Chapter IX

In the 'True North'

As the vessels drew away from Boston I was surprised to hear not a single expression of regret. On all of the forty or more vessels there were crowded, in addition to the soldiers, over a thousand men and women who were leaving the land of their birth for a country that was new, strange, and practically unknown. Behind them, on the slopes that rose from the city, through the lifting mist of the morning, many could distinguish the outlines of the farms they had cleared by long and patient toil. The white of their comfortable homes stood out sharply against the grey ground about them and the green forest behind. In the making of these clearings and homes, men and women had grown old; neither the suns of summer nor the storms of winter had turned them aside from their great purpose of living honestly, of passing the result of years of toil on to their children, and then lying down to sleep in the hillside cemeteries with their fathers.

But the plans slowly being matured through the years had been rudely broken in upon. War had come. And now, though they might have remained; though history afforded, as Duncan Hale affirmed, no parallel for their action in leaving as they did; though no sword had been lifted up to drive them hence; though no law but the law of their own consciences bound them, they were sailing away. And while they looked back with interest, I could not see on the many faces about me a single evidence of pain at the going. Many of the men were old, and must begin in the new land, where they had begun here fifty years ago; but, as was fitting in the pioneers of a new way for many thousands of their countrymen who were to follow them during the war and after its close, they looked back that day upon the receding shores of Massachusetts without regrets, and when the homes and farms could no longer be seen on the grey, cold slopes, they turned dry eyes and resolute faces to the sea and the pure March north wind. If the country to which they went would be new, the flag, at least, would be the old one.

As soon as we were well away from Boston, a feeling of buoyancy possessed us. The sun shone brilliantly; this, together with the wide stretch of sparkling sea about us, the shouting from ship to ship, the feeling of freedom after so many weary months of restraint in the besieged city, all tended to render us unexpectedly happy. Social distinctions vanished. One in our loyalty, we resolved to be one in everything. My mother moved about among the farmer women from the country, and at times talked even gaily with them. Elizabeth romped the decks with children of her age from the hillsides, while Duncan Hale and Doctor Canfield, both of whom were on our ship, discussed plans for the future with the men.

On the afternoon of the third day after sailing we entered Halifax harbour. I was standing by Duncan Hale.

'It's all magnificent, magnificent,' I heard him say partly to himself. 'The whole British navy might enter here and manoeuvre.'

Then he hastened away to find Doctor Canfield. When he returned with him the vessel was well within the projecting horns of land that shut the great harbour safely in from the ocean swell. On our left a high bold bluff rose sheer from the water to a great height; on the right the land lay much lower. Directly in front lay the harbour. It ran away to the north for full six or seven miles, by two or three in breadth, and was dotted with the ships that had come in before, and hedged about on every side by the dark magnificent forests--here and there broken by ledges of rock. Doctor Canfield surveyed it all slowly.

'Why, it's a whole inland sea,' he said at length. 'Neither Boston harbour nor any others on the whole New England coast can be compared with this.'

Many others made remarks, all expressing wonder at the magnificence of the harbour and the beauty of the surrounding country. At sight of the Union Jack flying from a tall staff on the top of a great mound some distance in front and to the left, a feeling of proud satisfaction came in upon me. The feeling of my new responsibility seemed to press upon me as it had not done before. The wind blew down over the forests fresh and cool, for it was yet March; here and there broad patches of snow held fast in the hollows.

Our means were very limited; the new land before us was evidently a wilderness. But when I had looked for a moment on the well-known flag waving from the distant hilltop, when from this I allowed my thoughts to run on upward to Him whom I had solemnly pledged myself to serve, no matter where we went or what happened, then for a time in the great happiness that came upon me, I forgot that I was but a boy of not yet seventeen, landing in a strange country with the responsibility of supporting my mother and two sisters resting upon me. God had heard my prayer for the safety of myself and others. I recalled Doctor Canfield's last text, and felt that I could best honour the King by now more reverently fearing God.

It was at this point that I was startled to hear my sister Caroline, who had been standing beside me--looking forward in silence--break out sweetly, but in a low voice, into an old familiar hymn. The spirit of the words gave fitting expression to my own feelings, and forgetting those about me, I joined with her as she sang:--

'O God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home.'

With the opening of the second verse we were joined by many others. Soon it seemed that every person on the crowded deck was singing. Other ships caught it. Just as we drew to the landing-place the singers reached the last verse, and surely nothing could have been more appropriate than the words:--

'O God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Be Thou our guard while troubles last, And our eternal home.'

The words had a strangely moving effect upon the people's emotions. Tears that had refused to flow on leaving Boston, now, with many, had their way.

Doctor Canfield, seizing the opportunity presented by the quiet that followed the hymn, stepped forward, and in simple but beautiful language offered up a prayer of thanks for deliverance from the deep, and finally and earnestly commended all to the guidance and the mercy of God for the days to come.

