1(1)r

The
Neutral French;

or,
The Exiles of Nova Scotia.

By Mrs. Williams,
Author of Religion at Home, Revolutionary Biography, &c. &c.

“Lo! Tyranny strides on with step accurst, Trampling her million victims in the dust! But God, the mighty God, shall hear their cries, And bid the Star of Liberty arise!”Ed.
“The cold in clime are cold in blood.” Byron.

Two Volumes in One.

Providence:
Published by the Author.

1(1)v
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 18411841,
By C. R. Williams,
In the Clerk’s office of the District Court of Rhode Island.

B. Cranston & Co., Printers.

1(2)r

Dedication.

To the Hon. John Fairfield, late Governor of
Maine, this work is most respectfully dedicated by
his grateful friend, the Author, not only as a tribute
of esteem for his public and private virtues, but a
small acknowledgment of his politeness in facilitating
her inquiries into the history of the interesting
people of whom it treats.

The Author indulges the hope, that the deep
sympathy in their wrongs and unmerited afflictions,
domestic as well as national, expressed to her by
one who is an enemy to oppression in every form,
and an example in all the endearing relations of
social life, will not be lessened by the perusal of
the story in which she has attempted to embody
their history.

1(2)v 1(3)r

Preface.

In the following traditionary Tale, a very imperfect
narration of which has come to the author of this, the
reader will perceive the attempt to embody the history of
a people long since extinct as a nation, though found still,
in scattered fragments, in various parts of the British
provinces in North America, in the “disputed territory,”
and sometimes incorporated with the Indian tribes.

In giving a history of the forcible expulsion of the
Acadians, or Neutral French, from the province of Nova
Scotia
, or New Scotland, we shall be compelled to dwell
upon scenes to which the history of the civilized world
affords no parallel. The cruel sufferings of the modern
Greeks, under the ruthless Turks, bear no affinity to it.
The Greeks were tortured and almost exterminated by
Mahomedans, persons professing a creed that sanctions
deeds of blood, that despises all other of every form of
religion, and that classes Christians with dogs. The
Turkish government, too, were dealing with subjects in
open rebellion, and the outrages were perpetrated in the
heat of battle.

In the late history of Poland, Russia dealt with an
ever-threatening foe, a people hostile and implacable to
them; a people who, though possessed of many noble
characteristics, were yet fierce and warlike, brave and
persevering; and who, taking the sword, had to perish
with the sword. Not so the hapless Acadians, the peaceful,
gentle, and long-enduring inhabitants of Nova Scotia.
The injuries they sustained were inflicted in cold blood—
in open and shameless violation of treaties, most solemnly
guaranteeing to them protection, their liberties as free-
men, the free exercise of their religion, and the protection
of their property.

1 1(3)v vi

It is painful to dwell upon such scenes, though perhaps
salutary. If there is no gratitude in republics, there is
no good faith or honesty in monarchies. The throne, it
appears, is constantly surrounded by a set of cormorants,
whom nothing can satisfy, and Grant after Grant is obliged
to be dispensed until there is nothing more to give, except
the privilege of plundering one another; that is, the privilege
to the strong to plunder the weak. The rapacity
of the colonists had not only, in many instances, obtained
large Grants of land in the new world, but was still desiring
more; and the credit of plundering and dispersing the
people we are speaking of, for the purpose of obtaining
their lands, is very generally accorded them. No possible
excuse can, however, be made for the British Government
in permitting such an outrage, such a violation of
all rules of justice, equity, and humanity.

It is useless, at this time of day, to pretend that a few
interested and avaricious individuals were alone culpable
in the affairs of the Neutral French, for full proof even
yet exists, that they did what was done by the authority
of the English King, George the Second, and under his
hand and seal; and that when, after the deed was completed,
and the remnant of those who survived drew up a
memorial of their sufferings in the land whither they were
banished, and sent it on to his successor, George the
Third
, it was rejected with cool indifference, and they
left to perish, or exist by the charities of those they were
among, as change might direct.

In collecting the facts given in the historical part of
this book, the author has been much assisted by reference
to the manuscript papers in the library of the Massachusetts
Historical Society,
to which she had access,
and was politely permitted not only to peruse, but take
notes from, and for which she takes this opportunity of
tendering them her very sincere thanks. Some facts
have been gained from William Lincoln, Esq., of Worcester,
who has lately lectured on this subject before the
Rhode Island Historical Society His lectures contained
a vast deal of information, and some excellent
remarks. Some other facts, also, have been obtained from
the kindness and research of Mr. Williamson, author of
the History of Maine. From Halliburton we have 1(4)r vii
drawn largely; and by the politeness of Mr. Bigelow,
Secretary of State for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,
have been assisted to obtain from the papers in his
office some of their later history.

In treating of the Indian character in our story, it will
be seen that we have looked but little on the dark side of
the picture; the story did not require it, and their deeds
of blood are too well known to need the recital of them
here. The fact that they were almost uniformly kind to
the French, the Indians accounted for by saying “it was
because they never cheated them, and always fulfilled
their contracts.”

We cannot, however, leave the subject of the Indians
without reverting to the expressions of pity and sympathy
so often bestowed upon them by our neighbors on the
other side of the border, in view of the late arrangement
for removing them to the West by the Government of the
United States. Whether the arrangement may prove
wise or unwise, as respects the safety of the white inhabitants,
time alone can show. But as it respects the humanity
of the measure towards themselves, we have ever
been satisfied of its principle. The tribes in the vicinity
of white settlements were fast degenerating, and seemed,
in most instances, to have adopted all the vices, without
any of the virtues, of their white neighbors. Those who
were about half civilized, were, in general, some of the
most slothful, filthy, and disgusting part of the population.
It was thought, by most people, that the Indian
character had fast deteriorated, and as their numbers
seemed to dwindle in proportion, that, unless some plan
could be contrived to preserve them as a people, and
where they could not be abridged of all their former
pleasures and habits, they must inevitably be extinct in
a few centuries. Hundreds of poor white families would
have rejoiced to have been the subjects of such a provision
as was made for them in their removal. They
were not robbed of their possessions, as the full value
of them was given in good lands in the fertile valleys
of the West. They were conducted to them by a safe
escort, every facility offered them for cultivating them,
and a year’s provision found on lands that, with slight
labor, would produce two crops a year. The greatest 1(4)v viii
care was taken to have all the members of families go
together, and for their personal comfort while on the
road. They are allowed to govern themselves in their
respective tribes, and yet are under the protection of the
General Government. Every facility is given the benevolent
missionary to minister among them, and to all
others whom kindness and humanity impel to aid them.

And for all this, shall we be accused of barbarity?
And by those, too, who have driven an innocent, confiding,
and unoffending people into banishment, stripped of
their property without remuneration, separated wantonly
from each other, driven among a strange people, lighted
from their native shores by the blaze of their own dwellings,
and left unsuccored and unprovided for, either to
perish with want or be relieved by the charities of strangers?
We think for one that the charge, though baseless
in itself, would come better from some other quarter.

“But,” say my English readers, “there are your
slaves.”
True, and who made them slaves in the first
place? Who entailed this curse upon our land, and
taught us we could not do without it? Who resisted the
remonstrances of the people of Virginia, and other colonies,
not to impose them upon the white population, and
continue to inundate them by fresh importations, many,
many years since? It is hard to compel people to adopt
customs, and when habit has made them almost indispensable,
to compel them to drop them, and that too because
those who first introduced them, afterwards, in some freak
of benevolence, forbid them, and begin to call them hard
names; by the way, the very worst way ever taken to
convince any one of their errors.

We are not advocates for the principle of slavery; on
the contrary, we think the first man that ever brought
slaves here, yea, the second and third, ought to be
condemned; but we cry the mercy of our English neighbors,
who have so much to say on the subject, and entreat
them not to compare our southern slaveholders to theirs
of the West Indies, from whose ruthless and blood-stained
hands (by their own account) they have just taken the
lash. There is a difference in the people of the two
regions. The one, proud, aristocratic, and domineering
by nature, and from precept and example. The other, 1(5)r ix
highminded and gentlemanly indeed, but altogether different,
from cherishing the principles of liberty, and feeling
that every other gentleman is his equal. The southern
planter of the United States resides on his plantation,
among his slaves, entirely surrounded by them, and considering
himself as the head of a great family, between
whom and himself he wishes there should be a bond of
affection as well as of interest. Now it stands to reason,
that, exposed as they must be to the revengeful passions
of their slaves, if ill used, that they would endeavor to
use them well, and make their bondage easy, and their
yoke light: the lives of the whole family would not be safe
an hour were it otherwise. The West India planter, on
the contrary, seldom resides on his plantation, leaving the
direction entirely to mercenary overseers; and when, for
a term of years, they sometimes consent to remain there,
it is to hurry the business of amassing property, that he
may return and spend it in England, while the overtasked
and overworked slave derives no benefit from the visit,
and consequently feels no gratitude, no tie of affection.
The slaves of the United States, for the most part belonging
in a family from generation to generation, have the
same kind of feelings for the families of their owners,
that they describe the old servants and retainers on an
estate in England to feel for the owners. The name of
slave is, to be sure, very shocking; but names do not alter
things, and it is a certain fact, that in the amount of
time bestowed in labor, they do not work as many hours
in the twenty-four as our mechanics, or those who work
in manufactories; and as respects their “state of moral
degradation,”
their morals, as a body, are much better
than those of the free colored population at the North;
and it takes about a dozen house-servants, who are slaves,
at the South, to do what one good white servant performs
at the North. Thus much is true; the inference, of
course, every one is at liberty to make.

We have wandered from our subject, and we beg pardon.
We were going to say that our readers are at
perfect liberty to believe any part of the Tale here narrated,
embellished, if they choose, it is a matter of great
indifference to us; but not so with the historical facts
connected with it. We shall give in it a true, though 1(5)v x
faint description of that people whose sufferings and virtues
we are about to commemorate—of their oppressions,
persecutions, privations, exactions, and so forth, previous
to, and at the time of, their banishment from their beloved
and beautiful Acadia, and as far as we can come at the
particulars of their desolation, suffering, and abandonment
after their arrival in the States, the thousandth part
of which can never be known. Their stories, for the
most part, have gone down to the grave with them, and
will never be rescued from oblivion.

Alas! alas! for a people once so happy, so comfortable,
so innocent and unoffending; for a people who, since
the days of the patriarchs, have been the only families of
believers who have lived in perfect simplicity, without
any of those cravings after riches that mars the peace,
distracts the mind, and sullies the conscience of all other
people upon the civilized earth. The goadings of ambition
and envy, as a necessary accompaniment to the thirst
for gain, were unknown to them. Blessed privilege!
happy people! could it be possible that in such a corrupt
place as our earth, you could have flourished long? Could
he, who looked upon the Garden of Paradise, when our
first parents were innocent and happy, with an envious
eye, have borne to look on you?

There is, however, a prevailing belief, and a very gratifying
one, that the author of this will be a pioneer in
hunting up the history of this much-injured people; and
she cannot but flatter herself that some Paulding, perhaps
an Irving, whose means of information may be more
extensive than her own, may drag forth from the lumber
of ages, some important facts connected with them, as
yet unsung, and present them in a fairer form.

1(6)r

Introduction.

Perhaps there is not a place on the habitable globe,
where the foot of civilization ever trod, of which mankind
in general have such an erroneous idea as of the province
of Nova Scotia, or New Scotland. Within a very few
years, indeed, it has been a more fashionable trip than
formerly. The few strangers who go there, however,
usually go by water to Halifax, and back again, during
the period of midsummer, and generally know as much
about the country after their return as before they started.

With the exception of its inhabitants, or rather the
more cultivated and intellectual part of them, who have
taste to admire the beauties of natural scenery, patience
to investigate, and judgment to appreciate its internal
riches and immense resources, and a few casual visiters
from the mother country, and the knowledge possessed by
the banished Acadian, Nova Scotia has as yet been an
unknown land, a place which the ignorant of every country
seem to consider as the extremity of the north pole;
and hence the saying, “cold as Nova Scotia,” “barren
as Nova Scotia;”
and when some poor, houseless vagabond
is seen to pass, that “he looks as though he were
bound to Nova Scotia;”
or of some hardened villain,
who is a nuisance to the community, that “he ought to
be banished to Nova Scotia.”

Even in this enlightened age, when the facilities of
travelling and voyaging have brought us nearer and nearer and made
us familiar with almost every people under heaven, the
ignorant prejudice respecting this province still remains;
and the bare mention of it, in most companies, will set
their teeth to chattering.

Whether the first word, “Nova”, (new,) being translated
north, as we are confident it very generally is, is the
cause of the chilling associations connected with it, we 1(6)v 12
are unable to say. Perhaps the stern despotism which
has always been exercised there, since the English
foot upon the soil, has had some share in producing them.

The memory of the thousands of our brave countrymen
who have perished in the dungeons and prison-ships at
Halifax, the capital of Nova Scotia, during the war of
the Revolution, is yet rife in the mind of every American;
and there is nothing in prison discipline remembered with
so much abhorrence, unless it is the accaldama of Dartmoor,
or the black-hole of Calcutta.

The enactment of the cruelties practised in Nova Scotia,
however, towards the French or our own helpless
citizens, who have been so unfortunate as to be dragged
into bondage, has not made the place bleak or sterile.
The grandest scenes in nature have sometimes been the
theatre of the most horrible tragedies; and though, by
association, they may in a measure lose their charms, yet
the face of the country is not changed: and this province
is, for the most part, eminently beautiful in its scenery.

But, though there is much to exasperate the feelings of
an American in the history of Nova Scotia, since the
period of 17751775, and of the French prior to that time, yet
there is that of its history in relation to the Acadians,
that, if it could all be told, would strike the whole world
with horror. The sufferings of imprisoned Americans,
cold, starving, and expiring from disease and filth and
noxious air, would be almost forgotten, if once the whole
story of the former inhabitants, the rightful owners of the
soil, the much-injured Acadians, could be told.

To tell that story, in all its revolting details, is not in
our power; nor is it in the power of any person now
living. The actual sufferers have long since, it is believed,
all gone to the shades. The people, as a people, are
extinct; the records of them, in what was their country,
industriously destroyed; and, as far as possible, all knowledge
of their former state and possessions suppressed.
We speak of the public records of the British provinces.
It was not until within a very few years that they have
found a place in history.

About ten years since, Judge Halliburton, of Nova
Scotia
, son of Doctor Halliburton, formerly of Newport,
Rhode Island
, published a history of Nova Scotia, in 2(1)r 13
which, he has made mention of them, and given something
of their political history, with more truth, candor, and
independence, than could have been expected from such
a loyal subject of the crown of Great Britain. Much
credit indeed is due him for thus dragging forth from the
lumber of ages, the interesting particulars he has given,
as well as for the manner of relating it. The manner in
which he became possessed of most of the facts, proves
most incontestably, that it was the design of the British
Colonial Government
at least, that all memory of this
nefarious and dark transaction should be forgotten. Hence
he himself avers he could find no existing records of them
in the whole country. That scattered remnants of them
still exist in different parts of the province, where they
have sometimes wandered back from the States, or emerged
from the deep recesses of the forests, where they had
been concealed for a term of years, he affirms; and indeed
mentions one of the original stock, an aged female, whom
he had seen, and who being of an age to remember the
transactions attending their expulsion, and the almost
superhuman sufferings of those who remained, thus concealing
themselves, of whom she was one, gave him a
most affecting oral account.

But the principal means of information was the manuscript
now in possession of the Massachusetts Historical
Society,
where, as we before mentioned, we drew
much of our own.

It is worthy of remark, that Halliburton is far from
attempting any thing like a justification of the government
for their persecution of this unoffending people,
though he appears to seek most industriously for some
palliating circumstances, and takes care, in his censures
of the government, to always specify “the colonial government.”
But we will not anticipate him. All that is
important to our story will be found in its proper place.

Nor is it in our place to give, in detail, a history
of the conquest of the country, or a minute description
of its features. Suffice it to say, that Nova Scotia
was, for the most part, a beautiful though sterile tract,
until the superior training of the French had brought
the low-lands into a state of cultivation, with a number of
excellent harbors, exceedingly well watered with lakes 2 2(1)v 14
and rivers; not mountainous, the highest hills in no part
exceeding six hundred feet, with beautiful intervals on
the rivers, and diked lands on the coast; that the climate
is much like that of New England, the winters a little
longer perhaps, and in the interior rather more severe;
that the heat of summer is allayed by refreshing sea-
breezes, and that most of the fruits of the temperate zone
attain the same perfection as in Connecticut and Rhode
Island
, and also the other products of the soil; that the
country now abounds with fine gardens, orchards, and
productive fields, and the rivers yield plenty of excellent
fish. There are also many very valuable mines. The
coal mines, particularly, appear inexhaustible, and are an
immense source of revenue. And most of the comforts
of life, we believe, may be enjoyed there in as great a
degree as in most other portions of the globe. We speak
of the country, without any reference to the government,
of course. The climate is proverbially healthy, except
for consumptive persons, many of the diseases fatal in
warm latitudes being unknown here.

It will be recollected by those acquainted with the early
history of the continent of North America, that the province
of Nova Scotia was originally settled by the French.
William Lincoln, Esq. observes, that “the settlements of
the nations here, French and English, were almost simultaneous.”
It does appear, however, that the French had
the precedence, and were in reality the first that had the
honor of planting a colony in North America.

Halliburton treats the account of a French settlement
being formed by the Baron de Lery in 15181518, as questionable;
but, by reference to Goodrich, the author of American
Geography
,—and the greatest author of his class
now perhaps existing,—the reader will perceive the fact
established of a “French settlement on the St. Lawrence
as early as the year 15241524 by James Cartin, and that settlements
were soon after formed in Canada and Nova
Scotia
.”
And although Queen Elizabeth granted in
15791579 a patent “for discovering and occupying such remote
heathen countries as were not actually possessed by
any Christian people,”
we cannot perceive how such
grant could trench upon the possessions of the French
in America. NoverthelessNevertheless, it was upon the ground of this 2(2)r 15
patent to Sir Humphrey Gilbert, and landing at the harbor
of St. Johns fifty-nine years after the country had been actually
settled by the French, that the English principally
grounded their absurd claim to the continent of North
America
! though they couple with it the discovery of
Cabot in 14971497, and the residence of Sir John Gilbert on
the coast of Maine in 16071607, who claimed the country in
behalf of, or as heir to Sir Humphry Gilbert.

In addition to the claims of the French, it appears
they were trading and fishing at Newfoundland many
years previous to their settlements in America, and although
there is no authentic account of any settlements
on the coast, yet the presumption is very strong.

As early as the year 16031603, we find a settlement commenced
by the French in Nova Scotia, admitted by the
English, they having discovered it in some of their fishing
expeditions to the Banks of Newfoundland. The French
the name of “Acadia” to all the land lying east of the
Penobscot; consequently Nova Scotia, New Brunswick,
and a part of the now State of Maine, constituted the
country called Acadia. M. Demonts was appointed
Governor-General by Henry IV. It was not until five
years after that the English commenced their settlement
in Virginia, which was the first place, it will be remembered,
where they attempted a colony. And now began
the disputes between the Powers, as to who had the prior
claim to this continent; a contention that has repeatedly
deluged the country in blood, almost before it was reclaimed
from the wilderness. France resisting the encroachments
of the English, believing she had the best
right to the country; and England protesting her own
claim upon the ridiculous assumption that they had the
right of discovery, and that one John Cabot, or his sons,
they could not exactly tell which, had discovered the
continent about one hundred years before. This Cabot
was a Venitian, in the employ of the British Government,
who had received a commission from King James to sail
on a voyage of discovery, and who professed to have discovered
land, which was afterwards supposed to be
the eastern coast of America. The accounts of this
discovery were, in the first place, very vague and contradictory.
The English sometimes asserting it was the 2(2)v 16
father, and sometimes that it was the son; but, at all
events, they were positive (more than a hundred years
after) that it was one or the other of them. The discovery,
real or pretended, was made, they asserted, in 14971497.
And although, if their assertion were undeniable, it was
a most preposterous claim, and of no sort of consequence,
being more than one hundred years before its occupancy
by them; yet, ridiculous as it was, it was the only thing
they could think of upon which to found a plea of justification
for a series of aggressions disgraceful to any civilized
nation.

The commission to this John Cabot and his three sons
is still to be seen in the British archives, and being so
infinitely diverting in itself, and withal edifying to us of
plain republican capacities, we cannot forbear transcribing
the heads of it.

His Majesty’s commission, then, gave to this “John
Cabot
and his three sons, permission to sail to all countries
east, west, and north, under British colors, with five
ships of any burden he might choose, on their own (the
Cabots’) proper cost and charges, to seek and discover
all the islands, regions, and provinces of heathens unknown
to Christians. His Majesty reserving to himself
the dominion of all, and requiring one-fifth of the gains
after the expenses of the voyage should be deducted.”

This was a royal patronage with a vengeance. The
question naturally arises, gains of what? Why, of the
plunder of those heathen nations, if they found any, to
be sure.

It appears that the two Powers continued to increase
their settlements in a prosperous manner; and one would
have supposed that the distance from Virginia to Nova
Scotia
was quite sufficient to have kept them asunder.
But the enterprise of the French, and the avarice of the
English, soon annihilated time and space. The English
monarch, too, had given to two companies the grant of
land in America from the thirty-fourth to the forty-fifth
degree of latitude, and this grant actually trenched upon
prior grants made by the King of France. To go back.

The settlements of Acadia continued to progress for
a period of about ten years after the coming of the
English. The inhabitants devoted themselves principally 2(3)r 17
to agricultural pursuits, and lived in the most
friendly manner with each other, and with the savage
nations by whom they were surrounded. They had
employed no means to subjugate them, but observed
the strictest integrity in their dealings with them, and
strove to civilize them through the medium of the gospel.
In their attempts to christianize the savages, they were
eminently successful. True, they were Catholics; they
erected the standard of the cross wherever they planted
their footsteps, and they attended to most of those outward
observances so obnoxious to Protestants; but their
zeal for the salvation, as well as for the temporal comfort
of their savage neighbors, was worthy of all praise. And
who shall dare to say their labors were not acceptable?
Many of those savage warriors, upon the first proclamation
of the gospel there, at once laid down the weapons
of war, confessed their sins at the foot of the cross, received
baptism, and sought absolution and forgiveness
through a crucified Saviour, and at the hands of the
priest whose authorized ambassador they humbly conceived
him to be.

The island of Mount Desert, where one of those happy
settlements of the Acadians was established, was destined
to be the first object of British rapacity.

In the year 16131613, a commander of a British ship, whose
name was Argal, had accompanied a fleet of eleven sail
upon a fishing and trading voyage to the coast, having
heard of these French settlements. Although the two
nations were then at peace, he immediately resolved to
attack them. Proceeding along the coast, he at length
discovered the settlement at Mount Desert. Tradition
says it was a beautiful little place, and that the air of quiet
and serenity, and feeling of security that reigned within,
might have disarmed savages. They had a little fort, for
in those days, as now, there were pirates, and such a
defence was deemed necessary. In the harbor quietly
lay a ship and bark at anchor, unsuspicious of danger.
Into these the English commander fired, the first salutation,
and then seized all alive on board as prisoners; destroyed
their fort, and shot the priest, who, finding them
attacked in this unheard-of and remorseless manner, endeavored
to arouse the inhabitants to defend themselves. 2 2(3)v 18
They shot him immediately, and the affrighted inhabitants
finding them landing, fled to the woods. The island was
then taken possession of by the British in the name of the
King of England, and the cross broken to pieces.

The chief man or governor of this place, Saussaye by
name, fled with the rest, and with such precipitation that
he left his papers behind, and among the rest the King of
France’s commission for the occupancy of the territory.
He returned the next day and surrendered himself, with
a view of exhibiting the authority by which he acted;
but the piratical captain had stolen it, and while the governor
was in the greatest consternation at the loss, Argal
told him “that, finding he had no authority for what he
did, he should treat them as pirates, and immediately
ordered the place to be pillaged; and, putting the governor
and some of the principal men in a small vessel, he
sent them to France. He then took the remainder, being
now entirely destitute of provisions and support, to Virginia
with him.

Arrived at Virginia, Argal delivered up these persons
as corsairs or pirates, although, when he brought
them away, to induce them quietly to surrender themselves,
he had promised them the best of treatment as
prisoners of war.”
These unhappy people were immediately
thrown into prison at Jamestown, and condemned
to be hung as pirates.

This was going rather farther than the English captain
intended, which was nothing more than a pretext for
plundering them; and finding they were actually about
to be executed, he was for the first time shocked. The
horrors of conscience alarmed him, and he applied to the
Governor (Sir Thomas Dale was then Governor of Virginia)
for a pardon. It was in vain; the sturdy old knight
protested they should die. And it was then that he felt
himself driven to the humiliation of confessing that these
people were no pirates, but peaceable citizens, acting
under a commission from their king, and produced the
commission. Of course, they were then reprieved. But
what became of them, history does not say; whether they
remained in Virginia, whether they went to France, or
contrived some way to get back to Acadia. But the
wretch Argal, it appears, was immediately after engaged
in another plundering expedition.

2(4)r 19

History informs us that the account of these settlements
aroused the cupidity of the English Governor, and “he
immediately fitted out three armed vessels, appointing
Argal to the command of them, to pillage the remaining
settlements, and dislodge the French from Acadia.”
The
only excuse for this abominable atrocity, in thus invading
the possessions of a Power with whom they were then at
peace, was the absurd pretence of the prior right of the
English, from the supposition of the discovery of the
eastern coast by this John Cabot, some hundred years
before.

The finest settlement of the French, or Acadians, as
they called themselves, was at a town they named Port
Royal
, and since called Annapolis by the English, one of
the most delightful situations in the whole province of
Nova Scotia. The French Governor of this place appears
to have been a spirited person, a Roman Catholic,
and a just man, but he had a most implacable dislike to
the Jesuits; and such was his opinion of their treachery,
duplicity, ad depravity, that he besought the French
King not to send any of that order into the settlement he
had the honor to command.

Whether the monarch took the request in umbrage, or
whether the reluctance of the Governor to admit them,
as some accounts seem to intimate, only increased their
desire to itinerate in the new world, or whether Louis the
Fourteenth
desired to get some of them out of the way, cannot
now be known; but certain it was, that he yielded to
the request of some of the holy brotherhood, and sent
them; and the Governor, opposed as he was to their admission,
was compelled, in obedience to the command of
his sovereign, to receive and tolerate them. And now
came the punishment. The base Argal was unable to
find his way into the harbor of Port Royal, the navigation
of which was somewhat difficult, when the treacherous
and revengeful priest then in the town contrived to get
to the squadron, and offered himself as a pilot, and did
actually pilot them into the port.

The inhabitants of this beautiful settlement were unable
successfully to defend themselves; and the consequence
was, that the English landed and pillaged, and
then destroyed the place. Part of the inhabitants fled to 2(4)v 20
the woods, and hid themselves with the savages; a part
escaped up the river St. Lawrence to the Canada settlements;
and a part were seized and carried prisoners to
England, from whence they were afterwards reclaimed by
the French ambassador.

It was at this time, while Port Royal lay in ruins, and
eight years after its destruction by those who, according
to the laws of nations, had no right to molest it, (see
Halliburton, INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.vol. i. p. 39,) that one William Alexander, a
sort of poet, and travelling companion of the Duke of
Argyle
, and afterwards gentleman usher to Prince Charles,
and knighted by him, sought and procured a grant from
James the First, of all that country lying east of the
river St. Croix to the Gulf of the St. Lawrence, which
was then named Nova Scotia; and this, the English historian
says, was the commencement of the troublesome
discussions about the actual boundaries of that country.
In 16231623, a number of Scotch emigrants arrived, who,
finding the country again repopulated by the French, went
back to England. This patent was afterwards renewed
by Charles the First; and, in 16281628, by the help of one
David Kintck, a French colonist, he again sat out to
claim the country, and succeeded in taking it, as we shall
hereafter mention. We pause to speak of this Alexander family. The General
Stirling
in the war of independence was the rightful heir to this
William Alexander, which was his own name. Just before the
American war he went home to England to claim his title, as also
the grant of Nova Scotia, but was unsuccessful. The Americans,
who thought his claim good to the title at least, always called him
“Lord Stirling”. He was a brave and patriotic man, and was the
person who revealed to Washington the intrigue of General Conway
in 17771777. He was taken prisoner at Long Island, at that
remarkable battle, but afterwards exchanged, and served with
honor through the whole war. He died at Albany 1783-01-15January 15,
1783
, aged fifty-seven years. The title of the Earl of Stirling
was considered extinct for many years; but recently a new claimant
has appeared. Should the old claim upon Nova Scotia be
allowed, we may see one more revolution in that region.— Ed.

By what right, however, Nova Scotia was thus claimed,
we cannot see; for it appears that the first William Alexander,
getting discouraged about establishing a peaceable
settlement there, conveyed (with the exception of Port 2(5)r 21
Royal
) the whole of his claim to Claude de la Tour, a
treacherous Frenchman, who, having married a maid of
honor to the English Queen, turned against his country,
and actually beseiged a fort held by his son at Cape Sable,
which was nobly defended; and the son only permitted
his father an asylum in the country after, upon the condition
that he and his wife should not enter it.

The trouble given by this La Tour was immense, and
furnishes a romance in itself, but our limits will not permit
us to give it here. We will only observe, that his
claims were favored by the English as far as they dared
to, according to their ancient policy of dividing, where
they wished to destroy; and there is now a letter to be
seen in the archives of Massachusetts, written by the
French Governor of Acadia in 16441644, to the Governor
and Council of Massachusetts Bay, on the subject of the
rebellion of La Tour, entreating the English, for their
mutual good, to suppress it; that, in the author’s opinion,
is one of the finest specimens of diplomatic correspondence
she has ever seen. It appears a ship, belonging to
a merchant of Boston, Mr. Saltonstall, (son of Sir Richard
Saltonstall
,) had been wrecked on that coast, and the
captain returned with a lamentable story of having been
plundered there, &c. D’Aulney, the French Governor,
replies to their complaints, stating that the captain must
have told a falsehood, as they paid him one thousand
pounds for the cargo which was saved, and that “the
commander of Razzilly bought of him all that could be
saved of the wreck of the vessel for seven or eight hundred
pounds, which he paid in solid gold buttons, taken
off a suit of his clothes for the purpose.”
He then reasons
with the English Governor on the folly and injustice
of their continual persecutions, professing a desire for
peace upon the Christian principle of doing unto others,
&c. The concluding paragraph of his letter is one of
the finest specimens of Christian eloquence we have ever
perused.

Immediately after the English had quitted Port Royal,
the hapless inhabitants, who had hid in the neighborhood,
returned to their possessions and essayed to rebuild their
places; and various hindrances operating to prevent the
English from molesting them again, they continued to 2(5)v 22
occupy it in peace for a period of fourteen years, at the
expiration of which term war was declared between France
and England, and another expedition fitted out against
them. The horrors of the former period, of course, were
acted over again in this and other places, and towns and
cities were sacked; and there was fighting by sea and
fighting by land, with various success, the history of which
our limits will not permit us to give. Fleets were sent
from France to succor them, but all would not answer:
the settlements fell again into the hands of their foes.
Acadia, and this time the Canadas also, were captured;
they were all a conquered people. However, by the treaty
of St. Germaine
it was restored, and the whole returned
to the French crown. This was in 16321632, the date of the
treaty.

From this date to 16541654, a period of twenty-two years,
the inhabitants had a breathing spell, when they were
again attacked and conquered by a force sent out by that
hypocritical despot, Oliver Cromwell, and for the third
time fell into the hands of the English, who, after destroying
their forts, pillaging the inhabitants, and enacting
other barbarities, returned to England. What kind
of force or government they left behind, history is not
very explicit about; but, as they continued under the
British yoke for thirteen years, doubtless it was a sufficient
one. The poor persecuted inhabitants maintained their
integrity to their government as well as they could during
this period, trusting that whenever peace should be settled
between the rival nations, they should return to their old
master. Nor were they disappointed; for at the treaty of
Breda
in 16671667, Acadia was restored to France.

Another period of twenty-three years elapsed, during
which the Acadians flourished. They built towns and
villages, planted orchards, raised dikes, (a work of tremendous
labor,) continued to reclaim land from the ocean,
laid out roads and erected chapels; and, lastly, fortified
themselves by building more forts, and trying “in time
of peace to prepare for war.”
In all this, of course, they
were aided by the parent country, France, from first to
last, expending a vast deal of money in that region. Of
course, from time to time they received accessions of
companies from that country; but it had been so often 2(6)r 23
the seat of active warfare and the object of British
cupidity, it was rather discouraging, and the Canadas,
too, presented a more inviting aspect on the score of
security.

“But go to, ye that say to-day or to-morrow we will buy
and sell, and get gain; whereas ye know not what a day
may bring forth.”

The inhabitants of Port Royal, (their principal town,)
notwithstanding all past experience, became lulled into a
false security; they relaxed their vigilance in guarding
the coast, suffered their forts to go to decay, and to be
almost unmanned, and disabled in every respect.

Every one knows the force of evil example. The colonies
of the English in North America had looked on for
many years and seen how very easy it had been to overcome
this people, and how much the English had gained
by their marauding expeditions, and—and—it is vain
to disguise it at this day, there is no doubt the example
was contagious. They had learnt that every outrage perpetrated
against their French neighbors, was more than
tolerated, generally rewarded, and they were unwilling to
look on and see so profitable a business going on, and not
be sharers in the enterprise. Hence, there was a continual
outcry about them on the score of Indian hostilities,
and every outrage perpetrated in the English settlements,
of which there were not a few, and such as would
curdle one’s blood almost to describe, was unhesitatingly
laid to the French. If they could not make out they
were direct agents in the atrocities, they asserted it was
entirely owing to their proximity; and the wish that they
might be exterminated or driven out, was often expressed
even in public.

Instead of examining to see if the faithlessness of their
own agents or commissioners, in their contracts with the
Indian tribes, was not the cause, as it most generally was,
they unhesitatingly accused the French, on all occasions,
of being the instigators.

In the frequent outrages of the Indians, the State of
Massachusetts
(then comprehending all the land from
Massachusetts boundary to the Penobscot river) was undoubtedly
the greatest sufferer. The Indian massacres
at Saco and Wells, and other places in that region, 2(6)v 24
were horrible indeed, and perfectly convincing that they
must have partaken largely of the nature of demons.

There is no reason with a savage. Has he a friend to
avenge, or an enemy to punish, the first that comes in
his way of the offending nation is sure to fall a victim;
and whole hecatombs of victims do not suffice to glut
their rage. But, knowing this, being aware of this trait
in their character; and, moreover, that nothing excited
them more than cheating them by failing in observing
treaties, can any excuse be offered for our English forefathers,
in thus provoking hostilities, and thus exposing
the lives of innocent women and children to the deadly
tomahawk and scalping-knife?

The French repudiated the assertion at the time, that
they incited these barbarians to murder and pillage; and
at the same time protested their utter inability to restrain
them when excited by real or supposed injuries; and, in
many instances, suggested to the English their dangers,
unless they would honorably fulfill their contracts with
the tribes, and thus prevent all provocations.

In later years it was ascertained that the Governor of
Canada engaged the Indians to assist him against the
English; and it is a matter of history that papers were
found on some of the savages while harassing the frontier,
which proved they acted under his direction. If this was
the case, those Indians could read and write, and consequently
were not savages.

We are no advocates for savage life or savage warfare,
but think there must have been something crooked in the
dealings of our English ancestors at that time. That
the Indians could be conciliated by kind treatment and
just dealings is quite apparent, or they would have been
likely to have harassed the French.

The inhabitants of the Canadas (French) asserted they
could not prevent the Indians from killing their prisoners
by any other means than offering to ransom or purchase
them. Many families and individuals were saved by this
means, upon paying their ransom. But for this they were
most violently accused by the English, who either thought
or said that this practice, by whetting the avarice of the
Indians, only made them worse, and added another stimulus
to their barbarities. The idea that it was done by 3(1)r 25
the Canadian French from motives of humanity, seems
not to have been at all admitted. Whatever accusation
was brought against one, it appears in the mind to have
applied to the whole French race on the continent.

By degrees, these aggressions of the savages had worked
up the inhabitants of New England, and particularly
those of Massachussets Bay, into a determination of doing
exactly what they accused the French of, namely, of
attacking the most defenceless of them. Accordingly, a
force of three ships of war and transports, carrying seven
hundred men, were fitted out in Massachusetts, and sailed
out of the harbor of Boston, under the command of the
Governor, Sir William Phipps, who went himself in person.

Before relating his gallant exploits, it may be interesting
to give some little sketch of the man entrusted with
such high authority. Bonaparte said, “that men were
made before kings.”
Our readers may make what application
they please of this sentence to the story in hand.
For ourselves, we believe villains were made before titles.

Sir William Phipps was the son of a blacksmith, and
was in early life apprenticed to a carpenter. Not finding
his occupation exactly to his taste, he left it and went to
sea. He is represented as a man of coarse manners and
ferocious temper, but possessed of great courage and
ingenuity. He soon became captain of a ship, and some
time after formed the design of attempting to raise the
wreck of a Spanish vessel, which contained an immense
quantity of specie, and fifty years before had gone down
on the Bahama banks. Various attempts had been made
by the British to possess themselves of this treasure, but
without success, until Phipps made the attempt. He had
been in search of it a long time, and given it over as
fruitless, and was about to return, when, getting becalmed,
he lay at anchor one fine day, indulging his sailors in the
luxury of bathing. One of them, who dove to the bottom,
came up with a handful of gold, thereby discovering
the place of the lost treasure.

For this exploit, which supplied the British coffers with
an immense amount of specie, Phipps was rewarded with
a title, and appointed Governor of Massachusetts. Embarking
from Boston with the force before named, he
sailed for the eastward, and on the 1690-05-2020th of May, 1690, 3 3(1)v 26
suddenly appeared in the harbor of Port Royal, and demanded
of the astonished and terrified inhabitants, an
“unconditional surrender.” We observed before, that
the caution of the gentle Acadians who were even then a
peaceable and agricultural people, was entirely lulled
asleep. They had nothing but a dilapidated fort, with
eighty-six men to man it. The unwarlike inhabitants, it
is probable, would have immediately surrendered had they
not been animated and encouraged to resistance by a
Catholic priest, who, unlike the treacherous jesuit who
betrayed them twenty-three years before, boldly hazarded
his life in their defence.

It was soon evident that a show of resistance was all
they could make, and, with consummate wisdom, the
priest began to listen to overtures of the enemy; and
finding a very short time must reveal their defenceless
condition, he succeeded, before it became known, in obtaining
the most favorable conditions, and in the articles of
capitulation it was stipulated and agreed to solemnly,

  • “that the soldiers, with their arms and baggage, should
    be transported to Quebec.”
  • 2. “That the inhabitants should be continued in peaceable
    possession of their property, and the honor of the
    women protected.”
  • 3. “That they should be permitted the free exercise of
    the Roman Catholic religion, and the property of the
    church protected.”

On board of one of the ships this agreement was formally
ratified, Phipps saying, “that his word as a general
was sufficient, and was pledged to the full fulfillment.”

Upon entering the fortress, where the keys were delivered
to him, Phipps perceived that he might have taken it
with ease, had he known its defenceless situation, without
granting any terms, and all his violence and malice were
at once aroused. He immediately disarmed the soldiers,
imprisoning them in the church. The Governor he imprisoned
in his own house. The Governor was called
Manival, and him the piratical Phipps stripped of every
thing, robbing him even of his clothes; and, horrible to
tell, then gave up the place to the general pillage of his
soldiers, from which not even the church or the priests
were exempt.

3(2)r 27

After stripping the place of every thing they could
carry away, they destroyed the fort, tearing it entirely to
pieces, and then left them, carrying the Governor, a sergeant,
and thirty-eight privates, prisoners with them;
also the two priests, and compelling the wretched inhabitants
to perjure themselves, by forcing them to take the
oath of allegiance to the British sovereign.

The only excuse which this licensed robber, the base
Phipps, pretended to offer for the commission of these
atrocities, on his return, was the pitiful one., “that he
had made the discovery of some stores in the houses of
some of the inhabitants, which they had not yet apprised
him of.”

From Port Royal, Sir Williamm Phipps proceeded to
another settlement, and approaching the harbor of Chedebucto,
to his surprise he met with a warm reception.
The fort here was commanded by a spirited French officer,
by the name of Montorgieul who made such a
brave defence against the furious assaults of the invaders,
that they were compelled to set fire to the town before he
would listen to any terms of capitulation; and then they
found themselves compelled to treat them rather differently
from those at Port Royal, not having priests and
women to deal with here.

From Chedebucto Phipps proceeded to another settlement
at Isle Perce, where there was no defence whatever,
where they were living in a state of perfect confidence
and tranquillity, and had nothing but their tears to oppose
to the ruthless freebooter, who now presented himself.
It seems incredible, that these innocent people could have
been given up to pillage. Yet such was the case. They
were plundered of all that could be carried away, and
destroyed more, and among the rest the chapel, the consecrated
sanctuary where they were accustomed to worship
the God of their fathers in the only form they had
ever known.

Deep and profound was the misery of the wretched
Acadians; but, deep and bitter as was their anguish, it
seems they had but tasted the cup of misery, and they
were soon obliged to drain it to the dregs. And now
comes the most mysterious part of their eventful history,
but what is fully authenticated history; and hoping our 3(2)v 28
readers may understand it better than ourselves, we
give it as it is related in history. Halliburton, in his
History of Nova Scotia, narrates it, with much seeming
innocence too.

The account is this. That, “in this defenceless state,
the unfortunate Acadians were visited immediately on the
departure of the English by two piratical vessels, the
crews of which set fire to their houses, slaughtered their
cattle, hanged some of the inhabitants, and deliberately
burned up one family, whom they had shut up in their
dwelling-house to prevent their escape.”

The question very naturally arises, who were these
pirates? of what nation? what language? how came
they in that neighborhood just at that particular time?
and how did they get there, and elude these English
ships, while all their tenders and transports were scouring
those seas?

A very few days after these events, the Chevalier Villabon
arrived from France to assume the command of Nova
Scotia
, conveying, we may well suppose, some little comfort
to this distressed people. He entered Port Royal
first, immediately hauling down the English flag and substituting
that of France. The distressed inhabitants
flocked around him, narrating the history of their sufferings;
but, bad as things were, they informed him that,
upon the approach of the English, they had immediately
buried a large sum of money, by which means it had
escaped the rapacity of their conquerors.

From this place Villabon, according to the orders of
his government, was obliged to proceed to the relief of
the French fort at the mouth of the St. John, (the now
city of St. John, undoubtedly.) He had several vessels
with him, and one under his convoy was partly laden
with presents, from his most Christian Majesty the King
of the French, to the Indians, and likewise containing
stores, &c. for the fort. What these presents were we
can only conjecture at this day. But it appears they
were gifts, and that the kindness of the savages uniformly
to the French, had always been reciprocated by the government.

On the way to this fort they were interrupted by the
mysterious piratical vessels, before spoken of, who succeeded 3(3)r 29
in catching the store-ship with the presents, &c.,
and escaped with her. The grief and mortification of
Villabon were extreme, particularly on account of the
presents intended for the savages, who, it seems, had been
apprised of the favors intended them. In this emergency
he collected the Indians and narrated the disaster, and
with much feeling deploring it.

History does not relate a more generous circumstance
in the character of these Indians than this, namely:
“They, so far from appearing displeased, tried to comfort
Villabon, telling him that they lamented the loss of the
vessel and stores more on his account than the loss of the
presents to themselves; that the King had already been
very generous to them,”
and voluntarily proffered their
continued faith to the French government.

Before narrating the exploits of Villabon, the avenger
of the despoiled Acadians, after the whole horrible detail
of English outrage in their various settlements had been
made known to him, we pause to say, that from the time
of these piratical exploits, the English sat up a regular
claim to this territory, although it continued entirely peopled
by French, and had been retaken within a few days,
and would, probably, at the next peace, be ceded to
France, as it had uniformly been at every proclamation
of peace. Yet, nevertheless, at this very time, while the
flag of France waved from every fort in that region, a
new charter of Massachusetts had it annexed, making an
extensive tract of eight hundred miles in length tributary
to Phipps, the carpenter-blacksmith baronet, and corsair-
Governor of Massachusetts, who was the first Governor
under the new charter.

To go back to the brave and chivalrous Villabon. The
exasperated Frenchman was determined not to sit down
patient under the injuries and insults sustained by his
countrymen as well as himself in the recent transactions.
Having been sent to protect these settlements, it seems he
thought he could not more effectually do it than by carrying
the war into the enemy’s camp. Accordingly, he
proceeded to make the fort at the mouth of the St. Johns
a rallying place for French and Indians, whom he prepared
and trained to his purposes. Aware of these preparations,
the English sent out a ship-of-war to intercept the annual 3 3(3)v 30
supply they were in the habit of receiving from France.
This ship, called the Sorrel, was fitted out from Massachusetts,
and sailed from the harbor of Boston, with
orders to cruise off the harbor of St. Johns, and await
the French vessel. The frigate that brought these supplies
appeared in due time, and was attacked by the
British ship. A very severe engagement ensued, in which
the French, however, were victorious, beating off the
Sorrel, and, entering the harbor in triumph, landed her
stores.

“The next year the Sorrel being repaired, was despatched
again upon the same service with the Newport
frigate and the Province tender; but while at anchor in
the harbor of St. Johns, Ibberville, the Governor of Quebec,
arrived with two men-of-war, having on board two
companies of soldiers and fifty Mic Mac Indians, to effect,
in conjunction with Villabon, the reduction of the English
fort at Permaquid. The ships were immediately engaged,
when the Newport, having sustained the loss of her top-
mast and other injuries, surrendered. The others, under
cover of a fog, escaped.
Reenforced with this prize, Villabon and Ibberville
proceeded immediately to Penobscot, where they were
joined by the Baron Castine with two hundred Indians,
and invested PemaquidPermaquid on the 1696-07-1414th of July, 1696. The
defence of this fort was inconsiderable; but the terror
inspired by the savages was such that the garrison capitulated
after a feeble resistance, upon assurances of protection
from their fury.”

Our limits will not permit us to give a history of the
various retaliatory measures adopted on the one side or
the other; and we should not have narrated this, had it
not been for one anecdote connected with it, which exhibits,
in fine contrast the conduct of French officers, with
that of the English during the revolutionary war.

Upon entering this fort of Permaquid, (now in the
State of Maine,) their Indian followers discovered one
of their tribe a prisoner, and in irons; and history narrates
that, upon his giving them an account of his sufferings,
which had been very severe, they were so exasperated
that they fell upon the English and murdered several
before the French officers could prevent them; but that 3(4)r 31
Ibberville immediately came to the rescue, and had the
prisoners removed to an island in the neighborhood, and
placed under a strong guard of French soldiers, to prevent
their falling victims to the rage and revenge of his
Indian allies.

Does history record a brighter act of generosity, magnanimity,
and humanity, than this? The recent provocations
of the French had been almost beyond a parallel,
and if revenge ever was lawful, it might have been so
in this case. Besides, they had no character to lose; for
there had not been an Indian murder on the borders
since the first settlement of the country, that they had
not been accused as the instigators, and here it would
have been a very plausible excuse, “that they could not
restrain the savages;”
the same excuse made afterwards
by Burgoyne and others in the war of the revolution.
In addition to this, there was actually no small danger
in the attempt to do so; for no greater provocation cancan
be given to an Indian than to rob him of his revenge.

There was a fleet immediately sent out from Boston,
but they came too late for the fort, which was destroyed,
and the enemy had retreated before their arrival. Ibberville
went immediately to Cape Breton, by which means
he was separated from Villabon, who attempted to return
to St. Johns, but was captured by this fleet and carried
prisoner to Boston.

We will not attempt, in this place, to give the history
of the Baron Castine, a man who may certainly be considered
as having been one of the wonders of the age;
a man of noble birth, of immense fortune, and singular
elegance of person, preferring the wilds of America and
the society of savages to all the refinements of civilized
life, and even to the elegancies of a court. To the place
of his residence in Maine he had the honor of giving his
name, and will be remembered probably as long as Castine
remains on the map of the country.

The history, or at least some little account of him and
his son, by his Indian wife, will be found in another part
of this book, and the reader may rely upon the historical
accuracy of the narration; the descriptive parts alone,
resting upon a few vague traditions.

Immediately after the destruction of PemaquidPermaquid fort in 3(4)v 32
16961696, the English despatched a force of five hundred
men from Boston to “ravage Nova Scotia,” under command
of the famous Captain Church, the person who is
celebrated for his great success in the wars with the
savages, himself a greater savage than any that he slaughtered.

He arrived in Bean Rasin, Nova Scotia, and, intent
upon his mission as the minister of destruction, ravaged
all that country now called Cumberland district. The
terrified inhabitants, as usual, fled to the woods on the
first approach of the enemy. By manœvering and deception,
he induced many of them to return. Many
would not, preferring the protection of the savages to the
tender mercies of the English, which had been experienced
too many times, they thought, to trust them now.
Those who adhered to the wise resolution of remaining
in their covert, had reasons full soon to rejoice at their
foresight; for no sooner had the number who had been
lured back, assembled, than they were ordered to “join
the force of Captain Church in pursuit of the savages.”

Judge Halliburton, who relates this manœvre, remarks,
“that it was an ungenerous request, to which it
was impossible for them to accede, though the restitution
of their property, which had been already taken, was
promised them, and the preservation of the rest.”
No
inducement ever could, or ever did prevail on the French
to injure the savages. Nothing could surpass the integrity
of their conduct in this respect. Every kind of bribe
from time to time was held out to them, but in vain.
They peremptorily refused to assist on this occasion, too,
to so base an act of treachery and ingratitude; and on
their refusal, their houses were burned, their effects plundered,
their cattle and sheep destroyed, and their dikes
broken down; and, in fine, all the horrors and excesses
of former times acted over again. And upon the discovery
of an “Order for the regulation of trade,” by Frontinac,
the Governor of Canada, their ire exceeded all
bounds. They accused them of being rebels, and set fire
to the church, destroying that and every thing which remained
to the wretched Acadians.

It is almost impossible to read the history of this innocent 3(5)r 33
and persecuted people, without wondering why there
was not some hidden thunder to crush their remorseless
foes? We believe it was not ever pretended that
these Acadians were the persons concerned in the late
attack on Permaquid; that having been conducted wholly
by the French, under Villabon, aided by a force from
Canada and by the Indians. Nevertheless, as they were
the most defenceless, the first act of retaliation was to
ravage Nova Scotia, whose chief offence seemed to be,
that they would not imbrue their hands in the blood of
the savages.

