Facing the Future
On arriving at the river's mouth, I found everything bustle and
confusion. Mr. Simonds confirmed the reports I had heard on my way
down. 'The settlers are coming in thousands,' he said
enthusiastically, 'in thousands.'
The words were to be verified sooner than I expected. That
afternoon--it was the 18th of May--I was sitting with Duncan Hale on a
bluff near the fort looking off seaward. Duncan was telling me of the
school he had succeeded in forming during the winter.
'I have thirteen pupils,' he said; 'the exact number of worshippers
Doctor Canfield had at his first service in Mr. Simonds' house. But we
are both determined not to be discouraged. If these late reports that
were brought in by the schooner yesterday are true----'
He stopped, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked seaward. 'Look,
Roger!' he cried.
The day was fine, the air thin and clear. Looking straight over the
harbour and directly across the bay, I saw the wavy line of the distant
coast beyond. My eye followed this southerly, till its irregularity
shaded into the steady, even line of the sea. On this, between the
distant low shore and the bold horn of land that made the westerly side
of the harbour, delicately but firmly etched on the sky, I made out the
shape of at least a dozen ships. Duncan looked more critically.
'They're coming,' he said.
'They're coming,' I repeated.
For a full half-hour, speaking only now and then, till the vessels
already in sight had grown large, till numerous others had emerged to
stand like specks on the firm, far, high line of the sea, we sat and
looked eagerly down the wide, sparkling bay.
After a time Duncan rose. 'They're coming,' he said once more. 'Let
us go.'
We hurried down from the bluff to the little trading post at Portland
Point, the bearers of great tidings. Three hours later the headmost
vessels were at the rude piers, and the people were swarming ashore.
It became evident at a glance that all classes were represented among
the newcomers. The soft-handed and fine-faced Englishman of culture;
ladies richly dressed, who bore themselves as proudly as at court, came
ashore rubbing shoulders with the rough, plain farmer men and women
from the hillside farms of Vermont. Some carried bundles in which were
all their possessions. Some bore peddler-like packs on their backs.
Others rolled barrels before them or dumped rough boxes ashore; many
women bore crying infants swathed in shawls. There were a few, of both
men and women, cripples; many were old and stooped. There were some
armless sleeves, and now and then came men who limped, or whose
foreheads were bandaged. These had been in arms.
Almost immediately after landing the people began to scatter about.
Some of the younger and more spirited ran gaily up the slope toward the
fort, where flew the old familiar flag. Some slowly made their way
along the rough bush-hung paths, over rocks and through thickets, until
they found spots high enough to afford an outlook upon the surrounding
country. It was not difficult for me to understand the look of
disappointment which I saw creep over many faces.
The surroundings of the harbour were not attractive. Wave-beaten,
weed-covered rocks, with the tide surging in and out among them, were
everywhere; high, bare cliffs, a single mill, a patch of brown marsh, a
score or less shanty-like buildings, a few Indian wigwams, the fort,
and behind these, huddled close, bare in some spots and wooded in
others, the unbroken ranks of the hills stretched away into the sunset.
Many looked long on these, then turned seaward to see the ships that
had brought them, sweeping off on the ebb of the tide that had borne
them in. The surroundings were forbidding, but the captains of the
vessels, by their speedy departure, had made going back impossible.
That evening I was talking with Duncan Hale in his small but
comfortable quarters.
'I'll have no lack of pupils now,' he said. 'Doctor Canfield has this
afternoon selected a site for a church.'
'How many people have come?' I asked.
'Almost three thousand; and there are many more to follow during the
summer. It is well your grant is secured. The whole river front will
be taken before fall, I hear. A new province is likely to be formed
here north of the bay also. Halifax will be too far away when it comes
to arranging the details of grants for all these people. See,' he
said, waving his hand toward the many tents the people were putting up,
'we've a city already.'
It was only a few days after the landing of the Loyalists at St. John,
that I set off for Halifax on one of Mr. Simonds' lime-laden schooners.
The weather proved remarkably fine, and on the third day after sailing
we were discharging our cargo in Halifax, where I discovered much
interest manifested in what had been taking place north of the bay.
I found my mother particularly happy over having received a letter from
my brother, who had joined the King's troops before my father's death.
We had not heard from him for almost two years. He had learned of our
flight to Nova Scotia from an officer who had returned to New York from
Halifax.
