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.'