So far were these innocent people from offending, that
they could not seem to comprehend the cause, if any
there was, why they should be subjected to such attack,
and produced to Church a proclamation of Sir William
Phipps
, promising them protection while they remained
peaceable. But Church probably thought Phipps’s example
of more import than his words, and acted as he did,
not as he said; thus leaving an industrious and unoffending
people, with all their little ones, on the verge of a cold
winter, houseless, homeless, stripped of all that could
render life comfortable.

They were charged, too, with being rebels, although,
within less than a century, they had changed masters
fourteen times, and alternately been compelled to swear
allegiance to the Powers of France and England; not
just as many times, indeed, as they had been conquered
and reconquered, for, often before that operation could
be performed, they were again transferred to the opposite
Power. In the present instance, they were ceded to
France in the same year, by the peace of Ryswic.

Captain Church, upon leaving Cumberland district,
had to proceed to the fort of Villabon, at the mouth of the
St. Johns. Here he fared very differently. The fort
was defended with much gallantry, and he beat off, and
returned to Boston, without effecting one principal object
of the expedition. Thus ended the war of six years,
from 16901690 to 16961696. From this time, Massachusetts finding
herself unable, as she said, to protect Nova Scotia,
petitioned to the crown to be relieved from the expense
and trouble, which act was considered as a relinquishment
of jurisdiction over it.

3(5)v 34

The felicitations of the Acadians, upon again coming
under the crown of France, had scarcely ceased; their
wasted lands again put in a state of cultivation, and
habitations once more rising around them, and their dikes
repaired, &c., than France and England were again at
war, Louis the Fourteenth having acknowledged the Pretender
as King of England. War was declared against
him on the 1701-05-044th of May, 1701. This was rather the
shortest breathing spell the Neutral French enjoyed, but
little more than four years. And that demon in human
shape, as they must have considered him, Captain Church,
was again let loose upon them, for the purpose of ravaging
and plundering the settlements of Nova Scotia.

The instructions given to Captain Church, the slayer
of King Philip, by Phipps, &c., is one of the greatest
literary curiosities that has fallen in our way. After
authorizing him to take the command of the force destined
for Nova Scotia, &c., the order requires him “to have
prayers on board ship daily, to sanctify the Sabbath, and
to forbid all profane swearing and drunkenness.”
The
next article authorizes him to burn, plunder, destroy, and
get spoil wherever he could effect a landing. The hypocritical
cant made use of in these orders is enough to
make one’s blood curdle. It seems, after all, that the
spoiler did not get his reward; for his son, who has
written his life, affirms, “that for all his great expenses,
fatigues, and hardships, in and about this expedition, he
received only fifteen pounds as an earnest penny towards
raising volunteers; and after he came to receive his debenture
for his colonel’s pay, there were two shillings and
fourpence due him: and as for his captain’s pay and man
Jack, he never received any thing.”
Verily, cutting
throats in those days must have been a cheap business.
His historian adds: “After he came home, some evil-
minded persons did their endeavors to injure him for
taking away life unlawfully;”
referring to his having
commanded his soldiers who were surrounding a house
full of people, who refused to come out at their bidding,
(and being French probably did not understand the command,)
“to set fire to the four corners of the house, and,
as they came out, knock them all in the head.”

During the eight years’ cessation of hostilities, the 3(6)r 35
inhabitants of these fated regions suffered themselves to
be lulled into the same security they had done before.
Yet their measures, and the resolutions they came to this
time, were somewhat different. With incredible industry
and perseverance, they had again built up their beautiful
villages, restored their farms, rebuilt their chief towns in
an improved style, and again the herculean labor of erecting
dikes or encroachments against the ocean had been
resorted to. But this time, warned by sad experience,
they determined to erect forts in every exposed place,
and make it a primary object to fortify and strengthen
them in the best manner they were able. Port Royal, in
an especial manner, was strengthened. Alas! too soon,
they were convinced these precautions were not unnecessary.

The war had raged with various success between the
French and English three years, before the actual assaults
upon the settlements of Nova Scotia commenced. The
pretext set up for thus disturbing the peace of these regions
this time, was that Bruillon, the then French Governor
of all that country called New France, had employed
pirates in his navy, and savages on the land, in
acts of hostility towards the neighboring English colonies,
that is, New England, which then contained twelve thousand
inhabitants. The French settlements, it will be
remembered, then extended as far as the Penobscot river,
and nothing could be more convenient than to cross over
and plunder each other. The settlement of the Baron
Castine
was in this neighborhood, too, and he, from his
marriage, having been constituted chief of the Abenakis
nation
, was usually accused of being the principal instigator
of all the savage exploits in that region. But the
Baron Castine was not then in the country, but on a visit
to France; and it seems to us quite as inhuman to have
visited the hapless inhabitants of Nova Scotia for the
offences of a Governor set over them without their choice,
as for the Governor of Canada to have employed the savages
to avenge the depredations of English soldiers upon
the peaceable settlers of New France, who had no part
in the contest.

It is not our province to go into an argument on the
subject of reprisals, with respect to the English histories 3(6)v 36
of French enormities committed at that time. But to
return.

Alleging the before-mentioned incentives, to avenge
upon the whole French population the acts of the Governor
and the forces under his command, the English authorities
in Massachusetts Bay fitted out of Boston, in the
year 17041704, an armament consisting of three men-of-war,
fourteen transports, and thirty-six whale-boats, with a
force of five hundred and fifty soldiers, under the command
of Colonel Church, for the purpose of “ravaging
the French settlements in Nova Scotia.”
Halliburton says:

“Touching at Montinicus, and seizing a few Frenchmen,
whom he compelled to serve as pilots, they first
sailed up the river Penobscot, where they took a number
of prisoners, and among the rest the daughter of the
Baron Castine, who was then on a visit to his paternal
estate in France.”
Thus avenging the loyalty of the
Baron to the French government, and his friendship to
the Indians, by the plunder of his helpless household
during his absence, and the captivity of his daughter.
Of this young lady, the daughter of an Indian mother,
(but in lawful wedlock,) history makes no further mention
in this place. Some years subsequently, however, we are
told, “that the two daughters of the Baron Castine were
married to respectable French gentlemen.”
And thus it
appears this unhappy young lady survived her captivity
and all the horrible scenes she was compelled to witness
ere the return of the English fleet to Boston. Who were
the companions of her voyage we cannot tell; but it is
recorded “they carried from this neighborhood a number
of other prisoners.”

“From thence,” Halliburton continues, “the boats
proceeded up the western Passamaquoddy, destroying the
whole of the settlements as far as the falls of the river,
and perpetrating several acts of outrage upon the unoffending
inhabitants.”
Here the fleet separated, the men-
of-war sailing for Port Royal, and the whale-boats for
Minas, now called Horton. Here they succeeded, after
some resistance, in totally destroying three populous villages,
plundering the inhabitants, and bringing off a number
of prisoners; after which work of destruction, they
immediately proceeded to the harbor of Port Royal and 4(1)r 37
joined the ships. The attack upon Port Royal was unsuccessful,
and, after several attempts, was given up.
The inhabitants seemed, at length, to discover that they
could fight when pressed to the utmost. After abandoning
this place in despair, Church proceeded to Chiegnecto,
(which he had visited eight years before,) and laid
waste the country, plundering the inhabitants of their
goods, burning their houses, and breaking down their
dikes, which protected their valuable and extensive marshes
from the encroachments of the sea.

The ease with which these conquests, if such they
could be called, had been obtained, seems at length to
have excited the cupidity of the authorities in Massachusetts,
to become the permanent possessors of this beautiful
country, or at least that it should become annexed to the
English provinces. They therefore procured the assent
of the parent government to raise a force sufficient for
the conquest, and a pledge that, if conquered, it should
never again be ceded to France.

“The ways of Providence are dark and intricate”
indeed. Little did the New England provinces then
think, that the time would come when they should as
fervently wish it in the possession of the French as they
now deprecated it.

In 17071707, one thousand men were raised in Massachusetts,
New Hampshire, and Rhode Island, and despatched
to Port Royal, where they arrived on the 1707-05-1717th of May,
under the convoy of two men-of-war. The Governor, Broillard,
had died the preceding year, and the command had
devolved upon M. Subercease, an active and brave French
officer, and one who had before distinguished himself at
Newfoundland. His judicious arrangements and spirited
defence frustrated all their attempts upon the forts, while,
in endeavoring to land in another place, they were met
by a company of Indians and of the inhabitants, commanded
by one whose name seems always to have carried
terror into the camp of the English, the Baron Castine.
On this occasion he became the assailant, and
compelled them to re-embark. The consequence was
their immediate return to Boston.

Governor Dudley, who was then Governor of Massachusetts,
was determined the enterprise should not thus 4 4(1)v 38
be abandoned; and, accordingly, raising an additional
force, and fitting them out once more, he compelled them
to return to the assault. They were beat off again, and
with such effect that the English soldiers lost all presence
of mind and subordination, and retreated in much disorder,
numbers falling into an ambuscade laid for them.
They continued some time on the coast, making several
attempts; but Providence had decreed that they should
not now succeed, and for this time interposed an Omnipotent
arm between them and the hunted and persecuted
Acadians. A violent and epidemic disease at this time
broke out on board the ships, which compelled them to
return before they should be unable to get away.

For three years no attempt was made against this
country, until, in 17101710, another expedition was fitted out
under the command of General Nicholson; and on the
1710-09-1818th of September, four ships of war, two provincial
galleys, and fourteen transports, in the pay of Massachusetts,
five of Connecticut, two of New Hampshire, three
of Rhode Island, a tender, and five English transports
set sail from Boston bay, and after a passage of six days
displayed their imposing force in the harbor of Port
Royal
. With the exception of one regiment of marines
from Europe, the forces were all provincials, raised in
New England, but commissioned by the Queen, and armed
at the royal expense; four provincial and one English
regiments.

There chanced to be but two hundred and sixty effective
men in the forts; and, although one of the transports
was sunk in attempting to enter the harbor, and
perished with all her stores and every soul on board, yet
so imposing was their array, that they were landed without
opposition.

Every thing that man could do, the brave Subercease
essayed. Although a tremendous cannonade was opened
upon the fort from within a hundred yards of it, the
French returned shot for shot, and held the fort for seven
days, with a handfull of men, against five regiments within
one hundred yards of them. On the 1710-10-011st of October,
the English had three batteries open, two mortars, and
twenty-four cohorn mortars mounted; and on the evening
of that day, once more and for the last time, the miserable, 4(2)r 39
persecuted, and deeply-injured Acadians passed into
the hands of their remorseless foes, the English.

Thus fell Port Royal, the last stronghold of the French
in Nova Scotia; and who that shall read the subsequent
history of that ill-fated people, the Neutral French, but
will mourn the day? Alas! alas! their guardian angel
had fled; their friends, the savages, were not near, and
the Baron Castine, not being prepared for this event, was
far away. And there was no eye to pity, and no arm to
save. Their lamp has gone out, their star has set, and
their sun has gone down in utter darkness. Alas for
those over whom the iron rod of oppression shall now
fall, until the last ray of hope has departed.

It was not, however, until the most honorable terms of
capitulation had been agreed upon, that the gallant commander
of the French consented to surrender. The
garrison marched out with colors flying, drums beating,
&c.

It seems almost a waste of paper to record these articles.
Their conquerors appear to have had little regard
to things of that kind at that day, and to have reserved
to themselves the privilege of construing them as suited
their convenience. The victors, in fact, observed no law
that was not agreeable to themselves. In the present
instance, however, or at least for the time being, they
thought proper to preserve some regard to their agreement.
They had to “provide ships to carry the garrison
to Rochelle,”
and allow them “to carry out six guns and
two mortars,”
&c.; “to allow the officers to carry all
their effects;”
“to respect the effects and ornaments of
the chapel and hospital;”
to give the “Canadians leave
to retire to Canada;”
and to “carry those belonging to
the islands to their home.”

But the fifth article in the agreement, specifying for the
safety of “all the inhabitants within cannon shot of Port
Royal
,”
was in truth a singular one. It was probably
intended to protect the persons of those most obnoxious
to the conquerors, who, on the landing of the British, had
harassed them, concealing themselves behind houses and
fences, and killing many on their march towards the fort.
The English contended, afterwards, that those within
cannon shot being alone specified, the remainder of the
inhabitants were given up to their unconditional mercies.

4(2)v 40

Upon the accession of Nova Scotia, the English immediately
dispatched a commissioner, or rather a deputation
of several commissioners, to Vandrieul, the Governor of
Canada, to say, “that if he did not restrain the savages
under his control from further incursions into New England,
they would take revenge for every act of hostility
committed by them upon the defenceless Acadians now
in their power.”

The French Governor, with great dignity, returned for
answer:

“That the evil complained of might have been prevented
wholly, at an early day, by the English acceding
to a proposal of his, of neutrality between the two provinces
of America, while the parent states were at war in
Europe. But if their threats were put in execution,
nothing should prevent him from delivering up every
English prisoner into the hands of the Indians.”

This threat saved, for the present, the poor Acadians.
As to restraining the Indians altogether, they must have
known it was beyond his power. Vandrieul, however,
cherished the expectation, as most reasonably he might,
that Nova Scotia would again be restored to the French.
In this expectation, the deceived Acadians were likewise
sanguine. Vandrieul, in view of this, appointed
the Baron Castine to the chief command of Nova Scotia,
(then called Acadia,) with instructions to preserve their
loyalty to the French King as far as possible. This
person actually raised a force and attacked a party of
English in what is now called New Brunswick, and
defeated them, and was about to deliver Port Royal
from the power of the English with his Indian forces
alone. When those who were to assist him from Canada
disappointed him, having to remain to defend Quebec
from an English fleet under Sir Hovendon Walker.

Aware of the approach of the Baron Castine, and the
probable movements of the French and Canadians to
assist them, the commanding British officer at Port Royal
took three priests and five of the principal inhabitants,
and shut them up as hostages, proclaiming “that upon
the least insurrectionary movement, he would execute
these innocent persons in retaliation.”
Despairing then
of succor, the few inhabitants who had taken up arms, 4(3)r 41
laid them down and submitted. But, not satisfied with
this, the English began to scour the country to swear the
dispersed inhabitants to allegiance. Nothing, at any time,
created such sensation among the Acadians as this; from
conscience, they always uniformly avoided taking an oath,
so revolting to their principles: and on this occasion their
blood was up.

Having been disappointed of their expected succor
from Canada, (which, by the way, was only two hundred
brave Frenchmen under the command of the Marquis
D’Alloigniers
,) they were obliged to lay down their arms;
but, to resist the taking of an oath, which they believed
sinful, they determined. It is not, therefore, unlikely
that they procured the assistance of their Indian friends
to surprise the force under Captain Pigeon, an officer of
the English regulars, sent out on this ungrateful service.
It is, however, quite singular that no history accuses them
of having any hand in it, although they were usually
accused, even when guiltless, of all the savage enormities.

The craft, whatever it was, proceeded up the river to
enforce the new regulations, and reduce all the disaffected
to obedience. They had not proceeded far, however,
when they were surprised by a body of Indians, who
“killed the fort major, the engineer, and all the boat’s
crew, and took from thirty to forty English prisoners.
(The scene of this disaster is about twelve miles above
the fort on the road to Halifax, and is still called Bloody
Creek
.) The success of this ambuscade tempted the
inhabitants to take up arms again, and five hundred of
them, with as many Indians as they could collect, embodied
themselves to attack the fort.”
But it was in
vain; a fiat had gone forth, and all future effort seemed
to be useless. They lacked an efficient officer, and sent
to Placentia for one; but the Governor of that place was
unable to spare one, and they had to abandon the enterprise
and disperse.

Immediately after this, or almost while it was going on,
a peace was concluded between England and France,
which set the seal to the fate, and crushed forever the
hopes of the wretched Acadians. Great rejoicings were
caused in New England by the news of this treaty. And 4 4(3)v 42
as to France, the English historian says she only “lost a
country of which she had never known the value.”

The long looked-for event of peace, the Acadians had
been taught to anticipate as the end of their sorrows, and
the bursting of their bonds. Instead of which, (the reverse
must have been dreadful!) the poor, simple-hearted,
trusting Acadians found themselves delivered up to the
power of their enemies, forsaken by the parent government;
their beautiful and beloved country, to which they
had clung with unexampled fidelity, even when the means
of subsistence appeared almost to fail; when their fields
were blazing and their houses levelled with the dust;
when stripped of their clothing, and all that they possessed
a prey to the spoiler, was now given, irrevocably
given, to that enemy, whose tender mercies they had so
often found to be cruelty.

The articles of Utrecht were signed on the 1717-04-1111th of
April, 1717
; and blinded, infatuated France, by them
stipulated not only to give up the whole country called
Acadia, but the privilege of their fisheries on the coast,
or within thirty leagues of it.

From this period that country (or Nova Scotia proper)
has continued in the hands of the English; and though
France declared war against England in 17741774, nothing
of consequence was done towards the recovery of that
country. In fact, they lost Cape Breton the next year,
and in 17601760 they lost Canada too.

We have endeavored not to mix up the affairs of Canada
and Cape Breton with the history of that interesting portion
of the country of which it is our design to treat.
But the reader will see, by looking back to the history of
that period, that the attempts of the English were steadily
going on in these two places at the same time. The fall
of Louisbourg, the seige of Quebec, &c. are well remembered,
and our limits will not permit us to treat of them
here.

To return to the Acadians, left in the power of their
ancient enemies. What were they to do? Their desire
was for the most part to dwell among the subjects of the
French government. Some wanted to go to France,
some to Canada, some wished to go to Cape Breton, and
some to the French West Indies—so that they could get 4(4)r 43
among people of their own nation and language, it did
not seem very important which, and they would probably
have settled that point without any difficulty. But, upon
making application, they were told “they could not depart
in English built vessels, and French vessels would
not be permitted to enter their harbors.”

For a long time these harassed people kept back from
taking the oath of allegiance to the English monarch,
George the Second. But at length, upon the most solemn
assurance, “they should not be compelled to bear arms
against the French, and permitted the free exercise of
their religion,
they consented. This was not until six
years after the treaty of Utrecht; and from this time,
17191719, they went by the name of the Neutral French.

At first, considerable pains were taken by their new
masters to conciliate them. Their services were wanted
in the construction of dikes and roads; from their long
acquaintance with the soil, too, they were qualified to
assist in its cultivation; and, above all, fears of an insurrection
disposed the English to treat them with tolerable
decency. But, at length, matters assumed a different
aspect, and they were, upon one pretence or another,
deprived of their privileges until even the shadow of
liberty departed; and they were left to feel, in bitterness
of spirit, that they were not only a conquered people, but,
owing to their French origin, a hated one, and that they
were regarded with irreconcilable enmity. Their language,
too, operated a sad disadvantage to them. Suspected
often of mischief and plotting, when they did not
even understand the difficulty, or even if they comprehended
it, incapable of explaining themselves to the satisfaction
of their accusers; and, in addition to this, their
masters were disposed to visit upon them the atrocities
and barbarities of the Indians ever since the settlement
of the country.

The zeal of the English in settling and colonizing
their new possessions, we are told, “bore no proportion
to their desire to possess it.”
They did indeed hold out
inducements to emigrants to colonize; but the number of
foreigners residing there, and the belief that it would
again become the seat of war, proved a great impediment.
The hostile disposition of the Indians, too, deterred
many.

4(4)v 44

It seems the Indians were not named in the treaty of
Utrecht
; and to this omission, probably, may be attributed
many of the difficulties that ensued. The savages
themselves could not comprehend the nature of the
transaction, by means of which the French inhabitants
of Acadia quickly submitted themselves to the dominion
of their ancient foes, and they applied to Vandrieul, the
Governor of Canada, for an explanation. He endeavored
to enlighten them, and at the same time informed them
“they were not named in the treaty.” Bitter complaints
were afterwards made by the English, that the French,
ever after the conquest of the country, affected to consider
the Indians as an independent people. Whatever weight
this accusation might have had in the colonies in that
day, we believe it would be difficult to name the time
when the French did not consider them as such, and
acknowledge it in their intercourse with them.

One of the most singular accusations brought against
the French at that time was, that “they had told the
Indians the English were the people who crucified our
Saviour.”
This story was very current in New England
at that day, and the various cruelties of the Indians often
attributed to it. There is nothing to support such a
charge; and Halliburton, the English historian of Nova
Scotia
, entirely discredits it. The fact was, that “the
affections of the Indians, violent and ardent, were towards
the French.”
They were now, many of them, united by
one faith and one baptism. They were the first they had
known of the white people, and they could not but look
upon the English as intruders and interlopers. They
had, as neighbors, always lived peaceably and amicably
with them, and in their dealings been dealt fairly with,
while in their trades with the English, they almost uniformly
found themselves deceived and cheated; and the
wrath of the North American savage when once aroused,
it is known, is unappeasable unless by the immolation of
the offenders, revenge being a passion perfectly savage,
and with savages considered the highest virtue. They
had too, before this, made the quarrel of the French
theirs, and now it was not in the power of the French to
restrain them. And although the Acadians, for the most
part, tillers of the soil, or living by the fisheries, seemed 4(5)r 45
after this to have sat down peaceable and contented, and
almost indifferent as to who governed, provided they might
be permitted to remain quiet, and not compelled to bear
arms against their countrymen, whom they still loved, or
the Indians, whom they feared, and to whom their scattered
settlements were particularly exposed, yet the Indians
themselves would not remain so, and it was not
long before their aggressions called for merited punishment.

In 17201720, they attacked Canseau, where the English
had erected a fishing establishment, and carried off property
to the amount of £20,000. Several lives were lost
in the attempt to defend it. In the next year a vessel
was seized at Passamaquoddy, on her way from Annapolis
to Boston, and Mr. Binney, the collector, and several
other gentlemen were made prisoners. Reprisals were
made by the English, and twenty-two of the Indians
seized and put in confinement by the Governor, until they
were released. Other vessels were taken in the same
year, and some of the crews murdered by them; and in
17231723 they again surprised Canseau, and captured seventeen
sail of fishing vessels, putting nine individuals to
death, and carrying twenty prisoners to Lunenberg to
sacrifice to the manes of thirty of their own men slain in
the conflict. These twenty seamen were timely rescued
by an English vessel, which arrived and ransomed them
and the vessels, though not without some difficulty.
Shortly after, they attacked the garrison at Annapolis,
burned two houses, and killed and scalped a sergeant
and private, and took several prisoners.

Although the English might have seen, in these depredations
an almost exact copy, in miniature, of their own
former ravages in Nova Scotia, their pillaging, murder,
&c., it does not appear they thought once of the example
they had set to this untutored and uncivilized race in
this very region. But as it happened about the ox and
the cow, the parties becoming vice versa, entirely changed
the nature of the case, and the lesser enormities of the
savages were exclaimed against as something never heard
of before.

The Indians of the western portion of Nova Scotia
were a part of the great Abenequi nation, a part of whom 4(5)v 46
inhabited the now State of Maine, and acknowledged
the Baron Castine as their leader. The present baron
was son of the former, and is described as one of the
most elegant young men of his day. From his personal
and literary qualifications, he was much thought of, and
from his great wealth and connexions, (his mother being
one of their tribe,) he was supposed to have unbounded
influence with them, and upon this presumption was
seized before these last aggressions, carried to Boston,
and imprisoned. His defence—which will be found in
another part of this work—was dignified and manly, and
seemed to have had great effect on his accusers, as he
was immediately released. History says, “partly from
a dread of exasperating the Indians beyond all hope of
reconciliation, and partly from the difficulty of considering
him a traitor who had never acknowledged himself
a subject, it was deemed prudent to release him.”
But,
whatever suspicions they chose to have of this individual,
all that is known of him ought, even at this day, to exclude
him from blame. It is beyond dispute that he
possessed a most humane and benevolent temper, and
employed his great influence with his tribe to humanize
and civilize them, on all prudent occasions. Soon after
this he went to France to take possession of his paternal
estates, and returned no more. Tradition says there was
a sad and melancholy look about him, that rather added
to than diminished his attractions; the effect, it was
supposed, of the increasing miseries and degradation of
his tribe. It would be a subject of pleasing investigation
to follow the history of this extraordinary individual and
his family through subsequent generations. But his story
is lost to us from the time of his reaching his father’s
native land.

There were some few aggressions on land that immediately
followed those last mentioned. And now comes
the plan of revenge contrived by the English, and executed
with remorseless cruelty and injustice.

There existed at that time a very beautiful settlement
of the Indians at Norridgewoack, (now Norridgewock,)
on the Kennebec. It was a Christian settlement, and
acknowledged an aged missionary as their pastor, who
had been among the Indians forty years. The Indians 4(6)r 47
loved and almost idolized him, and were at all times
ready to hazard their lives for his preservation. This
village, besides a great number of huts, contained a
church, a huge cross in the middle, and was defended by
a rude encampment.

The priest Ralle was a person well known as a scholar.
He had, previous to this, carried on a controversial correspondence
with some gentleman in Boston, which proved
his literary attainments to be of a high order, though
perfectly useless in his present situation. Halliburton, a
scholar and a man of taste himself, pronounces his Latin
to have been “pure, classical, and elegant.” It appears,
also, that the priest was conversant with the English and
Dutch languages, and master of the several dialects of
the Abenequi nation. But all these accomplishments,
together with his high sense of religion, his deep devotion
to the cause and salvation of these benighted beings, and
his life altogether, which was literally one long martyrdom,
seems to have been lost upon those who only saw
one fault, namely, that he was a correspondent and friend
of the Governor of Canada, and he might have instigated
the Indians to hostility. Under this impression they
fitted out a force from Massachusetts, consisting of two
hundred and eight men, with orders to attack the village.

On the 1724-08-1212th of August, 1724, this force arrived at
Norridgewoack, having marched with such secrecy as to
come upon them entirely unawares, and the consequence
was, a tremendous slaughter of the Indians ensued.
Many of the Indians had fled upon the first appearance
of the enemy. Charlevoix relates that the priest Ralle,
though unprepared, was not intimidated, and shew himself
at once in front, in hopes to divert the attention of
the enemy to himself, and screen his beloved flock by the
voluntary offer of his own life. The historian adds, that
“as soon as he was seen he was saluted with a great
shout and a shower of bullets, and fell together with
seven Indians, who had rushed out of their tents to defend
him with their bodies; and that when the pursuit
had ceased, the Indians who had fled, returned to weep
over their beloved missionary, and found him dead at the
foot of the cross, his body perforated with balls, his head
scalped, his skull broken with blows of hatchets, his 4(6)v 48
mouth and eyes filled with mud, the bones of his legs
broken, and his limbs dreadfully mangled. AftarAfter having
bathed his remains with their tears, they buried him on
the site of the chapel, the chapel itself having been hewn
down, with its crucifix, and whatever else they considered
emblems of idolatry. They had likewise destroyed the
buildings and pillaged the encampment. Now, beneath
its ruins was interred the body of him who had the very
evening before celebrated the rites of his church within
its walls.”

The reader may find a biographical sketch of the life
of the priest Ralle, given in the INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.eighth volume of the
INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.second series of the Massachusetts Historical Collection,
INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.page 256
.

The Abenequi nation was composed of many different
tribes, and the distance between many of them very
great. Hence the improbability of every petty depredation
being concerted by the whole nation at once. There
is no doubt at this time, that the different tribes gratified
their thievish or revengeful propensities whenever or
wherever occasion offered them facilities. Norridgewoack
was the original cognomen of the tribe of which
Father Ralle was priest or pastor at the time of the cruel
slaughter of these the best and most civilized of all the
tribes, and of the learned, intelligent, and benevolent
Ralle. There was found in his cabin, among other
things, a manuscript dictionary of the Abenequi, or eastern
languages, which was carefully preserved, and was printing
at Cambridge (Mass.) in 18321832. We presume it has
been completed, and may now be found in the library of
Harvard University, and perhaps in others. The bell, too,
of Father Ralle’s little chapel escaped the spirit of extermination
and puritanical bigotry, and is preserved to this
day in the cabinet of Bowdoin College, at Brunswick,
(Maine.)

We go back to the Acadians, who, as a people, appeared
to sit quietly down under the government that they
now comprehended was to control them. The storm of
war, they trusted, had now passed over them for the last
time. It had taken their wisest and bravest, and those
left behind were a peaceful people, living in a happy
contentment. Indeed, they seemed the realization of 5(1)r 49
pastoral life, as pictured in the description of Arcadia of
old. With many, and indeed with most, there was an
indignant feeling at being deserted by their King, and
irrevocably made over to their ancient enemy, and this
feeling disposed them to submit more cheerfully to their
present masters. With the most astonishing perseverance,
they once more raised the broken dikes, rebuilt
towns and villages, and assisted, when called upon, to
build up the forts for the English. Thus, while they
were continually laboring to make the country valuable,
the authorities of the province were, on the other hand,
laboring to enslave them.

From the period of the last conquest of Port Royal,
every thing seemed to confirm the despotism of the English
over this fated province. Louisburg, the “Dunkirk
of America,”
the capital of Cape Breton, had surrendered
to the arms of the English, or more properly to the arms
of the colonies in New England, after a siege of thirty-
nine days, and their Catholic brethren in that region
treated with great rigor. It will be remembered this
place was taken by a force from Massachusetts of thirty-
two hundred men, aided by five hundred from Connecticut,
and three hundred from Rhode Island, planned by
Governor Shirley of Massachusetts, and commanded by
William Pepperell, Esq. of that State, afterwards knighted
for his prowess in this expedition. There were many
to whom the growing exactions of the British had become
exceedingly galling, and who looked forward to a removal
to Cape Breton as the only asylum, and the most secure
one, whose last hope expired when Louisburg fell. Previous,
however, to the fall of that place, an attempt had
been made by the celebrated De Quesnal, Governor of
Cape Breton, to free the Acadians. It was immediately
after the declaration of war against England by the French
court in 17441744. In this attempt the brave De Quesnal
was premature and rash, having received express orders
with the declaration, “not to attack any post in Nova
Scotia
until further orders.”
Believing, however, that
he should receive great accessions from the disaffected
inhabitants, he ventured to disobey the orders of his
government, and make a descent upon Canseau, under
Du Vivier, on the 1744-05-1111th of May, and was instantly joined 5 5(1)v 50
by two hundred Indians. The garrison under Captain
Heron
surrendered. He then proceeded to Annapolis,
where, after an unsuccessful siege of four weeks, he finally
retired to Minas, (now Horton,) where he destroyed the
fortifications and English houses, and then retired to Bay
Verte
, and then to Canada. During this season, an attempt
was also made upon Annapolis by one Luttre, a
French priest, with three hundred Indians. Wherever
the French force appeared, there was a general rising of
the Indians, who immediately flocked to their standard.
Not so the Acadians, who, on all these occasions, maintained
their character of neutrals as a people, with only
the occasional defection of a few young and daring spirits.
Painful as must have been their feelings, they respected
their oath of allegiance to the English monarch, and
loathed the scenes of carnage and blood.

The resentment of the English against the Indians was
now at its height, and the government of Massachusetts
denounced them as “enemies and rebels,” and declared
war against them, while “the savages of the different
New England tribes were forbidden to hold any intercourse
with them.”
So far it was right; but we shrink
from the remainder of the proclamation, which went on to
offer premiums for capturing and scalping them. “One
hundred pounds for each male above twelve years of age
if scalped, one hundred and five if taken prisoner; fifty
pounds for each woman and child scalped, and fifty
if brought in alive.”
Irritated by this, a French officer
in Canada immediately raised a force of nine hundred
Indians, and invested Annapolis. But from this attack
they were immediately called to the relief of Louisbourg,
(Cape Breton,) which was now invested by land and by
sea. They were prevented by the English ships from
crossing the strait, and had to retire to Minas. Thus that
devoted island lost their services. Their storeships, also,
from stress of weather, were compelled to retire to the
West Indies; their gallant Governor, Du Quesnal, died
suddenly; Duchamber, his successor, had not, alas! his
skill or vigor; and thus this beautiful place and strong
fortress, which had cost the French already not less than
thirty millions of livres, and twenty-five years’ labor, and
not yet completed, fell into the hands of the English after
a siege of forty-nine days.

5(2)r 51

We wish the limits of our work would permit a description
of this splendid fortress, and the means employed
for its reduction. But the description alone of a town
defended by a wall two miles and a half in circumference,
constituting a rampart thirty-six feet high, and environed
with a ditch eighty feet wide; with its church, and arsenal,
and hospital, and other elegant structures: its bastions,
and batteries, and embrazures for one hundred and
forty-eight cannon; its light-house, and the beautiful town
without the walls, would fill a volume. Its walls are
demolished, and its palaces laid low in the dust. The
French made two essays to recover Louisbourg; but the
Providence of God seemed to have destined their disappointment,
sometimes by storms, and sometimes by arms.
It was upon the expedition to Louisbourg, that the banner
was presented to the famous George Whitefield for a motto.
This person was at the time preaching with great success
in New England. He was a man of most remarkable
powers of oratory, but so exceedingly singular and eccentric
in his manner, that many and very discordant opinions
have been expressed of his piety. But as he was the
happy instrument of turning many to righteousness, we
must charitably conclude he was a good man. Aware
that they wished to have this expedition considered as a
crusade, he blessed the banner by giving it the motto,
“Nil desperandum Christo duce”—we despair of nothing,
Christ being our leader. Many of his enthusiastic followers
engaged in the enterprise, and some of them, preachers
too, carried hatchets to hew down the images in the
churches, with which they contrived, it seems, to hew
down churches also, and every thing else they could get at.

We have said that the reins of power seemed to be
drawn tighter, from time to time, after the conquest of
Port Royal, and a regular despotism to commence from
that epoch. We proceed to say in what manner it was
manifested. And here we must premise, that we can
only name some of the most outrageous and glaring abuses,
and of them only give a very slight sketch. In the first
place, then, the Acadians were not only debarred from holding
any office of trust in the colony, robbed of their right
of representation, a shadow of which had at first been accorded
them, but, after a few years, formally excluded 5(2)v 52
from the right of adjudication in their courts of justice—
an act of tyranny the most ruinous and oppressive, as
well as the most arbitrary that could be conceived of,
since, let their individual abuses and losses be what they
might, they had no appeal to the law for remedy. The
state of things this was calculated to produce must be
obvious. The strong had the power to to encroach upon the
weak, without the oppressed having the power to defend
themselves. Their boundaries and the titles to their
lands, by this means, became involved in the greatest
confusion. But yet so amicably did this gentle race live
among themselves, that, as respected each other, it made
but little difference. They were accustomed to put their
title-deeds and wills into the hands of their pastors for
safe keeping; and in any little dispute among themselves,
to refer the matter to him, and be governed by his advice.
Their time was also often required in the construction of
dikes for the English, erecting fortifications, making roads,
&c., as well as supplying the British armed force with
fuel, for which no compensation was allowed. They were
narrowly watched, and subjected to most vexatious restraints
and intermeddling. But all these were endured
with patience, with almost superhuman fortitude.

Meanwhile, more than five years had elapsed since the
treaty of Utrecht, before any great progress had been
made in the settlement of the country by the English.
But a scheme was devised about this time for effecting
English settlements along the coast and in the interior,
which would not only secure to them the future possession
of the colony, but actually improve its nominal value, by
the improvements they would introduce. They now made
an offer of land to all officers and privates lately dismissed
from the army or navy of Great Britain, to settle there;
the conditions of which were fifty acres to every private,
eighty to officers under the rank of ensign in the army or
lieutenant in the navy, two hundred to ensigns, three
hundred to lieutenants, four hundred to captains, and six
hundred to any above that rank, free from quit-rents, for
ten years; also to transport them and their families free
of expense, maintain them one year, supply them with
arms to defend themselves at the expense of government,
&c. &c.

5(3)r 53

The scheme was so alluring that, in a short time, thirty-
seven hundred and sixty were on their way, and £40,000
voted to pay their expenses. Arrived, they chose an establishment
at Chebucto harbor; and this was the commencement
of the settlement of Halifax, called so in
honor of the nobleman of that name, who had the greatest
share in founding the colony. The Indians continued,
occasionally, to harass the English, and, as often as they
could surprise small parties in the woods, would kill, scalp,
or make them prisoners. In addition to which, a French
officer from Canada came down with a company of Indians
and erected a fort on the neck of land connecting
Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and even, as was then
reported, threatened Halifax into the fort, which they
denominated Beau Sejour, (English name Cumberland.)
They impressed three hundred young men of the Acadians;
and this, though the great body of that people
formally denounced, and always protested was done without
their concurrence, was the cause of much crimination,
and furnished a very plausible pretext for abuse of
that unfortunate people. The charge, too, of supplying
the Indians with arms and ammunition, was made much
of, though they very feelingly protested they dared not
deny any thing demanded by that murderous race, as
instant vengeance would have followed the refusal; of
that of instigating them to acts of vengeance, they utterly
denied, with the most solemn protestations of innocence.
But there they were, and their very existence was a crime.
Their temperate policy under all their burthens, as it
supplied no excuse for destroying them, was still more
provoking. Never was there a stronger proof that “peace
of mind does not depend upon outward circumstances.”

Their population increased rapidly, and their riches also.

At the period at which our story commences, 17551755, the
French Neutrals numbered eighteen, some say twenty
thousand souls. Their manner of life had gradually
changed in one respect, and that an improvement, as far
as the domestic character was concerned, for they gradually
gave up hunting and fishing, and addicted themselves
to the pursuits of agriculture altogether. The immense
meadows they had rescued from the sea, so repeatedly
and with such industry, were covered with flocks of sheep 5 5(3)v 54
or herds of cattle. “They possessed sixty thousand head
of horned cattle, and most families had several horses,
although the tillage was carried on by oxen.”
Their
habitations were as substantial and convenient as most
farm-houses in Europe. Each farmer raised his own
grain and a variety of vegetables, and they manufactured
their own clothing from wool and flax, which they raised
in abundance. They abounded in fine orchards, and
their usual drink was beer and cider. If any of them
coveted articles of luxury, they procured them from Annapolis
or Louisbourg, and in exchange gave them corn,
cattle, or furs. They likewise reared a vast deal of
poultry.

Of the morals of these people, contemporaneous history
speaks volumes in one sentence, namely, “an illegitimate
child was unknown in their settlements.”
What a
comment! One great reason of this probably was, “their
young people were encouraged to marry early; and in all
their settlements, whenever there was a marriage, the
company got together and built them a house and furnished
them with a year’s provision, and the females
always brought their portions in flocks.
Fifty years of
comparative quiet had done wonders for this people.
Their chapels had been rebuilt and improved, and new
ones erected; and although their priests were subjected
to the most vexatious restraints in travelling from place
to place, &c., they contrived to keep these people united
in one bond of love. The pastors were not only their
priests, but lawyers, judges, schoolmasters, and physicians;
and all the remuneration they received was a
twenty-seventh part of their income, voluntarily set off to
them by the people.

That such a state of simplicity and social happiness
could exist in this jarring world, may well be a matter of
wonder in these days, when luxury and extravagance has
almost banished simplicity from the earth. The truth,
however, is too well established by contemporary historians
to be doubted; and, moreover, of those of this people
who survive in their descendants, and may yet be found
in scattered portions in the country, the character of
piety, benevolence, integrity, simplicity, and honesty, is
still kept up.

5(4)r 55

That such a people could possibly give offence; that
they could, in any way, become so obnoxious as to cause
their expulsion from the territory, from the land of their
nativity, by those who had the rule over them, is equally
astonishing. But, as historians, we are bound to hear
the arguments of their antagonists, to state the accusations
upon which so inhuman a measure was determined
on, leaving it to the judgment of every individual to
decide whether they were well founded. The accusations
were briefly these:

  • 1.

    “That they would not take the oath of allegiance
    without the qualification that they should not be compelled
    to bear arms; which qualification, although it had been
    accepted by the Governor, Governor Phipps, was disapproved
    of by the King.”
  • 2.

    “That, though affecting the character of neutrals,
    they had been guilty of furnishing the French and Indians
    with intelligence, quarter, provisions, and assistance,
    in annoying the government of the province.”
  • 3.

    “That three hundred of them had been found in
    arms at the taking of Fort Beau Sejour.”
  • 4.

    “That, notwithstanding an offer was made those
    who had never been openly in arms, to be allowed to
    continue in possession of their land if they would take
    the oath of allegiance without any qualification whatever,
    they unanimously refused.”

Historians assert that, with regard to the second accusation,
there might have been individuals who violated
their neutrality in this manner, it is certain the great
body of them did not.

Among the colonial authorities, backed by instructions
from the parent government in England, it was finally
determined, though in the most covert and secret manner,
to remove and disperse this whole people. How to proceed,
was at first a great difficulty. It was argued,
“they could not be dealt with as prisoners of war, because
they had been suffered to retain their possessions
peaceably for half a century; and their neutrality (after
they had refused to take the oath of allegiance unreservedly)
had been accepted in lieu of their obedience.”

“An order had been promulgated, requiring the neutrals
to give up their arms and all their boats, so as to be unable 5(4)v 56
to aid the enemy in any way.”
This oppressive and
unjust edict, which was calculated and probably intended
to force them into insurrection, or premature and overt
acts of rebellion, utterly failed of that effect, and left
their oppressors no shadow of pretext for annoying them,
for cheerfully and unreservedly did this innocent and
deceived people comply with the requisition, thinking by
their ready compliance to do away all distrust; and thus
they robbed themselves of all chance for defence afterwards,
had they been so inclined.

So far from ameliorating their fate, their submissions
only seemed to invite further oppression; and whenever
they were required to do any thing, they were ordered to
it in the most offensive and domineering manner possible,
usually accompanied with shocking threats in case they
should refuse, although full well their oppressors knew
that they would not refuse, or even affect reluctance.
For instance, they would be commanded to supply a
certain detachment of English soldiers with fuel, and told
in the same breath, “that if they refused, their houses
should be burned for fuel.”
Again: “To bring timber
for the English forts, and that if they refused, they should
suffer military execution.”

And this not done by inferior officers, as we might be
led to suppose, from its vulgarity and insolence, but by
orders of the Governor, who, in his letters of instruction
to Captain Murray to this effect, says: “You are not to
bargain with this people for their payment, but furnish
them with certificates, which will entitle them at Halifax
to receive such payments as shall be thought reasonable,
and assuring them if they do not immediately comply, the
next courier will bring an order for their execution.”

Full well the treacherous Governor knew, that no compensation
was ever intended them, and that at the moment
the bush was limed, and the measures concerted to hunt
them into captivity, after these forts should be completed.
It can scarcely be thought, that even the Acadians themselves
expected any thing but they cheerfully complied,
resolved to disarm resentment by a patient compliance,
and continuance in well doing.

When all things were ripe for the expulsion of these
people from the province a fort was raised in New England, 5(5)r 57
principally for this object, and put under the command
of Colonel John Winslow, of Marshfield, (Mass.)
who held a commission of major general in the militia,
and his influence was so great as to effect the raising of
two thousand men in two months; they embarked on the
--05-2020th of May, and arrived at Annapolis on the --05-2525th.
Determining upon the subjugation of the whole country
in the first place, they despatched three frigates and a
sloop up the Bay of Funday, under the command of Captain
Rous
, to give them assistance. At the mouth of the
river Massagaush, they attacked a block-house, defended
by some French from Canada, Indians, and a few rebel
Acadians; the whole number was only four hundred and
fifty. These were dislodged by the English, who proceeded
to the fort before mentioned, at Beau Sejour,
which they invested, and, after four days, compelled to
surrender, and the garrison sent to Louisbourg, which, by
the last treaty of peace, had once more fallen into the
hands of the French, though it was only a temporary
possession. From thence they proceeded up the river
St. Johns
, the last stronghold of the French (proper.)
They fled at the approach of the English.

Thus having secured, as they said, the peace of the
colony, by completely routing all the French, who, since
the last declaration of war between the two countries, had
been gradually encroaching from Canada in their march
southward, and who doubtless counted upon finally rousing
the Neutral French to join them, and free their country
from the English yoke, they might be supposed to be
satisfied, and to have relented of the cruel policy towards
the Neutrals. But it was not so. And the delay which
intervened between this and their final expulsion, it appears,
was only allowed in order to be secure of the
gathering in of the harvest, which they were determined
this deceived people should do for them.

Various apologies have been offered for Colonel Winslow
for his share in this cruel business, and to wipe from
his memory the stain it has left. It has been argued,
“he was a soldier, and bound to obey orders;” and contended
“that he went to Nova Scotia assuming the command,
ignorant of the service required of him.”
But all
these apologies are insufficient to reconcile us to his 5(5)v 58
character. The following extract from Halliburton’s
History of Nova Scotia (INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.vol. i. p. 175) sets the matter at
rest with respect to the part Colonel Winslow took.

“At a consultation held between Colonel Winslow and
Captain Murray, it was agreed that a proclamation should
be issued at the different settlements, requiring the attendance
of the people at the respective posts on the same
day, which proclamation should be so ambiguous in its
nature
that the object for which they were to assemble
could not be discovered, and so peremptory in ltsits terms as
to insure implicit obedience. This instrument being
draughted and planned, was distributed according to its
original plan.”
Then follows the proclamation. Thus
it appears he was not only an actor, but one who assisted
in planning and contriving this piece of Machiavelism.

To avoid repetition, we will not now enlarge upon the
manner in which the barbarous measures proposed were
carried into execution, as they will be minutely given in
the story forthcoming, which commences precisely at this
period. If the reader is not satisfied with our description
of it, he will please read Halliburton’s History of Nova
Scotia
, in which there is a historical account of these
transactions, with many very just remarks upon the cruelty
of an enterprise which had for its object the securing
the loyalty of a people by destroying them.

The barbarity of driving out an innocent and unoffending
people, with fire and sword, from their dearly-earned
possessions, and scattering them among a strange people,
ignorant of their manners, language, customs, and laws,
refusing them the privilege of seeking their own nation
and religion, can never be expiated. But it is a singular
providence, that some who had a hand in these transactions,
were, in their turn, twenty years after, obliged to
flee. Several of these, it is said, and many of their descendants,
were obliged to flee and seek refuge in a
country from which the persecuted Acadians were expelled.
When “the fullness of time had come,” and
the measure of their crimes, committed under the name
of loyalty, was full, the Lord prepared a new thing under
the sun—a people who should dare to scoff at the “divine
right of kings
—to set both despots and their slaves at
defiance—to burst their fetters and be free—and drive 5(6)r 59
out those who had driven others. And it is worthy of
remark, that Colonel Winslow’s family, in 17751775, were
among the tories who had to flee to Halifax.

Colonel Winslow, in the history of his achievements,
is mentioned as “the descendant of an ancient and honorable
family,”
which is true, as he was the direct descendant
of one of the honorable family of the Pilgrims,
who, a little more than a century before, had left the
shores of Great Britain to seek an asylum from persecution
and religious intolerance. For several generations
certainly, and we are not certain but from the first settlement
of that part of the country, the Winslows had
established their family residence at Marshfield, (Mass.)
in the neighborhood of Plymouth. It is called Caswell
Farm.
The house is still standing, and was evidently
built in imitation of the ancient family mansions in Great
Britain
, as there is an air of coldness and stateliness
about it entirely different from that appearance of snugness
and comfort which distinguish the more modern
style of building, and one would suppose indispensable to
that cold region.

The portrait of the last Colonel Winslow, until within
a short time, was still to be seen there, and reminded of
those words of Halleck
“Still sternly o’er the castle-gate, Their house’s lion frowned in state.”
It has recently, however, been removed to the rooms of
the Massachusetts Historical Society, in Tremont street,
Boston
; and a curious contrast is exhibited between the
countenance of the Colonel, with his light complexion
and perpetual smile, and the dark and monkish looks of
his progenitors, the two Governor Hutchinsons, the one
his grandfather, the other his greatgrandfather. They
were, it appears, a very aristocratic family, and thought
much of good blood. Colonel Winslow married a lady
who was niece to the Duke of New Castle, the Lady
Arabella Pelham
, and, report says, affected a style far
above his income, by which he involved the ancestral
estate so deeply that, in the next generation, it passed
from the family. It has since, however, been repurchased
by a branch of the family.

5(6)v 60

The portraits of the Winslow family, together with
some of the Hutchinsons, and others, now occupying the
walls of the Historical Society’s rooms at Boston, suggest
a curious inquiry. Whether they assumed these stern
looks to awe the vulgar, upon being appointed to lord it
over this new world, or whether they were by nature so
repulsive, is a problem which we cannot solve at this day.
But certain it is, that the grim visages of the colonial
governors and other early officers of the colonies, as
exhibited in their portraits, is as different from the broad,
rubicund faces and merry looks of the present race of
Englishmen as possible. The portrait of Colonel John
Winslow
represents an Englishman of the present time,
with a full face and chest, and that kind of smile about
the mouth vulgarly denominated smirking, together with
the blue eyes and fair complexion of the Anglo-Saxon.
We must say we were perfectly disappointed in the
appearance of this redoubtable commander, who drove
unarmed men, women, and children, and also “much
cattle”
before him, at the expulsion of the Neutrals from
Nova Scotia. The lowering looks of some of his predecessors
would have better suited the character of that
transaction. However, an habitual smile is no proof of
real good nature or good principles, since the greatest and
deepest villains have often assumed it to conceal the
wickedness and cruelty of their tempers; and there have
been persons “who could smile, and murder while they
smiled.”
It is not prejudice, but the face is far from
being an intellectual one, since it rather indicates cunning
than wisdom. Colonel Winslow lived to the advanced
age of seventy-three, and died in 17731773; consequently he
must have been fifty-five at the time of his exploits in
Nova Scotia.

Providence seems to have punished this commander in a
measure at the time, as his last days in Halifax—for he did
not come off with the Neutrals himself—were embittered
by the conduct of the English authorities in that region.
They made no scruple, it appears from his journal, to
transfer soldiers in his regiment of New England troops
to the Halifax regiments; an unlawful thing, and which
he remonstrated against to the Governor and commanding
officer on the station without effect, his representations 6(1)r 61
being treated with cool contempt by those with whom he
had plotted and acted so little time before. In his journal
(now in possession of the Massachusetts Historical Society)
he pronounces their conduct “contrary to the rules
of war,”
and prophesies “it will be the last New England
force ever marched into Nova Scotia to defend their
rights.”