My sisters were overjoyed when I told them that our new house would be
ready for us--I had left the building of it largely to David Elton--on
our arrival. They were very anxious to be off; and off we soon were.
After an uneventful voyage we reached the St. John in safety.
During the two weeks of my absence many changes had taken place. There
were scores of new buildings in process of erection. Everybody seemed
happy and hopeful. The look of disappointment I had formerly seen on
so many faces had completely disappeared. Duncan Hale was happy in the
promise of a large new school building; Doctor Canfield already had the
foundation of a Church well under way. Back on the hill slopes there
were already numerous little gaps in the green of the forest. Vessels
from New England were bringing in new Loyalists almost daily.
These invariably told the same sad stories of reckless cruelty. The
end of the war and the declaration of peace had roused many to
barbarities unheard of during the conflict. On the way up the river to
my farm with my mother and sisters, I talked with an old man on the
deck of the little schooner.
'The mobs,' he said, 'were bad enough at the beginning of the war, but
weeks after peace was declared soldiers were found wreaking vengeance
on our helpless people. I saw my own son, whose only crime was that he
had fought for the King, tarred and feathered. As I sailed out of the
harbour of Charleston--it is true, every word of it, as God is above
me--I saw on looking backward the bodies of twenty-four Loyalists
swinging from a row of gibbets on a single wharf. And there,
too,'--his voice broke and tears came freely then, covering his face as
if to hide the awful scene, he sobbed out, 'there, too, I had a son.'
No one spoke. I recalled the narrow escape of Duncan Hale, and could
believe it all.
'They say General Washington was opposed to these cruelties,' the old
man added after a time, raising his head.
He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a paper. 'Here is a copy of part
of a letter written by him. It fell into the hands of one of our
officers. The hand and signature were Washington's, so there can be no
mistake. Read this, young man,' he said, thrusting the paper toward
me. I opened it and read:--
'BOSTON, _March_ 31, 1776.
'DEAR SIR,--All those who took upon themselves the style and title of
Loyalists have shipped themselves off. One or two have done what a
great number ought to have done long ago, committed suicide. By all
accounts there never existed a more miserable set of beings than these
wretched creatures now are.'
'It may be,' the old man said, as I returned the paper to him, 'that
Washington was opposed to the scourging and hanging of our people, but
that's his opinion of the Loyalists, anyway.'
Without further remark he rose, turned, and walked away. Though no one
spoke--it had become a fixed rule among us to treat the war and those
who had wronged us with silent disdain--I saw by the faces about me
that there had been a violent stirring up of deep and bitter thoughts.'
We follow one current only of the times out of which the United States
grew into strength and greatness. The siege of Boston was far advanced
when General Gage wrote home, 'The rebels are shown not to be the
disorderly rabble too many have supposed.' Not all at once did
Washington bring into relief the finer qualities of his people. The
struggle when it began covered a vast region, and chaos brooded over
many districts. In the first division of men natural passion broke out
in acts of violence. There was even a time of terror, and numbers were
driven into the struggle who had little living interest in the things
at stake. Gradually the true issues appeared, and the work of
reconstruction went forward under different forms to the changes we now
see.
It was wearing toward evening when the little schooner drew in toward
shore, directly opposite a clearing in the middle of which stood a
small log house. 'There is our home, mother,' I said, 'and there is
David Elton waiting for us at the foot of the path by the river.'
My mother did not speak--she looked in silence. But a glance told me
that she was seeing, not the little house of logs before us on the
slope, but a fine, old colonial mansion with fluted Corinthian corners,
with two spreading lindens in front, and wide, rich meadows about it.
In a short time all our possessions had been put ashore. Then the
schooner, bearing others to their grants further up the river, swung
away, and we turned to go up the path to our new but humble home.
'I did the best I could, madam,' David was explaining to my mother, a
little later. 'It's hardly a place for fine ladies like you my wife
was telling me, but with good lan' and plenty of lumber you needn't
live here long.'
'This is all right; this is good enough for anybody to live a whole
life in,' broke in Caroline, as she looked about the walls of wood, and
up to the ceiling of bark. 'This is all fine. And, mother, just see
the magnificent view from this door. Isn't it grand? The river, the
hills, the woods!'
That night we slept soundly and well. The next day, with prayers over,
I climbed with a Union Jack to the top of a tall tree, flung it out to
the breeze, then came down and began--as all the thousands of Loyalists
began--the long, hard fight with the wilderness.