A little later, as great bars of scarlet were shooting up from the west, over the hill on which gaily flew the King's flag--for which we had willingly sacrificed so much--happy in the consciousness of having done right, strong in faith for the future, like our ancient ancestors the Pilgrim Fathers, with both songs and prayers on our lips, we stepped ashore. And from that day--the 30th of March, 1776--though we did not know it, a new nation began to be made, in the 'True North,' on Canadian soil.

The Governor of Nova Scotia welcomed us heartily. The sudden and unexpected arrival of so many soldiers and Loyalists produced some difficulties, but everything possible was done to make us comfortable. For those of the Loyalists who had no means, both food and shelter were provided by the Government. With the assistance of Doctor Canfield, I was able to secure a temporary lodging for my mother and my sisters at a moderate rental. In this we proposed to remain until matters assumed a more settled shape, and we were enabled to resolve upon a course for the future.

Fully two weeks were occupied before all the people were even fairly well provided for. Many had to be content with sheds, barns, and warehouses for homes. Good food was not always easily obtained. Many who had been accustomed only to finely carpeted halls, and to couches of down, were forced to occupy quarters where the floors were of rough planks, and the beds of straw.

But there was no complaining. We resolutely determined to be happy; and we were happy. On the streets, in the quarters I visited, at the market, about the wharves, and on the ships, people moved care-free and light-hearted. Few spoke of the country we had left. There were many entertainments. The Governor, the army officers, the members of the council, and the more wealthy citizens opened their homes freely for our entertainment and comfort, and in a remarkably short time the memory of our sufferings and loss began to fade. To many, the old, happy days of colonial Boston came suddenly back again.

It was one evening when the entire city had passed under the spell of this lighter mood, that I walked with Duncan Hale to the top of the great mound where flew the flag. The warmth of the beautiful spring air was everywhere about us. The grass had sprung green on the hillslopes, the brooks ran full to overflowing, and the dark green of the great forest was taking on a lighter shade. But Duncan's face wore a heavy, apprehensive look.

'I have seen the Governor,' he said in answer to a question, 'and things at present are far from hopeful. The rebels have been winning in New England. Many in this province whom the Government had hoped would be loyal have refused the oath of allegiance to the King. A few have openly declared for the enemy. Two nights ago a cargo of hay being shipped from here to New York for the King's cavalry was burned. Worst of all, reports have come from about the great bay to the north--from the St. John and Miramichi Rivers, that thousands of the Indians, urged by agents from the rebel General Washington, are on the point of rising.'

At the last words I suddenly stopped. The beauties of the spring evening had no more charm for me. 'Can all this be true?' I gasped.

'It is not to be denied, the Governor fears,' Duncan said. 'Halifax may be besieged in less than a month.'

'But cannot something be done?' I cried.

'The Governor has one hope, that the Indians on the St. John may yet be kept loyal. He has asked me to go with others and make the attempt.'

'I shall go also,' I said, 'if the Governor will permit.'

'The Indian is treacherous; there will be danger.'

'I shall go though, Duncan: I must go, if I may be of service. I thought all was now safe.'

'So do many. Few in the city know our real danger. And another thing that is discouraging is this: David Elton and many other farmers, who have been into the country for several miles, say that it is absolutely unfit for cultivation. Rocks, rocks, and only rocks everywhere is their report. Food also is running very low in the city.'

We turned and walked down the slope. Had I been right in being so cheerful?

As I entered the door of our temporary home, I heard my mother and Caroline in earnest conversation.

'But I ought to accept the offer, mother,' my sister was saying. 'We are poor now, and our money is half spent already. What are we to do when it is gone? Are we to remain, like so many others, a burden on the King and the Government?'

'But, Caroline,' my mother said, 'you must remember your family, your name, and social standing. To accept this position means that you become a servant. Have you considered that, my dear?'

'Yes, mother,' Caroline said as I entered the room, 'I have thought of that. But how can there be any disgrace in doing honest work? I am strong and well; I want to do something to help Roger support you and Lizzie.'

My mother did not speak. I saw that a conflict was going on within her, the conflict that had to be fought out in so many Loyalist breasts between pride and necessity in Canada. But in this, as in most other cases, necessity won. My proud-spirited mother was finally overborne in her opposition to my sister's proposal. Before we slept that night, it was agreed that Caroline should enter a Halifax family where she would earn some ten shillings per week teaching two children and doing some other light duties.

We were surprised the next morning by an early visit from Duncan Hale.

'The Governor,' he said addressing me, 'will give you a place as secretary to one of the officers who is to go to St. John with Lieutenant-Governor Hughs to attempt to pacify the Indians. The salary will be six shillings per day. Will you go?'

'Yes,' I said eagerly; 'I will.'