Besides these and other abuses, it appears there was a
continual covert attack upon the character of the New
England
troops, very galling to the feelings of Colonel
Winslow
, who felt that the mother country was entirely
indebted to the New England forces for all their conquests
in this quarter of the globe. We were much
amused by the complaints of the soldiers on this head,
and particularly one John Rouse, who writes of the
bragging of the Halifax troops over the New England
ones, and hopes to “live to see them paid,” and that
“the time might come when they should be convinced
the New England troops would not turn their backs to
them”
!

When the New England troops were enlisted to go to
Nova Scotia, they were told “they were going to assist
in removing the encroachments of the French in Nova
Scotia
.”
What was understood by the ambiguous statement,
does not appear. But tradition says many did not
even know the place of their destination previous to their
embarcation, and believed it to be Canada. Colonel
Winslow
himself, doubtless, was in their counsels, and
would not engage in the undertaking without his reward
being paid beforehand. Eight hundred pounds was the
price of hunting eighteen thousand people into captivity.
Alas! perhaps the price of his soul. It does not appear
on any record, that the cruel methods used to transport
the seven thousand Neutrals brought away at that time
by direction of Winslow, were devised by any but himself.
His putting males in one set of transports, and
females and children packed into others, as though purposely
to separate families, appears his own work, as well
as their barbarous exposure on the shore, &c.

Nova Scotia was, during the Revolution, the stronghold
of the tories; and to it many were obliged to flee, who saw
not their families for years, and some of them never met 6 6(1)v 62
again. Many of their descendants still live in that region,
too happy in being permitted to till the soil and enjoy
the produce which of right belonged to the banished
Acadians, the hapless exiles of Nova Scotia.

It was long after that the country, left smoking in
ruins, regained its beauty and fertility. Five years after,
a small colony from Connecticut was persuaded by the
colonial authorities to emigrate there, and they described
it in such a garb as would have drawn tears from the
eyes of any one not completely hardened. The ground
was at that time whitened with the bones of the famished
flocks and herds of the Neutrals—the blackened ruins of
their habitations were still staring them in the face on
every hand—and even the ruins of the carts and other
conveyances, that carried the few goods they were permitted
to take, were mouldering on the shores. But the
most moving spectacle was some human beings who had
been hid in the woods, and had not tasted bread for five
years. In the famished and forlorn condition they were
in, it was with difficulty they could be lured from their
dismal retreat. But at length the gentle manners of the
new settlers prevailed against the overwhelming fear they
had of the English.

At the period of the Revolution, that country still wore
an air of desolation. Several persons from our own part
of the world (Rhode Island) went, and some returned
after the war of the Revolution. Of these we have a
distinct recollection of one, Mr. William Richmond, who
gave a very interesting though mournful description of
the remains of the Neutral French. “Some of the remains
of those ruined dikes, erected by the industry and
ingenuity of that people, were still visible in their dilapidated
state, that he stated to have been forty-five feet in
height, and of great thickness. His sympathies for that
exiled race were very much excited, and he did not hesitate
to say, upon investigating the causes of their expulsion,
that he believed it to have been caused by avarice
alone; and that they were indebted to the plotting of the
colonial governments, who coveted their lands, more than
to any danger that menaced the state through their residence.”
As the gentleman, whose authority is here cited in behalf of
the Neutrals, was one of the few who left the United States at the
commencement of the Revolution, and afterwards returned to it,
it very naturally excited our curiosity to hear his story, and be
able to account for the desertion of our country in her hour of
peril, by one who subsequently deported himself as a good citizen,
and held, for many years, offices of trust and importance in the
State. The following authentic particulars will not be unacceptable
to those who knew him, of whom many remain until this day.
William Richmond was born at Providence (R.I.) in 17441744,
and was descended from the Richmonds of Wiltshire, (England,)
who settled at Sagonet, now Little Compton, (R.I.) in 16751675. He
early in life embraced the principles of the Glassites, or Sandaminians,
a sect who, about the middle of the eighteenth century,
separated from the Scotch national church on various points of
discipline and doctrine.
At the commencement of the Revolution, he was living at Danbury,
(Conn.)
whither he had resorted for the purpose of living in
communion with a numerous congregation of the same sect, there
formed into church order.
There were two points on which the members of this church—
although they disputed the monstrous claim of parliamentary supremacy
over the colonies—declined to bear arms against the
mother country. In the first place, they were non-resistants, as
the Quakers; and, secondly, they professed to have conscientious
scruples respecting the oath of allegiance which they had taken
without equivocation, and with an express disavowal of all mental
reservation. The taxes assessed on them for the support of the
dominant sect in Connecticut, they had paid without any evasion,
and in fact they paid the war taxes as long as they lived there,
but they did not believe that any government could absolve them
from their oath. But as they were equally reluctant to take up
arms in support of British usurpation, the government of Connecticut
was disposed to protect them.
It was soon perceived this state of things could not continue.
The multitude could not distinguish between their forbearance as
a matter of conscience, and the manœuvreing and plotting of the
treacherous tories. And the consequence was, that their situation
soon became very uncomfortable, and from time to time they were
exceedingly annoyed, and found themselves often exposed to popular
violence. The fact was, the State government was not sufficiently
established to protect them from violence.
The government of Connecticut seemed to compassionate the
situation of these people, and finally advised them to remove to
Long Island, then in possession of the British. With this recommendation
they complied, and were furnished with a passport and
certificate of their peaceable, moral, and religious character. Mr.
Richmond
took a farm on Long Island, where he remained until
the evacuation of the British. Apprehensive of a recurrence of
the scenes which had formerly been so annoying, and feeling that
the citizens would not regard him in the light in which he wished
to be viewed, Mr. Richmond, with his party, emigrated to Nova
Scotia
, and settled for the time at Selkirk. Mr. Richmond accepted
an employment in the civil engineering department of Nova
Scotia
, where he was employed some years in laying out roads, &c.
It was here that he became acquainted with the history of that
persecuted race, whose interesting remains met the eye on every
side, and told a tale of woe, one would suppose, peculiarly exciting
to all who would be neutrals on British ground. Whether it had
any effect on the mind of Mr. Richmond, or whether the endearing
recollections of his native place and kindred alone drew him back,
we cannot say. But he returned, and finding the leading men of
his native town much more tolerant and liberal, respecting his
principles and conduct, than he had expected to find them, he
gladly availed himself of the opportunity to settle in Providence,
and went no more. Soon after, being a widower, he married a
daughter of the Rev. Russell Mason, of Swanzey, (Mass.) in
whose society he passed the remainder of his days. Mr. Richmond
held several offices of trust, some of which were the gift of the
Legislature.
It was not without a struggle, however, that he was elected, the
opposing party contending that “he had forfeited the right of
citizenship; and, besides, was not to be ranked with those who had
‘borne the burden and heat of the day.’”
Others contended, that
he having acted altogether from a scruple of conscience, his withdrawal
was not to be ascribed to malignant feelings against the
new government, particularly as he had taken no part with the
enemies of the country, uniformly refusing to bear arms on either
side. That he had given strong proofs of attachment by returning
to the country, when his services might have been well remunerated
where he was. And “besides”—and the most powerful
argument after all—“the talents of Mr. Richmond peculiarly
qualified him for public business, and it was the interest of the
State to appropriate them.”
However, the objection of forfeiting
his right, &c., was so frequently brought up, that he found it
necessary to appeal to the General Assembly of the State, and, by
the recommendation of Arthur Fenner, then Governor of the
State, an act was immediately passed exonerating him from blame,
and declaring him “entitled to all the rights and privileges of
citizenship.”
Among the congregation who went to Long Island on the occasion
above alluded to, were two eminent lawyers, Messrs. Humphrey
and Barrell. These gentlemen, with a full knowledge of
their opinions and conduct during the Revolution, were repeatedly
appointed to office by Washington, Adams, and Jefferson. (We
do not record it, however, to recommend the precedent.) Mr.
Humphrey
was appointed by the latter district attorney of New
Hampshire
, in 18011801, which office he continued to hold, under subsequent
administrations, until his death, two or three years since.
Mr. Barrell was consul abroad, as also his son, who died in Spain
in 18381838. It is not known that in any of the States, the act of
attainder, confiscation, or other disqualification was passed against
a member of this sect of Christians, for their opinions and conduct
during the Revolution.
In the case of Mr. Richmond, every worldly motive was against
him. His father, brother, uncles, and brother-in-law, were all
revolutionary men. Three of them held commissions in the American
army, and another was a surgeon, to all of whom he was
sincerely attached, and beloved by them. It was his happy privilege,
while on Long Island, to be of essential service to a number
of our citizens confined on board the Jersey.

6(2)r 63

Of the final success, in the attempt to incorporate the
Neutrals with the people of the different provinces, whither 6(2)v 64
they were banished, we can say but little. They, on
their arrival, were generally conducted to the poor-houses, 6(3)r 65
as they almost uniformly refused to work, alleging “they
were prisoners of war.”
From thence they were dispersed
through the different towns of those provinces, in
order that each town might thus render its proportion
toward the expense of supporting them, a debt which it
seems the States were saddled with.

The Count D’Estaing, when Governor of Hispaniola,
commisserated their case, and invited them there, allotting
a particular district to their use. A considerable
colony emigrated there; but the climate was so different
to any thing they had been accustomed to, that a pestilence
broke out among them, even before they could
prepare themselves habitations, and they miserably perished,
except about two hundred of them, who left the
island for a milder climate.

When the Count, hearing of their shocking mortality,
went out to see them, he found them in the most pitiable
plight, crawling under the bushes, &c. to screen themselves
from the rays of the torrid sun, and laying down to
die. Of the number who straggled back, some encamped
in the wilderness, but it is believed many perished from
hardship and exposure in the attempt. (The settlement
of the Madawaska, by their own traditions, appears to
have been first made by the Neutral French. Doctor
Jackson
, in his Geology of Maine, speaks of its being
peopled by their descendants, notwithstanding the statement
of Pierre Lazotte, that they found none there 6 6(3)v 66
but Indians.) This unfortunate people had no other
friends, and in almost all their gradations in these regions
exhibit more or less of Indian blood.

We have stated that in the recent difficulties with
the English, respecting our boundary, the inhabitants
of that region feeling themselves the citizens of a free
government, and belonging to the State of Maine, called
a town meeting to deliberate upon the measures they
should pursue in case of hostilities—when the “ringleaders,”
as they were termed, the most considerable men in
the settlement, were seized by the British authorities in
New Brunswick, and incarcerated in Frederickton jail;
several, it is reported, sent to England for trial. Most
of them, at this day, wait only to know how the final
settlement of the boundary question will eventuate, prepared,
should the Americans in any case, looselose it to
the British government, to emigrate to our western States.
Eleven families, some of the most considerable among
them, removed there in the first of the difficulties.

Some families of Acadians actually straggled back to
their former homes, and their descendants still live in
those regions, not only without persecution, but almost
reverenced. They are still an innocent and exemplary
people. In fact, the English in that region, at the present
day, are very much ashamed of these transactions, though
like all their regrets, it has not produced a restitution of
the spoils. They seem to have that kind of feeling towards
them, that they might be supposed to in England,
should a little colony of the ancient Druids suddenly
appear among them. The feeling that we probably shall
have, when a little handful of the sons of the forest will
be all that remains of our once powerful tribes, with the
exception that the one has been distinguished by their
fierceness and valor, and the other by their innocence and
inoffensiveness.

We have been at some pains to possess ourselves of the
names of families among the Neutrals brought to the
United States, &c., in order to elicit information from the
different places “whither they have been carried captive,”
and the following is the information we have been able
to obtain on the subject. We will not say all, for the
subject widens as we approach it. From the list of names 6(4)r 67
given by Colonel Winslow of the inhabitants of Grand
Pree
, Minas, Canard, and places adjacent, we take the
entire family names, premising there were two thousand
of these names, some of them numbering twenty or thirty
families. It will be remembered there were five thousand
others, whose names we cannot now obtain, other than
as they occasionally appear in the petitions which were
continually coming in to the Governor (Shirley) and
Council of Massachusetts, and to the Governors of other
States where they were carried.

List of inhabitants of Grand Pree, &c.

  • Jean Desigree and family
  • Alex’rAlexander Landry
  • Antoine Vincon
  • Pierre Landry
  • Batista Lapin
  • Claude Ferrick
  • Lupriere Ferriot
  • Basil Richard
  • Charles Apigne
  • Jean Le Prine
  • German Libando
  • Alexis Hebert
  • Jaques Ferriot
  • Saul Bugeaub
  • Alex’rAlexander Melanson
  • ―― Amcoine
  • ―― Dagre
  • ―― Fernot
  • ―― Ferriot
  • ―― Leblane
  • ―― Granger, 20 families.
  • ―― Aincena and families.
  • ―― Boudro
  • ―― Melanson
  • ―― Fenanbar
  • ―― Lemron
  • ―― Petree
  • ―― Duor
  • ―― Amoine
  • ―― Sories
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  • Vastache Commo and family.
  • Piero Traham
  • Claude Majch
  • Paule Capierere
  • Jacques Bellamaine
  • Dominique Gostre
  • Oliver Belfontaine
  • Michette Loverne
  • Comero Brussaud
  • Dominique Pitre
  • Ettienee Boudra
  • Charles Ancoine
  • Basil Commo
  • Norier Libare
  • ―― Melanson
  • ―― Cleland
  • ―― Libar
  • ―― Sosonier
  • ―― Liblare
  • ―― Brune
  • ―― Benois
  • ―― Clemenson
  • ―― Noails
  • ―― Goitre
  • ―― David
  • ―― Bubin
  • ―― Alanier
  • ―― Cloatre
  • ―― Forrest
  • ―― Leuron
  • 6(4)v 68
  • ―― Celestin and families.
  • ―― Heberk
  • ―― Bossin
  • ―― Blanchard
  • ―― Doulet
  • ―― Leprine
  • ―― Menjeans
  • ―― Douert
  • ―― Tibodo
  • ―― Koury
  • ―― Bourg
  • ―― Carretter
  • INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that cb is unmatched.
  • ―― Dins and families.
  • ―― Masses
  • ―― Labous Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!
  • ―― Le Blons Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!
  • ―― Massier Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!
  • ―― Choet Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!
  • ―― Losler Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!
  • ―― Infirms Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!
  • ―― Le Sour Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!
  • ―― Chelle Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!
  • ―― Masseir Of these, there were at least fifty families sometimes bearing
    one name. Here are only eighty-two names among two thousand
    people!

The usual Christian names of these last were Charles,
Joseph, Claude, Pierre, and Batista, with a few of Alexander,
Paul, Simon, Germain, Michael, Jaques, Benois,
and Antoine.

It appears—and it is a circumstance we were not aware
of when we commenced writing this work—that vessels
continued to arrive at Boston with Acadians, at different
times, after the first, until the Governor and Council, by
remonstrance, put a stop to it. And it is mentioned particularly,
that when the party from the southern States
was stopped at Boston, on their way back to Nova Scotia,
that “five husbands, who had wives at Boston, requested
to come on shore to their families, and others also who had
relatives, and were permitted.”
Subsequently all stopped
there, and were distributed to the different towns. We
grieve to say it was but too evident these unhappy people
suffered much from poverty and ill treatment even after
their adoption by Massachusetts. The different petitions
forwarded to Governor Shirley at this time are heartrending.
The writer of this attempted to copy some of
them from the archives in the office of the Secretary of
State, but was so blinded by tears as to render it impossible.
Some of the names were as follow: Dupais, Belliveaux,
Bourgeois, Amiraux, Dantreinone, Boudrat, Duhar,
Bro, Gourdeaux, De Mathieu, Meuse, Nigerant, 6(5)r 69
Frater, Geriore, Liour, Kabir, Gentle, Remon, Benois,
Veuiel, Michael, Robiehaux, Brun, Doucet, Claremont,
and Charree. These all signed a petition, with eight
hundred persons, after Canada was ceded to the British,
to go there; and Murray, the first English Governor of
that province, refused to let them come, “unless the State
of Massachusetts would find them one year’s provision
after their arrival.”
We could find no grant of this kind,
but from time to time vessels loaded with these families
were despatched to Canada. How many finally went, we
have now no means of ascertaining.

We can find no apology for the treatment of too many
of these people upon their first coming into New England,
but by saying, as an old revolutionary soldier did,
“it was during the dark days of monarchical despotism.”
It was certainly a time when, by the influence of England,
every thing French had become hateful and suspected.
We observed a petition from one town on the coast, to
have the “Neutrals removed to the interior, as they had
a powder-house there, and was afraid they would blow
them up.” We beg pardon for introducing any thing in which ourselves
are concerned, but we cannot resist the inclination to relate an
anecdote of our own foolish fears, upon encountering some of these
people. In the summer of 18391839, while travelling near the “disputed
territory,”
at the close of a cool, raw day we stopped for shelter
at a small house on the banks of the St. Johns. The building
wore a dilapidated aspect, from the effects of a recent hail storm,
which had broken all the windows on the road side of the house,
and the best room, which contained a bed, being on that side,
afforded rather uncomfortable quarters. It was, however, the only
place to sit down in, and as there was no other house for many a
weary mile, it was necessary to make the best of it. The woman
of the house, a singular looking being enough, said “the lady could
have that for a lodging-room, and the gentleman with her must
take up with a plaeeplace in the loft, or lay somewhere on the floor as
the other lodgers did.”
We asked who were the other lodgers?
“Rattsmen,” she said, “bringing timber down the river.” Upon
looking out, we discovered not only several rafts moored at the
foot of the bank, but numerous others making for the same harbor.
And in this wildest looking region, with a stormy night in prospect,
(for it had now commenced raining,) with only one female beside
myself, and twenty or thirty perhaps of the roughest and darkest
looking men, I had to pass the night. The gentleman with me,
the surgeon and physician at Fort Fairfield, had a considerable
sum of government money with him, which he was transporting
from the interior to that outpost, and did not feel over comfortable
more than myself, although he was well armed. It was in vain
that we attempted to ascertain whether the lodgers were dangerous
characters, from their conversation, as so many were talking
French at once. How to dispose of ourselves for the night was a
question. The landlady offered to sleep with me, but this I declined,
being as much afraid of her as the whole twenty men.
Then should would bring her own bed inside, and let the Doctor sleep
on it. That would not do. The poor woman was in great perplexity
“what was I afraid of?” “Why—why—of the broken
windows, any one coming along the road might step in,”
I said.
My companion reminded me of my courage in passing one place
where there were seventeen miles between human habitations, and
when in riding along he descried two savage looking figures, he
asked, with seeming alarm, “if they should prove robbers, and
both attack him at once, had he not better give up the money
without resistance, as he could not manage two at a time;”
and I
told him to give me one of the pistols, and I would manage one
while he did the other, though the harmless woodmen did not give
us the opportunity. But rallying was vain. I however suffered
the landlady to conduct him to a place to sleep, and after nailing
my shawl and cloak over the broken windows, and driving a nail
over the doorlatch, retired to her red-curtained bed to sleep. Fear,
which sometimes operates as a sedative, caused me to sleep soundly,
and when I awoke, the rafts and the lodgers had quietly disappeared,
and I discovered a door behind the curtain of the bed upon the
latch, which, had any one been disposed to have entered, there was
nothing to prevent. Had I known at the time that these raftsmen
were some of the harmless Neutrals, I could have had no fears. An
English gentleman of high standing, who employed a great number
of them in his mills, told me that “they, as well as the Canadians,
were the most perfectly innocent and upright people by nature,
and always remained so, unless they became acquainted with the
English language; and that the first thing he inquired, when employing
them, was ‘Did they understand English?’ If they did,
they were dismissed at once.
Certainly, this speaks volumes.
It can only be accounted for by the old maxim, that “Evil communications
corrupt good manners.”
The Neutrals, after being distributed to the 6(5)v 70
different towns, no longer refused to work, but were often
cheated out of their wages, suffering every privation besides.
They must have found some friends, however, as
many of the petitions of those who could not write are
written with great feeling.

One of this description from Plymouth, struck us as
very appropriate. It represented the situation of a distressed
couple, whose son, a boy, had been dragged off to 6(6)r 71
sea by an unfeeling captain from Plymouth, and the parents,
upon remonstrating, were cruelly beaten. Another
from a neighboring town, represented a scene of suffering
and starvation almost incredible in a land of plenty; and
the two grown-up sons refused their wages, which amounted
to fifteen joes, being barbarously beaten when they
called for them, and one of them had his eye put out in
the contest. It is due to the government of Massachusetts
to say, that they immediately sent a committee of
investigation, and enacted severe laws against all such as
should defraud these persecuted people.

It is well known, even to this day, that there is nothing
in country towns regarded with so much abhorrence
as paupers. It really does seem as though every mouthful
of food and article of clothing is yielded with more than
churlish reluctance. While towns are permitted, without
murmuring, to expend immense sums in unnecessarily
expensive public buildings, and improvements around rich
men’s estates, the least sum devoted to ameliorating the
condition of the starving poor, is regarded as an unnecessary
tax.

A large family of these Neutrals, sent to Wilmington,
(Mass.)
represent that they were placed in a ruined house,
without doors or windows, in an inclement season of the
year; the mother of the family, who was sick, had to
have her bed moved to the leeward every time it rained.
They had no fuel, and were denied oxen to get any, and
not allowed to go and back it from the woods. A very
little of rations was given, and they were told to earn the
rest. Upon the man’s complaining of the water coming
over his floor, “and every thing afloat,” he was told “to
build a boat, then, and sail about in it.”
They were not
permitted to stroll from town to town. If taken without
a passport from two selectmen, they were to be imprisoned
five days, or whipped ten lashes, or sometimes both. By
this means, families were kept separated from their friends
and each other. Numerous petitions and advertisements
were constantly sent to find lost relatives.

A very beautifully written statement of a case peculiarly
distressing, was made by Mr. Hutchinson, (afterwards
Governor of Massachusetts,) of a poor woman
whom he found in a dying state on board one of the 6(6)v 72
Neutral vessels, which had been kept in the offing some
days, to the great detriment of the suffering passengers.
She was a widow with three little children; and, just
before her death, she besought Mr. Hutchinson “to ask
the Governor, in the name of their common Saviour, to
let her children remain in the place”
where she died.
She had been kindly removed by her protector on shore
to a tenement of his own, without permission of the Governor,
at his own risk, and he now offered to give bond
that they should never be a public charge, if his request
could be granted.

It would be a curious research to trace the blood of
these children in the family of the tory Governor, and of
others also; for, be it known, the blood of the Acadians
now mingles with the best blood in Massachusetts. If it
is asked, “Where?” we answer, ask of the tombstones
in every churchyard in Boston. And to the question,
“In what family does the blood of your St. Pierres
flow?”
we answer, inquire at Mount Auburn!

We have never been so struck with the entire alteration
in the character of our countrymen, caused by the Revolution,
as since becoming acquainted with the history of
the Acadians. No aliens from any country could, at the
present day, be treated as they were on their first settlement
among us. They came, it is true, under very unpropitious
circumstances. Their first refusal to work, (a
terrible mistake,) declaring themselves “prisoners of
war,”
threw them at once among paupers; and although
they afterwards renounced the position in practice, and
toiled laboriously whenever they were able, yet it was
many years before they could surmount the difficulties by
which they were surrounded. Bigotry, too, no doubt,
had its share in prolonging their misfortunes. We observe
among several of the petitions addressed to the then
Governor of MassachusettMassachusetts, that they account for much of
their ill treatment by a report which they say was industriously
circulated at that time, “that they had Catholic
priests among them in petticoats, in the disguise of old
women;”
and though it was not pretended that their
priests affixed the abhorrent S. J. (Society of Jesuits) to
their names, as Father Ralle, the unfortunate missionary
at Norridgewoack had, yet the presence of a priest of 7(1)r 73
their religion, was not only prohibited by the laws of the
colony, but also by the voice of the people.

We could not help remarking, while looking over the
bills of expenses presented to the government of Massachusetts
at that time, that however they might have suffered
for food, lodging, and clothing, it appears they did
not for medicine; for we never read of such quantities
put down the throats of one set of people. There is a
bill of one Dr. Trowbridge, of Marshfield, if we recollect
right, for visiting nine French Neutrals, and administering
nine vomits, one hundred and twenty-one powders,
and applying eight blisters!

Of the innocent and peaceable character of this people
we have abundant proofs, inasmuch as they never opposed
force when abused and ill treated. Several petitions for
redress of grievances, appeal to the English for proofs
that they have often stood in the breach between them
and the savages; and one man testifies, “that he had
been three times taken prisoner by them, and had his
house burned for saving the crews of some English vessels,
by warning them of their danger; and now these
same English had banished him to a land where they
permitted him to suffer for bread, and that too from a
state of ease and affluence.”

It should be observed here, that there was a scarcity
of bread the year after the Neutrals arrived. A blast
fell upon the grain in the ear, which the Neutrals attributed
to “the judgments of God for their own fields
wantonly laid waste.”
They were not inattentive to the
signs of the times. And the earthquake, (the most severe
ever experienced on this continent,) which happened
in 1775-11November, 1775, only a few weeks after their arrival,
and which so shook the town of Boston as to ring the bells
and throw down chimnies, was regarded by them as the
voice of a God who had not forgotten them. (For an
account of this earthquake, see Hutchinson, Minot, and
other historians of that day. It appears that it took a
southwesterly course, and the town of Newport (R.I.)
felt the most shock most severe next to Boston.

I would here observe that there are various opinions,
and some discrepancy in the data, of the first settlement
of the Madawaska. That the place is now settled principally7 7(1)v 74
by the descendants of the Acadians is certain; that
it was settled by the Indians, we think admits not of a
doubt—but some are of the opinion that the first Acadians
who settled there were those who founded Frederickton.
It is certain that place was founded by a colony of these
people immediately after their flight from Nova Scotia;
and that directly after the commencement of the revolutionary
war
, in anticipation of the assistance of the French,
they were again hunted forth by the British, and driven
further into the wilderness, lest they might discover what
was going on, and be induced to take sides against their
old persecutors. This last supposition, we perceive, has
been adopted by Mr. Williamson, author of the History
of Maine
, from whose letter to the author of this, we here
make an extract:

“As to the Madawaska settlement, it is not quite certain
when it was commenced, probably not before the
American revolution; but it is an authentic fact that, in
17821782, Pierre Lazotte, a young man, strayed from his
friends in Canada, and found his way to an Indian settlement
near the mouth of the Madawaska river, where he
remained during the subsequent winter. Returning to
his friends, he gave them such an interesting account of
what he had witnessed, as to induce his half-brother Dupeere
to accompany him to the same place, for the purpose
of trade with the natives. The next year they pursued
their traffic two or three miles lower on the southerly side
of the river St. Johns, and it is confidently asserted they
were the first white settlers who commenced a settlement
at Madawaska.

At the close of the Revolution there were found at the
present Frederickton, the descendants of those Acadians,
who first settled at the head of the Bay of Funday,
and had been made prisoners, or were driven out in the
woods by the British. These ill-fated people, like their
afflicted ancestors, were now not only disturbed and plundered
by the refugees, but they were actually dispossessed
of their farms and homes by the British provincial government.
Thus provoked and abused beyond endurance,
they fled up the river St. Johns in search of places and a
possible residence beyond the reach of British oppression.
Some twenty families or more then settled themselves on 7(2)r 75
that river below the trading station selected a few years
before by the above mentioned Duperre, where they lived
some years in the unmolested enjoyment of their homes
and property.

But the British authorities of New Brunswick finding
Duperre a man of some education, and of great influence
among the settlers, soon began to caress him, and in the
year 17901790 induced him to receive from them a grant of
the lands he possessed
. Hence, by the influence of that
man, and by hopes of quietude, a large number of his
neighbors, the French settlers, took grants of their lands,
some paying ten shillings a-piece, and some nothing.
About the same period, 17901790, other French Neutrals,
who had sought retirement on the Kenebeccasis river,
being disturbed by the refugees and acts of government,
quit their possessions, and sought an asylum with their
countrymen at Madawaska.

To these, accessions were made at different times,
especially in 18071807, when the settlement was begun a few
miles above the mouth of the Madawaska river, and all of
these people lived in mutual fellowship, governed by the
laws of religion and morality.

In 17981798, the source of the St. Croix (see the INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.first
volume
of my History, INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.page 14
) was ascertained and settled
under Jay’s treaty, and hence all pretexts of the
British to the Madawaska settlement were at an end, nor
did that people or government dream of any right to claim
any part of it for more than twenty years.

On the 1831-03-1515th of March, 1831, our State Legislature
incorporated the settlement into the town of Madawaska,
and some of the men who were engaged in organizing it,
were seized and sent to Frederickton jail. You know
the rest,”
&c.

Thus far Mr. Williamson. Now, the Madawaska settlement
is principally a range or clearing of at least sixty
miles in length, and it is very possible it might have been
a place of sojourn, and even a rallying point for the banished
Acadians travelling from New Brunswick to Canada
—and it is equally possible terror might have driven them
on to Canada before Duperre settled in that region—and
it is equally possible, as it was so extensive, Duperre,
though at the mouth of the Madawaska river, might not 7(2)v 76
have known of their vicinity, and might, after the discovery,
have still been ambitious of being considered the
first white settler in that region. The traditions of that
people go to prove they sojourned there at least before
any but Indians had inhabited it.

The Madawaska settlement is principally on the banks
of the St. Johns, which is throughout a very beautiful
river, widening as it approaches the mouth at St. Johns
city
, where it empties into the Bay of Funday. It contains
thirty-five hundred inhabitants.

It is a little singular, if the inhabitants considered themselves
within British jurisdiction, that their settlements are
beyond the line of the disputed territory, in the province
of New Brunswick—it is by far the most beautiful situation
on the river only about three miles on the New Brunswick
side of the settlement. We allude to the Grand
Falls
of the St. Johns, which have never been improved
until within the last six years, when Sir John Caldwell,
from Lower Canada, selected and obtained a grant of
the land in its vicinity, where he has erected a pretty
cottage. The immense water-power, which carries the
saw-mills, he has recently employed. Doubtless this spot
was granted with a view of making it a military station,
as, during the late disturbance on the boundary, there
were six hundred British troops stationed there. Barracks
are erected, and it is still a military post, distant
about thirty miles from Fort Fairfield on the Aroostook
river
. The country is exceedingly hilly, with precipices
and deep ravines. The military road contemplated
by the British through to Canada, would be a stupendous
undertaking. There is one portage of only thirty-six
miles, where there are eleven mountains separated by
deep morasses, in the neighborhood of the Tamiscota
lake
. Nevertheless, the disputed territory is a valuable
country. Its forests of tall timber appear almost inexhaustible;
and, once cleared, would afford many fine
situations for settlements. For so cold a country, it would
be a fertile one too; and we are not sure but clearing
most of the timber would be a blessing. While travelling
in that region in the summer of 18391839, we observed that
the wheat raised there was remarkably sweet and good
tasted, and was told that it was only since the cutting of 7(3)r 77
the timber was prohibited, that they had turned their
attention at all to agriculture: that before that, they had
bought their flour, which came up in British vessels from
St. Johns, at eleven and twelve dollars per barrel, when it
was selling in the United States for five dollars, or they
might have raised it themselves while they were selling
stolen timber. Since the commotion and frequent travelling
in that region, the inhabitants found a market for
their produce at their own doors; and some of them told
me they had realized more from the sale of oats, &c.,
than they had made at any time in the same space by all
the timber they could cut. This relates to the scattered
population on the banks of the St. Johns, and within the
Aroostook country, not to the settlers of Madawaska.
There is a deep anxiety in the disputed territory, throughout,
to have the question decided, and know where they
belong, not only among the descendants of the Acadians,
but of the English and Americans. Few of them would
be willing to remain there, unless America establishes
her claim, and generally avow their intentions, should it
prove otherwise, to emigrate to the West. Their situation
is exceedingly unpleasant—their dwellings often
rudely entered, and themselves insulted, by officers and
soldiers looking for deserters from the British army, and
scenes are enacted trying to the feelings and tempers of
the inmates in no common degree.

I chanced to call at one house in that region, where
three poor fellows had wandered a few days before, and,
arriving in the middle of the night, asked succor. It was
in vain that the benevolent landlord advised, and the
females besought them, to take some food in their hands,
and push on towards Fort Fairfield, not two miles off.
They protested their wearied limbs could bear them no
further, and crawled up a ladder to sleep under the roof
of the building, drawing it up after them. They had
not been asleep two hours, before an officer and some
British soldiers were thundering for admission, having
followed their trail. The master of the house refused to
deliver them, and the soldiers were ordered to bring hay
from the barn, and set it on fire under the hole leading to
the loft. The woman of the house was lying ill, unable
to be moved, with an infant three days old, and a girl in 7 7(3)v 78
the next room, in a situation still more helpless, and the
boy had had a fall from a horse. The shrieks of the
helpless and terrified females were heart-rending, as the
hay once ignited, there would have been no possible
chance for escape. The landlord, however distracted he
might be on account of the females, would make no effort
to deliver the deserters; but just as the brand was about
to be applied, the poor fellows offered to surrender rather
than see their benefactors perish with them. Previous to
this they had threatened to shoot one of the females,
because she would not tell them to come down. Imagination
sickens over the scene of the probable punishment
of these poor fellows. And when we consider that this
transaction, and similar ones that take place every week
or two, was on American ground, within two miles of an
American fort, it is enough to make one’s blood boil.
One person, who had been under the necessity of hoisting
an English color, at one time, to protect his house,
and perhaps life, as he was an emigrant formerly from
England, was in the daily habit of asking in prayer that
the Almighty would save him from every thing English
the poor fellow did not seem to comprehend there was
any other evil under the sun. If such are the feelings
of some of their own native-born subjects, what must be
those of the descendants of the persecuted and hunted
Acadians? When Dr. Jackson was making the geological
survey of Maine, he found the people of Madawaska
in a very excited state. “Eleven families”, he mentioned,
“had just emigrated to the West, and numbers were preparing
to follow, unless the country should speedily (return)
to the United States”
. (See first number of report.)
He did not use the word return, which we have chosen,
as it is possessed by the English now, whose troops
nearly overrun the whole country, and have established
a line of regular fortifications through, from Quebec to
New Brunswick.

We were not aware that the English claimed the Madawaska,
too, upon the ground of possession, until our
recent visit. We asked “what they meant by possession?”
and were told, “because their subjects, the Neutral
French
, settled and still occupied it.”
Now, the
question naturally arises, what claim can the English 7(4)r 79
have upon the French Neutrals for fealty? Were they
not expatriated? Were they ever treated as subjects?
Not as citizens certainly. Where are the proofs of their
citizenship? They are blotted from the record of the
provinces, from which their boundaries and title-deeds
had been blotted long before. May Providence in its
mercy grant, that hunted race may not be routed again,
or, what would be worse to them, compelled to succumb
to British power, and the supineness of permitting an
enemy to establish themselves on our borders, may be
remedied before it is too late.

The inhabitants of that wild region suppose that it
cannot be that Americans comprehend the situation of
that territory, and discern that it opposes, while in their of
hands, the strongest impediment to the concentration of
an enemy’s forces upon our borders that they could
possibly ask for. “Let the way across this now almost
impenetrable country be once made easy, and you are
surrounded, say they; and yet you lie still, while the
net is weaving that is to enclose your country. The
gins are laid, and the bush limed, even before your
faces.”

It will be seen that, in detailing the calamities of the
Neutral French, but little reference is made to their sufferings
or to their after history in the other States. Massachusetts
received the largest number at first, and continual
accessions seem to have been made to their numbers
there, until they began to emigrate to Canada. Yet there
were many families left further south. Some were carried
to Virginia, some to Georgia, to Pennsylvania, to New
York
, and New Jersey. Many joined the voyage homeward,
spoken of in this story, and were stopped at Boston
by orders from Governor Lawrence. But where are the
remainder? What a tale of woes remain to be told,
should the history of their sufferings in all these places
ever come to light

7(4)v
Six figures in a rural scene, surrounded by trees and grass that also form the border to the figure. Also visible are a house and a church. The outer two couples are engaged in conversations, the middle two figures (both men) are watching.

Amusements of the Acadians.

7(5)r

The Neutral French,
or,
The Exiles of Nova Scotia.

Chapter I.

“Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man’s joys increase, the poor’s decay, ’Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand, Between a splendid and a happy land.”

It was on the evening of the 1755-09-01first of September,
1755
, that a family, inhabiting an old fashioned,
French-looking farmhouse, situated on the rising
ground a few miles from that beautiful and noble
expanse of water called the Basin of Minas
were assembled to partake of their frugal meal.

The persons who composed the group around
the circular oaken table at this time were, first, an
aged and venerable man, who appeared the head of
the family, as he was served with a degree of respect
that might have gratified an emperor, but was
that kind of homage that kings and emperors rarely
receive. His age was probably not less than eighty-
five, possibly more, since his head was not only
silvered over with age, hands feeble and trembling,
and his mouth toothless, but he was blind, totally
blind, as was evinced by the attentions of his
grand-daughter, a fine, blooming girl, who sat on 7(5)v 82
his left, and from time to time turned round to cut
up his meat or place the cup of cider or small beer
in his hand.

Gasper St. Pierre Le Blanc was the name of this
patriarch, though we drop the last for brevity; and
on the right of him sat a respectable looking farmer,
in appearance about middle age, together with
his wife, whose age could not have been much less
than forty, young as they married in that region;
though madam exhibited much less of the wear
and tear of life than is usual at that age, and much
less than her good man, who in reality was her
junior by a year or two, notwithstanding he looked
a dozen years older. Louis, however, though not
handsome, was a person of excellent principles,
sound mind, and, for those regions, of superior
cultivation. Among other accomplishments, he
spoke good English, and with indefatigable industry
he had labored to give his children a competent
knowledge of that language; for, with prophetic
foreboding, he had surmised that the time would
come when a knowledge of it might be almost
indispensable, though little did he, or any other of
that simple people, anticipate the truth.

Four stout, ablebodied young lads, the oldest of
whom was called Louis, after his father, and the
next Gasper, after his grandfather, sat around the
table, with two grand-daughters, one of whom Pauline,
has been noticed; the younger was called
Josephine. Beside the eldest young man, who was
in reality the oldest child, sat a pale, sickly young
woman, his wife, and her two little children, a boy
and girl. This couple resided about two miles off,
and were then on a visit to the paternal mansion,
hoping that the cheerful society in that happy
abode, together with her respite from domestic avocations,
might be efficacious in restoring her wasted 7(6)r 83
strength; and, as her husband, Louis the younger,
said, “call back the roses to her cheeks.”

The plain but substantial fare to which this family
of love had now sat down, their afternoon meal,
consisted of a surloin of cold roast beef, bacon and
eggs, wheat cakes and pies, together with a beverage
of cider, and homemade beer from the roots
and herbs with which their forests abounded. The
plates they ate from, were out of a hard kind of
wood, which the English called “trenchers” they
were of their own manufacture, and as white as
scouring could make them. The tablecloth, made,
as all their linens were, from flax of their own
raising, was of snowy whiteness. Of earthen dishes
they used but few; yet the little mugs the children
drank their milk from, was of delf ware.

It was a warm day for the season, in that latitude,
and the windows in front of the house, and
the outside door, which opened from this their best
room upon the green plot and wilderness of sweets
by which it was surrounded, were open. The
harvest had been gathered in rather earlier than
usual, even for their short season, and earlier than
Louis thought advisable; but it had been expedited
at the command of the Governor, who had issued
his commands in a proclamation, ordering “that
every man’s harvest should be gathered in by the
1755-09-01first of September;”
a requisition that, among any
other people, would have excited suspicions of
something mischievous—but with this simple and
single-hearted race, accustomed as they were to
arbitrary and unreasonable enactments, created no
apprehensions or alarm. The gathering, however,
had always, previous to this, been succeeded by a
kind of holyday, when all labor was laid aside,
and friends and neighbors met together to rejoice
in the bounties of a kind Providence. But now, 7(6)v 84
whether it was they became aware that the right
of happiness was exasperating to their oppressors,
or for whatever reason, the holydays were unobserved,
and nothing of the kind was seen among
them.

As they arose from the supper-table, the fair and
feeble invalid, whose name was Gabriella, seated
herself at the door to enjoy the breeze from the
salt water, which, flowing in from the Bay of
Funday
, mingles with the waters of nineteen rivers,
that discharge themselves into the Basin of
Minas
. This capacious inland sea, of which a very
small part could be seen from the point described,
its distance being mingled with the blue of the
heavens, lay fair before them. The rays of the
declining sun were now dancing on its dazzling
waters, and on the fine forests which extended here
and there along its borders. The hues of autumn
had already succeeded their brief summer, and had
tipped the trees with its many colors, but had not
touched the deep green intervals which abounded
in these regions. One of the rivers passed through
Gasper’s farm, near his house, from whence, after
several fantastic turns, it discharged itself into the
Basin.

But chiefly would the beautiful lowlands in
front, defended from the tides by the dikes, have
charmed the attention of the gazer, where immense
droves of cattle were quietly feeding, with the exception
of a few young heifers, who were playing
their gambols and chasing each other around the
enclosures, while the pastures above were whitened
with flocks of sheep.

As the breeze from the water fanned the cheek
of the fair invalid, her spirits seemed to revive, and
she broke out in strains of admiring observation
upon the scene before her. “This is not the first 8(1)r 85
time,”
she concluded, “that this enchanting landscape
has solicited my attention, and impressed me,
by its grandeur, with elevated ideas of the power
of Him who could create such wonders; but never
before was I so sensible of its beauties, never have
I had such feelings while gazing as now. Surely
we are much blessed in our place of abode, if the
Lord has permitted some burdens to be laid upon
us.”

“Great reason, indeed, to be thankful,” responded
her husband, “and our burdens, I think, will
soon cease to afflict; for it is impossible for a people
to concede as much as we have, to obey all
reasonable, and many unreasonable requisitions, in
the true spirit of forbearance, as I think we have
done, without eventually disarming suspicion and
conciliating enmity.”

The blind father shook his head.

“Conciliation is, I fear, out of the question,”
said he; “envy and enmity never were appeased
by submission. Tyranny and despotism continually
exact fresh sacrifices. Nevertheless, I have
always been opposed to resistance; to suffer patiently,
yea, meekly, seems to be the doctrine of our
divine master. ‘He that takes the sword, shall
perish with the sword,’
is one of the threats of the
gospel. Is it not so written in the little French
bible that your wife’s mother sent you, Louis?”

“It is, indeed, my father,” said Louis, seating
himself beside the old man, and affectionately taking
a hand in his. “But do you know, father, I
have taken the liberty to translate this text for
myself of late; and, with all proper submission to
your superior wisdom and exemplary piety, I understand
it different from yourself. I believe that
our Saviour spoke of individual injuries alone, and
probably had allusion to the deadly practice of single
combat, which was even then practised by the 8 8(1)v 86
Romans and other nations, upon every real or supposed
injury. Every thing, in my opinion, is to be
understood with reason; and we cannot suppose
that a company of blustering, bullying, fighting
followers, would have had any tendency to recommend
the religion of the gospel; besides, force
would have been met with force, and the and the church’s
victory over her enemies was attempted upon a
new plan, and the superiority of endurance no one
pretended to contest. Again, my dear father, there
are other things commanded, one of which is for
every man to provide for his own household; and
in many instances this could not be done without
fighting for one’s rights. And my opinion now is,
that if we had early stood by ours, with sword in
hand, yea, fought to the last gasp, if need be, it
would have been better for us as a people. Be not
alarmed,”
(seeing the old man start, and raise his
sightless orbs to heaven,) “I am not going to counsel
resistance now. It is too late, the die is cast. We
cannot beard the lion in his den, and especially
after he has drawn our teeth. We may as well
make a virtue of necessity now. Fools that we
have been, to throw away the means of defence
while they were in our power. We could at least
have died gloriously, every man perishing at his
threshold. Then we might have been honored.
Now what are we?”

“A Christian people!” said the old man, meekly.

“A dishonored one,” said Louis, with bitterness.
“What will future ages say of us? That we sat
down ingloriously, and let the spoiler and extortioner
take all that we had. We shall soon become
hewers of wood and drawers of water to our proud
taskmasters, who will class us with the dogs of the
fold.”

“That our cup is not yet filled, I believe,”
said Gasper. “But oh, my son, is it not the Lord 8(2)r 87
that afflicts us? Shall there be evil in the city,
and the Lord hath not done it? I beseech you, my
son, to restrain this impatience.”

“One word more, my father. Have not myself
and brethren, yea, hundreds and thousands of our
people, been worked beyond our strength this whole
summer, to bring timber and build places to defend
our enemies against our friends? Have we not,
ourselves, put the whole country in a state of defence,
without fee or reward, goaded on by threats
and curses? Our best timber used, our provender
taken for their horses, and our horses too, whenever
our tyrants fancied they had need of them; and,
in short, every thing else they chose to demand.
Is not all this true?”
said Louis, clenching his
teeth.

“There is one comfort, father,” said Louis the
younger, now attempting to take a part in the
conversation.

“What is that?” demanded two or three voices
at once.

“There is not much more that they can do.”

“Mistaken! mistaken! ye cheated all!” shouted
a strange and uncouth voice; and, ere they were
aware, a tall Indian sprang from behind a grove of
cherry trees and currant bushes, which grew near
the window, and without more ceremony stalked
into the middle of the room.

He was a man apparently about fifty years of
age, and though not exactly possessing the ferocious
aspect of most of his nation, yet his countenance
exhibited sufficient courage and determination,
mixed with not a little of that overreaching
and superlative cunning for which that wily people
had long been celebrated; for Menoi was not one
of the Tarratine tribe, their next neighbors, but a
Mic Mac, and had recently travelled from Canada
by a most lengthy and roundabout way, to elude 8(2)v 88
the English, upon a real errand of kindness. He
had traversed the mountains and morasses, backing his
canoe over many a weary mile, where none but an
Indian would ever dream of carrying himself—had
encountered rapids and whirlpools, and the greater
dangers of pursuit from the English, whom he had
eluded by various stratagems on his journey, convinced
they would show no mercy, and brave many
dangers for a scalp for which ten guineas had been
offered by the government. And, in short, after
every species of daring, in behalf of the oppressed
and threatened Acadians, and every artifice to baffle
his pursuers, he had succeeded; and now, in all
the grandeur of savage magnificence, stood before
them.

The wild halloo with which Menoi usually greeted
his friends upon entering their dwellings, was
not used on this occasion. For uttering the words
just mentioned, “ye cheated all!” he was silent
for several minutes, standing in the middle of the
floor; and, with his naked sinewy arms drawing
his blanket around him, he regarded the party at
the farm with such a strange and equivocal expression,
as caused the hair to rise upon the heads of
the younger part of the company. He had evidently
just come from a long journey. His sandals
were completely worn out, and fragments of what
had been red gaiters, hung in fragments about his
legs, which were scratched and torn in every direction.
The party-colored feathers which distinguished
a chief of his nation, hung down from his
head all soiled and broken, and the stout wampum-
belt, which bound his waist, and served both for
ornament and to confine a kind of close jacket
without sleeves, exhibited many a rent. In short,
his whole appearance bespoke hard travel, fatigue,
and famine. But nothing could induce him to sit
down to the abundant fare which yet remained on 8(3)r 89
the table, until he had delivered his message, which
was “to warn as many of the Acadian families as
possible, and this in particular, that treachery was
on foot; that they were menaced by some new
calamity, worse than all they had endured, but of
what nature he was not able to say. The discovery
had been made by some of the Acadians, who
had fled towards Canada, and sent on a report by
the Indians, to warn their brethren in Acadia to
flee after them.”

The friendly savage urged their immediate flight
with all the eloquence he was capable of, and offered
to assist in conducting their escape.

The aged Gasper declared at once, urging his
inability to fly, as well as the fair invalid; and no
persuasion could induce the husband to desert his
wife, or the younger part of the family to leave
their aged relative.

Deep was the grief of the savage. The tears
actually sprang to his eyes, and rallied down his
cheeks, while he endeavored, in his broken French,
to persuade them it was their duty to go, such as
could. But all his arguments were in vain, and after
partaking their hospitality, and consenting to take
a stock of provision, which the younger part of the
company forced upon him, he rose to depart.

“Menoi bid you farewell forever!” said he, as,
gliding across the room, he approached the venerable
Gasper.

“Menoi your brother,” added he, drawing a cross
from his bosom, and reverently kissing it, “and
you a father, you long serve him twenty years ago,
when I sell skins here. I find you same good man,
and now you bless him, bless Menoi,”
and he bent
the knee gracefully before the patriarch.

“If Menoi is not a man of blood,” said the old
man, slowly rising and laying his hand upon the
head of the savage, “may the God of peace be 8 8(3)v 90
with him; and if he war in defence of the innocent,
may the God of battles defend him.”

“Amen!” said the chief; and, springing from
the floor, he darted out, and plunging into the
bushes, he was out of sight in a moment.

Unperceived by the other members of the family,
who sat, as it were, rivetted to their seats, Louis
the elder slipped out of the house by a back way
at the same time, and rising the hill, and placing
himself in a very conspicuous situation, began to
call, as though gathering the sheep to fold. The
signal was understood by Menoi, and in a few moments
he was by his side, who, laying his finger
on his lips, beckoned him to follow to a more
retired spot. A little grove of cypress was just
behind, and to this Louis retreated, and found his
red friend in waiting.

Lofty and commanding in his aspect at all times,
there was a something in his look now, that told
not of this world; and Louis, as he drew near,
said, almost unconsciously,

“I never knew but one who looked like you,
Menoi, and that was my venerable grandfather, the
day before his death. Alas! if you should be a
martyr in our cause.”

The lip of the savage curled in scorn, as he replied,
“Think I fear death? Menoi no ’fraid to
die. Jesus, Holy Virgin, all good men gone before.”

And he pointed upward, “No English there.”

“Perhaps, Menoi, the people in England are not
so wicked as those of this region. I cannot believe
but there are some good among so many; and I
doubt whether the King sanctions the impositions
and cruelties practised in these regions.”

Menoi shook his head as he replied, “Don’t believe,
don’t believe.”
“But,” added he, “no time
for talk,”
and giving quite a wary look around, he
drew quite near, and saying, “have you courage 8(4)r 91
to use these?”
he drew forth from his tattered
garments a pistol, hatchet, and dirk, which, together
with some ammunition, he handed to Louis,
and whispering, “Be watchful,” sprang into some
bushes, and again disappeared.

