. 'Canada,' Lord Percy explained later to my mother, 'is known as the Province of Quebec. There are many French there,' he said; 'but in Nova Scotia most of the people are English or Scotch. In Halifax they have had a Parliament for some years now, and from all we have been able to learn the people here'--he swept his hand all over the peninsula and around the Bay of Fundy--'are happy and prosperous in the enjoyment of the liberties of all British subjects.'

After touching on the question of sailing for England, we discussed with Lord Percy more fully the relative merits of Canada and Nova Scotia. Then we went out.

As we passed along, we noticed that the streets were crowded. There were many soldiers in their bright red uniforms, but the great majority of the people were like ourselves--refugees who had come in from the surrounding towns and country for protection from the rebels who were daily becoming more insolent and offensive. We had come almost to the quarters kindly put at our disposal by Lord Percy, when in a crowd of plain countrymen I caught sight of a face which I was quite sure I had seen before. Doctor Canfield went on with my mother and sisters, while Duncan Hale and I turned aside.

A moment later, hearing the voice of the man who had attracted my attention, I was fully convinced that I had hit upon my old fellow-prisoner of the mine at Lexington, David Elton. He shook my hand warmly, told me briefly of his escape, and of his return to his home.

'But when I got back,' he went on, 'I found a great change in the settlement. Some had taken up arms on the side of the people; some had enlisted with the King's men. I and several others could not think it was right to fight on either side. Finally they came an' burned our houses, an' drove off our stock, so we had to flee.'

'What are your plans for the future?' I asked.

'Some o' them here'--he waved his hand over the group of hardy, honest-looking farmers--'have been talkin' o' goin' to--what's the name o' the place?' he said, turning to those who stood behind him.

'Nova Scotia,' several said at once.

'Aye, Nova Scotia. That's it. There's peace there, they say, an' plenty o' better lan' than what we've had here on the hillsides. Most of us have about made up our minds to go there.'

'Well done,' broke in Duncan Hale at this; 'for myself I'd rather be there on two meals a day under the flag of the King than living as a lord here among traitors, rebels and cut-throats.'

At this a few of the crowd hurrahed and pressed closer. They listened attentively for some time, as Duncan told them of the new land in the north to which their minds had already turned. As I looked on this group of rough, plain men eagerly listening to the schoolmaster, as I marked their hard hands and weather-beaten faces, as I heard them cheer the King's name, it came to me that it was not the cultured and refined only who were with the King. The bone and sinew of the country, as well as the brain and learning of it, were united in their loyalty to the cause that was growing dearer to me every day. The siege of Boston dragged slowly and painfully on. Weeks slid into months, and still no decided advantage was gained by either side. There were times when we heard that it would be useless to go to either Canada or Nova Scotia, for these already had been invaded and conquered. All communication by land was cut off, and closer and closer about the city were drawn the lines of the besiegers. English ships kept coming and going, but gradually it began to dawn upon me that Boston must be given up.

The winter was wearing towards spring of the year 1776. The condition of things in Boston was far from comfortable. It was eight months since we had left our home in Cambridge. Almost all who sympathised with the besiegers had left the city, but it was still much overcrowded. The fleet lay in the harbour, but the supply ships from England came less and less regularly. Food began to be scarce and dear. The trade of busy and prosperous Boston languished almost to nothing. A spirit of grumbling discontent seized the soldiers. The heart of the Loyalists sank very low. Drunkenness and disorder, crime and confusion, were spreading.

It was during these dull, heavy days when even my mother's brave spirit had almost deserted her, when even Doctor Canfield found it hard to be cheerful, and when I was feeling particularly depressed, that a new hope suddenly entered my life. For some time my sister Caroline had been endeavouring to turn my mind inward upon myself. An experience quite unlooked for lent her strange and powerful assistance.

She had cautioned me again and again not to expose myself to danger from the enemy. Several shells thrown by the besiegers had been bursting in the city lately, and had done considerable damage.

'Be careful, Roger,' Caroline said to me on leaving home one day for my usual walk about the city: 'How dreadful it would be both for us and yourself if anything should happen to you.'

As I walked I could not help recalling the words, 'How dreadful for yourself if anything should happen to you.'

Did my sister really think I was unprepared for death? I had heard her pray earnestly for me. I noticed that while the rest spoke much of the war and the danger about us she said little of these things. For the future she seemed to have no fear, except her fear for me. Why was this? I was not openly wicked. I was not profane, and yet I was sure my sister had a faith, a peace, a happiness even in our distressing circumstances that I did not possess.

It was at that moment that a great crashing noise fell upon my ears. A shell burst almost at the feet of a man who had been walking but a few yards in front of me. Through the great cloud of dust raised I saw him fall; I heard him shriek out a prayer to God for mercy upon him; and then a few moments later he was dead.

For almost a year I had been familiar with the sight of many wounded and dead. I had known of many being thus suddenly taken off; and yet my own need of preparation never came home to me as at that moment. Had I been a few yards further ahead all would have been over with me. Then my sister's words came back with double meaning.

That night, in the quiet of my small room, I poured out my soul to God in prayer for forgiveness. I made up my mind that whether we finally resolved upon going to England, to Canada, or to Nova Scotia, I would go not in my own strength, but in the strength of God and in dependence upon Christ as my Saviour.

My decision was not made any too soon. The next morning showed that during the night the Americans had strongly fortified themselves on the heights much nearer the city than ever before. Seeing this, a council of war was held by the British officers, and it was decided that Boston must be given up at once.

The following night the whole army, with eleven hundred Loyalists like ourselves, were hurried on board the King's ships that lay in the harbour, and by the time the sun rose we were well down the bay, with our vessels headed for the new land in the north called Nova Scotia.