For a moment Louis gazed around him. Far as
the eye could see, all was quiet. There was no
apparent cause of alarm. The distant rampart of
Fort ―― was seen in the quiet of evening. A
gentle breeze just shook the standard that floated
from the flagstaff. No sign of commotion was
there. And while he looked, the sun sunk behind
the neighboring hills. The revelly beat to quarters
—the evening-gun was fired, and the standard
ran down as usual at that hour, and all but the
sentinels retired within the fort.

“One would think,” said Louis mentally, “that
all was peaceable here. But my heart has misgiven
me before this. Why all this formidable array of
soldiers, too? Methinks there is something suspicious
even in the profound quiet observed by such
a force. Alas! evil may come, like the day of
judgment, when no man looks for it. My mind,
however, is made up; and, beautiful scenes of my
childhood, something tells me I shall not soon see
you again.”

Then concealing his prize carefully beneath his
vest, he walked towards the house, until, meeting
one of his younger sons, he informed him that
business of great importance summoned him from
home, requested him to return, and tell the family
not to be alarmed if he should be absent the next
day. Taking then an obscure path that led through
the wood, he hurried away.

8(4)v 92

Chapter II.

“To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art; Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their firstborn sway.”

The absence of Louis would not have been
much noticed at any other time. The Neutral
French
lived so much like one large family, it was
not uncommon to spend the night at a neighbor’s
house. They were eminently social, and the remnant
of them, to this day, spend much of their
time in visiting each other. They used never to
fasten their doors, or leave any protection except
the faithful watch-dog, who protected their flocks,
&c. from the beasts of the forest. In fact, they
had nothing to fear, until the proximity of the
English. We have it from their enemies, that the
crimes of theft, adultery, and murder, were crimes
unknown among them. But since their acquaintance
and neighborhood with the subjects of his
Brittanic Majesty—with “the most refined and
Christian nation on earth,”
as they term themselves,
the dark-eyed daughters of Acadia had rather
abridged their walks by moonlight; and, indeed,
careful matrons had, of late, seen fit to prohibit
lonely walks at any hour. Still, the male
part of the population thought nothing of an evening’s
walk of some eight or ten miles. But just
at this time, when the warning voice of friendship
had sounded an alarm in their ears; just as some
unknown danger menaced them, a danger not the
less dreaded, because of the mystery of darkness in
which it was enveloped, it was most strange.

The idea that the savage had spirited Louis
away, never entered the mind of this unsuspicious
family. But he might, they thought, have travelled 8(5)r 93
to some of the neighboring settlements, to
counsel with some of his brethren who resided
there, and, if possible, unravel the dark plot, of
which, it seemed, they were to be the victims. It
cannot be supposed but the absence of the father
of the family was felt, as they closed the door and
windows of the apartment, and drew near the
hearth, where a cheerful fire had been lighted, to
remedy the dampness arising from the near neighborhood
of the river, and counteract the increasing
chill of the atmosphere.

The family drew near the hearth—the spinning-
wheel was brought for madam, and the knitting for
the girls; but they were untouched, and each sat
lost in deep thought. The sprightly Pauline was
the first to break silence.

“Dear grandfather,” said she, “do you not wish
we had the Baron Castine to resort to for advice
and assistance? You have often told how much
assistance he rendered our persecuted brethren of
old, and how much blood would often have been
shed but for his timely interference, and yet you
never told me who he was; whether he was a
Frenchman, Acadian, or what. Nor, indeed, do I
know exactly where he resided. Will you please
to tell us something of him this dreary evening?
for, really, the visit of the friendly savage has
thrown us all into gloom; and as to exertion we
know not what to do. We know not the evil we
are threatened with, and therefore cannot prepare
against it.”

“True, my own dear grandchild, we must leave
this thing in the hands of Him who will, if we
have faith, order all things for our good; and in
the mean time possess our souls in patience. I
seem to hear a voice that says, ‘Be still, and know
that I am God.’
With regard to the narrative you
speak of, most gladly will I comply, if my dear 8(5)v 94
children can compose themselves to listen to me.
So much has been said respecting that celebrated
individual, by his enthusiastic friends and bitter
enemies, that posterity will scarce know what to
decide on. And I am not to be his judge, or even
decide on his character with future generations.
Nor should I be competent to do so. I can only
tell you what I know.”

What a charm there is in a story. Each one
seemed to lose at least half their cares in the anticipated
narrative; and at once forming a circle around
the venerable man, entreated him to proceed. And
pleased that he could in any way contribute to the
restoration of cheerfulness and beguile the hours,
he proceeded.

Gasper’s Narrative of the Baron Castine.

“It was about the year 16661666, that M. De Courcelles
was appointed Governor of New France, and
with him came over a regiment of Cavignan sallures.
The Baron Castine was an officer in the
regiment, and of course came over with them.
The Baron was a native of Berne, and his estates,
which were very considerable, were in France. Of
his former life we have no knowledge, though we
have every reason to believe it correct. He was a
young man and unmarried when he came to America.
Attracted by the beauty of the country, and,
as was asserted by those who knew him best, influenced
by a desire to civilize and Christianize the
Indians, he was induced to take up his permanent
abode in the country. Selecting a tract of land on
a peninsular east of the Penobscot river, of about
twenty-six hundred acres, he seated himself down,
and commenced his labors of love. The place
which he selected, near the mouth of the river,
was an eminently beautiful one; but, from its exposed 8(6)r 95
situation, guarded by a fort, which was commanded
by a French officer, (D’Aulney’s Fort,)
who established his headquarters there for eight
years, from 16401640 to 16481648. It originally bore the
name of a French gentleman, who resided there
several years, Major Biguyduce; but will, probably,
now to the end of time be called after the
Baron Castine, who resided there thirty years.
The influence of Baron Castine among the surrounding
tribes, was certainly great. He connected
himself with them by marriage, having taken a
daughter of one of the chiefs of the Tarrentine
tribe
to wife. He has been accused by the English
of doing this as a political manœuvre, in order
to establish his power on a sure basis. You yourselves
can judge of that when I come to describe
her. Certain it is, he had been long laboring to
convince the savages of the sin and folly of a plurality
of wives, and of the sacred nature of the
marriage covenant; and this measure, combined
with his after life as a married man, had more influence
with them than all the arguments himself
and the priests together had been able to offer.”

“But, grandfather, where was Castine? Was it
in Canada, or Nova Scotia, or New England?”

“My dear, it was on the extreme western boundary
of what was called New France, whose Governor
had erected the fort just mentioned. Acadia,
which was called a province of New France, originally
extended to the Penobscot river, though now
it has passed and repassed through the hands of the
two Powers, until we can scarce tell its ancient
boundaries.
It was during one of those seasons of peril and
alarm, to which our unhappy and ill-starred people
have been almost constantly exposed, that I, with
a number of others, were commissioned to visit the
Baron Castine, chiefly to seek his counsel and be 8(6)v 96
guided by his wisdom in the threatened conflict.
It was during an inclement season of the year,
though winter had not actually set in, that we
commenced our perilous journey. Our dangers, by
land and by sea, were many. Sometimes we would
course along the shores in our frail canoes—sometimes
steal through the forests, guided by the friendly
Indians—and alternately we threaded the tangled
thickets or sailed the rapid rivers. It was not
until many weeks after our departure from this
district, that our eyes were greeted with the sight
of the royal standard of France floating over the
fort of Biguyduce. We were hailed, and answering
in French, was a sufficient claim upon the hospitalities
of the garrison, who immediately tendered
every kindness and attention. After partaking of
some refreshment and warming our benumbed and
almost frozen limbs, we departed for the residence
of the Baron, who, we were informed, had fortunately
just returned to his home, after a journey.
The residence of the Baron Castine was a long,
low, irregular building, partly of wood and partly
of stone, of rather grotesque appearance. The
windows, which were small and high, admitted not
a view of those within; but the rays of light were
(as it was now evening) streaming from them in
several directions. The appearance of our sable
conductor, and our speech, secured us an easy entrance
from the old French soldier who officiated
as porter, and we were at once admitted; and so
noiseless was our approach, that the party within
did not at first perceive our vicinity.
I must here confess that, notwithstanding all
the esteem I had conceived for the Baron, for his
great regard uniformly manifested towards the Acadians,
and his great exertions to humanize the savages,
yet I could not think of his Indian wife without
disgust. I had never seen, in all our tradings 9(1)r 97
with the Indians, who, you know, have come from
all parts to trade their furs, any of their squaws
but what were rendered hideous by negligence,
untidiness, and the most barbarous style of dress,
if the half garments they wore could be called
such; and it cannot be supposed I was prepared to
behold the lady of the mansion with any sentiments
of regard, to say nothing of admiration.
You may imagine, then, my feelings, when, starting
from the floor where she was playing with her
children, and, turning hastily round, the chieftain’s
wife discovered to my astonished gaze the most
beautiful female, by far, I had ever seen. The
form, which was grace and symmetry itself, was
the first, probably, that would strike the beholder.
Her features were exquisite, as well as the form,
and her skin no darker than a great part of our
own nation. Health, and perhaps a little excitement,
had given a heightened glow to her complexion,
and her eyes sparkled like gems. There
was nothing terrific in their glances, nothing startling,
unless it was that expression which seemed to
read the soul at once. Her dress was a singular
mixture of Indian and European fashion. No stocking
covered the well-turned ankle, and the little
foot was only partially hid by sandals, laced with
blue ribbons. A close dress of blue satin fitted
admirably to her shape, and was laced over her
bosom with gold cord and richly ornamented borders
of the same, while a mantle of silk, of the color of
the peach-blossom, thrown over her shoulders, fell
in graceful folds to the ground. Her coal-black
tresses were braided with strings of pearl and fine
gold beads, and twisted around her head, being
confined by a brooch of pearl and gold. She had
ear-rings of the same, and bracelets adorned her
arms, which, as relieved by the folds of the mantle,
were bare near to the shoulders. Two female 9 9(1)v 98
children, lovely as cherubs, were sporting in her
arms and twining round her neck as we entered;
but, putting them aside, and gracefully motioning
them to silence, she arose and advanced to meet us,
and in a voice, whose melodious sweetness I can
compare to none I have heard, unless it is
yours, my Pauline, she said, in good French,
‘Welcome, brothers, be seated.’ If we had been charmed by her beauty, we
were doubly so by her speech, which, independent
of the beautiful mouth and teeth it discovered, was
so warm, cordial, and welcome.
I was only a lad, and a green one, and you
know the taciturnity of Indians. Our guide stood
stone still, and the others of our party were positively
overawed by the beauty and majesty of the
lovely vision before us. I made out to stammer
the Baron’s name. She readily comprehended, and
saying, ‘You would have speech of the Baron,’
glided into the next room. In a moment a servant
came to say, ‘The Baron would see us in his study;’
and we were ushered into a small panelled room,
where, seated at a round pine table in the centre,
sat the object of our journey, with a Latin and
Greek lexicon before him, from which, it appeared,
he was instructing his son, a youth who sat beside
him. Heaps of papers, parchments, and books were
arranged on the shelves around him. There was a
sad, care-worn look about the majestic personage
who now rose to welcome us, and with frank politeness
offered a hand to each. I never had the pleasure
to see a king or an emperor, but I should say
he must have looked something like one. I never
saw him only on that occasion, but took good observation
of him then, and should give it as my
opinion, that no disappointment or disgust of the
world occasioned his retreat, but simply the holy
desire to do good to the benighted race among 9(2)r 99
whom, by the providence of God, he had been
placed.
He had an altar in his house, and a missionary
priest. It was on the occasion of the evening sacrifice
that we again saw, and for the last time, the
lovely Therese, for by that name she had been
baptized previous to her marriage.
I regret to say that this beautiful and intelligent
creature was destined to pass only a few short
years on earth after I saw her. Her looks will
never be forgotten by me, nor the dove-like expression
of those lustrous eyes, when bent on her lord
or her children.

And what of the Baron? asked the younger
Louis.

“Well, of him,” continued the old man, “I am
going to speak. He received the communication
we brought him with a look of mournful interest,
and folding the paper, after he had perused it, said,

It is no more than I expected. English cupidity
has determined to grasp that ill-fated region,
and that none of us shall ever rest upon American
ground.
I am informed here that it is said to be by
my encouragement and interference, the different
tribes of Indians in this and all New France are
again committing depredations on the scattered and
unarmed inhabitants of yonder region,
pointing
across the Penobscot. But the great God of heaven
and earth knows I am innocent. I have stood
between them and the English, when danger menaced,
expecting it as an even chance which shed
my blood first, the jealous Briton or the outraged
red man. No, their own neglect to observe the
conditions made in their treaties with the Indians,
has occasioned this. Nor can I, though elected
chief sachem of a powerful tribe, prevent individual 9(2)v 100
aggressions, while the English continue faithless
to their contracts.
Thinkest thou, said the Baron, rising and
pacing the floor as he warmed with his subject,
thinkest thou, that yon fair territory (pointing
westward) was bartered for nothing? Thinkest
thou, that the poor pittance our red brethren consented
to receive for their lands, is to be thus
shamefully withholden, and they to retreat and sit
down tamely by the injury? By heaven! they
cannot expect it. They ought not to. Where are
the supplies, the ammunition, &c., long looked for,
often asked for, and still denied? Where are the
trading-houses, which were stipulated for long ago?
Never erected.
Yet I have never counselled war, said he,
after a pause, still less would I counsel the murder
of innocent women and children. I have reasoned
with the tribes, and inculcated patience and forbearance
until my conscience absolutely flew in my
face. The English know what savages are. They
know that the red man does not war like the white.
They know their fierce passions, when roused, are
not easily allayed—that their rage is like the overwhelming
torrent, which, with undistinguishing
fury, sweeps every thing that comes in its way
when once it has burst its bounds. And yet they
seek to provoke them. It is their policy to exasperate
them to acts of violence, that they may have
an excuse to cut them off.
Brethren,’ said he, turning to us and waving
his hand, ‘a few more circling years, and from
yonder, where the sun rises, even to the place of
his going down, there will not be even so much as
a remnant left of these unfortunate and hunted
people. Their own fierce passions, too, mistaken
beings! will furnish their enemies with the pretext
to destroy and exterminate them.’
9(3)r 101

“Oh, it was a fearful thing,” said Gasper, “to
see a great mind so wrought upon. Even in his
resentment, the terrible expression of wrath that
sat upon his brow did not prevent one from feeling
that they stood in the presence of a being of a
superior order. And for myself I must say, I felt
that kind of quaking I never felt in the presence of
the most powerful of our foes. But at length the
storm in his bosom seemed to subside, and sitting
quietly down, he discussed the subject we came
upon.

‘I should be grieved, my friends, if you in that
remote region,’
said he, ‘should be sufferers in this
business again; but should it be the case, and your
possessions be again invaded, I pledge myself, in
the hour of extremity, to come to your relief, with
as many of my red friends as I can collect. In the
mean time I will confer with the Governor of Canada,
and see if you cannot be placed in a state of
defence. It is scarcely possible there should be
much of a force sent against you, without our being
apprized of it, and should we, be assured we will
get there before them.’
The English, whose policy it was to represent the Baron as a
kind of bugbear at that time, asserted that he took four or five
wives at the same time, and lived with them promiscuously. And
I am astonished that my friend Mr. Williamson, author of the
History of Maine, should credit such an assertion, though he is
candid enough to state that the story was disproved by the Abbe
Reynal
, and La Hontan, who says in his work, (INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.page 223,) that
“Castine never changed his wife, to convince the savages that
God does not like inconstant folks.”
One fact should set this
matter at rest. Baron Vincent De St. Castine had immense possessions
in France, and many connexions there, and his son by the
daughter of Madocawando, sagamore or chief of the Tarratine
tribe
, had no difficulty in establishing his claim to his father’s title
and estates. He must, too, have been united to this woman by the
rites of the Catholic Church, to make his claim good. It was
known that he usually had a missionary of that church in his
house. Modocawando, the sagamore, lived to the year 16981698. The
authority of the Baron La Hontan, who was a personal friend of
Castine, ought to be conclusive. From the year 16831683 to
16961696,
he was Lord Lieutenant of the French colony at Placentia, in
Newfoundland, and published a series of letters entitled New
Voyages to North America.
He was familiar with all the eastern
region, and gives a history of the different tribes of Indians between
Newfoundland and Penobscot. This work, which would be
found infinitely entertaining to the antiquarian, we suspect may be
procured at some of the antiquarian bookstores in Boston. It is
in French. The Tarratine tribes of Indians have yet several villages
in the eastern part of Maine. In the war of the Revolution
they were neutrals. Mr. Williamson remarks of the Baron Castine,
“that he was a liberal Catholic, though devout and punctilious
in his religious observances,”
which, we should suppose, rather
militated against his having four or five wives at a time. Also,
that “he was a man of fascinating address and manners.”
9 9(3)v 102 Alas! alas! he did not foresee the overwhelming
deluge that was so soon to burst upon us. The
attack of the English was too sudden and well
concerted to admit of defence; and though the
gallant Baron did arm in our behalf, and at the
mouth of the St. Johns execute signal vengeance
on our foes, his arm, powerful as it was, could not
work our deliverance.”

And what finally became of that extraordinary
family?
asked Louis.

“He, the first Baron, died, I believe, on the peninsular,
after a residence of thirty years, excepting
his occasional visits to old France. From 16671667 to
17221722, it was the residence of the Castine family.
In that year, Castine the younger went to France
to take possession of his paternal estates, and returned
no more. It is now thirty-three years since
the Neutral French lost their best and surest earthly
friend, in Castine the younger—the Canadians a
mediator, the savages a connecting link between
them and civilization, and the English a check, a
man whom they both feared and hated.
His immense wealth, beauty of person, and
courtly manners, combined with sweetness and
gentleness, high sense of honor and devoted piety,
were the topics of discourse, and he was universally 9(4)r 103
admired, both by friends and foes. When he
appeared before the authorities of the English King
at Boston, where he was most unrighteously carried
a prisoner, (being seized at his peaceful fireside and
dragged there for examination,) his deportment was
such as called forth loud and repeated bursts of
admiration.
He had been taken in 17131713, for appearing at a
conference of the Indians held on Arrowsic Island,
wherein he represented his tribe as an Independent
People.
The great difficulty of getting along with
the Indians seems to be the determination of the
English to consider them as subjects of their King,
whereas they never acknowledged allegiance to any
king, and cannot, therefore, with propriety, be denominated
rebels.
When Castine the younger was brought to the
bar in Boston, an immense concourse of people
thronged to see him; and if they supposed he was
going to shrink before the committee appointed for
his examination, who, with most imposing aspect,
were placed in the seat of justice, they were mistaken.
The prisoner evinced his independence of character
even by the dress he wore on that occasion,
which was a splendid French uniform, displaying
not only the high office he held under his Christian
Majesty, but the elegance of his person and deportment
to the highest advantage. On gaining the
position designated by his judges, a very stately
and dignified bow from the Baron informed them
that he was ready to attend to whatever they had
to say. The interrogatories were put in the most
singular and abrupt manner, and were precisely
these, as several of our people who were present,
can even now recollect. After stating his presence
at the conference of the tribes,
‘Baron Castine, we demand’, &c. 9(4)v 104 ‘Why did you attend this conference?’ ‘In what capacity did you attend?’ ‘Did not Vandrieul, the Governor of Canada,
send you there?’
‘What means your French uniform?’ To this rude and authoritative inquisition, Castine
replied, with dignity,
‘I have always lived with my kindred and people.
My mother was one of them, and I could not
fail to attend a meeting where their interests were
concerned; but I received no orders from Vandrieul
to attend. My habit is only a uniform suited to
my birth and condition, for I have the honor of
being an officer under the King of France.’
Notwithstanding the honesty and magnanimity
of this reply, they had the baseness to imprison him
five months in Boston. But at length, partly
through dread of the Indians, and partly because
they did not know how to designate his offence,
and were disgracing and making themselves unpopular,
they set him at liberty.
It is supposed, that the increasing miseries and
degradation of his tribe, and the utter impossibility
of remedying their condition, discouraged the Baron
from ever returning to them. The last I ever heard
of him he was in France, in the enjoyment of a
princely fortune, and, I doubt not, of all the esteem
that his exemplary character and shining virtues
merited. Of the two daughters I have only casually
learnt that they were married to highly respectable
men, but I do not know where they went.
The Baron was said to be the only one who possessed
the mother’s beauty.”
9(5)r 105

Chapter III.

“To-day there is a change within me, There is a weight upon my brow.” Halleck.

The little party at the farm scarcely had time to
thank Gasper for his very interesting account of
the Baron’s family, when they were aroused by an
exclamation of surprise from one of the younger
lads, who, sitting opposite the window that looked
towards the broad sheet of water described in a
former page, and instantaneously the whole family
rushed to the windows to discover the cause.

A slight haze in the atmosphere, in the early part
of the evening, had rolled off before the rising
moon, which now, being at the full, shone in full
splendor, and revealed every object on the transparent
waters almost as plain as at noonday. In this
capacious basin a number of sail were now descried,
that had just made their appearance, some of them
were even within sail, and most of them, though
not ships of war, appeared of very considerable
burden. The young men observed that their manœuvring
was very fine; but, although their number
and very unusual appearance excited some
wonder, yet it was unmingled with any thing of
fear or suspicion in the younger part of the family.
The wife of the absent Louis sighed deeply, however,
and old Gasper uttered a deep groan when
their appearance was announced. It was not unnoticed,
and yet what could they suspect? A quiet,
inoffensive yeomanry, always submissive to the
requirements of their taskmasters, and though somewhat
situated like the Israelites, in Egypt, yet exhibiting
no signs of impatience or resentment.

Still, there was an indefinable feeling of dread,
a presentiment of evil, partly occasioned, no doubt,
by the agitating announcement of the Indian, that 9(5)v 106
seemed to drive away every thing like drowsiness;
and it was not until a late hour for them that they
retired to rest. They slept at length, and slept
soundly. Oh! how soundly innocence can sleep.
Daniel slept in the lions’ den; Joseph slept quietly
in his dungeon; and the Son of Man slept while
the raging ocean was lashed into foam by the fury
of the tempest, and his affrighted disciples were
calling on him to save them.

They slept; but what frightful sound was that
which awoke the slumbering inmates of the farm,
after a few brief moments of slumber? What
horseman’s swift steed spurns the ground as he
comes foaming over the hill? and what thundering
knock reverberates through the most distant part
of the building, causing the terrified inhabitants to
start from their beds? They lost no time, however,
in opening the door, upon which the tremendous
blows from a loaded whip continued to be
plied during the few moments it took to draw on a
garment, and draw the bolt.

“See that you come without fail,” said a tall,
ferocious looking fellow, in regimentals, as he threw
in a paper, and disappeared on the track to the next
farm. The paper, when carried to the light, proved
to be the Governor’s proclamation, (Governor Lawrence,)
signed, however, by the commanding officer
on the station, Colonel Winslow. (A copy of this
famous proclamation is still extant, in the handwriting
of Colonel Winslow, and is as follows:)

“To the inhabitants of the district of Grand
Pree
, Minas, River Cunard, &c., as well ancient as
young men and lads.
Whereas, his excellency the Governor has instructed
us of his late resolution, respecting the
matter proposed to the inhabitants, and has ordered
us to communicate the same in person, his excellency
being desirous that each should be satisfied 9(6)r 107
of his Majesty’s intentions, which he has also ordered
us to communicate to you, such as they have
been given to him. We therefore order and enjoin,
by these presents, all of the inhabitants, as well of
the abovenamed districts, both old and young men,
as well as the lads of ten years of age, to attend at
the church at Grand Pree, on Friday, the fifth instant,
at three o’clock in the afternoon, that we
may impart to them what we have to communicate,
declaring that no excuse will be admitted, on any
pretext whatever, on pain of forfeiting goods and
chattels, in default of real estate.

“Did mortal ever hear such a thing as this?”
exclaimed Louis, after reading the paper. “There
is not the least intimation of the nature of the
business, from beginning to end, nor any clue to
guide one out of the labyrinth of doubts, guesses,
and surmises it is calculated to produce. Most
probably, however, it is some new effort to swear
us unreservedly.”

It seems incredible, that during the three days
that intervened before the meeting, nothing of the
business intended should have leaked out. We
recollect distinctly, that in the letter of instructions
to Colonel Winslow, he was particularly cautioned
“not to let any of the soldiers have the least communication
with any of the inhabitants during the
intervening time, lest some discoveries might be
made.”
That the real truth was far from suspected
is certain, and yet there were some who anticipated
some unknown and dreadful evil, and several
whole families escaped to Chignecto, from whence
a large company embarked for Quebec. It seems,
that in anticipation of some evil, the nature of which
they could not have understood, the Governor of
Canada had despatched several vessels to cruise on 9(6)v 108
the coast, and “take off as many of the families as
wanted to come away, and they could possibly
bring.”
Some of the other families fled to the
woods, and hid themselves. Yet were their terrors
derided by the major part, who at once conceived
the idea they were to be coerced to enrol themselves
in the corps organizing to repel (as they said)
the French and Indians. This they stoutly resolved
not to do, come what might; and much of the
intervening time was spent in praying for strength
to enable them to persevere in their resolutions, and
rather to pay the penalty, whatever it might be,
than do any thing so contrary to the dictates of
their conscience. Others, again, thought it was
only a subterfuge to extort a penalty for not taking
the oath of allegiance in the unqualified form in
which they wished to administer it. And even
when the day came, it found many vacillating in
their opinions; and of the thousands of inhabitants
in that district, only four hundred and fifty able-
bodied men assembled.

In the mean time, Louis the younger had conveyed
his invalid wife, the fair Gabriella, to his
secluded home, with her two children, thinking if
any thing happened she would be safer there, and
more out of the way of excitement, which her
gentle frame could ill endure.

To the great comfort of our family at the farm,
Louis the elder returned home the night preceding
the day of the meeting. Dreadful had been the feelings
of his faithful partner and his children at his
long absence. They could in no wise account for
it, nor did he satisfactorily explain it on his return;
for he dared not tell them he had been round to
some distant settlements, to try and ascertain the
extent of their courage should the odious oath be
forced upon them, which he anticipated, and which
was, in truth, the extent of his and their fears. 10(1)r 109
Dispirited and disappointed, he had returned in
despondency. Alas! who could have the courage
to war without weapons? They had all quietly
given up their arms, and “the very manner in
which this was done,”
says an English historian,
“should have been convincing of their sincerity
and peaceable intentions.”

Chapter IV.

“It is not so! Thou hast misspoke, misheard; It cannot be. Thou didst but say ’tis so. I have a king’s oath to the contrary.”

The --05-09fifth of September at length came; a day
big with the fate of the hunted and deceived Acadians;
a day, alas! of mourning and of woe.
When the time came to attend the meeting, there
was a visible gloom on the faces of the young men;
and as party after party of their youthful comrades
and friends came on, still the male inhabitants of
the farm would excuse themselves from joining
them, until it was no longer to be avoided.

When about to go, Louis the elder turned round
and asked his venerable father’s blessing, and his
example was followed by his sons. With a hand
that trembled more than ordinarily, the venerable
man successively blessed them; and then, sinking
on his knees, listened to the last sound of their
retreating footsteps. We leave the farm, and forbear
to describe the trembling anxiety with which
they listened to every sound until nightfall, and the
heroic bearing of young Pauline, whose courage
seemed to rise as theirs fell, and who zealously exerted
herself to support the sinking spirits of the 10 10(1)v 110
family, and do away all painful surmises they were
disposed to indulge.

The church or chapel, where they were to assemble,
was situated about a mile from the shore,
and rather over two from the farm. It was not an
expensive building, but sufficiently large, and had
been erected only since the time when their former
one had been hewn down by some fanatics in their
holy zeal, at a former irruption of the Goths from
New England. The Catholics did not regard the
destruction of their property as any evidence of the
superior sanctity of the Abners and Joabs who accomplished
it; and the consequence was, as might
well be expected, the followers of his holiness were
more than ever confirmed in their papistical errors,
and where there was one image or picture in the
old church, there were at least two dozen in the new
one; and though, for the most part, they had not
violated the command against making the likeness
of any thing in heaven, or on earth, or under the
earth, yet was the present church decorated with a
full complement of saints in regimentals, angels in
periwigs, and madonnas in brocades—and into this
(to them) sacred place, the rude foot of heretical
soldiery was now for the first time introduced.

As none of the representatives of the potentates
of the earth were accustomed in those days to
appear without a long retinue of military in attendance,
it excited no surprise, even in this simple
people, that the new commanding officer (Colonel
Winslow
) should be drawn up at the door between
double files of soldiers. They supposed his station
called for such a display; few believed any forcible
measures would be taken to extort the oath they
supposed about to be proffered. Four hundred and
eighteen persons had now arrived, and finding no
more appeared to be coming, the commander-in-
chief, having a guard outside, advanced himself 10(2)r 111
with his officers (the soldiers lining the wall) into
the middle of the building, where, the congregation
in breathless silence awaiting his communication,
he delivered the following address: (See Halliburton’s
History of Nova Scotia, INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.vol. i. p. 176
.)

“Gentlemen—I have received from Governor
Lawrence
the King’s commission, which I have in
my hand, and by his orders you are convened together,
to manifest to you his Majesty’s final resolution
to the French inhabitants of this his Majesty’s
province of Nova Scotia, who, for more than half
a century, have had more indulgence granted them
than any of his subjects in any part of his dominions.
What use you have made of it, you best
know. The part of duty I am now upon is very
disagreeable to my natural make and temper, as I
know it must be grievous to you who are of the
same species. But it is not my business to animadvert,
but to obey orders, and his Majesty’s
orders are—That your lands and tenements, cattle
of all kinds, and live stock of all sorts, are forfeited
to the crown, with all other of your effects, saving
your money”
(he knew that they had none) “and
household goods, and you yourselves are to be removed
from this province.

Thus it is peremptorily his Majesty’s orders,
that the whole French inhabitants of these districts
be removed, and I am, through his Majesty’s goodness,
directed to allow you liberty to carry off your
money
and as many household goods as you can,
without discommoding the vessels you go in. I
shall do every thing in my power that you are not
molested in carrying off your goods, and also that
whole families shall go in the same vessels, and
hope, in whatever part of the world you fall, you
may be faithful subjects and a peaceable and happy
people.
I must also inform you that it is his Majesty’s 10(2)v 112
will and pleasure that you remain under the direction
and inspection of the troops I have the honor
to command, and I now declare you the King’s
prisoners
.”

Had a thunderbolt fallen from heaven, it could
not have paralyzed the hearers more than this address.
No language could do justice to the astonishment
of the enraged and entrapped Acadians.
At first they looked at each other with open mouths,
as if not comprehending, or doubting the purport
of the address. At length Louis the elder ventured
to ask, “If they were to be carried to French
ports?”
and was answered, “No; his Majesty did
not design to strengthen his enemies with such an
aid.”
This was said with a sneer. Louis turned
upon his heel and folded his arms, while a scornful
smile curled his lip, awaiting in silence what should
come next. Nor would he condescend to look
round, when one of those he termed the “mean-
spirited of his brethren,”
asked, in a tone of great
humility, “How they had been so unfortunate as
to offend his Majesty?”
His blood boiled when
he perceived this question treated with rudeness,
for no answer was vouchsafed.

Several of them, either from policy to deprecate
the severity of the commander, or from real regret,
that their good feelings should not have been appreciated,
began to lament aloud “they should have
been so unfortunate;”
and protested that “they
had never knowingly violated any of the laws of
the English; that it had been a matter of indifference
to them, so long as they were protected in their
rights
, which Power they were protected by.”

(Winslow’s Narrative.)

It is probable the unfortunate termination of the
sentence rather aroused the ire of the commander,
for well he knew their rights had not been protected;
full well he knew, the Acadians had not only 10(3)r 113
been refused justice in their courts, but justice in
all other respects to say nothing of their disfranchisement
and various political privations. He
might not have known of all the individual cases
of wrong. He might not have known, that if an
English neighbor wanted an ox or an ass, he had
only to seize it, and made no scruple of doing so,
and there was no relief for the sufferer but the
Christian one of patience; for to what could they
resort? Not to law, of course; and to personal
chastisement, would have brought swift destruction.

And here we must make a digression, for which
we beg the indulgence of our readers. It was
probable this very grievance, arbitrary and tyrannical
as it was, was one cause, and not a lesser one,
of the former prosperity of the Acadians in amassing
property, and preserving the social relations of
life unimpaired. If they lost a few of their flocks,
or suffered any other loss at any time by violence,
they kept steadily on, and raised more, instead of
attending courts, and losing time, money, and patience
for an uncertain remuneration. Their manners,
too, were not corrupted by associations they
could not have avoided. To return to our narrative.

We observed that the ire of the commander
seemed somewhat roused by the last appeal, humble
as it was in language; and although he was one of
those of whom the poet says, “Why, I can smile,
and murder while I smile,”
yet, being possessed of
almost unlimited power in the present instance, and
feeling that the favor of the poor trembling being
before him was not worth taking very particular
pains for, was not quite as lavish of his smiles as
though he had been in a drawing-room, and he
answered, in rather a cavelier-like manner,

“That he was not there to reason with them,
but to command, and see that they obeyed orders.”

10 10(3)v 114

By this time the ire of Louis had attained a certain
height, that threatened bad consequences, and,
as he afterwards said, “if he had not given way to
it, it must have choked him.”
His face was scarlet,
and his laboring chest heaved with the efforts
he made to keep it down. But this last remark of
the commander, and the manner in which it was
uttered, was too much for him, and turning fiercely
to him, he said,

“And who are you, that are bloodhound enough
to engage in this business? From what den of
incarnate fiends were you let loose? Of all the
myrmidons of a tyrant in this region, could not
one be found to do his bidding?”

“Silence, there! Guards, seize him!” vociferated
the commander, and the arms of the unfortunate
and enraged Louis were immediately pinioned
to his side, amid the exclamations of some dozen
voices of his friends, which were quickly stilled,
however, by the presentation of the soldiers’ arms,
and the loud voice of the commander ordering them
to “fire right into the midst, if another word was
spoken.”
Louis was bound hand and foot, and
carried, without opposition or any attempt at resistance,
to the guard-house.

The tumult now subsided, and the people judging
that this at least was not the time to make any
attempt at softening the hearts of their persecutors,
were slowly making their way to the door, in order
to give the earliest notice to their families, and to
concert with them how to get along under this
cruel sentence. With these feelings and views
shared in common, but unexpressed, they went
forward in a body, as soon as Colonel Winslow and
his staff had passed out, (which they did without
much ceremony immediately after the seizure of
Louis,) and to their complete amazement were met
at the entrance by soldiers with fixed bayonets, who 10(4)r 115
rudely ordered them back, and they were told,
“that they could not leave the chapel as they were
the King’s prisoners, and would be kept there until
the vessels which were to take them away were
ready to receive them; that rations would be dealt
to them regularly; but as any other indulgence
was incompatible with the public safety, they must
not expect it; and that any symptoms of restifness
would be signally punished on the spot.”
(See
Winslow’s Narrative.)

The succeeding morning dawned upon that unhappy
company without their anxious relatives even
knowing where they were. What heart-rending
lamentations, what tears, prayers, and exhortations
to comfort from those who felt it not, did the long
watches of that night witness! Alas! it was a
night long to be remembered. The lamentations
of the morning were nearly equal to those of the
Egyptians when they arose and found “there was
not a house where there was not one dead.”
But
long and painful as was that night to the broken-
hearted Acadians, it was nothing, nothing to what
they were destined to see.

Our family at the farm were sorely amazed. The
evening meal smoked long upon the board, awaiting
their return. Often did Madam St. Pierre, the
wife of Louis the elder, open the door and strain
her eyes through the darkness to discern the figure
of her husband—but no husband came. Often did
the light step of Pauline tread the lawn in front of
the house, or ascend the little hill at its back, and
bending her ear to the ground (a practice they had
learnt from the Indians) listen for the footsteps of
her beloved father or brothers. Alas! no sound,
save the occasional tread of the cattle that were
browsing in the meadows below, the accidental
bleat of a sheep, or mournful note of the bird of
night that sings in those regions, met her ear, except 10(4)v 116
when a sudden gust of wind brought the sound of
the dashing surge as it swept on with tremendous
force from the Bay of Funday. The shuddering
maiden, with her locks wet with the thick dews of
night, would then retreat to the house and offer up
a prayer before the image on the cross for her absent
relatives.

Josephine, more timid and quiet in her nature, it
was true dropped many tears, but exhibited less of
anxiety than the others. Her tender years, perhaps,
did not admit of her feeling so much; and the creative
powers of imagination in Pauline, though it
opened rich sources of enjoyment unknown to the
other, was at other times productive of unmeasured
pain. The aged Gasper said but little, except the
utterance of the fervent ejaculations which from
time to time escaped his laboring breast. “God be
merciful to me a sinner! Enable me to suffer all
thy will! and may that will be done!”
were many
times repeated through the night.

The morning at length began to dawn, and the
female part of the population to pour abroad. Long
before the sun appeared the paths (for roads there
were none) began to fill with women. It was not
“here and there a traveller,” but it was a crowd, a
perfect rush from all the habitations, far and near,
towards the chapel. The old with crutches, and
the child of three years, joined the procession, and
hailing as they passed the inhabitants of the farm,
they were joined by Madam St. Pierre and Pauline,
old Gasper being persuaded to remain with the gentle
Josephine.

Various were the conjectures of the females, as
they threaded their way by the nearest path to the
church, as to what the difficulty might be. Some
of the terrified females actually feared their friends
had all been put to death together; but the most
generally received opinion was, that they had been 10(5)r 117
pressed into the service of the English to go and
fight the Indians, or to defend the coast from some
threatened invasion of the French. Not knowing
at all whether they should find a single soul at the
church, they yet resolved to go there first, as being
the last place where they could trace them.

Chapter V.

“I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amid these humble bowers to lay me down; I still had hopes, each long vexation past, Here to return, and die at home at last.”

Just as the sad and anxious company came to a
corner of the wood from which a distinct view of
the sacred edifice was visible, there was a general
halt, an indefinable feeling of dread seemed to chain
their feet to the spot. They dreaded to see that
holy place, the sight of which had hitherto filled
them with rapture, when, arm in arm, they had
followed the sound of the Sabbath-bell to the house
of prayer. The halt, however, was momentary, as
their impatience to know the fate of their friends
impelled them on. The sun was just rising, and
his golden beams tipt the cross of the sacred edifice,
and displayed to the astonished gaze of the females,
the glittering arms of some hundred soldiers, drawn
up in fearful array at its entrance, while from its
tower floated the English colors. In short, it had all
the appearance of a garrison, and many stopped irresolute,
and held a council. It was soon decided
to proceed, and share the fate of their husbands and
brothers. When, at length, seeing no manifestation
of the military to keep them off, they walked 10(5)v 118
boldly up, and demanded to know “where their
friends were?”

“Within!” was the prompt reply.

“And,” said Pauline, springing forward and disclosing
her beautiful face, “what is the meaning of
their detention?”

“The meaning, my pretty dear,” said a tall,
consequential fellow in epaulettes, from the province
of Massachusetts Bay, who seemed to be master of
ceremonies during the absence of the commander,
“the meaning is, you have all got to tramp from
here. The papists are to be driven out, and the
country given to the Lord’s true people, or the
King’s friends, I don’t know which.”

“Thou hast well distinguished,” said the maiden,
“for the Lord, who knoweth them that are
his, knows there are but few among the minions of
a tyrant.”
Then perceiving she was not understood
in French, she added in English, “What
crime are they accused of?”

“Why,” said the soldier, “I believe of papistry,
or treason, or some such thing. I don’t exactly know
what. I only know that we came to drive the
French out of Canada.”

“Indeed!” said Pauline, staring at his ignorance
or awkward attempt at a jest, “and where are you
going to drive us?”
And brightening as she caught
a new idea, “probably to Canada; that must be
your mea—”

“Hold there!” said the soldier, by no means
disliking to show off before so pretty a girl. “Not
so fast; the King our master knows better than
that. He wasn’t born yesterday, nor our Colonel
nuther, so that’s not to be thought of. But if so be
(and he drew himself up several inches taller) you’d
wish to go with this here drove of women into your
temple, or whatever you call it, if it will hold you,
I have no objection, though I am only commander 10(6)r 119
here pro tem. Yet I take it upon me to say there
can be no harm done unless”
said he, winking to
the centinel at the door, “there should more of you
come out than goes in. They do say you are miraculous
that way, seeing you have all been killed
off more than twenty times, and the next year
there’s just as many of you as there was before.”

“Soldiers, admit the women. But, stop there;
only a hundred at a time. Them fellows inside
may scrabble out in the confusion.”

“How many, sir?” respectfully demanded the
centinel.

“Why, let’s see, they are thick as the locusts
of Egypt; ten at a time, and in five minutes another
ten, and so on. Young woman, (turning to
Pauline,) you had better wait.”

But Pauline, mad with impatience to see her
dear father and brothers, and not loth to meet one
more, rushed forward, The one other met her
first, and, dropping his head on her shoulder, sobbed
like an infant. Giving a few tears to her youthful
admirer, the dutiful Pauline soon released herself
from his clasping arms, and rushed through the
crowd of friends and neighbors in search of her
father and brothers.

Language would not do justice to the scene of
confusion and distress, as platoon after platoon of
the female ranks made their way into the chapel.
Here was an aged and widowed mother hanging
over her son, the last stay of her declining years.
There, some motherless daughter, clinging to a
father or brother, all that remained to her on earth.
And there, the aged matron, invoking heaven to
spare to her the partner with whom she had travelled
this vale of tears for half a century, and permit
them to close their eyes in that beloved though
afflicted country, in which they had drawn their
first breath. There was the youthful bride, who 10(6)v 120
had promised herself many, many years of happiness
to come in the society of the fondly loved and
lately found helpmate. Many a young wife, with
her brood of little children hanging around their
father’s neck, and uttering the most bitter lamentations.
The affectionate sisters and brothers were
weeping in each others arms, as was Pauline in
those of Louis; while her half-distracted mother
was penetrating the crowd in every direction, in
the vain hope of finding her husband, each friend
striving to evade the question of “what had become
of her Louis?”
Pauline was first informed of his
arrest, and communicated it to madam, at the same
time endeavoring to console her afflicted mother.

“Off! off! thou unfeeling child,” exclaimed
madam in the distraction of her grief; canst thou
speak thus calmly of a father’s murder, for murdered
he will be.”

“Mother, softly,” whispered that excellent child,
not heeding the reproach, “do not incense our foes
more. Remember we are in their power, and there
may be some of these guards who understand
French. Take patience, I beseech you, and it may
end better than you expect.”

It was some time before these afflicted females
could be brought to understand that they were not
to be separated; that the commander (Colonel
Winslow
) had pledged his word and honor “that
families should go together,”
which left them the
consolation of believing that, though they might
be reduced to beggary or pauperism in the land
whither they were going, yet these cherished ones
would remain together. This, in some measure,
seemed to restore quiet, or at least to turn boisterous
grief into silent, though painful acquiescence.

By what sophism Colonel Winslow reconciled
this deception, not to say abominable falsehood, to
his conscience, history does not say. But his friends 11(1)r 121
have said for him, “that if he was engaged in a
cruel undertaking, yet his honor was not tarnished,
and doing what he did at the command of his sovereign,
implied no want of humanity in him; that
he was an officer whose honor could not be impeached.”
We ask what is honor? Can a soldier
violate his word with honor? Was it honor to plot
to deceive this innocent people into the laborious
business of getting in their harvests for their destroyers
to enjoy? Was it honor to plot to get them
together in the house of God, under false impressions,
and then seize them as prisoners? For a full
account of this transaction, we refer our readers to
the History of Nova Scotia (INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.vol. i.) a book
which we have so often quoted. To return.

When the feelings of this afflicted people had
just attained a comparatively quiescent state, a new
cause of excitement appeared, and the sources of
grief seemed to burst open anew. The doors of
the chapel were opened, and the venerable priest,
who had for so many years been their father and
friend, as well as teacher, was rudely thrust in
among them. In a new outbreak of anguish, the
people crowded around him, and received his blessing.
Few words, however, were spoken by the
pastor, who seemed inwardly collecting his strength
for some mighty effort. Gently putting them aside,
as they crowded the aisle leading to the altar, he
made his way to that sacred place, and falling on
his knees before it, covered his face with his hands
many minutes before he ascended the steps.

During this period the audience had time to sober
their grief, and a holy silence had succeeded to the
cries and sobs with which they greeted his first
appearance. At length rising, he advanced to the
place where he had been permitted for so many
years to break the bread of life, and was now, as a 11 11(1)v 122
special favor, allowed to address them for the last
time, which he did as follows.

Chapter VI.

“He in his duty prompt at every call, Had watched, and wept, and prayed, and felt for all, ――at his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul.”
“My beloved friends and brethren, and children
in the Gospel—You have in this temple of the living
God professed the faith of our Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ; that faith which was held by the
prophets and apostles and martyrs of old. During
the time I have been permitted to labor among you,
I have thought you a Christian, a believing people.
But, my beloved, I have seen you only in circumstances
of ease and prosperity. For I count
not the small privations you have heretofore endured,
as any thing. I call not the giving up a few of
this world’s goods, while we have enough left and
to spare, as any thing. I call not a few months’
compelled labor for our rulers, while we have the
remainder to ourselves, and are surrounded by plenty
and the society of our dear connexions, by our
own firesides, as sufferings. To say nothing of the
great author and finisher of our faith, and of his
torments in the body, the first disciples of our crucified
master were exposed to every privation and
indignity that it is possible to conceive of. They
were persecuted, afflicted, and tormented; suffering
in cold, nakedness, hunger, and watchings; in perils
by land and by sea. ‘They bore in their bodies
the marks of the Lord Jesus.’
Their persons were
scarred and seamed with the scourgings and beatings 11(2)r 123
they had received for his sake. And what, I
ask you now, did they do under these afflictions?
Did the apostles and first Christians sit down
and waste their breath in lamentations? Did they
weep and sob, and pray to be excused from their
trials? Ah! no, my dear, dear brethren and sisters,
they did not. They took joyfully the spoiling of
their goods, knowing that in heaven they had a
more enduring substance. They counted themselves
happy that they were thought worthy to
endure persecution for his sake.

And now I beseech you, brethren, to imitate
their example. You are called upon, this day, to
exhibit an ensample to all the earth; to prove
whether you are the willing disciples of the suffering
Saviour, or have been compelled into his ranks.
Whether you have been enrolled as soldiers of the
cross, by arbitrary parents and sponsors, into a service
your hearts reject and your understandings disapprove,
or whether your own free will has ratified
the deed, and you are willing to follow the great
captain of our salvation to prison and to death, if
such be his will. If there are any compelled servants
here, it is not such that I address.”
[Here he
made a long pause.] “Let him that is on the Lord’s
side, hold up his right hand.”

Every hand was immediately held up, except the
English guard who did not understand French,
save one placed there to ascertain there was no treason
spoken.

“Who here is willing to part with all that he
has, to be the disciple of our Lord, let him hold up
his hand.”

Every hand was raised.

“No reserves,” continued the pastor; “for whosoever
is not willing to forsake father and mother,
husband and wife, brothers and sisters, and all these 11(2)v 124
together, if his Lord requires, is none of his. Believest
thou this?”

There was a dead silence.

“Who is sufficient for these things,” continued
the gray-haired preacher, “let him hold up both his
hands.”

Alas! alas! not a hand was raised. The pastor
regarded them a few moments in mournful silence.
At length he asked,

“Are ye Christians? are ye believers?” When
an old man sobbed out, “Lord, we believe, help
thou our unbelief;”
and immediately the whole
assembly fell on their knees, simultaneously uttering
an “amen.” “Save, Lord, or we perish;”
“God be merciful to us sinners;” “Enable us to
suffer all thy will,”
were reiterated in agony of
spirit; thus proving that people in their extremity
go immediately to God, and never think of appealing
to him, when in earnest, through the medium
of saints and angels. The pastor prayed long and
fervently with his afflicted flock, and arose with a
look so lofty, and yet resigned, so elevated above
this world, that it seemed to his enwrapt hearers as
though they could almost see the shining of his
face. Wiping the perspiration from his brow, where,
whatever might be the errors of his creed, the grace
of God was evidently inscribed, he proceeded to
say:

“It is but once in an age, my dear brethren, that
the disciples of our blessed Lord are called to receive
the crown of martyrdom; and it is not impossible
but some of us are destined to that high
honor, that glorious passport to the third heaven;
and I entreat, I beseech of you, not to let the benefit
of your example be lost. Future generations may
look to you for an ensample of suffering and of
patience, and, seeing your fortitude and constancy,
may glorify your Father who is in heaven.
11(3)r 125 I am going to tell you that you are to be scattered
in a strange land; but he that dwelleth in the
thick darkness, is yet enthroned in righteousness,
and may even in this have designs of mercy and
goodness in store for you, that you cannot now
even have an idea of. You think you are to be
scattered among your enemies, who will perhaps
make you hewers of wood and drawers of water.
But granting that this may be the case for a time,
you may go out weeping, and in the lapse of ages
return singing with everlasting joy upon your heads.
I counsel no resistance. You have began to suffer;
suffer all his will who has called you to suffer for
his sake. You will not be as sheep having no
shepherd, for the shepherd and bishop of souls will
care for you. This earthly temple you will no more
see. But, my dear hearers, there is a temple not
made with hands, to which all can at all times
have access. These earthly remembrances (glancing
at the ornaments of the chapel) serve, indeed,
in a time of ‘ease in
Zion,’
to put one in mind of
that Saviour whose cross we are too apt to overlook,
and of the holy men and martyrs who suffered
in olden time; but in the furnace of affliction you
will not need them. The cross you will bear on
your own shoulders, and you will need no emblems
to remind you of the suffering saints of old.
I am an old man; like yourselves I am a prisoner;
my fate is an unknown one to me; but I
think I am now ready to be offered, and the time
of my departure is at hand. There be some here
whose faces I shall see no more, and I bid you all
an affectionate farewell. Farewell! farewell! be
steadfast, immovable, be faithful unto death, and
Christ shall give you a crown of life.”

The guard now appeared to conduct the venerable
priest to the quarters of the commander, who,
strange as it may seem, chose to be himself the 11 11(3)v 126
jailer of their spiritual guide, and, we find, actually
carried him with him to his house in Massachusetts.

We will not say that the voice of the pastor did
not falter when he blessed, for the last time, the
people of his charge. We will not say that his
hands did not tremble, when he laid them for the
last time upon the heads of his brethren and their
little ones. But we may say that his example, like
his precepts, were worthy of all praise.

Intercession was made by the females to have
their friends return with them to their habitations.
But this was refused. Nor was this privilege granted
any, until the day before sailing, when ten at a
time were released to assist their families to the
place of debarkation, and in removing such effects
as they were permitted to carry to the transports,
drawn up in the river Gaspereaux to receive them.

To see Louis, if possible, was the determination
of Madam St. Pierre and Pauline, upon leaving the
chapel. But this, they were now told, was impossible,
as he had made his escape from the guardhouse
during the night, and could not be found,
though several soldiers were out in pursuit of him.
Trusting that he was concealed somewhere near
his own dwelling, they were hastening in that direction,
when they were informed that the younger
Louis, Pauline’s brother, had just been carried to
the guard-house as a hostage for his father, and
that if the father did not present himself before the
day of sailing, which was fixed for the tenth, (four
days from that,) the son would be shot, such being
the Governor’s orders, namely: “That all offences
should be visited upon the next of kin, the offender
being out of the way, or in default of kindred,
upon the next neighbor.”

That such a refinement in cruelty should have
been thought of, appears almost incredible. Nevertheless,
it is true; and the copy of Governor 11(4)r 127
Lawrence’s
instructions to that effect is still to be
seen in the Massachusetts Historical Collection, in
the handwriting of Colonel Winslow.

Great exertion was made to collect the persons
who had escaped into the woods, for many had disobeyed
the proclamation to attend the meeting at
the chapel, and had hid themselves in the woods.
As has been shown, it was no part of the policy of
those who were hunting them into captivity to let
them escape to Canada. Scouts were out in every
direction. There was another fear, too, and that
was alarming the other districts at a distance, whom
they were plotting to entrap in the same manner.

Chapter VII.

“Who ne’er his purpose for remorse gave o’er, Or checked his course for piety or shame; Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier’s fame Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, Though neither truth nor honor decked his name.”

We must now change the scene to a dwelling of
even more humble and secluded appearance than
the farm. Though quite remote from any other
habitation, being situated in a deep dell, it exhibited
many marks of good taste about it. There was a
beautiful garden in its rear, and about its whited
walls the honey-suckle and eglantine had been
taught to climb, and shaded the few windows in
its front. It was surrounded on all sides, at a little
distance, with an almost impervious forest, except
as here and there little vistas had been opened
through the trees, showing spots of land where
cattle or sheep were usually grazing. One outlet
only admitted a view of the river below and the 11(4)v 128
breeze from the water, which, but for that, would
have been rather confined during the hottest part
of the season.

In an apartment looking towards this partial
opening, upon a small pallet-bed lay a female, whose
countenance, though exquisitely beautiful, exhibited
not only the ravages of disease, but much of
mental agony. The snowy pillow upon which
rested that fine formed head, was not whiter than
the cheek that reposed on it. Her hands were
clasped, and on the marble brow lay the locks of
jet-black curls. Her eyes were closed, and but
that her pale lips slightly moved, as though in
prayer, and but for the heaving of that faded bosom,
you might have supposed that the soul had already
left its frail tenement, and soared to that world
where sin and sorrow can never come. Long time
did the gentle sufferer lay hovering between life
and death, until her attention was awakened by
the entrance of two little children, who had been
playing in the next room. They rushed in calling
for mamma and at the sound she opened her
eyes, looked at them one moment, and then raised
them imploringly to heaven.

The two children then came up to the bed and
asked for Maria. The mother extended a hand to
them, which they both seized, looking in her face
and then at each other with childish wonder. The
eldest, only three years old, inquired “if mamma
wanted any thing?”
To which the sick lady
answered, “drink;” when the little creature very
carefully brought a cup from the table and held it
up. She took a few swallows, and seemed refreshed.
“God bless you, dear children,” she said;
“what can I do with you?”

The reader will probably surmise this was the
wife of Louis, whose only attendant, Maria, had
been despatched to make inquiries after the imprisoned 11(5)r 129
husband and father, at the earnest request of
the invalid herself, who did not realize how very
ill she was on this day. The faithful Maria was
loth to leave her, but there was no putting her off;
and as to getting any one to stay in her place, that
was impossible; for this was on the ninth of the
month, and the families were commanded to get
the few things they were permitted to carry, such
as their bedding, cooking utensils, wearing apparel,
and provisions for their voyage, to the shore ready
to be embarked the next day. As we before observed,
ten at a time for each neighborhood were
permitted to leave the chapel, and go render their
assistance in conveying their things.

Four days of harassing anxiety had done the
work of ages upon the exhausted frame of Gabriella.
She was as yet ignorant of the imprisonment
of Louis, though she was aware of the flight of his
father. Far was she from suspecting that her husband
was even then under sentence of death, and
that he was sentenced to be brought out and shot,
in sight of his family and friends, on the next
morning, in case his parent did not return by that
time, and in the event of his return, if by compulsion,
he himself was to be the victim. It had been
judged expedient to keep Gabriella in ignorance of
his seizure in the first place; and of his sentence,
passed on this day, the family at the farm had but
just learnt.

It had been a matter of deep consultation, in the
family of Louis, in what manner they should be
able to remove their sick sister, and in what manner
they should account to her for the absence of
her husband when they came to embark; for well
were they aware that a slight shock, added to what
she had already experienced, would shake her delicate
frame to dissolution. Pauline had visited her
every day since the imprisonment of their friends 11(5)v 130
at the chapel, and, with the family, had been concerting
every measure calculated to soothe her
pains, and facilitate her removal. Vain cares! her
Creator had provided a different home for her from
that “beyond the western main,” and the forces of
his Majesty a different conveyance.

Maria, the excellent young woman who had been
attending her, after receiving her commands, paused
on the threshhold of the door. “My beloved mistress,”
she softly whispered, “should we meet no
more! something tells me this is our last. Oh God!
oh God!”
she softly exclaimed, wringing her hands
in agony, “she may be murdered in my absence,
or I murdered on the way; and then these dear
little ones, suppose I take them? I may save their
lives. But no, I could not carry them, and to lead
them two miles would hinder me. I must be
quick.”
And she now hurried forward with breathless
haste, in the almost certain hope, however, of
meeting some of the family coming to their assistance.
But as no tidings of her were ever after
heard, nor no traces of her discovered after, unless
it was a few fragments of a shawl she wore across
her shoulders, by some persons who shortly after
passed that way from the farm for the purpose of
seeing the sick woman, we must leave the kind-
hearted girl here, hoping that her fate on earth,
which we shudder at the bare thought of, only admitted
her a passage to a better world, where she
and her beloved mistress sat down together in the
paradise of God.

May no eyes that peruse this story, ever have
occasion to shed tears as stole down the pale
cheek of the fair invalid, as she gazed on the two
innocent prattlers who were trying, in their artless
manner, to beguile her attention.

“Dear children,” she said, “I am dying. Oh!
what will become of you? Father in heaven, send 11(6)r 131
one friend, only one!”
and she raised her clasped
hands in agony to heaven. As she uttered this
expression, the door slowly opened, and Menoi, the
friendly savage, stood before her.

“Lady, can I serve you?” asked the red man,
with evident emotion, as he advanced to the couch,
and looked earnestly into her face.

“Menoi, God be praised!” exclaimed Gabriella,
as she made an ineffectual effort to raise herself up,
and sank back again exhausted. “Menoi, know
you the fate of our people? Of my husband, Louis?”

The savage shook his head.

“Don’t deceive me, Menoni, I am dying”, said
she.

“Menoi no deceive. To-morrow, my white
brethren be all sent off, great way over water, to
be Englishman’s slave. If old Louis come back
well, he not come; they shoot young Louis.”
A
shudder passed over the frame of the dying woman,
and she closed her eyes for a moment, uttering an
incoherent prayer, in which the most that could be
distinguished was “my children!”

“Lady,” said the savage, “will trust Menoi
with little ones; he carry them to Canada, please
God. If French no take ’em, my squaw bring ’em
up with pappoose. Half Menoi have, Louis’ babies
have.”

Gabriella passed her hands across her eyes.

“One moment, stop one moment. Yes, Menoi,
I will trust them with you. Take them, and if
possible get them to Quebec. Tell Frontinac they
are the descendants of his friend ―― ――.
If he will not receive them, keep them, and may
God bless you and yours as you prove faithful to
my babes. I trust you are a Christian, Menoi.
Teach them to love God, and to remember me
when—when”
— — — — The last of the sentence
gurgled in her throat; a dreadful spasm shook 11(6)v 132
her frame, and the gentle Gabriella, the fond, devoted
wife and tender mother was no more.

The savage bent down his head to see if she
breathed. All was silent. Gently he disengaged
the wonder-struck children, and telling them they
must “be still, and go see father,” he took one on
each arm, and plunged into the wood with them.

He had no sooner disappeared, than a posse of
British soldiers made their appearance. A suspicion
had been communicated that Louis the elder might
be concealed at this remote place, and a small company
of British soldiers from the fort had been sent
out, as being best acquainted with the country, to
search this neighborhood.

Fierce as bloodhounds, they rushed into the
building, and directly into the room where lay the
remains of the lovely Gabriella. A peaceful smile
was on the lips of her whom no tumult should ever
again disturb; the hands were meekly folded on
her bosom, and the parting lips appeared as though
they might have even then been calling down
blessings on her murderers. “There are tears on
her cheek,”
said one of the soldiers, who drew
near, and seemed to cast a glance of compassion.

“Fire the building!” shouted a stentorian voice.
“Our orders are imperative, to fire the house if we
did not find the prisoner. No delay there, time
presses.”
His orders were obeyed, and the flames
of the building soon rose in one wide sheet to
heaven. From the first opening in the forest, the
savage, with his precious burden, caught a view of
the blazing pile; and savage though he was, stopped
to give one sigh to the gentle being whose
earthly part was consumed in it.

It was but a moment, for there was no time
to lose. Carefully and safely putting aside the
branches, the wary chief pursued his way towards
the place where he had designed to rest until night. 12(1)r 133
In that neighborhood he had hid a canoe, and at
nightfall he proposed to embark in this frail conveyance,
and carry them to a small encampment of
Indians, where, he trusted, they would be safe until
the heat of pursuit should be over, when he would
proceed to Canada with them.

Whether the intentions of the generous savage
would have been carried into effect, could he have
gained this place even, is after all uncertain. But
his designs were doomed to be baffled, for now a
new difficulty intervened to stop his progress. A
house and barn had just been fired near the place
where he had to pass, and fearful the flames would
communicate to the adjoining forest, he was obliged
to change his course, and by that means exposed
himself to the observation of some straggling soldiers,
part of a scout who had been sent out to
search for the missing. The “reward of ten guineas
for every Indian scalp,”
which had recently
been offered by Governor Lawrence, was not forgotten
at this moment. The hue and cry of “an
Indian! an Indian!”
resounded through the woods,
and showers of bullets were falling in all directions.

With as much precipitation as possible, burdened
as he was, the red man fled before his pursuers.
A shriek from the boy now announced he was
wounded, but still the savage dashed onward. He
was armed, and had he been alone would have sold
his life dear. But one arm encircled each child,
and there was no possibility of defending himself.
Flight was his only resource, and he evidently
gained upon his pursuers, until, coming to the river,
he stopped irresolute one instant, and looked back.
It was fatal. A bullet entered his side, and he
could only stagger back a few paces, ere he fell on
the sward. The place where he fell, however, was
well calculated for concealment, being completely
defended from rays of the sun by the intervening12 12(1)v 134
branches forming a kind of natural arbor, enclosed
on every side, saving the one by which he
entered. Here Menoi sunk upon the sward, convinced
his labors were over, and here we shall
leave him for a few moments.

Aggravated beyond measure by the daring and
contemptuous language of Louis at the meeting,
Colonel Winslow had determined, at all events, to
secure his person. Whether he was animated wholly
by a spirit of revenge, or whether he really
thought as he said, that “he was a dangerous person
to go loose,”
or whether he thought it a hard
thing one person should suffer for the sins of another,
or whether all of them operated, we cannot say.
But he evinced a desire to make an example of
him, rather uncommon; and as scout after scout
had returned unsuccessful, he had that morning
rode out himself, determined to direct the pursuers,
who were now hunting him up,.

The party who had been diverted from the pursuit
of the fugitives by the sight of an Indian, had
missed the savage after his wound. They were
not sensible they had shot him, but, indeed, thought
him much further off than he was. When they
arrived at the river side, and saw the print of his
foot on the soft sand along the edge of the bank,
where in truth he had passed up that morning
when on his way to the habitation of Louis, (and
most imprudently stopped to hit a buck on the opposite
side,) they thought of course they were following
him, and proceeded up the stream. Colonel
Winslow
had heard the shouting, and, turning his
horse in that direction, gained the bank of the river.
Here he stopped, and commanding his few attendants
to dismount and follow on, he himself awaited
their return.

Exceedingly fatigued by the exercise of the
morning, he resolved to alight and refresh himself 12(2)r 135
and was proceeding down the bank to the water,
when he discovered spots of blood upon the grass.
Though alone, he was no coward; and following
the track, he traced them to the place we have just
described, and entered the recess.

The scene that presented itself was petrifying.
Never on the field of battle had he seen any thing
so touching as what he now beheld. There lay
the savage, each arm still encircling a child. The
beautiful boy of three years old, in his terror had
clung to his neck, and death had only tightened
the grasp. His bright flaxen locks were dabbled
in blood, and his fair round cheek rested against
that of the red man. His eyes were open, those
beautiful blue eyes, though the languor of death
weighed on their lids. The little girl, just one year
younger, and not less beautiful, reposed her head on
the dusky bosom of the chief. She had been stifled
by the firm grasp in which she was held. In
the agitation of his flight, Menoi had grasped her
with an energy he was not aware of. It had stopped
her breath, and the soul had quitted its little
tenement and taken its flight for heaven. The
starting eye-ball, the half-opened mouth, as though
gasping for breath, and the purple flush of the brow,
proclaimed the death she had died. Unlike her
brother in appearance, the pure French blood spoke
out in every feature.

We envy not the feelings of the commander as
he stood transfixed and gazed upon this scene.
The features of the grim savage, too, were not to
be mistaken. Life in him was not yet extinct, and
his glaring eye-balls spoke daggers to the imagination
of Colonel Winslow. A Mic Mac, too, one of
the most savage of all the races of Indians. And
yet he had perished, nobly perished, in the endeavor
to rescue infant innocence.

The Colonel had stood upon the field of battle 12(2)v 136
while the horrors of carnage raged around him, and
slaughtered hundreds were stretched on every side;
and more, he had beheld unmoved the agonies of
this very people. He had assisted, in cold blood,
to wring the hearts of hundreds whom he had heard
supplicating around him, broken hearted, and, dreadful
to tell, his own remained untouched. But nothing
had equalled this. The cold sweat stood upon
his forehead, and he felt his knees smite one another.
He stooped and bared the bosom of the boy,
and the blood, no longer impeded, spouted a stream
from the bullet-hole in his breast. He lifted the
little soft hand of the girl, and it fell powerless
from his grasp. For the first time his heart was
softened, and tears unbidden forced themselves
down his cheeks, while in agony of spirit he exclaimed,

“Why was I commissioned upon this iniquitous
service? Was there no monster, steeped to the lips
in blood, who could have been found? No cannibal,
who would have undertaken it? The conduct of
this savage will rise up against me in the day of
judgment! The King commands it: true. But
who is the King? Can he forgive sin? Can he
sanctify evil deeds? Can he make the Ethiopian
white, or the leper clean? Can he purge the guilty
conscience? What if I leave this ungrateful service
now? I will! I will! nor stain my soul still deeper
with—with—innocent blood!”
And he wrung
his hands, tore the sword from his side, and threw
it on the bank.

Suddenly a distant but tumultuous shout reached
his ears. Hastily snatching up his sword, he emerged
from the shade and ascended the neighboring
hill, where a scene presented itself so awfully grand,
so horribly sublime, as to enchain every faculty.

The heavens were darkened with smoke, while
on every side towering flames rose in the air, and 12(3)r 137
the wailing of the inhabitants broke upon the ear
as nothing ever can equal, until that day when the
wicked shall “call on the rocks and the mountains
to cover them and hide them from the wrath of
God.”

His orders—alas! he had forgotten the savage
order—had been too faithfully obeyed. History
informs us, that “two hundred and fifty-five houses,
two hundred and seventy-six barns, one hundred
and fifty-five outhouses, and eleven mills, were all
on fire at once.”
The crackling flames gathered
strength on every side, and the maddened and affrighted
cattle were flying about the country in all
directions. Self-preservation was now the only
thought of the commander, and hastily buckling on
his sword, he sought his horse to make the best of
his way to quarters. Should the surrounding woods
take fire, he would be caught in his own toils, or
should he meet a drove of the furious cattle, he
might fare hard. A quaking of limb, we opine,
might have been seen then, had there been any to
observe. But although he soon found some of his
attendants searching for him, and leading his horse,
their own terrors were so great they did not observe
him. Taking a path as much out of the way as
possible, and closing his senses to the sights and
sounds of misery, he was so happy as to reach his
quarters in safety, entirely cured of his penitence,
and rejoicing that the morrow would end his labors
in this region, and see them all embarked.

12 12(3)v
A picture of a man with a bow and arrow, taking aim at a deer. The setting is wooded, and the border of the figure is composed of the sky, trees, and grass.
12(4)r 139

Chapter VIII.

“Even now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done; Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues quit the land.”

The order for burning the buildings may be explained
in few words. It was to oppose a sure
defence against any straggling ones who might hide
themselves until after the sailing of the exiles, and
then return to their habitations. The day had been
devoted to the removal of the last of the household
goods the miserable Acadians had been permitted
to take, and there were piled up on the shore of
the river where they were to embark, uncertain to
the last how many of them they should be permitted
to take. They had endured one more trial
in seeing for the last time the faithful and docile
animals that drew them. For, as their carts and
conveyances were unharnessed on the shore, these
poor creatures were turned loose to perish as soon
as the frozen earth should refuse them subsistence.
Their valuable cattle, flocks of sheep and of poultry,
had all been looked at in turn for the last time;
and the only consolation respecting them was, that
after the English had supplied themselves with
what they wanted, their barns and houses, which
they had left open for the purpose, would afford
them shelter through the winter. A restless and
lingering desire to view these cherished homes once
more, had impelled many to return from the shore.
Some had not left the premises when the dreadful
order to fire the buildings was given. When the
inhabitants saw this, as may well be imagined, their
distress and agony were intense. They felt then,
truly, that all hope was extinct for themselves, and
that their poor animals must inevitably perish. “In 12(4)v 140
this one district of Minas alone, their stock consisted,
at this time, of one thousand two hundred
and sixty-nine oxen, one thousand five hundred and
fifty-seven cows, five thousand and seven young
cattle, four hundred and ninety-three horses, eight
thousand six hundred and ninety sheep, and four
thousand one hundred and ninety-seven hogs.”

See MS. of Colonel Winslow.

It seems astonishing that no means were taken
to save this immense amount of property, either by
taking them off alive to the other provinces, or killing
and exporting the beef, mutton, &c. And it
appears particularly strange that, as Massachusetts
and other provinces made immediate complaints to
the government of such a host of people sent destitute
among them, no means were taken to send
and bring off this stock, instead of supporting them
wholly at the public expense, which they must do,
and did, it seems. Yet such was the fact. They
were not made use of. Most of them perished, and
their bones, many years after, whitened the earth
in that region. Of course, the English garrison,
and the few English besides in Nova Scotia, could
not have made use of this immense amount of provision.
But the question suggests itself, why was
it not prepared for exportation and sent to England,
where there has always been more or less of a
starving population? The amazing fact that it was
not so, stares us in the face; and if there be a circumstance
that adds one shade of infamy to the
transaction it is this: that they destroyed what they
did not want, and took what they could make no
use of.

The evening succeeding a day of such peril and
hardship to himself, as Colonel Winslow considered
it, was passed by him in close quarters. In reality,
nothing had ever exceeded his astonishment at the
patience and forbearance of the Neutral French. 12(5)r 141
Compelled to quit their own dear native land, a land
where even the multiplied trials and sufferings of
their race had, it seems, helped to endear. To
behold with their own eyes the destruction of their
cherished homes, and be exposed to all the insult
and degradation connected with such a catastrophe,
and yet no word of anger, no threat of vengeance
had escaped their lips. Even the cool contempt of
the elder Louis, cutting and provoking as it was,
contained no threat, (though it evidently was more
stinging than though it had.) It was marvellous,
almost surpassing belief.

The commander had, on that evening, before retiring
to his comfortable quarters, coolly written his
orders, “that if the elder Louis should not be found
or present himself by next morning at nine of the
clock, his eldest son, the younger Louis, should
suffer in his stead, by being drawn out in front of
the garrison and shot.”
And having performed
that imperative act of justice, as he termed it, went
in and very comfortably ensconced himself before
a cheerful fire he had ordered to keep off the damps
and chills which, from its proximity to the river,
he thought might be unhealthy.

A table, smoking with the good things of the
land, and wine and spirits from other lands, was
spread in the room, and only waited the arrival of
Captain Murray and two or three officers of inferior
grade, to commence operations. The gentlemen
soon arrived, and took their seats according to etiquette.
For some time the attention to the calls
of appetite precluded conversation. At length, hunger
being somewhat appeased, they gradually fell
to discourse, and each had something to relate about
his own courageous exploits through the day.

One had, as he said, “fired ten different farmhouses
with his own hand, his soldiers being afraid
to go in, the inmates yelled so hideously in French.”

12(5)v 142

This excited great merriment, and the room rang
again with laughter. One proposed a toast “to
their speedy acquisition of the English language.”

This was drunk with great glee.

Another “had twice escaped being run down by
the infuriated cattle in an attempt to burn a barn
where they were confined;”
and averred he had
discovered an excellent remedy for restiff beasts—
“to touch them now and then with a firebrand.”
The others protested they would improve upon the
discovery when they came to drive out the Neutrals
from the adjoining districts, as he thought “a
few firebrands thrown among the obstinate women
and children, might have a marvellous tendency to
learn them good manners, and to move quicker at
the commands of their superiors.”

“They were not over swift to get out of the
way, it must be confessed,”
said another. “One
old blind man detained me some time, saying his
prayers; and it was several minutes before we could
convince him he would have leisure to say them
on the passage. The only difficulty I had with
my own men, was in burning a retired house where
lay the most beautiful woman I ever saw, if she
had not been French. However, they burnt it at
last, and her in it.”

“God forbid!” said Colonel Winslow, starting
from his chair; “you did not burn up a human
being, and a woman too!”

“Why, she was dead, Sir,” said the officer respectfully,
“and you gave no orders to bury the
dead.”

“True”, responded the commander, sinking back
to his chair; “but were there no friends near to
bury her?”

“No human being, I assure you, though we met
a person shortly after, who accused us of burning
two small children, who, he said, were there. But 12(6)r 143
it was false, there was nothing in the house that
had life.”

We will not weary our readers with all the
coarse jokes and unfeeling remarks uttered on that
occasion; but merely say that the stories grew
more marvellous, and the wit brightened, as the
candles and decanters grew lower, until the company
separated, and Colonel Winslow was left alone
again in his room. The effervescence of his spirits
seemed to go off with the company; for they had
no sooner retired, than the commander was seen
leaning his head upon his hand, his elbow resting
upon the table—from which all had been cleared except
the well-drained decanters—in a very thoughtful
mood.

The wind had risen during the evening, and
now blew almost a gale; and as it shook the casement
of the windows, perhaps brought to his mind
the poor, shivering wretches encamped on the shore,
with nothing but their goods and the carts that
brought them to shield them and their babes from
the dampness and cold. All females, too, the males
being still shut up in the church. Perhaps he
thought on their forlorn condition; perhaps he was
thinking upon the sweets of unlimited power, having
for the first time tasted them that day. But
there is no telling what he did think. The wasting
light and dying embers on the hearth, however,
warned him the evening was far advanced, and he
was just rising to retire, when he was diverted by
a slight noise at the entrance. Presently the door
was thrown open, and a young girl rudely thrust in.

“What does this mean?” exclaimed the commander
in a rage, at being intruded on thus, without
his permission. But his anger was instantly
appeased by the sight of the interesting being before
him.

The person who now presented herself to the 12(6)v 144
astonished Colonel, appeared some fourteen or fifteen
years of age, and, as some romance writer
said of his heroine, “too lovely to be looked at
steadily.”
True, that her marble cheek was only
visited by the softest, faintest flush, and her polished
brow was shaded by curls that had not on that
day, at least, been smoothed. Indeed, the winds
of heaven had dealt so rudely with them on this
evening, that they appeared blown in all directions.
Her beautiful countenance expressed a degree of
anxiety, and even agony, quite uncommon in one
of her years; and her finely formed mouth seemed
vainly endeavoring to give utterance to the feelings
that swelled her laboring bosom. Twice did those
ruby lips unclose to give utterance to something,
and twice close again, as if the effort were vain.

Thinking that some strange terror kept her mute,
and that perhaps her communication affected his
personal safety in some way or other, he spoke
soothingly to her, and begged her to disclose the
nature of her business immediately. For the first
time she raised the long dark lashes that shaded
her eyes, and looked him steadily in the face. The
eye was French, there was no mistaking that; and
such was the force of prejudice,—we record it with
grief,—half the feelings of kindness with which he
had been disposed to regard her, vanished at the
conviction. If Walter Scott had written at that
day, he probably would have quoted him: “Why is it, at each turn I trace Some memory of that hated race?”

“Can you understand French, Sir?” asked the
girl, speaking in imperfect English, but in a voice
of melodious sweetness.

“I don’t speak it well, but I believe I can understand
you child. What is the matter?”

“I come, Sir,” said the girl, advancing to the 13(1)r 145
table, and speaking with an energy that was almost
startling, when contrasted with her first appearance,
“I come to ask the life of a brother, unjustly condemned
to death.”

“Ha!” said the commander, “is the young cub
that is to die to-morrow, your brother?”

“The young man who is so sentenced is my
eldest and dearly beloved brother,”
said Pauline.

“But how sayest thou he is unjustly sentenced?
Know you not that his father is a traitor, and keeps
himself out of the way? Let him deliver himself
and save the lad.”

“Alas! Sir, we know not where he is, but fear
he has slain himself. My father, if living, would
never suffer his son to die for him, unless he is,
as we fear, mad.”

“Why,” said the commander, “have you ever
discovered any symptoms of madness in him?”

“Very many,” said Pauline, following up the
idea; he has behaved very singular of late, absenting
himself for days together. He could not
have been in his senses.”

“Oh!” said the commander, somewhat mollified
by the assurance that the insult he had received
was from a madman; “but as respects your brother,
girl, my orders are from the Governor, and his from
the King, and he, you know, must be obeyed.”

“May he reward you, Sir, better for your obedience
than he has us,”
said Pauline, with a sigh.
“But you, as a commander here, have the power to
reprieve as well as to condemn. My brother, Sir,
was torn from a dying wife, who, in her last moments,
consigned her two infants to a savage Indian.
No other human help was nigh, and those two innocent
babes were shot by your soldiers, with their
protector. My brother! my brother!”
she exclaimed,
wringing her hands, “hast thou not suffered
enough?”

13 13(1)v 146

The last part of the sentence was unheard by
the commander; for full before him, in imagination,
lay the ghastly savage, with his clenched
teeth and glazing eye-balls, and the little innocents
on his bosom.

“Then it was your brother’s wife who was consumed
in yonder house,”
said he, with a deep
drawn breath, “and his children who perished with
the savage?”

“It was!” exclaimed Pauline; “and could you
have seen them as I did”

“I have! I have!” exclaimed Colonel Winslow,
pressing his hand on his eyes as though to shut out
some dreadful vision. Then rising, he rang a small
bell which stood on the table, and told the attendant
who answered it “to get him a piece of paper.”
After writing a few lines, he folded and presented
it to the waiting and agonized pleader.

“Thou hast prevailed, poor girl,” he said, with
a softened voice; “thou hast saved the life of thy
brother. Give this to Captain ―― in the morning.
It is a reprieve.”

With unbending firmness the youthful Pauline
had stood before him while making her request;
but she was now softened. She took the paper,
and burst into tears.

“Oh, Sir,” said she, “when the King Eternal
shall judge you for obeying an earthly king, may
he remember this one good deed.”

“Well, I see you are no flatterer. But stop,
child; can I be of any other service to you, consistent
with my duty? You must be rather chilly
out there this raw night. Will you take a glass of
wine?”
proffering one at the same time.

Pauline looked up. “While my friends on yonder
shore are suffering for a drop of fresh water, no.
I will say as our blessed Lord said before his sufferings,
‘I will drink no more of the fruit of the vine 13(2)r 147
until I drink it in my father’s kingdom.’”
Then
turning to the commander, and making a low and
graceful obeisance, she departed.

“These French, your honor, never lose their politeness,
any how,”
said Andrew, an English attendant,
who had been some years in the country.

“Indeed, indeed, I can’t tell,” said the commander,
musing. “She came very near losing hers,
methought, once or twice, but dost thou know any thing
about her, Andrew? She is something quite extraordinary.
A papist, and pious too, and has read
the Bible. I marvel at that. And then her manner
might adorn a court.”

“Oh yes, your honor, she is one of the best educated
among them, and has a French Bible. The
priest and all consider her as quite a prodigy.
Moreover, she is the schoolmaster’s sweetheart, and
a fine looking fellow he is, too, bating his being
French and a papist.”

“But, now I think of it, Andrew, how came she
in here without permission, or even being announced?”

“Why, your honor, she said she had important
business, and no time was to be lost, and that you
would be sorry when it was too late, if she did not
see you; and so the sentinel admitted her, without
any more palaver.”

“Indeed! Well, just see that he admits no more,
my good fellow. I am going to try to sleep. But,
Andrew, how do those poor people on the shore
endure this cold wind? Do they grumble much?
All females, too; it is bad, you know.”

“I cannot tell, your honor. I only heard Nedebiah
Smith
say there was a few of them dead
when he changed guard, an old woman or so, and
one or two children, and that they were going to
bury them in the sand at daybreak. But he said
there was no mourning, each one wished it had 13(2)v 148
been themselves. They also say there were several
sick with the fall sickness, whom they fear were
burnt up in their houses.”

“That is a mistake,” said the commander; “and
I trust those who died on the shore, died no sooner
for removing. Doubtless their time had come,”

hemming once or twice to clear his throat.

“No, no,” said Andrew. “Hurried them, no;
for they were dying when they began to move; so
it would be useless for them to say being turned
out in the night air killed them.”

“You may go,” said the commander, possibly
thinking the conversation was taking rather an
unpleasant turn. “You may go, but wake me at
the first glimpse of dawn.”

The attendant departed, and the commander was
once more left to himself. The dying embers and
nearly exhausted lights seriously admonished him
to retire. Before he did so, however, he walked
the room about ten minutes, nearly as fast as an
ordinary horse would go upon a trot, wiped his
forehead, opened the window, listened one moment
to the howling gust as it swept past, the distant
roar of the surge on the beach, and heard the midnight
sentinel say, as he slowly paced his rounds
under the window, “All’s well.” Then shutting
the window, with an involuntary response of “all’s
well! Oh God!”
retired to rest and to sleep.

The image of the graceful Pauline haunted the
early part of his slumbers. Her keen, heart-searching
glance was still turned to him, look which way
he would. He could not get out of the way of it
for some time. At length the scene changed. A
figure incessantly pursued him, and, turning to face
his unknown foe, the gigantic person of the slaughtered
savage stood before him. He tried to flee,
but fell over the bodies of the two murdered infants,
whose warm blood he thought he could feel 13(3)r 149
trickling over his face and hands. He tried to rise,
but could not, when the loud yell of the Indian
awoke him; and, so vivid was the impression that,
upon awaking, he could not help believing the red
men had come to the rescue. Wearied and exhausted,
he now rose and pressed his repeater to
see what time it was. The watch answered to
three, and judging that two hours’ sleep would
refresh him much, he once more sought his pillow
and repose.

Thus far, the long-suffering goodness of God had
sought him. It was now the devil’s turn, and he
had no sooner closed his eyes than a scene of a
very different kind presented itself.

He now suddenly found himself in a splendid
hall, where the lights from unnumbered lustres
almost dazzled him. At one end, seated upon a
small platform, elevated a foot or two above the
carpeted floor, and beneath a canopy of crimson
velvet, sat a man of about sixty-five years of age,
clothed in ermine and purple, and around waited
in princely state hosts of attendants in splendid
attire, either of whom, taken alone, would have
commanded attention from any one so wedded to
the pomp and vanities of the world as was the commander
of his Majesty’s forces from the province of
Massachusetts Bay. It wanted not the diadem or
sceptre—though both were there—to assure him
that he stood in the presence of England’s King.
But what particular business brought him to the
court of George the Second, he could not at first
divine, until a hand was tendered him, and he was
gracefully led up to the feet of royalty. He was
about to kneel, when the King presented his hand,
and thanked him before the assembled court “for
his zeal in ridding his province of Nova Scotia from
the enemies of the crown.”
He then knelt down,
and a sword being presented his Majesty, he laid it 13 13(3)v 150
on his shoulder, and commanded him to “rise, Sir
John Winslow
.”
A military band of music then
struck up God save the King, and amid the
waving of standards and congratulations of admiring
throngs, the Colonel awoke, fully nerved for
the business he had on hand!!!

Chapter IX.

“Good heaven! what sorrows gloomed that parting day, That called them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round thy bowers, and fondly looked their last; And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, Returned and wept, and still returned to weep.”

In the neighborhood of Grand Pree, then district
of Minas, (now Horton,) there were collected about
two thousand souls. The --09-10tenth of September was
scarcely ushered in, by firing the morning gun and
rolling of the drum, &c., before the whole were in
motion. The road from the chapel to the shore,
just one mile in length, was crowded with women
and children, who awaited in breathless expectation,
the appearance of husbands, brothers, fathers, and
sons. Pale faces bathed in tears might be seen on
every side.

The wind that had howled so dismally through
the night, had now lulled. But a damp and chilly
atmosphere seemed to forebode a coming storm.
Nature appeared to mourn the woes she had witnessed.
For the sun had hid his face, and the driving scud
and dark and heavy masses of clouds still obscured
the face of heaven.

About one hour had elapsed since this mournful
company had gathered along the highway—an age 13(4)r 151
to them. When, suddenly, the blast of a trumpet
was heard, and, emerging from a road on the right,
the commander and his military escort appeared in
sight. He was mounted on a fine charger, that
pranced and curveted as though he was bearing the
person of his portly rider to a triumph, and exulted
in the elegant housings, &c. with which he was
decorated. Colonel Winslow himself, had somehow
managed to throw off the look of care he had
worn on the preceding evening. Though he was
somewhat pale, he appeared not only collected but
resolute. In fact, there was an appearance of stern
determination about him that argued rather unfavorably
for the afflicted, heart-stricken beings that
the dark and inscrutable decrees of a mysterious
Providence had, for the present, subjected to his
mandate.

With an air of sullen dignity, our commander
passed on through the ranks of sobbing females
that lined the road. Without the slightest courtesy
or sign of recognition to those who bore the form
of woman, he never once bent his head, except
now and then to shun a branch that ventured to
obtrude itself “between the wind and his nobility,”
until a short turn in the road placed suddenly before
him an object that, nerved as his feelings were, he
could not behold without some emotion. It was
the beautiful and interesting girl that appeared to
him on the preceding evening; and if her beauty
and grace had interested him then, the position he
now saw her in was calculated to do so still more,
for if ever despair was personified, it was in her.
She stood like some marble statue, and there was a
rigidity about her features that was absolutely startling.

On the bank before him was seated an aged man,
of most venerable appearance, while a girl of almost
infantile years knelt before him, with her face hid 13(4)v 152
in his lap, sobbing with violent emotion. Not so
the graceful Pauline, who supported his head on
her bosom, and held one of his withered hands
clasped in hers, though the look with which she
regarded him seemed almost petrified; there was a
kind of stupefaction about it, that would at once
have startled an observer, had not his own woes,
as did those of these unhappy people, absorb every
faculty. The commander looked at her for an instant,
as though to ascertain whether she breathed
or no. She never raised her eyes, and he said,
haughtily,

“What does this mean? Did not I command
every man to be at the chapel five days ago?”

“My poor father is blind, Sir,” said a middle-
aged woman, of most dignified appearance, who
now stepped forward, “and very aged, and we fear
this walk, combined with his other suffering, may
prove his death.”

Pauline never once looked up, but in immovable
silence still continued to hold the hand and support
the person of her grandfather, upon whom her eyes
were bent, with that stone-like gaze.

Without deigning a reply to madam, the commander
rode on, followed by his attendants, and
the crowd pressed after, each wishing to be first to
seize the hand of a husband, or some dear relative,
intending to go hand in hand to the vessels, that
they might by no means be separated. The short
distance from where Pauline now was, enabled her
to reach it, supporting the tottering steps of her
grandfather, and they arrived just before the church
doors were thrown open, and the prisoners ordered
to come forth. As soon as they were all out of the
church, the young men and lads were ordered to
stand apart. They were then arranged six deep,
and, contrary to all ideas of precedence, to march
on first. In the utmost surprise and confusion, they
demanded to know what it meant.

13(5)r 153

It was now that Colonel Winslow threw off the
mask, and appeared in the true spirit of his embassy.
He now boldly proclaimed his intention “of
sending the young men by themselves, the old ones
by themselves, and the women and children
(he
observed) would fill the remaining vessels.”

Horror and amazement were depicted on every
countenance. Many of the females fainted on the
spot, and cries, groans, shrieks, and prayers were
mingled together in such lamentation as we question
was ever heard, unless it might be when Herod
gave command to destroy all the first-born of the
children of Israel. To be not only driven out from
their peaceful and happy homes, scattered in a
strange land, whose manners, language, and customs
they were unacquainted with; to be taken
from plenty and condemned to poverty and servitude;
to not only encounter the perils of the ocean,
but, as a refinement in cruelty, to be condemned to
encounter them alone, separated from all they loved
on earth, Oh! it was too much to think of—it was
heart-rending. It seems scarce credible, but such is the fact, that historical
writers who have mentioned this scene, have expressed a degree
of pity for the tyrant who in this affair carried into execution the
mandates of a greater one. We have no recollection of seeing
any order to Colonel Winslow, prescribing the manner in which
the exiles should be classed on board the vessels; certainly none
for the separation of families. And we have no doubt this was an
arrangement of his own contriving. Cruelty is a passion that
grows by what it feeds on. There is not, from the lord of the
forest down to the meanest animal, any but what are maddened by
the taste of blood. The unresisting anguish of these deeply afflicted
people, instead of working compassion in the hearts of those
who carried the cruel mandate of their expulsion into effect, seems
to have had the effect of heightening their cruelty. In one of the
letters of Captain Murray to Colonel Winslow, at that period, he
says, “I am glad to hear the poor devils take it so patiently.”
“Poor devils!” The man who could speak of such sufferings as
theirs in such a manner, or he who would reciprocate it, ought to
have the word “villain” written on his tombstone.
Our readers will recollect the conduct of these men is a matter
of historical record. And one of the first inquiries that suggests
itself, upon reading of the manner in which this man falsified his
word pledged to the Neutrals, “that their personal comforts
in the transportation should be attended to as much as possible,
and families should not be separated,”
is, had he the power?
Was he authorized, or not, to make such a promise? And, if he
was, how came he to falsify it? A soldier’s honor is his own, and
respected as such among all nations. A man may be compelled to
fight, and so much against his judgment and feelings. But no
power on earth can make a man a liar, but with his own consent.

13(5)v 154

This unreasonable and tyrannical command was
most unexpectedly met by the young men with
suitable demonstrations of resentment. They one
and all drew back, and refused to proceed, unless
their parents and families were permitted to accompany
them. The demoniacal passions which policy
had kept down, while cunning and caution were
necessary, were no longer concealed, as with close-
shut teeth and eyes sparkling with rage, the commander
fiercely ordered the soldiers to advance
upon them with fixed bayonets, unarmed and defenceless
as they were, while himself, rudely seizing
the foremost one, jerked him forward. Of this ridiculous
and contemptible action, Colonel Winslow
actually boasted afterwards in his report, and the
same circumstance is narrated in his journal, which,
as we observed, is still to be seen. But to return.
It was impossible for the commander on withdrawing
his hand, and uncollaring the man, to escape
the glance of utter contempt which passed from
rank to rank upon observing this ruffiianlyruffianly, unsoldierlike
action.

Gladly, at this moment, would the young men,
the youthful band of sufferers on this occasion,
have laid down their lives on the spot, have sung
hallelujahs at the prospect of instant death; but to
be mangled to pieces, without that privilege, murdered
by inches, and yet not killed, flayed alive in 13(6)r 155
sight of their distracted parents and brethren, to be
cut and hacked and gashed to pieces, and finally
compelled to obedience after all, was more than
flesh and blood could bear. And thus goaded, they
took up their march, followed at some little distance
by the older men, in the same order; their feelings
partook not of the warmth of the younger part
of the company; and, we record it with grief, there
was an evident feeling of disappointment, mixed
with anger, at their peaceable deportment, which
left no room for the exercise of severity on the part
of their oppressors. With the most perfectly calm
and collected deportment, they passed on through
the groups of women and children, that lined the
road on each side through that interminable mile,
and who fell involuntarily on their knees as they
passed, with streaming eyes imploring heaven in
strong cries for mercy. In the midst of this all-
harrowing scene, the men were enabled, like Paul
and Silas, to sing praises unto God, and one universal
strain of praise and thanksgiving, in loud
hosannas, burst in full chorus from a thousand lips.
Oh you who assert that Frenchmen have no feeling,
and papists no piety, read this, a fact sufficiently
attested in history, and ponder. With short intermissions
of ejaculatory prayer, this was continued
until they reached the shore, where a trial awaited
them worse than all. It was the parting look at
their families, the consummation of their martyrdom.
Upon stepping on board the transports, each
one might have exclaimed with the hapless Agag,
“Surely the bitterness of death is past.” The
moment in which they took this last look of their
greatest earthly treasures, must have been one of
excruciating agony, and we doubt if their fortitude
did not falter in so trying a moment.

Five transports lay too and received the male part
of the population, and each one was guarded on 13(6)v 156
the voyage with “six non-commissioned officers
and eighty privates.”
We dare not dwell upon the
scenes attending the embarkation of the wretched
Neutrals—the agonizing shrieks of children for their
parents, wives for their husbands and sons, and the
great distress of removing the sick, many of whom
died on their passage, and a vast many aged persons.
Imagination sickens over the horrors of that day,
and our readers can doubtless bring the scene before
their mind in all its appalling circumstances. We
will, therefore, leave the great mass of sufferers,
and follow the footsteps of our heroine.

In the background of the scene transacting on
the shore, at the time of the embarkation of the
male population, Pauline, who had continued to
support the tottering steps of her grandfather, was
now seen holding his trembling arm, while she
parlied with the soldier who was urging him to
hurry on board where the older men were embarking.
No longer was the deathlike and rigid look
to be seen. Her cheek was flushed and her eye
sparkled as she plead the cause of humanity in
behalf of the poor blind man, whom she argued it
would kill to separate from his family, and besought
she might be permitted to take him with her among
the females.

“What is the matter in this quarter?” said the
commander, riding up and surveying the group in
question. The officer told him. At the same time
a very prepossessing youth, just embarking, was
exchanging adieus with Pauline.

“Maiden,” said the commander, “I will grant
thee one more favor, thy lover or thy grandfather.
Choose quickly.”

“My choice,” said the indignant maiden, turning
upon him a scornful glance, “is the path of
duty.”
Hastily drawing the arm of the infirm old
man through hers, she led him aside.

14(1)r 157

The wind, which had risen again, was now
blowing almost a gale, and the word being given
of “all ready,” the white sails were speedily unfurled,
and the vessels containing the male part
of the population, careening to the blast, dashed
through the foaming waters, scattering the spray
from their sides like sheets of feathers, and were
soon out of sight. A few more hours on that cold
shore, and the craft destined to receive the females
arrived. Just as the sun was sinking behind the
western hills, enveloped as he was in flying clouds,
and every thing presaging a storm—half sick with
grief, terror, watching, and exposure, the wretched
women and their little ones bade a long and last
adieu to their native shore, their once lovely and
still beloved home. Until the last streak of day
had faded from the horizon, you might have discovered
the graceful form of Pauline clinging to
the railing of the last vessel, while one arm clasped
the person of her aged grandfather, whose sightless
orbs were raised to heaven, while his gray hair
fluttered in the gale. What a contrast to the youthful
figure beside him! Her long dark curls were
waving about her person, and her dewy eyes directed
to the receding landscape. Together, they
formed a group that might have stood for the angel
of the resurrection about to bear some aged saint
to heaven.

14 14(1)v 158

Chapter X.

“Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o’ertops the mouldering wall; And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler’s hand, Far, far away, thy children quit the land.”

Pause we upon a scene of destruction and desolation
rarely paralleled, even when marking the
course of a victorious army through some conquered
country. Here, “no embattled hosts had strewed
the ensanguined plain.”
No contending armies had
met. The peaceful and gentle race who had just
been drawn from their happy firesides, offered no
resistance to the cruel exactions and multiplied
demands of their oppressors. What a scene must
have met the eye on every side, immediately on the
departure of this people; and how hardened the
heart, how seared the conscience, that could not
feel on such an occasion! Despairing ourselves of
giving an adequate idea of the total ruin, we take
the liberty to transcribe a paragraph entire from
Halliburton’s History of Nova Scotia, (INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.vol. i. p.
180
.)
After remarking that the haste with which
the embarkation of these unfortunate people was
conducted, did not admit of the preparations for
their comfort so desirable, &c., he adds:

“The hurry, confusion, and excitement connected
with the embarkation had scarcely subsided,
when the provincials were appalled at the work of
their own hands. The novelty and peculiarity of
their situation could not but force itself upon the
attention of even the unreflecting soldiery. Stationed
in the midst of a beautiful and fertile country,
they suddenly found themselves without a foe
to subdue, and without a population to protect.
The volumes of smoke which the half-expiring
embers emitted, while they marked the site of the 14(2)r 159
peasant’s humble cottage, bore testimony to the
extent of the work of destruction. For several
successive evenings the cattle assembled around
the smouldering ruins, as if in anxious expectation
of the return of their masters; while all night long
the faithful watch-dogs of the Neutrals howled over
the scene of desolation, and mourned alike the hand
that had fed, and the house that had sheltered
them.”

Thus far Halliburton. And perhaps it will not
be expected to add to a picture sketched by such a
masterly hand. He allows “that all good men
have agreed to condemn the treatment of the Acadians,”
who, he avers, “were scattered in distant
provinces, in the hope that in time, their manners,
language, and predilections would be changed, and
even the recollection of their origin lost;”
and
adds, “it was doubtless a stain upon the provincial
councils
.”
This would seem to imply that it was
concerted and concocted in the provinces, when it
was certainly known, and he himself admits in
another place, that it was decided on by the King,
“to whom they had referred.” He apologises,
however, for the English government resorting to
such extremities, because, “had the milder sentence
of unrestrained exile been passed upon them,
it would have had the effect of recruiting the
strength of Canada; and because in those days of
religious rancor, it was deemed impossible for English
colonists to mingle with papists or Frenchmen.”

When we reflect upon the ease with which the
French and Spanish inhabitants of Louisiana and
the Floridas have conformed to the new order of
things since they became citizens of the United
States
, we are in amazement that it should have
been deemed a difficulty to effect that, which, without
any coercion, has been accomplished by our
government, and in a much shorter space of time. 14(2)v 160
It proves the truth of the old adage, “easier drawn
than driven.”

We must go back a few days in our story, to
speak of the affairs of Annapolis and Cumberland,
where the proclamation excited great feeling among
the inhabitants. A report had, by some means or
other, reached the Neutrals of that region, that they
were to be carried prisoners to Halifax; and, instead
of assembling, as they were directed, the terrified
inhabitants fled in all directions. A very
considerable number from Cumberland district escaped
to Canada by the way of the St. Lawrence,
which, it will be recollected, lies east of that district,
and flows through the straits of Northumberland.
When the ships came to receive them, the
houses were deserted, and the people had fled to the
woods, with their wives and little ones. Hunger,
fatigue, and distress compelled many to return and
surrender themselves as prisoners, while others retired
to the depths of the forest and encamped with
the Indians, and others wandered away through the
forests to Chegnecto, from whence they escaped to
Canada. To Annapolis, Louis the elder had retreated
in his flight. He had tried in vain in other
places to arouse the slumbering spirit of resistance,
but here circumstances favored him. He had extensive
connexions at one of the settlements, near
the forests to which the fugitives retreated, and
having occasion to cross it on his route, he accidentally
stumbled upon their covert. He was just in
the humor to counsel resistance, and did not hesitate
to do so. But, alas! weapons of defence
they were destitute of, unless it was the spade and
the scyhescythe. These, however, as a last resort, they
secured, bearing them with their goods to the
woods, and were busy in removing every thing
they judged would be useful to them, to the remote
recesses of the forest, until the very day the ships 14(3)r 161
arrived. The officer sent to bring them on, according
to directions, immediately on discovering they
had fled, gave orders to fire their dwellings, and
two hundred and fifty-three dwelling-houses, with
their contents, and also the outhouses, were consumed
at once. Among other things of value,
great quantities of wheat and flax were consumed
in this region. (See Winslow’s Journal.)

Dreadful as were the feelings of the inhabitants
who beheld from the adjoining woods the destruction
of their property, yet they still continued quiet
in their retreat, the soldiers not daring to enter the
wood for fear of an ambuscade. At length, when
every kind of property they could lay hands on was
consumed, they attempted to fire the chapel. And
then it was, that, when adding insult to injury, the
feelings of the people became almost maddened.
Louis, seizing an axe, dashed from the covert, followed
by some hundreds of the male population,
armed with spades, axes, scythes, and crowbars,
and rushing upon the soldiers unawares, dealt their
blows about with such good effect, that, in a few
moments, about thirty rank and file were laying dead
upon the ground, besides a number wounded; and
ere the astonished soldiery could recover themselves,
they retreated again to the wood and remained
masters of the field, their enemies, not daring to
follow them, backed out as fast as possible. In
short, such was the dread of falling into the hands
of the English, in these last regions, that the decree
was resisted; and of eighteen thousand persons at
least, only seven thousand were secured at this
time in the whole country. These were crowded
together in the ships provided, with most indecent
haste, and, as with those of Grand Pree, without
any regard to the feelings of families. Many of
whom, afterwards, were scattered about through
the different provinces, among entire strangers, 14 14(3)v 162
while weeping mothers and mourning fathers and
husbands were wandering about from place to place,
in search of those whom, in many instances, they
were destined never to meet again on this side the
grave. Alas! the half of the woes of this deeply
afflicted people can never be told. When all that
could be collected were embarked, as we before
stated, the whole number amounted to seven thousand,
one thousand of whom were from the immediate
neighborhood of the family of St. Pierre.
One thousand of the whole were destined for the
province of Massachusetts Bay, and with these the
fair and magnanimous Pauline had the happiness to
be embarked; happy, we call it, because the voyage,
though a rough one, was short compared to
that of Virginia, Philadelphia, &c. We shall leave
Louis the elder encamped in the forest with the
company of fugitives, waiting for a chance to get
to Canada, and turn to the scene of destruction and
desolation at Grand Pree.

On the evening of the day that had witnessed
the expulsion of the unoffending Neutrals, Colonel
Winslow
, pleading fatigue, excused himself from
the mess, and retired alone to his apartment to
repose. The excitement of the occasion had subsided.
The unresisting victims of his will had
been driven out before him. He had seen the last
embark. He had witnessed the pity, the forbearance,
the wonderful fortitude of these people; and
he could not but ask himself, if his fate had been
like theirs, whether he would have borne it as they
did? Conscience answered no. Again, he had been
deceived altogether, as respected the character of
these persecuted beings. He had accustomed himself
to consider them as quarrelsome, rebellious, and
refractory; and his astonishment was great at finding
them quiet, industrious, and inoffensive, caring
but little what government they lived under, so 14(4)r 163
long as they were not molested in their individual
concerns. Conscience asked the question, whether
he had done right in the first place, to engage in
such an unholy undertaking? He could not conceal
from himself that, for cruelty and ruthless barbarity,
it exceeded any thing he had ever heard of
among Christian nations, and that he had used his
discretionary powers to inflict unnecessary pain, by
the separation of families from each other, and the
destruction of much property that might safely and
conveniently have been transported with them,
and subsisted them for many a month, instead of
being reduced to the situation of paupers, as he
foresaw many would be. He could not but contrast
the situation of those people with that of his
own cherished family at his pleasant fireside, and
think of the possibility of the sins of the father
being visited upon the children. For all the wealth
that ever flowed from England into Massachusetts
Bay
, we would not have been a prey to the reflections
of this man on that night. Nor was there any
consoling reflection, except the anticipation of favors
and honors from his sovereign, as he termed the
King of England. The command to “call no man
lord,”
no man master on earth, not being then understood
in the favored land he had the happiness
to reside in, and in the very province too, which,
twenty years after, was the first to make the discovery.

A bright and beautiful morning succeeded to a
rough and stormy night, and Colonel Winslow felt
an unconquerable desire to survey the scene of desolation
he had been the agent of producing; and
summoning a faithful attendant who had been some
time in the neighborhood, and was acquainted with
all its localities, he mounted his horse and proceeded
to explore the region. The attendant was quite an
intelligent fellow, for one in his station, and had 14(4)v 164
acquired considerable knowledge of the different
families in the vicinity. Nor was he backward in
imparting what he knew, and pointing out to “his
honor”
where the widow lived “whose only son
was removed on his bed, and died on the beach last
night;”
or where “the happy couple resided who
went off crazy, please your honor, at being torn
from each others arms, and, to complete their misery,
seeing their only child carried off in a third
vessel.”

Sick of the scene, and wearied with his long
ride, the commander at length paused upon a beautiful
plot of ground in front of what had once been
a house of very considerable dimensions. The
blackened walls of the cellars, and the huge stone
chimney, which looked like some frowning giant,
were all that remained of it. But a beautiful garden,
laid out with singular taste, and evidently
cultivated with much industry, at once attracted his
observation; the finely embowered walks, adorned
with the latest flowers of the season, many of them
still in bloom; the fruits, late in this region, still
hung in clusters on the trees, those only which
were near the house having suffered from the
scorching effects of the fire. Dismounting, he
walked across the lawn, and immediately found
himself surrounded by flocks of poultry that jumped
familiarly upon his arms and shoulders, proclaiming
at once the familiarity with which they had
been treated, and asking from his hand the food
they had been accustomed to receive. There is
something in the sufferings of dumb nature inexpressibly
touching, when coupled with a display of
almost human intelligence. The effect was irresistible,
and the Colonel, shaking off the harmless
creatures, felt the tears gathering in his eyes. Leaving
the ruin of the house, which the attendant told
him was owned by one Gasper St. Pierre, he opened 14(5)r 165
a little wicker-gate, and entered a secluded copse.
A bower, covered with vines, was at the end of it.
To this he retreated, and, throwing down his hat,
sat down upon a rustic bench to refresh himself.
His eye was immediately attracted by a piece of
paper lying on the ground; and, hastily snatching
it up, he read these words:

“Torn from our loved and cherished homes, Do thou, O Lord, still guard this spot; But may our wrongs, though we are gone, Remembered be. Forget them not. And when we go to lands unknown, Wilt thou protect us on the deep; Be with us, Saviour, every morn, Although we only wake to weep. But, Great Jehovah, hear our prayer! May he who works a tyrant’s will, Who boldly lifts his hand to swear, He will that tyrant’s laws fulfill, Live with a guilty conscience goaded, By every pang the heart can feel; Live, by the very Power derided, Whose gold has turned his heart to steel; Live, till the land he boasts his own, Has felt the iron rod of power; And cursed, in bitterness of soul”

Something had evidently interrupted the writer,
the lines were left in an unfinished state; but the
word “Pauline,” scribbled on the back side, sufficiently
proved whose composition it was.

“So, pretty Pauline, thou hast cursed me, too.
Well, that was ungrateful; for sure I am I could
not have cursed thee, though much I fear thy surpassing
beauty, more than thy mental superiority,
would have prevented. But, in good truth, thou
wert a prodigy, and it were a pity that so fair a
form should grace an almshouse. And what other
destiny awaits any of you, by my faith I cannot 14(5)v 166
tell. But,”
and he mused, “it is a pity, pity!
Halloo, there, Andrew?”

Andrew soon appeared, thrusting his sunburnt
face through the bushes.

“Andrew, dost know which vessel this old Gasper
and his grand-daughter went in? for I suppose
it was the blind man who lived here.”

“Why, please your honor, I cannot tell. I only
know I heard Madam St. Pierre lamenting being
separated from her daughter, and heard another say
she went in the other vessel to attend her grandfather;
and Madam St. Pierre lifted up her hands
and said, ‘God will bless her.’”

“Then Madam St. Pierre was Pauline’s mother,
and you cannot recollect which vessel carried either,
whether to Boston, Philadelphia, or”

“No, indeed,” said Andrew, “for I never knew
to recollect. I only know they got separated, as
many more did beside.”

The attention of the two was now attracted by
the appearance of a beautiful little French dog,
which came bounding through the bushes, and
wagging his tail, as though rejoiced to meet a human
being in these now deserted regions.

“It is Pauline’s,” said Andrew; your honor
knows no dog was permitted them to carry, and I
believe his name is Sappho. You see he answers
to the name. Poor little fellow, so you too must
perish here. Will your honor please to let me
shoot him? it would be such a mercy.”

“No, Andrew, he is such a rare animal, and so
very pretty, I think I will keep him. You may
take him to quarters.”

Andrew departed with the dog under his arm,
the little animal suffering himself to be taken unresistingly.

As they went out of the wicker-gate the cattle,
attracted by the sound of a human voice, began to 14(6)r 167
gather round; and the cows, with distended udders,
appeared looking anxiously for the hand accustomed
to relieve them.

“Poor creatures,” said Andrew; “if it were not
for scaring the dog, I would shoot two or three of
you, it would be such a mercy. But never mind,”

added he, mounting his horse, “you will die quick
enough when it comes cold weather.”

This was all unheard by the commander, to
whose mind’s eye the beautiful and high-spirited
Pauline, bending beneath the task of some imperious
master, was now present, and he was only
wakened from his reverie by Andrew calling out,
as though he divined his thoughts, “if he did not
think it was a pity she was French and a papist?”

Chapter XI.

“Princes and lords may flourish or may fade, A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold yeomanry, their country’s pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied.”

The winds blew furiously and howled through
the shrouds of the laboring vessel, whose straining
timbers appeared to the inexperienced passengers
threatening every moment to separate, and end their
sorrows in a watery grave. The waves threw up
their white crests, and the ocean resounded with
that hollow roar which always precedes a storm.
Darkness, the most intense, settled over land and
sea, but nothing had apparently disturbed our party.
Still holding by the railing of the vessel, stood the
intrepid Pauline. She could not withdraw her eyes
from the direction of her home, her forsaken home.
A gleam of lightning would now and then reveal a 14(6)v 168
portion of it, and while a glimpse of it could be
caught, it was a gratification she could not forego,
though for the most part the thick darkness covered
all. Since night had closed in, sickness and terror
had driven most of the women below, where, with
their children of all ages, they were piled about the
cabin floor in lamentable confusion and discomfort.
Old Gasper had quietly seated himself at the feet
of his grand-daughter. To him “the darkness and
light were both alike;”
and so that his beloved
grandchild was near, he could endure any thing.

Suddenly a bright light was discoverable from
the shore, which increased every moment, and to
the astounded gaze of the horror-stricken Pauline
discovered the spire of the chapel, which, with the
body of the building, was now one sheet of flame.
An involuntary expression of amazement and horror
escaped the lips of Pauline, while the soldiers raised
a shout of triumph at the fall of the “Babylonish
temple”
as they denominated it.

“Hurrah! there she goes, mother of abominations,”
shouted one.

“Rejoice thou heaven and ye holy angels,” said
a follower of Whitefield, who was standing near;
“I wish I had been there to have witnessed the
fall.”

“Fall of what?” said Pauline, comprehending
only the last part of the sentence.

“Why, of your temple, or whatever you call it,”
said he; “that place of all abominations, where
idolatry and every thing else was practised, if report
says true. You may count it a very great blessing,
young woman, to have been driven out of such a
place.”

Pauline, disdaining a reply, was silent.

“You see,” said a voice which she immediately
recognised to be that of the gallant corporal who
admitted her to the chapel, “it was decided to 15(1)r 169
turn that old papistical place after you came away,
as the commander thought it not best before. He
did not want such a time as they had in the other
place there, where thirty or forty of our soldiers were
killed by them murderous fellows, the French.”

“Possible!” said Pauline. “I was not aware
that any resistance had been offered by our people
in either place.”

“Very well, we did not intend you should know
it, my pretty dear; for as they all escaped into the
woods again, who knows what it might have put
into your heads? As to old daddy, I don’t ’spose
there is much fear of his rising.”

Pauline, not noticing the allusion to her grandfather,
asked and obtained something like a history
of the transaction alluded to, with the additional
information that the ringleader, who had also escaped,
was one Louis, who had previously escaped
from the guard-house at Grand Pree, and would
have been shot, if taken before he fled there to
head a rebellion; adding, “that same fellow, armed
only with an axe, killed the officer and several privates
with his own hand.”

Pauline drew in her breath. She perceived clearly
she was not recognised as his daughter, and
assured of the safety of her father, she now felt
the necessity of withdrawing, lest some expression
from herself or her grandfather might reveal the
interest they felt in the fate of the man who had
made such efforts to avenge his countrymen.

As to Gasper, he submitted to be quietly led
wherever his grand-daughter thought best, and she
now obtained one bunk, which was all that, in the
crowded state of the vessel, could be allotted her.
Here she placed him, and sitting down by his side,
kept her watch through that awful night, holding
on to steady herself, for the storm raged without,
and the rolling and pitching of the vessel in the 15 15(1)v 170
Bay of Fundy was dreadful. But so exhausted
was her poor blind grandfather, that he slept soundly,
though it required all the efforts of his gentle
attendant to prevent his being thrown out, several
times. As only a part could lie down at a time,
she had plenty of company awake. Many an anxious
mother was watching her little ones as they
slept on the only couch that could be obtained for
the whole family. But if their anxiety was great,
what must have been the feelings of those who
had been separated from their little ones, and compelled
to go in a different conveyance. There
were many such, and some children who had no
relatives to take care of them, and were indebted
to the kindness of others for food and lodging.

It had been a great grief to Pauline, that she
could not be permitted to go in the same vessel
with her mother and sister; but the most distant
surmise that they were not going to the same port,
had never entered her head. That pang had been
spared her, and she anticipated the happiness of
meeting her beloved mother and sister as soon as
they should arrive at Boston. Towards morning
the wind lulled, and her grandfather, according to
his custom, arose, when Pauline, taking his place,
procured a few hours’ repose.

A brilliant sun had arisen after the storm, and
was high in the heavens before she awoke and
sought her grandfather. She found him on deck,
and was happy to perceive that such was the veneration
in which he was held, he did not want attentions
in this their hour of need.

The strife of the elements had subsided. The
tempest had passed over without injury. But that which
had passed over this people, had made fearful ravages;
had left marks of violence, of desolation and
destruction behind, which no after sunshine could
repair. The tempest of soul had been such that it 15(2)r 171
seemed almost to have shaken reason from her
throne, with many of them. Nothing could exhibit
a scene of greater misery and despondency than
that presented by the different groups that composed
the passengers of this transport. The deepest
affliction marked their every look and action. There
was resignation, but it was the resignation of despair.
A languor, a perfect stupor, seemed to have
seized upon the faculties, mental and corporeal, of
most of the females. They would sit for hours,
gazing upon vacancy, utterly regardless of every
thing around them, until aroused by the cries of an
infant, or the necessities of some one to whom they
were called to minister, and it then seemed to be a
great effort.

Pauline had been so thoughtful as to get many
comfortable necessaries on board, as also a part of
their movables; many she had been compelled to
leave, from the fear of the officers about loading
the vessel. Such as she had, though, particularly
the beds, she found most useful. Their little stores
were untouched, as rations were allowed all from
the abundant spoil carried on board. Many of the
passengers were distressingly sick through the voyage,
which lasted a week.

The port of Boston was at length visible to their
longing eyes; for, much as they dreaded landing in
a strange place, and the thousand evils they anticipated,
it was a relief to most of them. Some had
been praying “to go to the bottom before they
could enter an English harbor;”
yet, even to
these, reviving hope lent a momentary energy, as
they entered the harbor of one of the most picturesque
cities in the world, certainly the most on
the whole continent of America; for, although
Boston was not then what it is now, as respects the
improvements of art, yet its natural beauties were
great, and appeared not the less lovely to those who 15(2)v 172
had been tossed seven or eight days on a tempestuous
sea. Distressed as was our fair heroine, yet
such was her keen perception of the beauties of
nature, that she viewed the scene before her with
an admiration, that, under different circumstances,
would have been rapture.

“And is this,” she asked, “the fair land which,
I had almost said, a partial God has bestowed upon
the English? and could not such a mighty gift
satisfy the rapacity of their desires?”

The question was addressed to a young officer
who stood near, and a mournful smile was her only
answer.

“Alas!” sighed Pauline, after a momentary
pause, “could they not have been satisfied, without
disturbing our peaceful and unoffending people?
It would not be strange, if the time should come
when the barbarities practised upon us should be
visited upon those who are the instruments of tyranny,
until they shall curse even the name of a
king. It would not be strange, if torrents of blood
should yet be made to flow, in expiation of this sin.
I doubt not God is just, though he has permitted
this, and his vengeance is sure, if slow. Believe
me, Sir, I had rather be the poor, houseless, homeless
exile that I am, than the wealthiest sinner concerned
in this business.”

“Dear ma’am,” said the young man, “let me
beseech you, be cautious; remember you are now
in an enemy’s country. From my soul I pity you
all; but, with the exception of myself, none appears
to feel for your people. If,”
said he, drawing
near and speaking in a low voice, “if I could have
made my escape from the detestable task I have
been engaged in, I should have done it; and when
we get to shore I will endeavor to befriend you.
Be patient.”

As they neared the port, (which, alas! was three 15(3)r 173
days after this,) the tall spires of the churches, the
numerous shipping that lined the wharves, the extent
of the buildings, the hum of business, and the
universal bustle going on, so new to most of them,
seemed for a few moments to elicit their admiration;
but the effect was brief, and again the sense
of their lonely and deserted state pressed upon them
with overwhelming force.

It had been a matter of surprise to Pauline, that
two or three of the vessels in which their company
embarked, kept within sight of each other; and
now, as they all drew up, and were joined by several
others that lay in the offing, she discovered, to
her dismay, that half only of those who were shipped
at Grand Pree were arrived or expected, one
thousand of them only being ordered to Boston.
(Two of the seven thousand then shipped were
from Grand Pree.)

Chapter XII.

“Happy the man, that sees a God employed In all the good and ills that checker life.”

Some temporary shelter had been erected for the
wretched exiles on an unoccupied piece of ground
bordering the city, which, we suppose, must have
been Boston Common; and to this the whole company
were marched, followed by the very few
goods they had been permitted to bring. As it was
early in the day when they landed, the whole company
had arrived and were encamped before night.
And now began the search for lost relatives. Here
might be seen a wife rushing to the arms of her
husband, children clinging to the neck of a parent, 15 15(3)v 174
brothers and sisters embracing, and neighbors and
friends greeting their companions in misfortune;
and here, too, were distracted women and children,
flying from tent to tent in search of those who had
been conveyed to distant ports. But no one had
Pauline to search for her. Unable to leave her
infirm charge, whose health had perceptibly failed
since their embarkation, she stood still, supporting
her poor grandfather, and watching the moment
when a brother or an uncle should appear, and aid
her dear mother and sister to her arms; for she
could not but believe that her relations, except her
father, were among those who had landed from the
other vessels; and it was with a pang amounting
to agony, she learnt at length that herself and grandfather
were the only ones of the family in that
region, and that there were none from her immediate
neighborhood except a few helpless women
and children, who embarked in the same vessel.

We pass over the tears, the wringing of hands,
and exclamations of despair, that succeeded this
discovery. Although she felt the utmost need of a
mother and brother’s care, it was not for herself
she mourned with many who mourned from like
cause. It was for her dear mother, and young,
lovely, and affectionate sister, whose knowledge of
the English language was very inferior to her own,
and whom she thought less able, on every account,
to struggle with misfortune than herself. She pictured
her kindred sold into slavery, and compelled
to serve some taskmaster on one of the southern
plantations; for of them she had often heard from
her youthful admirer, the schoolmaster; he, too,
was not here, and Pauline felt herself almost sinking
under her heavy weight of affliction.

One of the most important steps was taken on
this evening that had ever been taken by this people;
one that had the greatest effect upon their 15(4)r 175
after lives and final destiny. It was to call themselves
“prisoners of war, and, persevering in it, to
refuse any exertion or employment whatever.”

The object contemplated by this measure was to
procure an exchange, by some means or other, to
be conveyed to France or some French port. No
one could blame them. In fact it looked, at first
view, like a wise and prudent determination; but
could the framers of it have foreseen all the evils
that would result from it, they would have been
shocked indeed. That memorable evening it was
announced to all and every individual, that they
must consider themselves “prisoners of war, and
that no one must, by any means, consent
to labor in any way or fashion, or be useful in any
employment.”
This agreement, drawn up by some
of the most educated and influential of the Neutral
French
, was circulated from tent to tent, requiring
the signature of every person capable of holding a
pen. It was unhesitatingly agreed to and signed
by almost every individual; but the distress of the
miserable Pauline was so great, she was not spoken
to on the subject, and they doubtless expected full
time and opportunity to do so.

A committee, appointed by the town of Boston,
waited on the unfortunate people the next morning,
to ascertain what they were capable of doing; and
numerous families of the aristocracy, in want of
good house servants, very considerately offered to
receive them in that capacity; but they were
refused with sullen indignation, as was every offer
to employ them; they asserting “they were prisoners
of war, and not compelled to work.”
In short,
after every argument had been tried without effect,
the town was compelled to adopt them as paupers,
and support them at its expense, until a division
could be made for each town in the State (Province)
to take its proportionate part. Of this second separation, 15(4)v 176
the unfortunate people were then in ignorance;
but, at present, the public almshouse and
other places were opened, and one thousand people
thus suddenly became a public charge.

It was not in the nature of Pauline to give up to
despondency; and, aided by the wise and pious
counsel of her grandfather, after weighing the probabilities
of the case, and the positive evil of being
herded in an almshouse, she adopted the resolution
of trying to subsist by her own efforts, and laboring
to provide for the wants of herself and honored
relative. It would, she felt, be no small effort to
announce this determination to her people, and she
wished, if possible, to get rid of the remonstrance
and persuasion she would be sure to encounter if it
were known, as all argument, she rightly judged,
would be thrown away before they had tried the
evils they were then courting.

As she expected, the young officer who had
spoken to her the day they landed, sought her out
early the next morning, and demanded to know
“what determination she had formed respecting her
future destination?”
She unhesitatingly replied,
“to procure, if possible, some place to shelter herself
in, and contrive, by some kind of labor, to
subsist herself and grandfather until some better
prospect offered, which, if once more united to her
family, she should not despair of.”
The young
man applauded her determination, and offered to
look up a suitable tenement, and interest some families
of his friends to supply her with some kind of
employment she was competent to.

As it took some time to quarter all the paupers
thus suddenly thrown upon the hands of the Bostonians,
our heroine remained unmolested, though
not altogether unnoticed, until the next day, when
the young man again appeared, acquainting her he
had found a retired little place for a very cheap 15(5)r 177
rent, just out the city, on the opposite side the
river; that she would be better off there than in
the city, as the air was more pure, and like what
they had been accustomed to.

It was fortunate for our heroine she knew so
little of the world in some respects; for, otherwise,
she might have feared to trust herself to the guidance
of a stranger, a young gentleman too, and
have slighted the really good advice and disinterested
efforts of a friend, for such he proved himself
to be. Without any hesitation, she committed herself
and poor old Gasper to his direction; and hastily
repacking her little stores she had so carefully
hoarded, and the beds and few articles of household
goods she had been permitted to bring with her,
suffered herself to be conducted across the river,
and to the small but neat little cottage of two
rooms and an attic, ready to receive her. The
young gentleman, whose name was Rodman, did
not go with them, but directed the person who
moved their things to take them over at the same
time.

The first thing attended to by this dutiful girl,
was to make her grandfather comfortable in the
same way he had been accustomed at home; the
next, to put her simple habitation in order, which
she did with a neatness and despatch truly astonishing;
and found, by blessed experience, that employment
was the most sovereign remedy for grief.

There was a feeling of rest, of quietness, of
thankfulness, and almost of happiness about her,
when looking round and comparing her lot with
others, and the probable fate of those who madly
adhered to their system of idleness, that would
have been perfect, could she have known the fate
of her beloved relatives; but even her anxiety on
that score was sensibly diminished by the words of
young Rodman, who ridiculed the idea of any white 15(5)v 178
persons being made slaves; and candidly telling
her that, if her friends had gone South, they would
probably fare all the better, as there was a degree
of feeling, of kindness, generosity, and hospitality
there, greatly superior, and indeed rarely found at
the North. This young man was kind enough to
call on the succeeding day, bringing two good
ladies of his acquaintance, who engaged to find as
much spinning and other work for Pauline as she
could find time to do, and also “to write to the
different provinces where the others of her countrymen
were distributed, and make inquiries of their
fate.”
These good ladies kept their word. They
often visited Pauline’s cottage, and were struck with
her unostentatious piety, and the greatness of mind
she manifested under such complicated misfortunes,
as much as they had with her beauty and elegance
of person, and they could not endure the thought
that such a mind should remain in the darkness of
of popery. But in vain did they assail her faith.
The arguments that might have been effectual
under different circumstances, were thrown away
upon one who had seen them enforced by fire and
sword. So true is it that persecution always defeats
its own object. She might, too, have given
those arguments a candid hearing, had the church
of which she was a member have been in prosperity.
But now that they were humbled in the dust,
their altars profaned, their temples burned to the
ground, and their priests hunted out like wild
beasts, she could not think of it. No, she daily
mourned over the desolations of their Zion, and
considered all their people as martyrs to their faith.

So uncompromising had been the hostility of the
English toward the Catholics, that Pauline had
concluded it to be occasioned by their religion alone,
an opinion entirely erroneous, two other causes operating
in a much greater degree than the difference 15(6)r 179
in religion. One, as we have shown, was the absolute
and unmitigated hatred manifested towards the
French from age to age; a sentiment zealously
inculcated in the mind of every child born of English
parents, as soon as he was capable of entertaining
an idea. It is singular that this feeling of animosity was continued
down to the time that France was without a legitimate sovereign,
when, all at once, England discovered she loved her dearly, and in
the plentitude of her affection, took to her bosom the before hated
Bourbons, received with open arms her ancient nobility and gentry,
the supporters of the bastile and inquisition, and fastening again
upon France the chains she had well nigh shook off, assisted, as a
matter of course, to perpetuate the Catholic religion there.

Nothing, perhaps, could have been more obnoxious
to the minions of despotism, than the kind of
independence possessed by this people. An independent
peasantry, the rightful proprietors of the
soil, living in a state of equality; their lands were
their own, and could not become manorial, and
while they were citizens of the country, nothing
could be done to bring them into that state of subjection
to which they wished to reduce them. In
vain had they denied them legal redress for illegal
encroachments. At peace with themselves, they
kept the even tenor of their way, and made what
was meant for a curse operate as a blessing, saving
their property, time, and peace, and avoiding the
manœuvring of that rapacious set of cormorants,
whose great business is setting every man’s hand
against his neighbor, that they, a third party, may
come in and take all.

It was the interest of the priests, undoubtedly, to
make the people believe they were martyrs in behalf
of their church, and persecuted wholly on the
score of their religious tenets, and thus endear the
rites and ceremonies of the church in such a way
as no arguments should ever be able to move. Perhaps 15(6)v 180
many of them honestly thought it, and were
not aware of the deep hatred which despotism invariably
discovers towards the least approach to independence.

Pauline was pious, truly so; nor let us scoff,
because the madonna and the crucifix adorned her
simple habitation. We are accustomed, when thinking
of their mode of worship, to accuse them of
idolatry; and the mention of Catholicism, by a
natural association, brings up the images of monks
and nuns, dungeons and inquisitions, indulgences
and absolutions, and all the jesuitical jugglery that
has been practised since the days of the first pope.
But let us recollect, that even when religion in the
Catholic church was at the lowest ebb, there were
some good ones, as witness the names of Massillon,
Fenelon, and others. And if there were some within
the vortex of a court too—that sink of iniquity
and grave of all that is upright and noble in man—
why should there not have been in an American
wilderness? The simple and single-hearted Acadians
knew nothing of the corruptions of their
church, nothing of its former persecuting spirit.
Their religion was necessarily of the simplest form,
for it was such as the savages were taught, and
such as they could comprehend. The early settlers
of Acadia had discouraged the sending of
French jesuits, and requested the court of France
to recall one or two they had sent, and they were
removed. The Catholic priests in Acadia were
styled pastors, and sometimes elders; and there is
no account of any excesses or immoralities practised
by them, if we except the sweeping charge
of the English, “that they were the instigators of
the barbarities of the Indians.”
(Quere. As the
Acadians, priests and people, are now extinct, who
have been the instigators of the cruelties since?
From that time down to the present?) Of the 16(1)r 181
Acadians, it is presumable they were a sincere and
devout people. Their behaviour, when driven out
from that land which was honestly their inheritance,
is proof sufficient, since the virtues of patience,
meekness, and forbearance, practised on that
occasion, could only be the fruit of a christian
temper.

The little stock of provisions, & c. in the possession
of Gasper, was of material use to them, as it
enabled them to “begin the world”, as the saying is.
And though young Rodman had kindly made himself
responsible for the rent of their cottage, he
was never troubled; as, from the persevering industry
of Pauline, the money was always ready at the
end of the month. The ladies not only continued
their supplies of work, but recommended her to
others, so that she had plenty of employment.
Nevertheless, it could not but be obvious to these
generous women, that the graceful and talented girl
was fitted for a different sphere of action; and it
was the cause of many consultations among themselves,
until they finally concluded that, as she
spoke and read French so well, and had acquired a
competent knowledge of the English, she might be
made useful as an instructress, and a French teacher
had been much wanted in that region. Accordingly
they resolved, finding it highly agreeable to herself,
to look her up a class to study the language under
her instruction. There was one difficulty in the
way, she must leave her aged grandfather often.
The class were to meet once a week alternately at
each others houses, and once a week she was to
give a scholar a separate lesson at their own
house. It would be necessary, then, to look up a
person to take charge of him during her absence,
and she resolved to look among her own countrypeople
for such a person. A benevolent lady in
the neighborhood kindly offered to take her over to 16 16(1)v 182
the almshouse, and the heart of this good woman was
wrung at witnessing the meeting between her and
the squallid wretches who flocked around her. A
division had been made among them, and a certain
number removed to each town for support. Among
those who were left, there had been quite a mortality,
but a number still remained, and they flocked
around Pauline, amazed at her healthy and happy
appearance. Each was eager to secure the place
in her family, but the sympathy of her heart led
her to select a poor widow she had known at Grand
Pree
. This person had two very young children
she could not part from; but the difficulty was obviated
by the suggestion of the good lady, who
proposed that the woman should go on with the
spinning, &c. that Pauline must necessarily abandon,
and as they could occupy the attic, and the
children attend a charity school near, the plan was
adopted.

If the admiration of the lady patroness was great
at Pauline’s prudence and management, what must
it have been at what followed, when the youthful
monitor turned round and addressed her countrypeople
with an energy and pathos that drew tears
from every eye. She begged them to reflect “they
were sacrificing their own comfort and the future
welfare of their children, by persisting in the course
of indolence and inactivity they had chosen;”
displayed
to them “the folly of waiting for an intervention
in their favor from the French government,
which would never happen;”
and exhorted them
to attempt their own support, narrating to them the
history of her own life during the last few months.
Her remarks were received with much feeling and
kindness; some promised to take her advice, but
many still held out, and some from age and helplessness
were constrained to remain.

Nothing could exceed the joy of the poor widow 16(2)r 183
selected to be a member of her family; she kissed
her hands, and exhibited almost frantic exultation.
The two pallid children, about to be removed from
a close atmosphere, showed their satisfaction in a
different way, dancing and capering about with the
excess of their joy. The arrangements for their
removal were soon made, a number of the poor
exiles volunteering to assist her next day. The
excellent lady who accompanied Pauline, Montgomery
by name, offered to take one of the most
interesting of the children into her own family,
and the parents consenting, she took it along with
her, and also the widow’s children. The downcast
looks of the poor deserted people left behind, affected
her very sensibly, and she asked “if they would
work if habitations could be procured for them.

Most of them assented, and promising to see that
something was done, they took their leave freighted
with the blessings and good wishes of the sad community.

Chapter XIII.

“But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And till so much blood hither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dread?”

Poor old blind Gasper, whose health had sensibly
failed since his first landing, had been left alone,
and the anxiety of Pauline to return was intense.
The day was raw and cold, though there was no
snow upon the ground. As they rode along, the
tormenting fear that he might have fallen into the
fire, or met with some accident, seized her. What
then was her dismay when she saw the carriage 16(2)v 184
drive up to a store in Cornhill, where Mrs. Montgomery
had some shopping to do, and requested
Pauline to go in with her. After making a few
purchases, she walked on a little further, and Pauline
returned to the carriage grieved at the delay,
but not daring to say any thing. She was about
to ascend the step, when she felt her gown forcibly
held back. Astonished, she turned round to see
what the rudeness should mean, when what was
her surprise and delight to see little Sappho, her
dog that she had supposed must have perished
during the cold winter, even if he did not with
hunger before. She was not permitted to bring
him, and amidst all her other sorrows, the probable
fate of this little favorite had given her many a
pang. The joy of the little animal exceeded all
bounds. A thousand conjectures, all wide of the
truth, crossed the brain of his mistress, as to how
he came there. Determined to hold on upon him,
at all hazards, she seized him, and covering him
carefully with her shawl, sprang up into the carriage.
Mrs. Montgomery coming up the next minute, they
drove off; the lady praising the beauty of the dog
all the way, and admiring the incident, which she
accounted for by supposing the dog had hid himself
in one of the vessels, and accident had prevented
her seeing him before.

The joy of old Gasper exceeded that of Pauline,
as, he said, he had now a companion to lead him
about, without being a constant tax to her; but
Pauline told him she had provided an old neighbor
to attend to his wants. The widow and her orphans
were soon domesticated to her entire satisfaction,
so that Pauline found herself greatly relieved
in getting rid of her domestic cares, and never did
she have reason to regret the good action of receiving
these little orphans.

As to good Mrs. Montgomery, her sensibilities 16(3)r 185
were not exhausted upon this family. With the
help of some of her friends, she found some suitable
habitations, where she transplanted the grateful
Acadians, and had the satisfaction to see the objects
of her bounty prospered. They were civil, industrious,
faithful, and honest, and possessed hearts
grateful in the highest degree. Often did that good
lady exclaim in indignation against the cruel edict
that drove them from their country, and threw
them destitute upon the kindness of strangers. The
hardest task was to persuade them to acquire the
English language; but at length their prejudices
were so far overcome, and the necessity of the
thing so apparent, they submitted to be taught, and
some benevolent gentlemen from the University
volunteered to teach them twice a week. The pity
expressed by Mrs. M. had communicated itself to
her friends, and there was soon no difficulty in
finding employment of various kinds for these poor
people; while many interesting children were provided
for in good families, and rescued from a life
of misery and degradation.

All this time no tidings could be gained of Madam
St. Pierre
and her daughter, but Pauline did not
despair; resolving to be quiet, and remain where
she was, trusting that by some means her mother
might learn her place of residence and come to her.
And she thought they might be better provided for
here than in any other place; for she was one of
the few who, from the beginning, never expected
again to see her native land.

Accustomed by degrees to her new employment,
she found her pupils increasing; and having access
to many of the most respectable and fashionable
families, she found it necessary to take a handsomer
and more commodious tenement. This was done
by the advice of Mrs. Montgomery, who thought
many would prefer waiting on her to receiving lessons16 16(3)v 186
in their own house, and would dislike to enter
her humble abode.

“We must conform to circumstances, dear Pauline,”
she would say. “Hitherto, you have known
nothing of the pride of life, and, I grieve to tell
you, you will soon be a participator of this sin,
which, I speak from experience, is one that carries
its punishment along with it, since it imposes a
complete slavery; nevertheless, your employment
demands this sacrifice, and—and”
—she stopped
herself from saying she felt a persuasion she was
destined for something higher and better than she
had yet dreamed of, from the fear of exciting an
ambition, and holding out prospects, that might
never be realized. The fear of exciting pride was,
however, unnecessary with her, whose whole soul
was occupied with the woes of her people, and the
idea of being an empress, without the power to
benefit them, would not have gratified her in the
least.

In many houses where Pauline was accustomed
to attend, she had to wait until her scholars had
got through their music lessons, and her quick ear
often caught the tunes before the scholars could
play a bar of it. Nature made her for a musician,
but the simple airs of her native vales had hitherto
been the sum total of her music, yet she sung them
with a melody and pathos quite enchanting. On
one of those occasions when the master had labored
in vain with a careless and spoiled child, and was
about to give it up in despair, the little minx, turning
upon him, said,

“If you sang as sweetly, and was as gentle as
Miss St. Pierre, I could learn it.”

“Indeed!” said the master, a cross Englishman,
for the first time looking earnestly at Pauline, “I
should like to hear the lady.”

Mamma and her daughter now began to persuade 16(4)r 187
her to sing. Pauline, though reluctant, was obliged
to comply. At their request she sung a pastoral
ballad, composed by one of the bards of her native
land, and though the music teacher could not understand
a word of it, he was in raptures, and
would not be satisfied until she had sung another
and another; and finally some of the songs in
English he had been trying to teach the little girl.
He protested that he had never heard such power
of voice, or known such an ear for music; that she
should learn instrumental music, and he would be
her instructor.”

“On condition,” said Mrs. Courtland, the lady
of the house, “that she teaches you French.”

“Oh, of course, I should be most happy to reciprocate,”
said he.

“Then I protest,” said Mrs. C., “you shall both
learn here, for I think Emma would learn something
among it all, having two beginners to go along
with, one in each branch.”

The conversation, began sportively, ended in serious
earnest, and a bargain was made on the spot,
that the two beginners should meet at Mrs. Courtland’s
twice a week, and instruct each other and
Emma at the same time. A search was now agreed
on for an instrument, as it would be necessary for
Pauline to practice at home. This difficulty was
settled by Mrs. Courtland, who had sent to England
for a new harpsichord, and agreed, as soon as it
arrived, to loan the old one to Pauline. It soon
arrived, and Pauline felt a new world open upon
her. She was not one of those who have to toil
so hard as to make the application perfect drudgery,
and by such laborious application, generally become
tired before they have fairly learned. The rapidity
of her acquisition astonished her instructor, whose
teaching could scarcely keep pace with her learning.
It seemed like intuition, or rather inspiration, 16(4)v 188
and the delighted teacher was proud to show off
the talent of his new scholar whenever opportunity
offered; and by this means, aided by the sweet
and gentle manners of Pauline, she became gradually
known, and often invited into circles of fashion.
At first, people invited her more to amuse their
friends, but she could not fail to be loved for
herself alone, when once the intrinsic excellencies
of her character were known. Little Miss Courtland,
who, though a sad romp, was a most affectionate
and grateful child, in particular delighted to
show off her instructress, under whose care she had
become an excellent French scholar and a tolerable
performer on the harpsichord; and, above all, she
was a warm admirer of beauty, and had adopted
the opinion that Pauline was rather the handsomest
female she had ever seen. Whenever they visited
together, which she often contrived should be the
case, she found that, sustained and upheld by her
friend, she could perform her part in many difficult
pieces, which, without her help, she must have
failed in; and she did it so unostentatiously too, as
though she were the person assisted, that Emma
gradually acquired a confidence in herself highly
beneficial; and, besides, they could hold a conversation
together, that few persons could understand.

Many of the ladies at that time, in Boston and
its vicinity, adopted the fashion of having little
concerts at their houses, and in fact every party
usually ended with one. The teacher before mentioned
was the master of ceremonies for the most
part, and Pauline second.

It was on one of these occasions, a brilliant party
given by Mrs. ――, where most of the wealth
and fashion of Boston were invited, that our heroine,
accompanied by her young friend Emma, made
her appearance. The simplicity of her dress and
manners were in fine contrast with her dazzling 16(5)r 189
beauty, and she soon found herself one of the stars
of the evening. Of course, the singing commenced
early, as that formed the principal object of the
gathering. The gentleman of the house led Pauline
to the instrument just as some new comers
entered the room, who, however, were little observed
at the time, as all attention was at once
given to the performers. The lady of the house,
however, taking the arm of a rather elderly, but
fashionable looking man, drew him towards the
magical circle, saying,

“We have got a prodigy here, Colonel, this evening.
You will be delighted to hear Miss St. Pierre
sing. It is well you did not return to the country
without hearing her. You don’t know what you
would have lost; but I forgot she is a French lady,
and you don’t like the French.”

“Oh, I have no particular dislike,” said the person
addressed, “only in war you know.”

A scarlet blush passed over his face, and he bit
his lips with rather a look of vexation. His attention,
however, was soon completely entranced by
the performance. The solos were sung by Pauline,
several others joining in the chorus. The Colonel
could scarcely respire. He felt a longing desire to
see the face of the charming musician. The gay
and fashionable were crowded around, and he
could only get where he had a glimpse of the bust,
by which, however, he discovered the form was
exquisite, and the hand and finely rounded arm he
thought superior to any of Nature’s workmanship he
had ever seen. He was thinking in what language
he should address the beautiful musician when he
attempted to thank her for the pleasure her unequalled
performance had given him. She was not,
however, permitted to rise immediately, as a duet
was now proposed, and a tall and graceful young
man, who was hanging over her chair, was preparing 16(5)v 190
to assist her. Once or twice as she turned
partly round to speak to him, the Colonel caught a
glimpse of her profile, and beautiful as he thought
her, there was a dim recollection of something he
had seen, that gave him pain. In vain he turned
to the past to see what it was. It was now nearly
three years since he had seen her, and as he had
quite forgotten her surname, having never heard it
but once, that of St. Pierre did not strike him as
familiar.

At length, after the performance of several other
pieces, supper was announced, and the gallant
young man who assisted her, and whom the Colonel
recollected as an acquaintance from the South,
gave her his hand to conduct her to the table. Mrs.
Bell
, the lady of the house, at the same time begged
“to present Colonel Winslow to Miss St. Pierre.”

“Colonel Winslow” said Pauline, and for an
instant the color faded from her cheek; but it
quickly returned, and darting at him a look that
spoke volumes, with a distant and studied curtsey,
returned his profound salutation, and passed calmly
on. Not so the Colonel. Had a ghost arisen from
the regions of the dead, he could scarce have been
more appalled; it was in vain he struggled for
composure. Pale as marble, his knees smote one
another, and he made an apology for not staying
out to sup, feeling himself “too unwell to be out
longer.”

Pauline was not going to stay at supper, having
excused herself from that on her first arrival, her
grandfather being quite indisposed; she would not
have left home at all on this evening, but she knew
it would be a great disappointment to her young
friend and pupil, Emma, and also to Mrs. Bell, who
wished her to take part in the musical performances
of the evening; she therefore immediately took
leave of the company, and withdrew. She knew 16(6)r 191
the carriage of Mrs. Bell would be waiting for her.
The agitation of Colonel Winslow had not been
unobserved by the company, though few, if any,
divined the cause. His hasty exit was not seen by
Pauline, who studiedly averted her eyes from him.
She was not, therefore, aware of his departure;
and, to her surprise, abruptly encountered him in
the hall. He evidently sought to speak with her,
but with a lofty inclination of the head she repelled
the attempt, and hastily passed him.

“Pauline,” said the Colonel, “I wish much to
speak with you,”
rushing forward and seizing her
hand as she approached the carriage. “Pauline,
have you forgotten me? I wish to see you a few
moments. You have nothing to fear,”
observing
her tremble violently.

“I have not forgotten you, Sir, nor do I fear
you,”
said Pauline proudly. Here the Colonel
placed himself directly between her and the carriage-door,
which a servant was respectfully holding.

“Where do you reside, Pauline, Miss St. Pierre,
I mean. I have business,”
said the Colonel.

All this time, the young gentleman, Mr. Moulton,
from Carolina, upon whose arm she leaned, stood
staring in mute astonishment, not knowing what to
make of it, until the answer of Pauline opened his
eyes.

“Colonel Winslow,” said Pauline, with a degree
of spirit which, from her sweet countenance and
gentle manners, no one would have supposed her
to possess, “we have no more lands to despoil, no
houses you can burn, nor friends to banish. What
business, then, can you have with the plundered
exiles of Nova Scotia?”
and, springing into the
carriage, she ordered the coachman to drive on.

The Carolinian stood as though rooted to the
spot, as the carriage whirled round the corner, for 16(6)v 192
the coachman, who thought he had sat in waiting
quite long enough, was not slow to obey the order.
The Colonel, now turning to him, began to explain,
saying,

“I knew the girl in Nova Scotia, at the time the
French were driven out, and should think she
would feel some gratitude. I granted the life of
her brother at her request.”

“Indeed!” said the southerner, “I was not
aware you were concerned in that detestable business.”

“I had the honor to command in that expedition,”
he answered, without deigning to notice the
reflection, “and I granted to this young virago her
brother’s life.”

“Who condemned him to death?” asked Mr.
Moulton
, abruptly.

“Why, from the rank I held, I was obliged to
do that,”
answered the Colonel. “His father had
fled, and refused to give himself up; and my orders
from the Governor were”

“Then you condemned the innocent son because
the father had exercised a right which God and
nature had given him to preserve his liberty. I
wish you a very good evening.”
Just touching
his hat, the haughty and disdainful Carolinian
walked into the house, inwardly cursing the cowardice
of the man who could consent to make war
upon unarmed men, women, and children.

The blood of Colonel Winslow boiled in his
bosom, as he found himself standing alone upon
the pavement. He would have challenged Mr.
Moulton
, but for various reasons that would not
have answered. In the first place, it would have
been difficult to designate the offence; next, it
would have called up public attention to certain
scenes of his life, that might as well be forgotten.
So, firmly resolving he would never again recognise
one of these hated exiles, he walked off.

17(1)r 193

With a bosom throbbing with unutterable emotion,
Pauline rushed from the carriage to her own
apartments, and threw herself upon the neck of her
venerable grandfather. There she gave way to
the emotions that overwhelmed her, and sobbed as
though her heart were breaking. All the trials she
had endured, all the miseries of her people, the
dreadful scenes acted over in her desolated country,
and the uncertain fate of her family, rushed upon
her with overwhelming force. But we must leave
her some little time, and look after some of the
other sufferers.

Chapter XIV.

“Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven, Who, when he sees the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders’ heads.”

Madam St. Pierre was a woman of great dignity
of character, and most uncommon fortitude.
From her, Pauline doubtless inherited much of
the firmness and energy which distinguished her
through life. Josephine had it not; she was mild,
gentle, and amiable, but timid, retiring, and by no
means possessed of the firmness of nerve that distinguished
her sister; the shock of their forcible
expulsion from their native home, had of itself
nearly overcome her; and, in addition, the night
of cold and exposure on the shore, by which she
contracted a violent cold, rendered her so ill that,
upon getting on board the transport, she was entirely
unable to help herself. Perhaps it was fortunate
for her mother it was so, as her time and
thoughts were so completely occupied about this
her youngest and darling child, as to leave little 17 17(1)v 194
room for lamentation. Josephine, hovering between
life and death, was an object that absorbed
every feeling of her distressed mother. Few persons
ever experienced more affliction at one time;
torn from her cherished home, or rather, suddenly
driven out, she had seen her house and substance
a prey to devouring flames, her husband an exile,
with the sentence of death hanging over him, (for
a reward had been offered for his head before
Madam St. Pierre left,) her four sons sent off, she
knew not where, and her heroic and noble-minded
daughter forbidden to come in the vessel with her,
unless she would quit the side of her infirm old
grandfather, and leave him in his blindness to be
tossed about the world alone, compelled to take
passage for another port, and sweet Gabriella, whom
she loved with the affection of a mother, had, as
Madam St. Pierre believed, been burned up in her
house, and her two innocent children butchered in
sight of their home.

“Oh, my brain!” the poor lady would often
exclaim; “if I can only keep my senses.” Then
when she looked at Josephine, all would be forgotten
in the anxiety for her apparently dying child.

From the crowded state of the vessel, the air was
extremely bad; and day after day, and night after
night, did the wretched mother hang over the couch
of her daughter, imploring heaven to take her with
her, if her child could not be spared; the next
moment, perhaps, she would say, “But why should
I ask her life? What has my child to look forward
to? It is selfishness entirely; better that the raging
fever or the raging sea destroy her at once.
Could I bear to see her suffering, or her delicate
form bending beneath the task of some hard master,
her strength taxed to the utmost to earn a scanty
pittance of bread? Forbid it heaven!”

The pitching and rolling of the vessel was dreadful; 17(2)r 195
and sometimes it seemed as though they were
all about to be engulfed together: but no symptom
of fear was discoverable in her, or indeed any of
that hapless company; their misery was too intense
to be disturbed by fears of death. The mortality
in that, and indeed in all the transports, was
great, a number of aged persons and invalids having
died on the passage. Alas! from the crowded state
of the vessels, but little could be done for their
comfort; and to have been indisposed before sailing,
was almost a death-warrant. Several infants
also died, and were torn from the arms of their half
frantic mothers and consigned to a watery grave.

In another of the transports, which started several
hours before the one that carried the females,
Louis the younger and his brothers were embarked.
Of the wretched fate of his family, his beloved
Gabriella and her babes, Louis had only been informed
just before sailing; and the intellects of the
unhappy young man, already injured by his close
confinement and the agitation he endured while
under sentence of death, it is probable were still
more beclouded by the disastrous news which was
now communicated. For several days he would
sit for hours with his arms folded, looking down
with a fixed, immovable gaze, without apparently
observing any thing around him; his brothers,
who did not, however, comprehend the extent of
his danger, would try to rouse him, and would have
rejoiced to see him weep, but no sigh or tear escaped
him.

On the third day of the voyage, some of the
guard were very insolent to the unhappy prisoners,
from some very trifling offence, calling them French
dogs, vagabonds, &c., and Louis was observed to
turn upon them a threatening look, upon one in
particular, until the soldier himself at length perceived
it, when he called to a comrade to assist in 17(2)v 196
securing him, as “he was afraid of his life.” The
fellow ran to get a pair of handcuffs, while several
of his friends and neighbors looked on with an
anxious eye, half resolved to attempt a rescue.
His brothers were below, a part only of the prisoners
being permitted to be on the deck at a time.
The two soldiers advanced to secure their victim,
and Louis, who had sank back apparently into his
former lethargy, sat immovable, until they were
within about four feet of him, when, springing
between the two, he threw an arm round each, and
with the strength of distraction leaped into the sea,
carrying them down with him; twice they rose,
but as the sea was very heavy, and the vessel going
quite fast, all attempts to save them were vain, and
the strong, nervous gripe of the poor distracted
maniac, which never relaxed, carried them down
again. It was evident that Louis had been wounded
by the men in their attempts to free themselves,
as the water around them was dyed with blood,
and in the agony of death he probably held them
closer; one universal cry resounded through the
vessel, which called the guard and officers from
below. It is worthy of remark, that while this
scene was acting, the English looking on with
horror, the generous French exerted themselves to
the utmost to save the struggling victims. They
threw over plank after plank, shouting for them to
seize it, and, hastily uncoiling a rope, nearly succeeded
in reaching them with the end of it; and
when they sank for the last time, they evinced
their humane feelings by a general expression of
pity.

Very great confusion now ensued on board the
vessel, the officers of the guard protesting they
would avenge the death of the two men, and chain
the whole below for the remainder of the voyage.
With bitter curses, the prisoners were then ordered 17(3)r 197
down. But the captain, who was a plain, blunt
fellow, it was evident was not well pleased; he
was one of those who had been engaged to transport
the exiles, or rather to assist in carrying a
freight of them to Philadelphia, where he belonged
when at home, which was very seldom, as he was
generally away on coasting business. Though
these were in the days of “kingly despotism,” this
man seemed to possess something of the spirit of
independence. Placing his arms a-kimbo, he walked
straight up to the officers who were assembled
round the caboose, and proposing violent measures.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “I’ll tell you what it is,
I don’t want to see these poor people treated any
worse than they have been already, God knows
that is bad enough; as to the jumping over with
them rascally guards, I am a witness they deserved
it, though I did all I could, as you all know, to
save their lives. The young man who did it, and
who died with them, was raving crazy, driven mad
by the burning up of his wife and the murder of
his infant children; and, gentlemen, any violence
shown to this unoffending people, to avenge the
death of those fellows, would be wrong, and if I
have any authority in this vessel, I forbid it.”

“Silence!” said a pert lieutenant. “Why, Sir,
don’t you know we could take the command of
your craft from you, and chain you with the rest?”

“No,” replied the sturdy seaman, “as I hope to
see my Maker, I don’t know any such thing. It
would be mutiny, and punishable with death in
whoever attempted it. I know what is due to the
king’s officers as well as any one, and I know also
what is due to a captain on board his own ship.
Why, do you threaten any such thing, Sir?”

“No, certainly not,” returned the lieutenant,
quite cooled down. “I merely said it could be
done. But, if you will engage for their good behaviour,17 17(3)v 198
we will not chain the poor wretches,
whose fate, as you observe, is rather a hard one.”

“I make no pledges,” said the captain bluntly,
“but I have no fears but they will deport themselves
peaceably, as they have done, with the exception
of this poor crazy one; and if I should see
them abused in my ship, I would see them righted,
if I went to England to do it.”

“Well, what had we better do, my brother officers?”
asked the lieutenant. “Shall we trust
them a little longer, or had we better confine them
entirely below?”

“That,” said the captain, interrupting, “would
be worse than a slave-ship, that hell upon earth;
for even there, they are brought on deck for air.”

The brother officers now interposed, and recommended
moderate measures, and finally it was
agreed to admonish the Neutrals respecting their
peaceable deportment, and give them as much liberty
as formerly. Upon this, the captain walked
off; but, singularly enough, from this hour he was
observed to attach himself particularly to the three
lads whose brother had dealt such signal vengeance
on the guard. Whether it was because he came
so near getting himself in a scrape on their behalf,
for he feared for the severity towards them
most, in the retaliatory measures, or from whatever
cause, he sought out the poor afflicted lads,
and tried, in his rough way, to comfort them.

“Never mind, my brave fellows,” he would say,
“what signifies, we have all got to go; and if
your brother has gone to Davy’s locker before ye,
why, you and I have got to follow in some sort,
that’s all. May be you have parents in some of
the other vessels; and if so, why, when we come
to port, I’ll try to look them up, and if they are in
distress, as doubtless they are, why, Sam Cummings
will give you a helping hand. So, come 17(4)r 199
cheer up. When things come to the worst, they
mend.”

The poor lads, whom the voice of kindness
from any of the English (for so they called the
inhabitants of the provinces) was new, at this redoubled
their tears. Nevertheless, the words, or
what they could understand of them, of the worthy
captain, did in some measure comfort them;
and when, after a dreary passage of nearly three
weeks, tossed about by contrary winds and other
hindrances, they finally made the port of Philadelphia,
the captain was as good as his word, and sat
himself to make inquiries after the mother and
sisters of the three lads. The transport that conveyed
them had arrived first, and the captain found
they were the tenants of an almshouse. There, in
a room containing about fifty bunks, arranged on
either side, and only a few feet apart, lay the
youthful and beautiful Josephine, a prey to wasting
disease, and beside her sat Madam St. Pierre, the
image of despair. Her eyes were so intently fixed
upon the pale face of her darling, that she perceived
not the approach of the brothers, until a faint shriek
from the poor invalid announced their entrance.
We cannot paint the interview, which came very
near being fatal to Josephine, and caused the captain
to choke sadly, and wipe his eyes more than
once. The fate of Louis was obliged to be told,
but it did not move his mother as they feared it
would. She had harbored a presentiment of something
of this kind, and never expected to see him
alive; and in the presence of wives deprived of
both husbands and children, could she repine? No;
she felt it was her duty to rejoice, and, devoutly
sinking on her knees, she returned thanks to
that great and good Being who had spared her so
many blessings.

And now came the fulfillment of the good captain’s 17(4)v 200
professions. He had promised the lads, if
they would work, to procure employment for them
as soon as they should arrive; and they, contrary
to the advice of the other Neutrals, had agreed to
labor. A habitation was to be procured for them;
but, before this could be done, he deemed it expedient
to remove Josephine to his own house, which,
being just out of the city, he trusted the pure air
would aid in her recovery. Any thing for the recovery
of her darling, Madam St. Pierre was ready
to assent to, though it grieved her to be parted from
her boys, only for a few days.

Mrs. Cummings very politely welcomed her husband’s
guests, in her joy to see him. “Why, I
was so afraid, my dear,”
she said, after the first
salutations were over, “that you would be murdered
by these horrid French, you can’t think.”
The
face of the captain reddened even to his temples,
while he answered,

“I have been in no danger, unless it was from
the King’s officers. But if you ever catch me in
such another scrape, may I be hanged. Why,
Mary, they are the most innocentest people under
heaven; but have a bed instantly prepared for this
poor girl.”

Mrs. Cummings looked at her and saw there was
no time to be lost, and leading the way to the only
spare chamber she possessed, and calling a girl to
assist them, she politely left them to prepare something
for their comfort. The contrast was great to
the poor invalid, from the crowded workhouse to a
peaceful and comfortable chamber, with all that
kindness and the most considerate attention could
devise for her comfort; and then the pure air of
the Schuylkill, and the comfort of seeing her brothers
often, as the captain always brought out one of
them at night. Gradually the fever left her, and
returning health once more revisited her cheek. In 17(5)r 201
a few weeks the brothers announced the gratifying
intelligence that they had steady employment, and
had procured a habitation, humble, but suited to
their wants. Into this they removed the few things
they had brought, and taking an affectionate leave
of their hostess, whose friendship did not leave
them here, they returned to the city, and in the
society of the brothers, who uniformly spent their
evenings with them, laboring out days, they were
obliged to confess, that if they only had the other
members of their family with them, they would be
more than comfortable. Of her husband, Madam
thought with grief more than anxiety, and had little
doubt he would escape to Canada; but she feared
their separation would be long, as he would not
seek her. Pauline she thought of with all a mother’s
anxiety, and had immediately interested friends
to write and make inquiries. One consoling reflection
she had; Pauline had refused to desert her
poor blind grandfather, and she trusted that with so
holy a motive, God would not desert her; her
daughter, too, spoke English fluently, and was
capable of making herself understood much better
than the other members of the family; she was,
besides, possessed of much firmness, energy of character,
and perseverance, and if she was blessed with
health, she firmly believed would never consent to
remain the inmate of an almshouse. With these
considerations they used to cheer themselves and
each other, resolving to continue their inquiries, and
in the mean time compose themselves, waiting
quietly His time, who, they firmly believed, would
in his own good providence bring every thing about
which was really for their good. Happy they who
by an effort of philosophy or religion, can overcome
that corroding anxiety which serves no good or
useful purpose, and, if indulged, will only unfit
us for the enjoyment of our wishes if granted, and 17(5)v 202
to add to our abundant misery if not, and is sinful,
because it implies a distrust of Providence. “As
ye believe so it shall it be to you,”
or, “as your faith
is,”
&c., is as often fulfilled as any promise held out
to the sons of men.

Madam St. Pierre had been settled some months
in her new habitation, when a deputation from the
banished Acadians south of Pennsylvania arrived in
the city to procure the signatures of their country-
men in Philadelphia to a petition to the King of
Great Britain
, drawn up by themselves, the object
of which was to procure some relief or mitigation
of the cruel sentence which condemned them to a
rigorous banishment from their native land, and to
drag out an existence in a climate which they found
was thinning their numbers rapidly. The mortality
among them in Virginia and Georgia, where
some of them had been carried, was dreadful, as
the greater part died from the effect of the climate
the first season. In Pennsylvania it was not much
better, for as the greater part were confined to the
city of Philadelphia, one of the hottest cities in
summer on the whole continent of North America,
if we except Charleston and Savannah. They began
to droop immediately as soon as the spring
opened, and by midsummer the mortality had become
very alarming. The greater part of these
poor people could not be brought to believe that
the King of England, whose peaceable subjects
they had been for so many years, could have sanctioned
the heartless proceedings that had driven
them into exile, or if he had done so, they felt that
he must have imposed upon by those whose
interest it was to ruin them. With a view, therefore,
to open his eyes in case he was deceived, or
perhaps to move his compassion at the representation
of their forlorn condition, this document was
prepared. It is a most able and pathetic appeal, 17(6)r 203
and proves incontestably, that however quiet and
unoffending that people were from principle, it was
not from want of intellect or intelligence. We
regret that its length must prevent its insertion
entire in this place. It covers twelve octavo pages
in Halliburton’s History of Nova Scotia, and may
be found in the INTERNAL ERROR. Please report to wwp@neu.edu that citedRange is unmatched.first volume of that work, commencing
at page 183
. It was dated at Philadelphia,
where the delegates now were, and a great
proportion of the unhappy exiles had now congregated,
to make the last effort to obtain redress and
relief.

The petition, in the first place, was addressed
“to his most excellent Majesty the King of Great
Britain
;”
and purported to be “the humble petition
of his subjects, the late French inhabitants of
Nova Scotia.”
The substance of it was as follows:

“That it was not in their power to trace back
the conditions upon which their ancestors first settled
in Nova Scotia, under the protection of the
British government, as a great part of their elders
who were acquainted with the transactions, were
dead; but the greatest reason was, that all their
records, contracts, and other papers, were forcibly
seized long before; but they had always understood
the agreement made between their forefathers and
the English commanders in Nova Scotia in 17131713,
to be a stipulation ‘that they should be permitted
to remain in peaceable possession of their lands,
and the free exercise of their religion, with an exemption
from bearing arms, upon their coming
under an oath of fidelity to the government of
Great Britain.’
That it was in the recollection of many of
them, that in 17301730, Governor Philips, the then Governor
of Nova Scotia, in the King’s name did confirm
unto them these privileges, at the same time
administering the oath of allegiance, which ran 17(6)v 204
thus: ‘We sincerely promise and swear, by the
faith of a Christian; that we will be entirely faithful
and submit ourselves to his Majesty King
George
, whom we acknowledge as sovereign lord
of New Scotland or Acadia. So God help us.’”

The said Philips then promised them in the
King’s name, “they should be excused from bearing
arms either against the French or Indians.”

That, under the sanction of this solemn engagement,
they continued to hold their lands and make
further purchases, paying their quit-rents annually,
and that they felt confident their conduct was such
as to recommend them to the King, and also the
Governor of New England, who, seventeen years
after, issued a printed declaration to that effect,
some of the originals of which they had preserved
from the general plunder. This declaration of William
Shirley
, Governor of Massachusetts Bay, was
directed “To the French inhabitants of Nova Scotia,”
and was to this effect:

That he, the Governor, “had been informed a
report had been circulated among the Neutral French,
that there was an intention to remove them from
their settlements in Nova Scotia; that he had made
a representation of their circumstances to the King,
and, in obedience to his command and order, he
now declared in his Majesty’s name, that there was
not the least foundation for such fears; that he had
no intention of removing them; but, on the contrary,
it was his Majesty’s determination to protect
them all in the peaceable and quiet possession of
their rights and privileges, who should continue in
their duty and allegiance to him, and deport themselves
as his subjects. Dated at Boston, 1747-10-21October
21, 1747
.”
(This was just eight years before their
removal.) Signed by William Shirley, Governor
of his Majesty’s Province of Massachusetts Bay.

“That this declaration was followed by a letter 18(1)r 205
to their deputies, from Mr. Mascarine, Governor of
Nova Scotia, reiterating the promises and assurances
made by Governor Shirley; that they were
again required to take the oath of allegiance, which
they did as formerly, without any mention of bearing
arms; and that they could aver with truth,
they were not sensible of any alteration in their
disposition and conduct since that time; that they
had always continued to behave themselves peaceably
and as good citizens, notwithstanding which
they had found themselves surrounded with difficulties
unknown before.

That the determination of the British to fortify
the town of Halifax, had caused the French in
Canada to make incursions in order to annoy that
settlement, whereby they were exposed to great
straits and hardships; yet, from the obligation of
their oath they never doubted it was their duty to
remain quiet, and did so,”
&c.

The memorial went on to say: “That had they
known it was judged not consistent with the safety
of the province for them to inhabit it, they would
have acquiesced willingly in any reasonable proposal
to leave it, consistent with the safety of their
aged and little ones. That, at one time, Governor
Cornwallis
insisted they should take the oath of
allegiance without the exemption of bearing arms,
which they positively refused, and asked leave, if
their residence there upon the former terms was
not acceptable, for permission to evacuate the country,
and settle upon the island of St. Johns, then a
French settlement, which he refused, until he
should consult the King, when he would give an
answer; but no answer ever came to them, or proposal
of any kind.

That notwithstanding the difficulties they labored
under, they could confidently appeal to the
several Governors of Halifax and Annapolis Royal 18 18(1)v 206
for testimonies of their conduct for their willingness
to obey orders, furnish provisions and materials,
making roads, building forts,”
&c.

“That although they would not fight, they had
from time to time given warning to the English
whenever apprized they were in danger, and had
their advice been attended to, especially when Major
Noble
, his brother, and numbers of their men
were cut off, many lives would have been saved;
and after that they had been most unjustly accused
by the English of aiding in the massacre.”
They
then ask “that they may not be permitted to suffer
from suspicions and false accusations, but that there
may be a judicial investigation.”
That “it could
not be supposed but there would be occasional defection
in their ranks, but that the number had
been very small, and they known and punished.”

That “in the incursions of the French into the
country, they had sometimes seized and impressed
some of their young men into their service, a circumstance
bitterly lamented by them at the time,
but which it was impossible for them to prevent.

That there were papers in their possession which
would have proved their innocence; but their rulers
with an armed force came upon them unawares,
and seized them all, and they had never been able
to regain any of them.”

The memorial here proceeds to show the way
“in which they were treacherously made prisoners,
and sent away without any judicial proofs, or
any accuser appearing against them.”
Here follows
a particular account of the hardships of their passage,
and the great number, especially of the aged,
that died in consequence. “That they had been
accused by the English of not feeling bound by
their oath, an accusation they considered amply refuted
by the fact of their suffering so much rather
than take an oath which they could not in conscience
comply with.”

18(2)r 207

In speaking of their recent sufferings, they mention
the case of one “Renne Leblanc, a notary public,
who was seized, confined, and brought away
with the other sufferers. His family consisted of
himself and wife, twenty children, and one hundred
and fifty grandchildren; they were all scattered
in different provinces, so that he was put on
shore at New York, with only his wife and two
children in that province, in an infirm state of
health. He joined three more of his children at
Philadelphia, and then died, unnoticed and unrelieved,
though he had spent many years of labor
and deep suffering in the service of the English
government.”
(This gentleman had been an indefatigable
laborer in behalf of the government, aiding
to bring every thing in the province under
peaceable subjection to the English, which he
judged best for the people. In one of his journeys
for that object, he had been seized by the Indians,
from whom he endured a captivity of three years.
No kindness whatever was extended to him more
than others.) The memorial concludes with a description
of the miseries consequent upon their banishment.
“Being reduced for a livelihood to toil
and hard labor in a southern clime, where most of
them had been prevented from obtaining a sufficiency
by sickness, more than one half of their
number had died since their banishment,”
and all
“their distresses were aggravated by the threat of
having their children forced from them, and bound
out to strangers.”

In this wretched condition, aggravated by the
contrast of the state of ease and affluence from
which they had been driven, “they beseech his
Majesty to grant them some relief, after having the
justice of their complaints truly and impartially
inquired into.”

18(2)v 208

Chapter XV.

“Ye gods! look down, And from your secret vials pour your graces Upon my daughter’s head. Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserved? how lived?”

We have given, in the preceding chapter, the
condensed substance of the eloquent and pathetic
appeal of the Neutral French to the English monarch,
George the Second, a document much resembling,
in tone and language, the many appeals of
the American family just previous to the Revolution,
although composed twenty years before that
period. It was, of course, submitted to all the
heads of families for their signatures, and Madam
St. Pierre
, as one of the most highly respected, was
one of the first waited on and requested to sign.

“I will do it,” said Madam, advancing to the
table to place her signature, “I will give my aid
to this last experiment upon royal clemency; but,
my dear friends and countrymen, I have no faith it
will avail any thing. Think you that the vulture
will give up its prey, or the famished wolf after he
has tasted of blood? that the tiger or hyena will
take off their claws at the cries of the victim, and
that, too, while their prey is prostrate and groveling
in the dust?”

But, however faithless Madam St. Pierre might
be, there were those who were sanguine about it,
and whose disappointment, after many a weary
month had elapsed, at finding the petition unanswered
and unnoticed, was proportionate to their,
we had almost said, silly expectations.

During this period but little of moment occurred
in the life of Madam and her daughter, whose
health, however, continued to improve. The sons
were industrious and frugal, and made frequent 18(3)r 209
calls on their country-people, striving to cheer and
encourage them, and laboring to convince them
there was something yet to do. Their efforts were
seconded and rendered effectual by a new proposition
made by some of their most influential people,
which was to wait until all possible hope of favorable
news from England was over, and then commence
a pilgrimage to their desolated home in the
East. Such a resolution, that certainly savored of
the most complete despair, if not of aberration of
mind, was at once adopted. Death from the climate
where they were, appeared inevitable, sooner
or later, and they began to indulge the hope that
France might again claim Nova Scotia, and her
government be once more established there. How it
chanced that this hallucination overtook them again
is unexplained, but it is a matter of historical record
that such was the fact, and that from the time they
again conceived this idea, incessant preparation was
going on for a pilgrimage eastward, and every
nerve was strained to prepare themselves for the
undertaking.

It appears to the author (and it is only a conjecture,
as there are no means of ascertaining now)
that the Neutrals, after weighing the facts of their
sudden banishment from Nova Scotia, after so many
years’ residence under the British government, must
have come to the conclusion that the country was
menaced by a powerful invasion of the French, and
they sent out of the way to prevent all possibility
of their giving aid or strengthening the enemy; and
that, under such an impression, they conceived it
possible they might, upon reaching it, actually find
it in possession of the French. There were some
who opposed the undertaking, and concluded to
stay and remain where they were. Madam St.
Pierre
and her daughter would have been of that
number, pressed as they were by the kind persuasions18 18(3)v 210
of Captain Cummings and his equally kind
wife; but a secret hope of meeting with her dear
daughter, whom, as yet, she could hear no tidings
of, induced her consent to share the enterprise.

The voyage to England and back again was, in
those days, somewhat of an undertaking, and it
was many months before the messengers charged
with the undertaking, returned to Philadelphia.
The account they gave of its contemptuous reception
and subsequent silence, was entirely discouraging,
and determined them now to expedite their
removal.

We must stop here to record an event of much
importance in the domestic history of the family
whose lives we are recording; and we warn all
readers of romances that they will be very much
shocked at such an unnovel-like incident, so much
more like the every day occurrence of real life than
than the high wrought adventures conceived in the
imagination of the novelist.

Among the number of Neutrals whom the plan
of the pilgrimage brought on to Philadelphia, was
Ferdinand, the former lover of Pauline; and despite
of all that is said of first love and everlasting constancy,
the young man no sooner saw Josephine
than he conceived a violent passion for her, which
she, faithless sister, appeared to return with equal
ardor. Whether it was because she was now about
the age of her sister when he parted from her, or
whether he feared never to find the other, and believed
in the old adage, “that a bird in the hand is
worth two in the bush,”
we cannot tell; but there
was a total transfer of the affections of the faithless
swain. Josephine was pretty, even beautiful; but
her beauty was of a different character from that of
the noble Pauline. She was one of those timid,
helpless, languid, inert sort of women, particularly
admired at the present day, when indolence is modesty, 18(4)r 211
and helplessness retiring delicacy; one of
those beings for whom Providence has exerted a
special care to provide something to lean on, well
knowing their utter incapacity to stand without
support of some kind.

The delicate feelings of Madam St. Pierre were
somewhat shocked at the proposition of an immediate
marriage between the lover of her eldest
daughter with the youngest one, but she considered
that was a subject not to be named; and the
uncertainty respecting the fate of that beloved
child, who, if found, might perchance be as much
changed as her lover, decided her not to frown
upon it, although she did ask, with a deep drawn
sigh, “Is this a time to marry, or be given in marriage?”
Yet she assented, advising, however, “to
wait the termination of their journey.”
This advice
was disregarded, and the lovers were united
while preparations were going on. After a most
laborious preparation, the requisite number of coasting
vessels were procured, and with a large proportion
of the survivors of their exiled countrymen,
they commenced their tedious voyage.

Madam St. Pierre was truly loth to leave her
comfortable quarters in Philadelphia, and was only
supported in such an undertaking by the presence
of two of her children, and the hope of meeting
with the dear lost one. Two of her sons chose to
remain under the protection of Captain Cummings,
who promised, “should they be so happy as to
effect a settlement further north, that he would,
upon receiving intelligence, bring the two lads himself.”
The coasters were to touch at New York
and Boston on the voyage, and remain long enough
at those places to take away all of their country-
men who wished to join them; and Madam St.
Pierre
was obliged to confess on the voyage, that
the marriage of Josephine had relivedrelieved her of much 18(4)v 212
care, as the attendance formerly demanded of her
now devolved on the husband.

Arrived at New York, every inquiry was made
for Pauline, and they became convinced that she
was certainly not in that region, and it was not
until after their departure from port, that some who
had joined them in that region chanced to recollect
that, more than a year before, inquiries were made
there for Madam St. Pierre and her daughter, by
some persons from Boston, and their impression was,
it was in behalf of a daughter at the latter place;
but whether she was yet there, they could not inform
her. Indeed, so great was their own afflictions,
and so many inquiries were made from different
members of families separated from each other,
that their recollection of circumstances was rather
imperfect. Nor was this strange. Besides, the
stupefaction of despair is one of the most benumbing
sensations ever experienced, and it was the fate of
these unfortunate people to be a prey to it.

But hope in the bosom of Madam St. Pierre was
sanguine, as, after a long and disagreeable voyage,
the crazy old vessel she was in, neared the harbor
of Boston. The whole were ordered to stop within
a given distance, and not presume to land the people
until an order from the municipality, which
could not be obtained before the next day. It was
evening when they arrived, and at the intercession
of a boatman, who came along side and heard the
inquiries of Ferdinand, who spoke very good English,
our party were permitted to come up with him.
The man professed to know Miss Pierre, who, he
said, was a French teacher; and as he was a very
respectable man, and promised to ferry them over
from Boston himself, and be accountable for their
re-embarkation, if required, he was permitted to
take them. Various delays, besides the distance, 18(5)r 213
occasioned them to reach the residence of Pauline
at a late hour.

It was on the eventful evening when we left our
heroine, after her interview with Colonel Winslow,
that they arrived. Her aged and pious grandfather
had been trying to sooth her feelings and elevate
her faith, by convincing her that such excess of
sensibility was wrong; that heaven would, in its
own time, restore all those who were really necessary
to her good; that she should in the mean time
reflect upon her present blessings; that the Lord
had given her favor in the eyes of this people as he
did Joseph, after he had been sold into Egypt; and
that Jacob thought all these things were against
him when every thing was tending to bring about
a most important and desirable termination.

“I will be calm, dear grandfather,” said Pauline.
“I realize how few have met with so many alleviations
to their sorrows as myself, distinguished as I
have been above almost all the rest of my unfortunate
country-people. But in enumerating my blessings,
I must not forget yourself. What could I
have done without your counsels and your prayers?”

“Well, the night wears apace, my good child,”
said Gasper, “and before we retire, let me hear
your sweet voice sing the psalm, ‘God is our refuge
in distress’
.”

The two children mentioned on a former page,
who had begged to sit up this evening until dear
Miss Pauline returned, joined coaxingly in the request;
and Pauline, fatigued as she was, seated
herself at the harpsichord and commenced the
psalm.

The windows of the apartment were open, and
only partially shaded by a blind half way open,
when Madam St. Pierre and her party drew near.
The sound of the sweet voice within, in their own
language, and in a well known tune, oft warbled 18(5)v 214
among their native vales, arrested their footsteps.
They stopped a moment to listen; could it be Pauline?
The music ceased, and Madam St. Pierre
stepped where she could look through the open
blind. It was indeed Pauline; she was leaning
over the instrument and wiping off a few tears.
Then striking the chords once more in a low and
melancholy tune, commenced a lament of the exiles.
Madam waved her hand to the impatient Josephine,
while she gazed once more on the face of that
beloved child, and thought—Oh, who could have
thought otherwise—that her peerless and unrivalled
beauty was her least attraction. There was a divinity
that spoke in her countenance, that proclaimed
her soul of the highest order. Her intellectual
faculties had for the last two years been improved
and matured by study; for music, which was only
a pastime, had been so easily acquired, it had not
engrossed a fourth of her time, but had created an
ardent desire to improve herself in every elegant
and useful acquirement, and there was a grace and
elegance in every movement rarely equalled. One
moment the mother’s swelling heart permitted her
to gaze and drink in the music of that enchanting
voice; the next, she had rushed into the house and
clasped the beautiful performer to her bosom, exclaiming
in an agony of joy, “Do you not know
me? do you not me, my long lost child, whom
heaven has watched over?”
Josephine had sunk
into a chair and covered her face, while Ferdinand
stood looking in at the door, as though uncertain
whether to advance or retreat.

“My sister!” at length said Pauline, disengaging
herself from her mother’s arms, “can this be
little Josephine?”
and she threw herself sobbing
on her neck. The brother, in his turn, was heartily
welcomed. Old Gasper, too, who was seated in an
arm chair at the further corner of the room, received 18(6)r 215
his share of caresses. And now a rather awkward
circumstance occurred, namely, to introduce
the late admirer of Pauline as a brother-in-law; but
the easy and unembarrassed manner of the forsaken
one, while she welcomed him with all the familiarity
of an old friend, convinced them that absence
had done quite as much for her as for him, and the
parties were soon at ease on that score.

One of the children, to contribute to their satisfaction,
ran and brought little Sappho, and another
recognition took place. They were highly delighted,
too, to find the little dog appeared not to have
forgotten them. How he came there, Pauline could
not tell; but since seeing Colonel Winslow that
evening, she believed he must have followed some
of his suit on board, and come off with them.

As respected the plan of returning to Acadia,
Pauline listened with astonishment, and at once
decided “it was the wildest and most unadvised
scheme she had yet heard of, and utterly refused to
join in such a hazardous, and, as she believed, impracticable
undertaking; professing her belief that
the civil authorities of Boston would at once put a
stop to their further progress, and that they would
not be permitted to leave the harbor;”
and as they
listened to her reasoning, there was certainly something
like a feeling of shame at having engaged in
such a quixotic expedition.

We will not stop to relate the interesting conversation
of that evening, which was prolonged to a
very late hour; the mutual interchange of communication;
the journal of their own sufferings, and
the miseries of their people since they parted on
the shores of the Gaspereau, were all narrated and
commented on, and many plans proposed for the
future. To the fate of poor Louis she dropped
some tears; but as she had never believed he would 18(6)v 216
long survive the loss of his family, in whom his
heart was bound up, her grief was moderate.

As Pauline predicted, a stop was put to the further
progress of the unfortunate exiles, as they
were met the next day by an order of Governor
Lawrence
for their detention, and they were prevented
from leaving the harbor. The family of
Madam St. Pierre concluded to remain with Pauline,
who proposed, with the help of her brother-
in-law and sister, to open a French and music
school. The historians of the Neutral French represent
them as entirely ignorant of the passion of
jealousy, and here was a striking instance of the
fact; for the new school was set up together, and
went on with the utmost harmony. Some of the
exiles procured leave to return to Pennsylvania,
some remained where they were, and a goodly
number ran away, and took their course through
the woods of Maine up the forks of the Kennebec,
sheltered occasionally by a friendly tribe of Indians,
until they reached Canada.

An impatience of remaining where the Almighty
had evidently placed them, seemed the besetting
sin of this otherwise exemplary people. We shall
see in the end how much was gained in exchange,
and how much the Lord designed for them, if they
would have quietly submitted to become incorporated
with the people of the United States. Many
of them, yea, hundreds of them did so, and though
they lost their beautiful name of “Acadians”, and
their first home, yet were they enabled, after the
lapse of a few years, to exclaim with triumph,
“Where Liberty dwells, there is my country!”

Unable, to be sure, to pierce the veil of futurity,
yet there was the lesson of quiet submission to the evident
will of God, deeply impressed upon the heart
of Pauline; and in this trying season to her countrymen,
she exerted herself to the utmost to comfort, 19(1)r 217
console, and encourage the disheartened exiles.
Even before they were permitted to land, she went
on board every coaster, and used all her eloquence
to that effect. Nor did she fail to narrate her own
peculiar trials, and speak of the mercies of God
towards herself and her family. Often a glimmering,
though distant and indistinct, glance at the
future would cross her vision, (for coming events
do cast their shadows before,) and she would speak
in holy trust of the mercies in store for those who
by patient continuance in well doing insure the
rewards of Providence.

Won by her arguments or her eloquence, many
actually relinquished the intention they had formed
to join the stolen march across the country, and
remained where they were. Most of them, indeed,
came to this resolution, and their quiet and peaceable
behavior so won upon the inhabitants, that
they soon had reason to be thankful they had not
prosecuted their hazardous journey.

Chapter XVI.

“Then crush, even in their hours of birth, The infant seeds of love; And tread his growing fire to earth, Ere dark in clouds above.” —Halleck.

It is not to be supposed but that the beauty and
fine talents of Pauline elicited admiration, and occasionally
procured offers from persons with whom
any mother might have been willing to see a daughter
connected; but the daughter in question seemed,
thus far, to have no inclination to exchange her
situation. She had always managed with such
prudence—a rare qualification at her years—as to 19 19(1)v 218
make a friend where she rejected a lover. We
would not undertake to give a history of all her
lovers or offers, for we deem the description of such
adventures as rather too trifling for rational readers;
but there was one which we think of too interesting
a character to be passed over. There was one
young man, son of a deceased clergyman of the
Presbyterian order, if we recollect right, and destined
for that profession by his doating mother, who
was a lady of very aristocratic pretensions; though
a sensible, and, in many respects, valuable woman,
she was, however, as little qualified for a clergyman’s
wife as clergymen’s wives usually are. The
thought that our fair heroine could possibly refuse
the honor of an alliance, never occurred to her;
and relying wholly upon her own efforts to break
the match, she sought by every argument in her
power to prevent it; but the heart of the young
man seemed bound up in the damsel, and he at
length told his mother in plain terms “he could
not live without her.”

When matters arrived at that height, of course
there was an end to the argument; and all the
lady-mother could now do was to see Pauline and
ascertain if it was possible to reclaim her from her
popish errors. Accordingly, she invited her to a
social visit, when no other company was expected,
in order to hold a tete-a-tete on the subject, which
Pauline, perfectly unsuspicious, readily accepted.

She commenced by attacking her upon the doctrines
of transubstantiation and image-worship. To
the first our heroine, to speak the truth, could say
but little, never having bent her powerful mind to
the subject; but to the last, she not only plead not
guilty, but warmly exonerated her whole people.
“Never heard of such a thing as worshipping images;
could not credit such an absurdity ever existed.”
She argued, “we are apt to think of what 19(2)r 219
is immediately before our eyes, and she had always
understood the representation of our suffering Saviour
was placed over the altar for that purpose, to
recall with vividness the memory of his sacrifice.”

Some conversation then took place upon the subject
of the mediation of saints and angels; Pauline arguing
“nothing more was meant by it than asking
the prayers of our fellow-christians, who were supposed
in a higher state of sanctification than ourselves,
a thing she had often seen practised among
protestants; and if their prayers could avail us any
thing while in a state of imperfection, why not in
that place where the just are made perfect?”

To this interrogatory, Mrs. Ackmoody replied,
“that it was idle, because we had no warrant for
supposing the departed saints were observing the
things of this world; and even if so, they were
not omniscient or omnipresent, these were attributes
of God alone; therefore they could not be supposed
to hear and understand all the prayers, or requests,
if you will, which were offered to them at one and
the same time from so many different parts of the
creation, even with the enlarged vision which they
would doubtless acquire. And again, we had no
warrant for supposing there was any thing like
prayer among the ‘saints in light;’ the presumption
was, that prayer would in heaven give place to
praise.”
We cannot follow them through all the
argument, which resulted, however, in Mrs. Ackmoody
confessing she “had not before understood
their belief on this subject, and that if it was not
more rational than she expected, it was at least less
sinful, and that she began to think the gulf between
them was not quite so wide as she feared, and she
could not see, after all, why Pauline would not
make a good protestant.”

She then proceeded: “You have had little, my
dear young friend, to recommend protestantism to 19(2)v 220
you, in the conduct of those who have banished
you from your beautiful country.”

Pauline assented, “that it had not particularly
recommended it;”
and Mrs. A. went on to say,
“that the conduct of the British and provincials
towards your harmless people should have been attributed
to their hostility to their creed is not
strange; but you must reflect upon the ages of
persecution from your own church, upon the wars,
the massacres, and the burnings she has practised,
in order to force people into a profession which they
could not honestly adopt. Reflect upon the horrors
of the inquisition; who has a right to exercise such
tyranny over the conscience? Reflect upon the
recent persecution of the Huguenots of France, and
their present situation.”

“I do reflect upon all these things, madam,”
said the patient auditor; “and if my own blood
could wash away the stain of such guilt, I would
freely give it; but I ascribe such tyranny to a different
cause. I think the possession of power is
the source of the evil. In the history of nations,
I perceive the power to oppress has begat the disposition
to do so univerrallyuniversally. Power was not made
for man. The riches, too, which the zeal of her
votaries has poured into the bosom of the church,
it is evident has corrupted it, and has been the
means of extending the power, and of course of
increasing the evil. In beloved Acadia it was not
so; there our humble pastors received but a little,
and that was freely given, I mean a freewill offering;
there was no exaction, nor lording it over
the consciences of men. But do you not think,
madam, that the church of England, when she
comes to have the power, will be as intolerant?”

“I think not,” said Mrs. A. “I apprehend there
is a greater difference between papistry and protestantism
than you imagine. I do not think there is 19(3)r 221
such a jesuitical spirit in the church of England,
though I am not of that communion myself. I
think its doctrines favor more of liberality than that
church which is clothed with all the terrors of the
inquisition. I may be mistaken, but I think the
spirit of avarice and hatred to the French has
prompted the unjust and oppressive measures towards
the Catholics of Acadia, more than religious
persecution. But, Pauline, what do you think of
forbidding priests to marry? You cannot think that
right, surely. Priests are like other men, and need
female sympathy and society as much; and I don’t
see by what authority they are forbidden to seek it,
and to form the most delightful of all relations in
life.”

“I think it right they should not marry,” said
Pauline, promptly, “whether they are forbidden or
not.”

“But, Pauline, think of the good a well-ordered
family can do. Every body looks to a clergyman’s
wife for example, you know.”

“Too well I know it,” said Pauline; “and for
that reason, among others, should advise them to
abstain from marrying. The watchman upon the
walls of Zion is not placed there to form delightful
relations in life, but to rescue from impending death.
He is not to entangle himself with the affairs of
this world, neither. If it be true, as you say, that
priests are like other men, it is lamentably true that
their wives are like other women. They require
the same indulgences, have the same propensity to
vanity and frivolity that most females, I grieve to
say, have, and which the mistaken system of female
education has made an almost involuntary fault.
Believe me, dear madam, that since my frequent
intercourse with protestants, I have become convinced
that the connection you speak of has retarded
the usefulness of the minister of the gospel 19 19(3)v 222
more than it has promoted it. Somehow the dwelling
of the clergyman favors as much of pride and
state as any place one goes into. The ambition of
the lady is generally to be considered the first woman
in the parish, and very likely the leader of
fashions; hence, while the husband is preaching
humility and self-denial, and the blessing of being
poor, and that God is no respecter of persons, &c.,
his own house is the antipode to all he recommends,
the headquarters of the aristocracy of the church,
the very place where the line of demarcation that
excludes the poor of this world is drawn; the place
where the most arrogant pretensions are assumed
and allowed in persons who claim respectability
solely on account of their wealth and fashion.”

Mrs. Ackmoody had collected in her brain a fund
of knock-down arguments with which to assail the
obnoxious tenets of the church of Rome. The
subject of indulgences, in particular, was one she
meant to attack next, and where she doubtless
would have been victorious; but the unlucky
chance by which she stumbled upon the subject of
forbidding to marry, &c., quite drove them from
her memory. She was a woman of deep sense, of
great powers of reasoning, and of elegant manners;
but a mistaken education in the first place, and a
mistaken fondness in the last, had made her, in her
married life, just the character described, and conscience
supplied the application. With her hand
pressed over her eyes, she sat ruminating upon her
own past life. A voice had spoken to her as Nathan
did to David, and let us hope that she felt
something of David’s remorse. She could not but
look back through the long vista of years; she remembered
with now useless regret, the gentle and
patient being whose usefulness she had hindered,
whose fame she had tarnished, whose hopes she
had withered, and whose heart she had broken by 19(4)r 223
her pride, extravagance, and perverseness. Again,
in imagination, the voice of mild remonstrance
sounded in her ears, and the eye that was so often
turned to hers in kind expostulation or loving entreaty,
seemed to look into her very soul, and a
few scalding tears, unobserved, as she thought, by
her guest, stole down her cheek, and she could say
no more.

As no further opposition was offered to the wishes
of the young man, he waited on their guest the
ensuing day, flushed with the hope that the amiable
but high-souled papist might become all he
wished, and made an offer of his hand; when,
alas! to his utter astonishment, she positively declined
the offer, though with many expressions of
gratitude for his favorable opinion. What the effect
of the unlooked-for termination of this affair was,
upon the mother or the son, we cannot tell; but
the effect on Pauline was a full determination to
expose herself as little as possible to such attentions
in future, for most truly did it grieve her to witness
the disappointment and mortification of the young
man, whose disinterested attachment she felt it impossible
to return.

Chapter XVII.

“If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, And I’ll be sworn I’ve power to shame him hence.”

It was no disadvantage to Pauline to have such
an addition to her family as Madam St. Pierre.
The dignified manners of that lady secured her
instant respect wherever seen; and the matronly
part of her acquaintance, who easily discovered the
foundation of Pauline’s character in the upright and 19(4)v 224
correct principles of the mother, were not slow to
show her many civilities, and she found her name
often included in invitations to fashionable houses,
to visit with her daughter. Nor was Josephine
overlooked. The good sense of Madam St. Pierre,
however, told her she was not in a situation to
engage in a round of visiting; and that propriety
as well as economy demanded she should devote
her time to the concerns of the family, and live as
much in retirement as possible. The extent of her
recreation was in partaking in the delightful walks
which her daughter often indulged in, and she
highly enjoyed the fine air and fine scenery in the
vicinity of the picturesque site they had chosen.

With Pauline, Madam St. Pierre delighted most
to take these walks, for she was able to lead to all
the best and most romantic; and her conversation,
at all times a feast to her mother, on these occasions
was so animated, so sensible, and instructive,
that she frequently said, in listening to them, she
felt lifted above the world. It was a rare sight,
indeed, to see a mother watching for instruction
from the lips of a daughter.

It was on one of these walks, when allured by
the beauty of the flowery vales they had wandered
through, they had strolled an unusually long way
from home, beguiled too by the artless prattle of
the two children who had accompanied them, and
amused with the pranks of the little dog who gambolled
before them, that, overcome with fatigue
and the heat of the weather, Pauline had placed
Madam on a log near the brow of a hill that commanded
a view of the river, and inhaled the pure
breeze that wantoned on its bosom. Seated on the
bank at her feet, she was fanning herself with her
bonnet, for the first time forgetful of her little
charge who had wandered on a short distance before, 19(5)r 225
gathering daisies and other wild flowers. Insensibly,
the conversation had wandered to the subject
of their sufferings and exile from their native
land; and as Madam looked down upon the beautiful
face of her daughter, she felt that much as she
loved her, she had never realized her worth: so
young, so sensible, so prudent, so modest, and yet
so firm and fearless in duty. “Oh, what she
thought, can speak the value of such a child!”

She had not time, however, to pursue the train
of reflections ere she was interrupted by one of the
children, who came running out of breath, exclaiming,
“Oh Mamoselle Pauline! a naughty, wicked
gentleman has caught Sappho, and is carrying him
off.”
Not even stopping to put on her bonnet,
which she threw upon the bank, Pauline bounded
over the hill, followed by the children, and rushed
to the bottom, with her face flushed and hair
dishevelled in the wind, and in a moment found
herself face to face with Colonel Winslow. Amiable,
forgiving, and pious as she was, there was
something in the sight of this man that called up
all the resentment her nature was capable of, and
she demanded, with something approaching to hauteur,
the release of the little quadruped.

Colonel Winslow, who was holding the struggling
dog in his arms, seemed no way inclined to
give up his prize, saying, “the dog had been lost
some time before in the streets of Boston, by one
of his family.”

“The dog, Sir, is mine,” replied Pauline, “and
you will be good enough to restore him, I hope, to
the rightful owner.”

“He belongs to me, young woman,” said the
Colonel, somewhat fiercely; “I brought him from
Nova Scotia some years ago.”

“He was mine, Sir, before you ever came there,”
said Pauline, trembling with emotion; “mine, before 19(5)v 226
the ruthless foot of British soldier trod my
father’s lands; mine, before a people enjoying comfort
and affluence, were driven out to misery and
beggary.”

“But not before your fathers instigated those
hellhounds, the Tarratine Indians, to commit such
butcheries on our borders, I presume,”
said the
Colonel, with a contemptuous sneer.

“They never did so,” exclaimed a new voice,
as the tall and stately person of Madam St. Pierre
drew up beside her daughter; “the vengeful passions
of that savage race were excited by your own
want of good faith.”

“Well, I am not in the habit of disputing political
subjects with women, and especially with half
a dozen at a time; but the dog I must take the
liberty to carry home,”
said the Colonel. He turned
off and was walking away; but the agitated
Pauline springing before him, arrested his steps,
while she firmly repeated,

“Colonel Winslow, let it suffice to have separated
husbands and wives, parents and children, and
brethren and sisters. Methinks you have cruelty
enough to reflect upon for the remainder of your
days, without the poor addition of stealing a dog.”

“Insolence!” said the Colonel. “Why, woman,
who are you?”
with that peculiar stare of effrontery
that the little great of this world sometimes
assume, in order to awe their inferiors. But the
Colonel reckoned without his host in this instance;
for the blood of Louis, though under excellent control
in general, was up in arms, and she answered
with firmness,

“One who feared not to tell you the truth while
surrounded by your myrmidons, and the sword was
suspended over her head, and who would not take
your burdened conscience for all the honors you
will ever arrive at.”

19(6)r 227

“By heaven! this is too much,” said the Colonel.
“Woman, you shall repent.” Involuntarily, he
laid his hand upon his sword, and the movement
giving little Sappho one chance, he sprang and was
out of sight in a moment.

“Oh, he is gone!” exclaimed Pauline, wringing
her hands; “my poor little fellow, I shall never
see thee again.”

“Don’t mind it, my child,” said the alarmed
mother, drawing the arm of her daughter through
her own. “The sight of us must doubtless be an
offence to those who have destroyed us. Your
sword, gracious Sir,”
turning to the incensed Colonel,
“might once have done us service; better we
should all have been slaughtered, than dealt by as
we have.”
So saying, she walked rapidly away,
drawing the reluctant Pauline along with her, who
could not help, however, now and then stealing a
look over her shoulder, in hopes to catch a glimpse
of her lost favorite; and she who saw herself
driven forever from her home and country with
such surpassing fortitude, actually shed tears at the
loss of a dog. So strange is human nature.

Wearied and distressed, the two ladies at length
regained their home, where they decided to say
nothing about the events of the morning, Madam
thinking it would alarm Josephine, who was very
timid, and perhaps distress poor old Gasper with
needless fears; for she could not but think upon
reflection, that Colonel Winslow, in his cooler moments,
would feel ashamed of having exhibited
resentment upon so trifling an occasion.

What the reflections of that gallant officer were,
we have no means of ascertaining; but as he had
no doubt often secretly blessed himself that he got
out of that ravaged country alive, it is not improbable
that the idea of the latent spirit that dwelt in
the bosoms of that exiled race, somewhat awed 19(6)v 228
him: for certain it was, he took good care to keep
out of their way ever after. And though his menacing
look haunted our heroine for many years, yet
the countenance that wore it, never again appeared
in her sight.

Pauline, upon entering, threw herself in a chair
in no very enviable frame of mind. There lay the
cushion upon which her little dumb favorite used
to repose, and there stood the cup of water to which
he always ran first upon entering the house after
their long walks. The idea that some one might
be cruel to him on her account, silly as such an
idea would have appeared in any other person, more
than once crossed her mind. But, resolving to
shake off the painful feelings the loss of her dog
had occasioned, and, above all, the irritated ones
that the unexpected sight of their ancient foe had
awakened, she arose to hang up their bonnets in
the little recess at the end of the room; and there,
in a dark corner of it, half hidden by a shawl he
had contrived to creep under, lay little Sappho,
trembling like an aspen leaf. With true canine
sagacity, he had sought his home by a circuitous
route, and arrived long before his mistress; but
such was his fright, that he never offered to follow
any of them on a walk for a long time afterwards.

Chapter XVIII.

“Thus, when the good man dies, Ere yet the everlasting gates unfold, Shall light prophetic dawn upon his soul,”

The days of old Gasper drew towards a close.
More than fourscore years had whitened his head, 20(1)r 229
and we may truly say, that more than the sorrows
of a century had been measured out to him. Bereft
of sight for many years, exiled in his old age from
his native land, deprived of all his children, and
now about to lay his bones in a land of strangers.
Yet had his confidence in God suffered no diminution;
the language of his lips and heart had been,
“though he slay me, yet will I trust in him;” and
that great Being whom he had faithfully served, did
not desert him now. Not a shade dimmed the
brightness of his prospects, not a shadow intervened
between him and immortality. The promise that
“whosoever will do his will, shall know of the
doctrines, whether they be of man or of God,”
was
abundantly fulfilled in his case. He was asked
whether “they should try to procure a priest of his
church to administer the last rites of religion?”

but he shook his head, saying, “I have no need,
the great High Priest is with me.”
You will ask,
perhaps, “if he died a Catholic?” It is probable
he did not think of religious distinctions; for it is
only when death appears at a distance, that we
have leisure for that.

All the family of the venerable man watched
him with affectionate interest; but there was one
who felt more than all the rest, though she would
not sadden the last hours of the departing saint
by useless lamentation. Often would the dying
patriarch lay his hand upon her head and bless
her, imploring heaven “that its choicest mercies
might be showered upon her; that all she had
been to him might come up in remembrance before
God: and that as she had thus by his providence
been brought to this land, she might like Joseph,
in the day of trial, be found a blessing to her
brethren, and also to the people among whom God
had placed her.”

And often, very often did he pray, “that the 20 20(1)v 230
evil that had been wrought them, might not be
avenged upon this people, but that they might be
pardoned for their share of the guilt, and visited
in ages to come with the special mercies of the
Most High; that every man might be permitted
to sit under his own vine and figtree, with none
to make them afraid; and that the Lord would pour
out blessings upon this land there should not be
room to receive.”
This was the climax of christian
feeling. “Bless them that curse you, do good
to them that hate you, and pray for them that
scornfully and despitefully use you and persecute
you,”
was the command of our blessed Saviour.
But how few are equal to this thing!

It was on one of the finest days of summer, that
the venerable old man, professing to feel himself
much revived, expressed a wish to be carried out to
enjoy the air. Refreshed and invigorated by the
breeze, he then insisted upon ascending the green
hill that rose just by their habitation. “I wish
once more,”
said he, “to feel the reviving influence
of the sun before I go to that world where the
Lamb shall be the light thereof.”
His requests
were law to the family and to the kind neighbors,
their countrymen, who usually assisted them on
these occasions, and though feeling it was rather
too far for one so much exhausted, they nevertheless
continued slowly and gently to bear him to the
eminence.

“Oh my dear grandfather,” said Pauline, when
they had softly set him down, “how I wish you
could see this enchanting landscape; the beautiful
river in front, and charming islands that encircle
the harbor; the whole peninsular lies before us as
a map, and Boston, with its glittering spires, its
splendid edifices, and forest of masts; and then
the numberless little creeks, the streams that empty
themselves into this river; the long promontory 20(2)r 231
that runs so far into the sea; the hill behind us,
and numerous heights around; the little city below;
the towns in the distance; the outward bound
vessels, lessening every moment as they recede;
the fort; and then the sea! the sea! the dark
green sea!”
—and the enraptured Pauline was running
herself almost out of breath, when suddenly
she was stopped by feeling the arm that rested on
hers quiver. She looked at her grandfather: his
whole frame was quaking in a manner she had
never witnessed before; his eyes were closed. She
could not speak—an awful sensation of she knew
not what, shut her lips. The tall figure of the
patriarch rose slowly from the chair, and his arms
were stretched out towards the East, where lay the
city opposite, while he repeated,

“Blessed art thou! Thou hast been first to afflict,
thou shalt be first to feel the hand of the
oppressor. The sufferings of our race shall be
atoned for in thee. Thy sons shall be dragged into
captivity, and thy daughters mourn in sackcloth.
Widows and orphans yet unborn shall rue the punishment
of this sin thou hast committed. But blessed
art thou! for out of thee shall come forth a
light that shall enlighten all the land. The ground
whereon I stand is shaken. I hear the roar of
battle, and feel the shock of contending armies.
From the East to the pathless solitudes of the
far West, they come as doves to their windows.
The Star of Freedom lights them on the way.
There is a waving of standards, and gleaming of
arms. The sea is covered with the ships of hostile
navies. The flames of the city below me are towering
towards heaven, and calling down vengeance,
while the cries of the wounded and groans of the
dying ring in my ears!

But who is he approaching in the distance,
glorious in the panoply of truth, leader of the armies 20(2)v 232
of freedom, but the angel of death to the
legions of despotism? They fall before him like
the grain before the scythe of the mower. But,
alas! they crowd—they rush upon—they surround
him! What power shall aid? Where is my country?
where? — — — She comes! she comes!
the flower de luce, the standard of the Bourbons!
France to the rescue! France to the rescue!”

shouted the patriarch, in a voice whose shrill tones
rang clear and distinct o’er the waters of Charles
river
, as he fell back into the arms of his family
and expired. A silence as of death ensued—not
a word was spoken. In holy awe and chastened
submission each head was bent as they slowly bore
him from Bunker’s Hill. — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —

“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.”
No gilded coffin, nor nodding plumes, nor muffled
drum, nor soldiers with arms reversed, accompanied
to their last home the earthly remains of him
whose immortal part had passed into the heavens;
but a long line of “the poor of this world,” of
exiles from their native land, of persons whose
hearts had been broken, whose spirits and energies
had been crushed under the iron car of despotism,
whose hopes and ambition had fled together, and
most of whom wished the lot of the dead had been
theirs, in slow and solemn array followed the lowly
bier. The mourning family deeply felt the loss of
him who for so many years had been their guide
and counsellor, and their tears attested their sense
of the bereavement; but there was one exception,
one individual among those mourners, whose firm
and elastic step spoke more than resignation: there
was an animation, an elevation of spirit about her,
amazing to those who had witnessed the deep interest
and affectionate solicitude with which she had 20(3)r 233
regarded the departed. Some there were, almost
ready to accuse her of want of feeling, until the
service of the grave commenced, when the clasped
hands, raised eyes, look of holy trust, and perfect
resignation, convinced them it was something very
remote from insensibility.

There was a vacuum in the family of our exiles,
created by the death of the venerable St. Pierre,
that was felt by all, though there could be no lamentation
for the glorious exit of one whose whole
life, as well as his death, was a triumph.

Of the remarkable circumstances attending his
exit, but little was said openly. Among their
brother exiles, however, it was often discussed, and
like the people of old time, they “wondered what
these things should mean?”
and various conjectures
were hazarded as to the solution. Often, of
a winter’s evening, would a company of those
who had given over all hope of ever revisiting
their native land, assemble at the fireside of Madam
St. Pierre
, and, in half whispers, talk over the
mysterious and exciting subject; and some would
even imagine they discovered in the signs of the
times a coming fulfillment of the prophecy, but
very dark indeed were some of their solutions.
Others manifested quite an impatience, and with
that unbelieving race that asks “where is the promise
of his coming?”
were ready to despond.

It was on such occasions, that Pauline would remind
them that the prophecies of old times were
not fulfilled in a moment; that ages had rolled
away before many of them were even understood;
and with sweet persuasion she would chide their
unbelief, and exhort them to renewed confidence
and trust in Him, whose wisdom and mercy she
believed would yet be made manifest.

Happy would it have been for this most unfortunate
people, if they could early have been persuaded20 20(3)v 234
of the wisdom of quiet submission and contentment
in the land where the Lord their God
had brought them. The fate of those who eluded
the authorities of the province of Massachusetts,
and fled, in the foolish expectation of regaining
their native place, was peculiarly hard. Few of
them lived to cross the border again, and of those
who attempted it successfully, their sufferings must
have been dreadful. Obliged to skulk in the forests
by day, and often encamp in some swamp by night,
constantly afraid of being surprised and compelled
to return, they had little to comfort them except
the occasional hospitality of their Indian friends.
Many of those had some knowledge of their language,
and many were believers in their religion;
and they probably received that pity and assistance
from them they might have solicited in vain from
the provincials: for such was the fatal prejudice
against every thing French, that they would most
probably have been immediately informed against,
and by that means stopped on their journey and
sent back. Against all risks of this kind, the wandering
Acadians were guarded; and stopped occasionally
to procure food and bury their dead, who,
alas! dropped on their path like leaves in autumn,
they at length surmounted the difficulties of the
way from Boston to New Brunswick.

It has been supposed by many, that the remnant
of this people, who wandered back at that time,
formed the first settlement of the Madawaska, to
which scattered companies, secreted in the woods,
occasionally joined themselves. Various places in
the wide forests of New Brunswick and the disputed
territory, show signs of having once been the
retreat of these unfortunate people. In particular,
the one not far from Mars Hill, where there is a
very considerable burial place, and the remains of
some of the rude crosses on the graves are still to
be seen.

20(4)r 235

We must now leave the interesting family of St.
Pierre
for a period of fifteen years, that is, from the
capture of Quebec, in the year 17601760, to the commencement
of the revolutionary war, just stopping
to narrate that, immediately after the first mentioned
event, or, rather, after the peace that followed
it, Pauline became connected in marriage with a
young French gentleman, who had formerly resided
in the Canadas, the Chevalier D――. This lady,
who had uniformly persisted in freezing all her
English lovers out doors, somehow, no one can tell,
surrendered her heart at once to the amiable and
elegant Frenchman, and with the full and joyful
approbation of all her friends, married him. The
courtship was a short one, but she had no reason to
repent her choice. Her husband shortly after went
to France to settle some business, and then returned
and removed his wife to Philadelphia, where he had
some connections. By this means, Pauline and her
two eldest surviving brothers became neighbors.
One of them had married a daughter of Captain
Cummings
, and the other a descendant of Renne
Le Blanc
, and were both in easy circumstances.
Ferdinand and his young wife preferred Boston,
and the youngest son of Madam St. Pierre, who
married there. Madam agreed to reside alternately
with her children; but as Josephine had always
been quite a pet, she still continued to monopolize
most of her mother’s society.

Of Louis the elder, no certain tidings had been
heard. A report reached them that he had
been in Canada, and went to France at the capture
of Quebec, and died on the passage out. As a price
had been set upon his head, he dared not come into
the British provinces.

We must now stop a few moments to speak of
the affairs at Acadia, or Nova Scotia, after the departure
of those whose banishment we have narrated. 20(4)v 236
The proceedings of the English and provincials
towards the remnant left behind, were marked
with more severity even than to the former; resenting
as they did the attempt to elude them, when
the seven thousand were sent away. The woods
were scoured, and every effort made to hunt up the
residue. As we stated before, a very considerable
number escaped to the Canadas; many perished in
the woods, and some encamped with the Indians,
and finally became incorporated with the tribes;
others, becoming famished in their hiding-places,
came forward and surrendered, rather than perish
by starvation; and others again were found and
pounced upon by the British soldiery. Of these
two last, the whole number were conveyed to Halifax,
prisoners. What were the tender mercies of
the victors towards them during the six years they
were kept in that region; or, in plain English, in
what way they lived, we are not able to say, since
history makes no further mention of them until
17611761, the time the French captured the town of
St. Johns, when, fearing a rescue from their proximity,
it was deemed expedient to send them out
of Nova Scotia. Accordingly, these poor, persecuted
beings were all embarked and sent to Boston,
and ahead of them went despatches from the Governor
or President of Nova Scotia, to Governor
Barnard
, the then Governor of Massachusetts Bay,
politely “requesting” him, in a manner that amounted
to a command, “to make arrangements for their
settlement in that province.”

Now, the authorities of Boston had long began
to weary of a game in which they were always
sure to be losers. The vast expense attending the
reception of the first company, who, as we before
stated, mostly became a public charge, had never
been remunerated by the parent government, to say
nothing of all the expenses of raising forces, fitting 20(5)r 237
out vessels, and other expensive arrangements attending
this unholy expedition, for which a very
limited compensation had been granted; and they
very wisely concluded now, it was time for them
to make a stand. Subsequently, this debt was paid. Anticipating then the immediate
arrival of the vessels, they assembled in General
Court
to consult what was to be done; and the
first thing was to send word for the transports to
anchor under the guns of Castle William while
their consultations were going on.

The Bostonians even then appear to have had
some idea of doing business on their own hook;
for, after short consultation, they very positively
forbade the exiles to be landed, and directed the
Governor “on no account to permit such another
burden to fall on the people.”

A report of these proceedings were despatched
without delay by Governor Barnard “to General
Amherst
, commander of his Majesty’s forces in
Nova Scotia.”
But the Bostonians took especial
care to show the transports out of the harbor, and
have them reach Halifax again before another order
could reach them.

No doubt there would have been trouble about
this between their high mightinesses of the two
provinces, had it not so chanced that by the time
the poor Acadians reached Nova Scotia again, the
French forces had quit the country, after doing all
the mischief they could at the time, namely: they
captured two English settlements at Newfoundland,
which they razed to the ground; they captured the
town of St. Johns, carrying off a company of soldiers
prisoners of war, “with the officers and crew
of his Majesty’s ship Gramont.”

On the 1762-02-10tenth of the February following, 1762,
another peace was patched up between the French 20(5)v 238
and English, by which the French monarch renounced
and guaranteed all his possessions in North
America
to the English. This proved the death of
hope to the forlorn Acadians, and set the seal to
their fate forever!

End of Volume One.

Scene presumably depicting some of the Acadian people. Three figures surrounded by a house and trees.

Amusements of the Acadians.

20(6)r

The
Neutral French;


or,
The Exiles of Nova Scotia.

By Mrs. Williams,
Author of Religion at Home, Aristocracy, National and Revolutionary
Tales
, Biography of Barton and Olney, &c. &c.

Lo! Tyranny strides on with step accurst,

Trampling her million victims in the dust!

But God, the mighty God, shall hear their cries,

And bid the Star of Liberty arise!

Ed.
“Where Liberty dwells, there is my country!”

Two Volumes in One.
Volume II.

Providence:
Published by the Author.

20(6)v
[Copy-right secured, according to law.]
21(1)r

The Neutral French.

Chapter I.

The hour Long wished for by the good, Of universal jubilee to all The sons of bondage. Old men, that on their staff had leaned, Crazy and frail, or sat benumbed with age, Ripe for the grave, felt through their withered limbs New vigor flow.”

Twenty years had elapsed since, at the command
of a “despotic prince and infatuated ministry,” a
peace-seeking and peace-loving people, who might
have been considered an acquisition to any country,
were driven out from their happy homes and scattered
among strangers, doomed to eat their bread
by the sweat of the brow among a people whose
manners, language, and laws, they were utter strangers
to. As strangers and wanderers on the earth,
they had been treading their weary pilgrimage.
The greater part had perished. They had fallen
as grass beneath the mower’s scythe. And of those
who remained, they were, for the most part, as
martyrs looking for the hour of their dismissal.
For them, the summer had smiled in vain—“the
voice of the turtle”
and the “singing of birds”
had ceased to charm. In vain for them, autumn
yielded up her bountiful stores, and landscapes more 21 21(1)v 4
beautiful than the cold regions of the east, presented
themselves on every side, and courted their unthankful
and almost undistinguishing observation. For
the most part, they had exchanged the quiet for the
bustle of life, but they regarded it not. The crowd
passed on, often jostling them out of the way, but
they felt it not—one soul-absorbing thought possessed
them all—they were exiles from their country.
They had lost their name and their inheritance,
and had lost it, as they now believed, foolishly.
Oh, what would they now have given, could the
“tide of time” roll back, and place them once
more in their country, with arms in their hands;
even without, it was worth the peril. Had they
resisted, the ruthless conqueror might have been
foiled; had they failed, they could at least have
died in the contest, have bravely died, have fallen
like men, and won a deathless immortality. The
thought was agony.

Often, when the sympathies of the people they
were among had won them to their firesides, would
they recount the horrors of that day when they
were compelled, with their wives and little ones,
to quit their beloved homes, their rural dwellings,
and fruitful fields, their well-filled barns, countless
herds and flocks of sheep, a prey to the spoiler, and
embark upon a tempestuous sea for an unknown
land; lighted from the shore by the blaze of their
dwellings, and separated from each other on their
perilous voyage; and often would the ready tears
of the listeners attest the pitying feelings the sad
narration had called forth. They were few, however,
but would insist they would not have yielded
without a struggle. “They should have trampled
on our bodies, they should have waded knee deep
in our blood, before we would have submitted to
such an arbitrary edict,”
was often the expression
of the incensed Americans, at the conclusion of
their story.

21(2)r 5

It was on one of these occasions, that a venerable
Acadian made the remark that Byron, in later
times, has rendered immortal, namely, “The cold
in clime are cold in blood.”
Said he, “We lived
too far north; the blood of our French forefathers
had crept through so many generations in that freezing
clime, that it became chilled; it had began to
stiffen. It must have been so; it must, indeed;
there is no other way of accounting for it.”

From this state of despondence, of long despair,
or of sullen apathy, the Neutral French (neutral no
longer) were at length aroused. The commencement
of hostilities between the United States and
the mother country, the government of Great Britain,
came upon them like an earthquake; it was
astounding, and caused every chord within them to
vibrate. It was like the dawning of the resurrection
morning to the long-imprisoned spirits of the
just. Every head was erect; there was a new
dignity and elasticity in their steps, that evidently
proclaimed each felt himself a man again. The
idea of the colonies resisting the arbitrary mandates
of Great Britain, was something that never entered
their heads; they knew there was discontent and
remonstrance on the part of the Americans; but
what of that? They had felt it all, and much
more, and petitioned for redress for fifty years,
without any answer, except increased burdens being
laid upon them, until they had given it up, and
sat down submissive under the iron yoke; and they
fully believed it would be the case of the Americans;
it was not until the first blood had been
shed in the cause of liberty, and the States were
calling upon the citizens to arm, that they at all
comprehended the case; when they did, their joy
was boundless. Even their women rushed from
house to house, aghast, to tell the news; and the
information was uniformly answered by that neighbor 21(2)v 6
throwing herself upon the bosom of her informer,
to sob out her thanksgivings, while the old men
would kiss each other on both cheeks, in ecstasies
of joy.

“Grand business, this,” said old Captain Cummings,
who had breasted the storms of a great many
voyages since he helped bring the Neutral French
from Nova Scotia. “Beautiful business, Mr. Livingston,
bringing these here French to help us, ha!
ha! ha! Our masters were afraid to let them go to
Canada, for fear they would strengthen the French
under Villabon; but a greater than Villabon is here,
I reckon; they will wish they had left them
where they belonged, instead of scattering them
here; the poor, innocent people would not have
harmed them. But, tread on a worm, and it will
turn. I miss my guess, if they keep still now.”

“Why, do you think any of the younger ones
remember much about it?”
replied the gentleman
addressed, to the good old captain, now somewhat
advanced in years, who stood leaning on his staff,
which he now never walked without.

“Remember, why, yes, there is my son-in-law
St. Pierre, who was only thirteen when I brought
him away, he and his brother have as vivid a recollection
of the whole scene as though it had been
yesterday, or as though they had been blindfolded
ever since, and seen nothing since. I tell you now,
Mr. Livingston, that was a bad business; great as
we think our grievances, they are nothing to what
these poor people endured, even before their transportation;
if I had known the truth of it then,
you’d have never caught Sam Cummings in that
scrape. God forgive me; for, like those who helped
crucify their master, I knew not what I did, at the
time.”

“It was a melancholy business, in truth,” replied
the gentleman; “and it is perfectly astonishing 21(3)r 7
that the injustice did not strike the people of
these colonies at the time.”

“Melancholy, indeed! Had you seen them as I
did, and witnessed the distress of that poor people,
when compelled to see their dwellings given to the
flames, and their dumb creatures, whom they loved
next to themselves, left to perish of starvation;
themselves reduced in one day to the situation of
of paupers, from a state of plenty and even affluence;
and their husbands and wives, parents and
children, separated and put into different vessels.”

“For what, pray?” asked Mr. Livingston.

“Why, to serve the devil, I suppose; for I never
could divine any earthly motive for such needless
cruelty; and so blinded and deceived as most of us
were, that went to bring them away, why, I tell
you truly, that all Sam Cummings was ever worth,
would have been no temptation to engage in such
an undertaking, had I known the truth. We were
told they were the greatest set of white savages
that ever existed, and that they set the Indians on
to cut the throats of helpless women and children,
and offered sacrifice to their images and dead saints,
with a hundred other things, quite as ridiculous,
and, as I believe, untrue. You can witness with
me, dear Sir, that a more peaceable, harmless, and
even pious set of persons, never existed, than those
who came here, and they are all alike in that; not
that they have been happy; the poor souls think
now, that they mistook their duty, and that they
should have defended their hearths at the point of
the bayonet, though in truth to say, I don’t know
where they would have got bayonets, as their arms
had all been taken away, long before; but, at all
events, if they had been taken fighting, they think
they would have fared like prisoners of war. In
this opinion I think they are mistaken; as such was
the temper of their oppressors, I think they would 21 21(3)v 8
have seized that as a pretext to exterminate them,
and hanged the whole lot.”

“Why, surely,” said Mr. Robert Livington, for
it was him who afterwards sat his seal to the Declaration
of Independence
, that honest Sam had now
the privilege of addressing; “why, surely, you do
not think they would have hung eighteen thousand
people, or, as some say, twenty thousand, men,
women, and children?”

“Why, I don’t think they would have catched
them all, they did not, as it was, several thousand
eluded them; and, may be, had they fought bravely,
none of them would have been taken. The
time for resistance, in my opinion, was when they
were commanded to give up their arms. What
right had they to take from a man the privilege of
defending his own fireside. No people ought to
submit to be disarmed. And if the worst come of
it, they could but have died; and the misery and
degradation they have endured since, is much worse
than death. We can only see by this, Mr. Livingston,
what our own case would be, were we to sit
down patient under British exactions.”

“Thou art right, thou art right,” said Mr. Livingston,
shaking him warmly by the hand; “and,
my honest friend, while we are giving a blow for
freedom, I hope we may lay on a few in remembrance
of the injuries of this much abused people.
Surely, the Almighty cannot forever forsake them;
he must arise at length and avenge their cause.”

But if the shock of the coming contest was felt
by the whole civilized continent, from Maine to
Georgia, let us imagine what were the thoughts and
feelings of the red man. The very first blast of
the war clarion that echoed through the forest,
awoke the startled savage from a long slumber of
apathy, a state of almost inanition; and, springing
to his feet, with his whole fierce soul looking out 21(4)r 9
at his eyes, he seized the bow and the arrow, the
tomahawk and scalping-knife, and buckling on the
war-belt, he prepared himself to fight for the highest
bidder. The life of the Indian, when not excited
by anger, revenge, or the hope of plunder,
approaches the nearest to annihilation of any thing
ever seen in our world. To smoke in a corner of
his wigwam, or lay against the trees basking in a
summer sun, with half-shut eyes, while his bosom
slave is pounding out the corn, or jerking the venison,
is his principal employment. But let one of
the three incentives just mentioned, be presented
to his view, and the most wonderful transformation
is visible at once: his person rises to at least a foot
in height; his eyes become the color of an English
rabbit’s, and glow with a look so hideous as to
make the blood of the beholder curdle within him;
while every sinew and muscle in his frame becomes
now braced and rigid.

There was a lingering respect for the French,
that would have preserved the savage from a participation
in the butcheries or plunders of the British,
had the contest been between the two nations; but
between Englishmen and Englishmen, they could
not believe there could be much choice, and therefore
readily yielded, for the most part, to join with
those whom they believed capable of rewarding
them the best; and the English, who had expressed
such a holy horror of employing the savages in
war, did not hesitate to employ them now that their
enemies were to be the victims.

21(4)v 10

Chapter II.

“Wake, dear remembrance, wake my childhood’s days, Loves, friendships, wake! and wake thou morn and even, And hills and vales first trod in dawning life, And holy hours of musing, wake! wake! wake!”

The commencement of the revolutionary war
found the family of our exiles in a very different
situation from that in which we left them. Ferdinand
had turned his talents into a different channel.
He had began a trader, and in a few years became
one of the most successful merchants in Boston.
Many of their first friends were dead; Mrs. Montgomery,
Mrs. Courtland, and others, who had so
warmly patronized Pauline, had now paid the debt
of nature; but the rich find no difficulty in collecting
an agreeable circle around them. Among these,
the origin of this family was but little known.
People had somehow confounded the Neutral French
with the French Huguenots, many of whom had
sought shelter from Catholic persecution in the
provinces, and an exceedingly amiable and exemplary
people they were said to be. There seemed
to be a determination to forget the banished Acadians,
as well there might, since it reflected little
honor upon those who projected or assisted in the
execution of it. But it was not so with the Huguenots,
who, being protestants, and coming into the
country of their own free will, were here, as well
as in England, exceedingly popular. And when
the question was asked, as it often was, “Are they
not of French extract?”
the answer usually was,
“Oh, yes; they are probably descendants of some
of the Huguenots.”
Whether it was the belief of
such extract, or from whatever cause, the inhabitants
of Boston, as far as their acquaintance had
extended, had always treated the family of Ferdinand
with marked attention.

21(5)r 11

Ferdinand had arisen, by rapid strides, from a
state of poverty to be a man of wealth, and he had
been treated with much respect by the people he
was among, even during his state of poverty; hence
his feelings towards the Bostonians were of the
most pleasureable and grateful kind, and in the
hour of their country’s adversity he did not forget
it. That he was a man of great merit, and worthy
of his prosperity, was obvious, for he never forgot
the low estate he was in upon his first coming
there; and his manners towards those whom heaven
had made his inferiors in point of property, were
of the most gentle and conciliating kind, and especially
towards his distressed countrymen, whom
he frequently looked up, to relieve their necessities.
Fifteen years before the present era of our story,
we left him in a small house in Charlestown, in the
capacity of a schoolmaster, a teacher of the French
language. Very soon after, he became weary of
his employment, and removed to the other side to
engage in trade. As we observed before, he was
eminently successful in his new occupation, and
soon realized a fortune for those days.

At the era of the Revolution, Ferdinand resided
in a beautiful mansion in one of the most fashionable
streets in Boston. It was situated on one
of those abrupt eminences so peculiar to that place,
and which contributes more, perhaps, than any
thing else, to give it that peculiarly romantic and
picturesque appearance that all strangers admire.
Modern innovation has levelled many of those eminences
at this day, but some few remain, particularly
in the neighborhood of the State House. The
lofty flight of steps that led to the spacious entrance
was guarded by a balustrade of wrought iron, and
over the door was exhibited what in these days
would excite the risible faculties of every passer by
in our republican country, but was then considered 21(5)v 12
a necessary appendage to a gentleman’s family mansion,
a coat of arms. It had been left there by
Ferdinand’s predecessor, who, finding in the new
world but little that he thought equal to himself,
and finding he could not live out of the air of a
court, had disposed of his stately mansion, and gone
home to “dear England.”

On each side the hall, that extended quite through
the building, was a set of rooms splendidly furnished,
between the doors of which hung a set of landscapes,
principally of rural scenery, but of what
country the obsererverobserver would have been puzzled to
say. The cottages, in their architecture, were decidedly
French; but as this was a style of building
entirely unknown in the province of Massachusetts
Bay
, it was not recognised as such; the grounds
were laid out much in English style, but it was not
“England’s fadeless green,” nor were the hills
those of “vine-clad France.” Herds of cattle were
seen quietly browsing in the deep intervales below,
and flocks of sheep were sporting on the craggy
hills, while youths and maidens might be seen
dancing on the lawn, or resting beneath the shade
of overhanging trees. The next represented the
sportsman with his gun, and the dogged Indian
stealing warily through the forest.

But chiefly would the observer have been attracted
by one which represented a mournful procession
of youths and maidens, a part of whom had gained
the shore, near which lay a number of ships apparently
just ready to slip their cables. These last
appeared listening to the speech of an aged man,
who was in the act of elevating a cross, which a
soldier at his back was springing, with upraised
hatchet, to strike down. The countenances of the
group were inimitable; the struggle for resignation,
the suppressed murmur, the hushed agony of the 21(6)r 13
husband, and the shrinking, fainting form of the
wife, all spoke volumes to the heart.

The last was partly a sea-scene; the waters were
dreadfully agitated, and the angry clouds appeared
rushing on as driven by a furious wind. Ships, on
whose decks might be discovered a sea of human
faces, were dashing through the foaming billows.
It was night, but the whole scene was rendered
horribly distinct by the glare of a conflagration on
shore, where hundreds of buildings were wrapt in
flames at once. You could almost descry the pale
faces and anguished looks of the groups on board,
many of them females, whose arms were stretched
out towards the scene of ruin, and who apparently
were only restrained from throwing themselves into
the sea by being forcibly withheld.

About these paintings there was a kind of mystery.
Some said the “last represented the burning
of Troy;”
and many averred one of them “must
be a view of the crusaders about to embark for the
holy land,”
and puzzled themselves in vain to distinguish
the armor and badges of the different
chieftains. But whatever they represented, the
present occupants were observed to be profoundly
silent.

In one of the back parlors of the mansion, reclined
on a sofa, sat a woman whose bust exhibited
a perfection of form that rarely belongs to the
nation which, from the color of her eyes and hair,
and the dazzling whiteness of her skin, one might
have supposed her descended; in plain words, her
complexion was English, but the form French.
The soft blue eyes were now cast down, and humid
with tears, and the luxuriant brown hair floated
in disorder over the fair shoulders that just peeped
from beneath the gauze ’kerchief. But beautiful
and youthful as the person of the female here spoken
of appeared, she was in reality upwards of 21(6)v 14
thirty years of age. Her spirits, naturally light and
buoyant, had sustained the trials of life, without
impairing her beauty. Of sorrow, she had tasted
but once. After years had been spent in indulgence;
every wish of her heart had been gratified
by a devoted husband and most affectionate mother.
Prosperity had flowed in upon them, and wealth,
almost unsought, seemed to court their acceptance:
and could the memory of early years, of a one
sorrow, have been entirely obliterated, it seemed, to
human view, she might have been superlatively
happy.

The remembrance of that sorrow, however, had
grown fainter and fainter, and would probably have
been only as the recollection of a painful dream,
had not circumstances from time to time arisen
which called it up. The present was one, and
Josephine—for it was the youngest daughter of the
St. Pierre family—had on this day been painfully
reminded of past events by a dangerous accession
to her family in the person of a disguised priest of
their order, who had been seeking out the stragglers
of his flock for the laudable and holy purpose
of strengthening their faith, and ministering to their
spiritual necessities. Josephine knew that the vicinity
of this person, were his real character known,
would at once alter the conduct of the party who
now held the town, towards herself and her family;
for hitherto they had been regarded with a degree
of favor truly surprising, considering the many privations
others had to endure. But, aware of all
this, she had received the venerable and houseless
stranger when others dared not; and, risking all
the consequences should his character and mission
be discovered, resolutely resolved, come what might,
to extend to him all the kindness and assistance his
situation so imploringly called for.

While ruminating over the consequences to her 22(1)r 15
husband, should it transpire, a tear involuntarily
forced itself down her cheek, and she was aroused
from her painful revery by the entrance of her
mother, who, gently laying her hand on her arm,
reminded her of other duties than indulging such
anticipations.

The face and person of Madam St. Pierre had
undergone some changes, she was upwards of sixty;
but there was still a dignity of manner that bespoke
innate purity and rectitude of soul, but partook not
of pride. She was yet a mourner; for the fate of
a beloved husband was as yet involved in mystery,
and she could not forget the woes of her family and
people. Added to this, she had three sons who
were now in the army, having been some of the
first who volunteered to take part with the indignant
and oppressed Americans, and she knew the
day was not very far distant when Ferdinand, the
husband of her darling Josephine, would also join
their forces, though of that apprehension her daughter
was yet ignorant.

Taking the arm of her mother, Josephine now
ascended to a remote chamber of the mansion,
where, stretched upon a bed, lay the emaciated
form of the venerable priest. It was evident that
toil, anxiety, and privations, had done their work
upon the constitution of Father Joseph, on whose
exhausted frame the hand of death appeared now
already laid.

“Come hither, my daughter,” said the expiring
saint. “My glass is nearly run, and I bless God I
shall not live long enough to ruin my benefactors
for harboring me.”

Of that I have no fears, said Josephine. “My
greatest anxiety, holy father, is now to make you
comfortable, and be able to protect you until our
enemies leave the city; if report says true, it will
not be long first. There seems a special providence 22 22(1)v 16
in it, that, though a number of British officers are
quartered in my house, your residence has not, as
yet, been suspected. But, father, you are failing;
what can I do? shall I bring the breviary and crucifix?”

A cloud came over the brow of the dying man;
it was transient, and succeeded by a heavenly smile,
while he replied, “No, daughter, I need them not.
It is not in such situations as I have been for the
last twenty years, that the need of such things are
felt. And now, daughter, draw near, I am about
to address you on a most important subject. Of
my tedious pilgrimage through deep and untrodden
wilds, of my travail of soul, and long-enduring sorrow
on account of your and my dear people, I have
not time or breath to inform you; but during this
season I have had time and opportunity to study
the scriptures of truth for myself. This little volume”
(taking a small French bible from beneath his
pillow) “has been my companion by night and by
day, and to you I now bequeath it, with the injunction
to read and ponder its contents.”

Josephine took it, wondering.

“You will see by this, my daughter, that we are
all invited to come direct to Jesus, the mediator of
the new covenant, and need not the intervention of
saints or angels, of the spirits of just men, or even
the blessed Virgin herself, whose sins, as well as
ours, can only be pardoned through the atonement
of him who was her son according to the flesh. I
am not derogating from the merit of her whose
faith and humility are a pattern for all believers. It
is written she shall be called blessed of all nations.
But could that blessed person, who, with the departed
spirits of the just, are now reaping the reward
of their faith, be permitted to speak to us, I think
they would say, pointing to the Savior, ‘Behold
the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the 22(2)r 17
world; worship thou him.’
I believe and desire to
give my dying testimony, that the Catholic church
is a true church of Christ, as far as being built upon
the foundation of the prophets and apostles; but I
do feel she has diverged from the path she originally
set out upon, and encumbered herself with
many useless ceremonies, to the great hindrance of
believers, and corrupted, by false interpretation,
some of the plainest and most obvious doctrines of
the gospel. A long season of uninterrupted power
and prosperity is as unfavorable to the spiritual advancement
of the church, as it is to the growth of
grace in individuals. But her days of darkness have
been many, and may he who causeth the light to
spring out of darkness, grant it may be a season not
only of humiliation, but purification, and that she
may come out as gold from the furnace, with all her
dross purged away.”

“But, father,” said Josephine, rather impatiently,
as she saw by the failing breath that her reverend
guest was fast travelling home, “will you not confess
me once before you die, and give me absolution?”

“Daughter!” said the man of God, raising himself
upon the pillow, and gazing into her face with
almost startling energy, “what have I been saying
to you? Who am I, that I should forgive sin? I
can only declare unto you, as an ambassador of the
most high God, that your sins, if you are truly
penitent, are forgiven you by him, who in his own
person made atonement for them; and whoever
claims more than this, arrogates to himself what
belongs to God only. Yet I bless you, my child,”

(laying his emaciated hand upon her head as he
sunk back, exhausted, on the pillow.) “The blessing
of him who was ready to perish, rest upon
thee; the stranger’s God protect thee! For I was
an hungered, and you gave me meat; thirsty, and 22(2)v 18
you gave me drink; a stranger, and you took me
in; sick and in affliction, and you ministered unto
me; and in the day when God shall judge the
secrets of men by Jesus Christ, he will remember
these things as done unto himself. Now leave me
for a little time.”

Drawing the curtain, Josephine and Madam St.
Pierre
retreated to the antechamber to meditate on
the momentous subjects just brought to their view,
while their exhausted guest recovered a little from
the state of agitation into which his great exertions
had thrown him.

Scarcely half an hour had elapsed, when a servant,
in passing the door, looked in, and with his
finger on his lips, handed her hastily a sealed paquet,
which, after securing the door, she broke open, and
read as follows:

“Dearest Wife— Be not alarmed at my long
absence. When this reaches you, I shall have departed
on a mission, of the nature of which I cannot
now acquaint you. The ostensible object of
my journey is to protect the wife of our brother on
her journey home, as the country is filled with
rebel troops. Be not alarmed for yourself; there
are those in the city who have sworn to protect
you at all hazards. In the mean time, if you see
any cause for it, the means of escape will be provided
you, and you can throw yourself upon the
protection of the commander-in-chief at Roxbury,
who will receive and protect you. Believe me,
nothing but a sense of duty drives me from you at
this perilous time. Where I am going, I will not
say, but I shall see our dear sister Pauline, that first
and best of women. (I know no feeling of jealousy
ever visited that gentle bosom.) Feel assured she
will approve my flight, if such you choose to call
it. The very efficient aid I was enabled to give 22(3)r 19
certain suffering patriots in Boston, could not, I fear,
remain a secret much longer; nor could my long-
slumbering resentment of our tyrannical and heartless
oppressors. Under these circumstances, you
must believe it best for me to absent myself. I
know you would prefer it to my being sent prisoner
to England or Halifax. I trust our separation will
not be long.
Yours, ever, F—.Ferdinand Destroy this immediately.”

Scarcely had the trembling, agitated wife time
to crush the letter into her bosom, ere she was summoned
to the chamber of her guest again. Though
Father Joseph was evidently dying, Josephine could
not forbear to mention her new affliction to him,
and solicit his advice respecting her flight from the
city.

“Remain here,” said he, emphatically. “This
is your post; your trial will not be long, and God
will protect you. In after years, when peace, liberty,
and prosperity shall have visited this land,
remember me!”

“Oh, Father!” said Josephine, throwing herself
on her knees beside the bed. “can I ever forget you?
But do you indeed believe we shall be free; that
we ever shall dwell in a land where British tyranny
cannot reach us?”

“I do believe it,” said the dying priest, with
fervency. “Have faith, my child. Hast thou witnessed
the battle on yonder hill, and dost thou
doubt yet? I have been thinking,”
he added,
“that in this land the church may accomplish her
purification. Existing without the unlimited power
and ensnaring wealth on the one hand, and freed
on the other from persecution, which invariably
sanctifies error, surrounded with a population who
will neither be tramelled with kings or priests, a 22 22(3)v 20
people liberal, intelligent, and inquiring, it would
be difficult to propagate error in any shape without
detection. But my time is short; draw near and
receive my parting message to the Neutral French.
Say unto them,

‘Behold! the Lord worketh a wonder in your
day; ye thought it evil to be driven from your
native land, but the Lord meant it for good; he
was preparing one of the nations of the earth for
the blessings of civil freedom; and to this end, he
transplanted you from a soil endeared to you by
fond associations, but given up to arbitrary power,
to one destined to be free, happy, and independent.
In ages to come, the exceeding riches of his goodness
shall be made manifest, and men shall tell of
his righteousness. To those who gave themselves
up to despair and despondence, who refused all
comfort, and went mourning to their graves, it can
avail nothing; but you that remain, behold the
reward of patience to you who took joyfully the
spoiling of your goods, who at the divine command
left all, and followed the leadings of Providence,
with full trust that he who decreed this thing could
not err, the reward is great. A few years from
this, and there is not an Acadian that would voluntarily
return to the flesh-pots of Egypt. No! they
would say, “Where Liberty dwells, there is my
country
.”
Farewell! forget not him who with a
strong hand and mighty arm brought you forth
out of the house of bondage. Farewell! beloved
people, fare—’”

The quivering lip refused to utter more. Madam
laid her hand upon the heart; its pulsations had
stopped forever. She raised and bore from the
room her almost fainting daughter, whose gentle
spirit had on this morning sustained so much.

After dinner, a note was despatched to General
Howe
, saying, “that a stranger man, who had 22(4)r 21
sought their charity, had died suddenly in their
house, and requesting the favor, as the deceased
seemed a very good religious man, of interring him
in the burial place of the church-yard on the ensuing
evening.”
The request was very politely granted,
and no questions asked; and at seven in the
evening he was accordingly interred, a few of the
church and people following him to the grave,
though some of them, like Peter, followed afar off.

Chapter III.

“May this right hand, whose skill Can wake the harp at will, And bid the listener’s joys or griefs, in light or darkness come, Forget its godlike power, If, for one brief, short hour, My heart forget Jerusalem, fallen city of my home.” Halleck.

The “merry dinner and the deep carouse,” on
the day that succeeded the obsequies of Father
Joseph
, was harrowing to the feelings of Josephine
and Madam St Pierre. We mentioned there was
a mess of British officers quartered at the house;
true, they were seated at the table, but the uproarious
mirth was often heard to the far ends of the
building; and at all times, among an imprisoned
and half-starving population, appeared entirely out
of place, but on this occasion, particularly, it grated
most shockingly on the ears of the occupants.

It is well known that Boston, at that time, was
in great distress for the common necessaries of life.
What few provisions they could obtain, were paid
for at a most extravagant price, and many families
suffered exceedingly for want of necessary food.
Thus far, the family of Ferdinand had managed to 22(4)v 22
get along without suspicion; the precautions of
Madam and Josephine, since the absence of the
master of the house, were managed so discreetly,
that no suspicions appeared to have fallen upon
them; but it is highly probable it would not have
been the case long, had they continued to hold the
place: but it chanced that the place very soon after
this became too warm for their jailers, and the
trials to which the imprisoned patriots of Boston
were subjected, drew towards an end. It belongs
to history to narrate the causes of its evacuation at
this time. It was singular, but such was the case,
that no suspicions had fallen on any of the St.
Pierre
family; and as to Ferdinand’s, Gen. Howe,
who had occasionally seen them since his residence
there, entirely counted upon their friendship; and,
grateful for the kindness extended to his friends,
who had unceremoniously quartered in their house,
he had resolved to take them off with him, and that
Madam and the beautiful Josephine should have
the honor of accompanying him to a place of safety.

Accordingly, he waited on them the day before
the evacuation of Boston, and being ushered into
the only sitting apartment on the first floor that
Josephine had reserved for herself, with a very
condescending bow, he commenced.

“Madam, I feel extremely grateful to you for the
exemplary kindness you have manifested towards
the King’s officers, whom the laws of war have
compelled us to place in your dwelling, in such an
unceremonious manner, and also for your considerate
humanity extended towards the unfortunate sick
and wounded at the barracks, whom your servants,
by your orders, have so often ministered unto; and
I have come to the resolution to take you with me
to Halifax, and, if you choose, ultimately to England,
where, you know, your husband (who, by
the way, I am sadly afraid has fallen into the hands 22(5)r 23
of these rebels) can follow whenever he gets released;
and doubt not, madam, that the King, my
master, will fully appreciate your loyalty.”

A smile passed over the face of Josephine, while
she replied, “The King, Sir, is under no obligations
to us; we only performed the common duties
of humanity, which the king’s King, commands.
If the gentlemen have been comfortably accommodated
in my house, they are entirely welcome; you
do me too much honor, and I must beg leave to
decline it.”

“Oh, but, madam, you cannot suppose I would
leave you to the mercies of these ‘Hottentots’; I
should tremble for your fate, when the rebel army
shall have entered Boston, as they assuredly will,
as soon as we leave it. Don’t let the fear of losing
a few paltry thousands, induce you to risk yourself
with such a rabble, composed of the very dregs of
society.”

“I have no fears, Sir,” said Josephine. “The
King I serve, is able to protect me. Besides,”
she
added, “I have crossed the water once, and hope
never to again.”

“You surprise me, madam. I had thought you
a native of this province, notwithstanding your
French name. Can it be you are from France?
You speak English extremely well.”

“No, Sir, I was born in your King’s dominions.”

“Indeed! In what part of the United Kingdom?”

“I will show you where, Sir,” said Josephine,
rising with evident emotion, and leading the way
to the hall. The General of his Majesty’s forces
followed in undissembled astonishment. Gliding
to the upper end of the hall, she stepped before the
landscape described in a former page, and, pointing,
directed the attention of the General to the first in
the group.

22(5)v 24

“There, Sir, was my happy home; beneath
those trees I sported the blissful hours of childhood;
peace, plenty, and prosperity were then our
portion. Surrounded by numerous relations and
kind friends, and happy in the affections of a father
whose face I have never seen since,”
and a struggling
tear attested the sincerity of her grief.

“Well, in truth, madam, I am at a loss to conceive
in what part of his Majesty’s dominions you
were; if that is connected with the next, the
Indian bespeaks it to have been part of this
continent. I have often noticed these views”

Without waiting to hear the remainder, Josephine
passed on to the next, where the mournful
procession is represented as having gained the shore,
from which they were about to embark.

“There,” said she, “is my beloved mother, fainting
in my brother’s arms; there, my noble-minded
sister, Pauline; there, my sainted grandfather; and
there,”
(pointing to the last,) “there we are, tossing
about in a tempestuous sea, lighted from the shore
by the blaze of our own dwellings, banished, forever
exiled from our beloved Acadia! Think you,
General Howe, that we would even again voluntarily
entrust ourselves to British clemency?”

The person addressed, reddened to the very temples,
and scarcely could he raise his eyes to the
angelic countenance of her who stood beside him,
so beautiful in her sorrow, so dignified in her just
resentment. At length he said, drawing a long
breath,

“I have heard imperfectly of this thing before,
but never realized it; and were they all like thee?
Accursed, forever accursed, be the cruel policy that
directed such an act of barbarity and injustice; in
this age it could never occur.”

“No, it never can again,” said Josephine. General
Howe
, your King has different subjects to deal 22(6)r 25
with here. The arms you have taught them to
use in exterminating an unoffending people, are
now directed against yourselves; they will take
warning, and not lay them tamely down, as we
did. Believe me, Sir, they will never lay them
down, until they have secured the blessings of
liberty and independence.”

The brow of the fair speaker had become flushed
with the intenseness of her feelings, and involuntarily
she had laid her hand on his arm. Her earnestness
had led her further than she was aware of;
for, at the word “independence”, he started as though
stung by an adder, exclaiming,

“Ha! fair syren, and art thou so deep in their
counsels? and (rudely shaking the fair hand from
his arm) with all thy seeming innocence too?”

“Bear witness, heaven,” said Josephine, raising
her fine eyes, “that I have never exchanged a
word with them on the subject. But my grandfather
prophesied”

“Oh, a truce with prophecies, if that is all.
Well, I prophesy, too, that when our gracious sovereign
shall have thoroughly chastised these his
rebellious subjects, and brought them to unconditional
submission”

“Flatter not yourself, General Howe, this will
ever be the case. You will never conquer this
people.”

“Well, we will not dispute,” said the General.
“Nor can I listen longer to what I must not hear.
Any one but me, fair circe, would have ordered
you in confinement, or carried you off prisoner of
war. Come, don’t curl that pretty lip at me. When
Boston gets to be rebel headquarters, and some mob
ruler shall lord it over this illustrious land, you
will, perhaps, make us a visit.”

“When,” said Josephine, with kindling eye and
flushed cheek, “a sovereign’s ingratitude and nation’s 22(6)v 26
neglect shall reward the services of General
Howe
, by punishing him for not doing what could
not be done
, he may, perhaps, visit us; and one at
least (extending her hand with a very sweet smile)
will be glad to see him.”

He took the offered hand, and pressed it to his
lips, but he could not smile in return. The last
sentence had sunk deep, it touched a chord in his
breast that vibrated painfully; and, despite what
they say of superstition, coming events had cast
their shadows over him, and whispered a foreboding
of what eventually took place. Howe told Hannah More, after his return from America,
“that it was very hard to be blamed for not doing what could
not be done
.”

Chapter IV.

“Deep, in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will.”

The next day was a stirring one. It was the
ever-memorable 1776-03-17seventeenth of March, when the
foot of British foeman for the last time trod the
streets of Boston. Taking with him all the families
of the loyalists, or at least all that wished to
go, General Howe, with a few of his military escort,
brought up the rear in haste; for, close upon
their heels, came the American commander with
his brave, though rude and undisciplined army; of
what General Howe denominated the “mob, the
the rabble, the tag-rag and bobtail, the scum and
offscouring of creation.
But no matter what their 23(1)r 27
enemies—the most refined and Christian English
called them. Hard names, it is said, are the easiest
to speak, (which, doubtless, is the cause of so much
scandal being spoken.) No matter, on they came,
pell mell, leather aprons, tow trowsers, patched
coats, and all. Some had stockings and shoes,
some had none; some had hats, some caps, and
some only an apology for that article; some bore
an old rusty musket on their shoulders, and some a
crowbar or shod-shovel, and some of the guns were
without stock, lock, or barrel, just as the case might
be; some were old men, bent nearly double with
age; some, boys of fifteen. Even their officers,
sometimes, were but barely clothed; and, in truth,
they furnished a sorry contrast, in outward appearance,
to the gold-laced and perfumed gentry that
had just taken to their ships; and a stranger in our
world might well have looked on with wonder at
the demonstrations of extravagant joy that greeted
their arrival.

Standing near her window, and partly hid by
the curtains, the fair and beautiful Josephine witnessed
the departure of the British army. It was,
on the whole, a mournful scene. About fifteen
hundred of the loyalists, who had been so active in
behalf of the British as to be afraid to remain, embarked
with them; and in the agonizing leave-
takings many of which passed under her eyes,
Josephine and Madam St. Pierre thought they almost
saw their own banishment acted over again.
Could it fail to strike them there was a day of retribution?
Could the singular providence, by which
so many of the very families that had given aid in
driving out the Acadians, were now driven out
themselves, fail to strike them as a most wonderful
visitation?

The high tory families of Boston were generally,
almost universally, such as had large possessions to 23 23(1)v 28
leave; and it was not without many tears and
wringing of hands, that their early homes were
abandoned a prey to the victor. It was, too, in an
inclement season of the year. History tells us that
the vessels employed to carry the troops and the
royalist fugitives, were obliged to wait two days
after all was ready, before they could get out of the
harbor, the winds were so high and dead ahead;
and that the accommodations for the families were
very bad, and so crowded that General Howe had
serious apprehensions they should never be able to
reach port any where. His own situation was a
frightful one, for the preservation of his army depended
upon the risk; he felt they were surrounded,
and be the dangers of the sea what they might,
as a soldier, there was no alternative. One other
danger awaited them—that of being blown off to
the West Indies without provisions. Their situation,
in such an event, would have been dreadful;
as it was, they did not get fairly out to sea until a
week after they left the port of Boston. It will be
recollected they were permitted to depart in peace
by agreement with General Washington, on condition
of leaving their munitions of war and sparing
the town, the burning of which would not only
have been a great public loss, but have beggared
hundreds of patriot families. Howe had prepared
combustible materials in every part of the town,
ready to fire in a moment, in case of molestation.
History describes the departure of the loyalists as
presenting a mournful spectacle:

“The fathers carrying burdens, and the mothers
their children, ran weeping towards the ships—
the last salutations, the farewell embraces of those
who departed and of those who remained. The
sick, the aged, the wounded, and infants, would
have moved with compassion the witnessers of their
distress, had not the care of their own safety absorbed
the attention of all. And to add to their 23(2)r 29
distress, there was a most alarming dispute commenced
between the British soldiers and the emigrants,
about the carts and horses employed to carry
them to the ships, and another that broke out between
the soldiers of the garrison and those of the
fleet, mutually accusing each other of all the mischances
that had befallen them. The confusion
was terrible. The troops and loyalists began to
embark at four in the morning, and at ten all were
on board. The vessels, which consisted of one
hundred and fifty transports, for ten thousand men
and fifteen hundred loyalists, were overladen with
men and baggage; provisions were scanty; and
confusion was every where.”

“Who does not see the hand of an avenging God
in all this?”
said Madam St. Pierre, as the last
group of distressed emigrants had passed their house.
“Does man think, because he forgets, God does? if
so, he will find himself mistaken indeed! It would
have been difficult to make those believe who were
driven out from Acadia twenty years ago, by ‘an
expedition from Boston,’
that many of them would
live to see their oppressors driven out in their turn.
Oh, God! pardon our rebellious thoughts. We accused
thee of forgetting us; we chided at thy long
delay; we felt that thou hadst hid thy face from
us; that clouds and darkness surrounded thee; but
we did not realize that righteousness and judgment
were the habitation of thy throne: forgive us, O
our God!”

General Howe had issued a proclamation, commanding
“all the inhabitants of Boston to keep in
their houses,”
a thing which they had decided
before hand to do; but all their care could not
prevent the occasional despoiling of their goods,
British soldiers often bursting into houses as they
passed, and seizing whatever came to hand. Josephine
remained immovable until the last one had 23(2)v 30
passed. General Howe and his escort brought up
the rear, when, in passing, he raised his eyes, and
saw Josephine agitated and in tears. The General
kissed his hand, and was joined in the civility by
his companions; the standard-bearer waved his color,
and the music echoed a farewell. To the honor
of the General, he did not reveal the sentiments of
Josephine to his brother officers, though well must
he have divined the true position of Ferdinand.
Had he done so, himself could scarcely have saved
the house from pillage.

The last roll of the drum had scarcely died away,
when the languid and tearful Josephine appeared a
new creature. Clapping her hands, all wild with
delight, she exclaimed, “Every one to his post!”
and, quicker than thought, the silken curtains were
torn down, and hoisted for flags upon the roof and
balconies, and every little decoration attended to
the shortness of the time would allow, to welcome
the heroes of Bunker’s Hill.

In a balcony that overlooked the front of the
building, stood Madam St. Pierre and the fair mistress
of the mansion, surrounded by their household,
waving their white kerchiefs as the different
regiments of the patriotic Americans defiled before the
house. The little band had not been re-enforced by
all the brave and gallant spirits that afterwards
flocked to their standard; but Washington, the immortal
Washington, in the vigor of his years and
the beginning of his fame, was there, and many
other chiefs, of noble name in the after annals of
the country, were there also, and each as he passed
touched his hat to the ladies; and as a few fine
looking officers brought up the rear, who followed
the example of the others, one alone took off his hat
and waved it in the air; and as his bright sunny face
was turned up to the balcony, Josephine, with a
shriek of joy, recognised her husband. She did not 23(3)r 31
faint, as a lady of modern times would have done,
but she pressed her hand upon her heart to hush
its tumultuous throbs, while her companions, with
loud and repeated huzzas cheered the young soldier;
the children, in particular, who immediately
recognised their father, notwithstanding the metamorphosis,
were so elated that it was almost difficult
to hold them in the railing.

“Well, dear mother, we are now identified with
the friends of freedom in good earnest,”
said Josephine,
turning to Madam St. Pierre, as the last
horseman defiled into the Common, where a temporary
bivouac had been agreed upon, until quarters
could be assigned them. Arrangements were
immediately made at the house of Josephine, for
the accommodation of as many as they could quarter;
and it was not until late in the day that the
exhilerated Ferdinand, accompanied by a posse of
his brother officers, arrived at the welcome threshhold
of his own home.

Chapter V.

“The man that is not moved with what he reads, That takes not fire at their heroic deeds; Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.”

The following letter will give some idea of the
state of feeling in the family of Ferdinand at this
time, and also of the improvement in his wife, from
a few years’ residence among some of the most
polished and intellectual society in the country.
The reader must have been aware that, formerly,
whenever her accomplished sister appeared, she was
always in the back ground. The letter was written23 23(3)v 32
a few days subsequent to the event we have
been describing.

“Dear and honored— This will reach
you with the welcome and soul-stirring intelligence,
that Boston is now in possession of the brave and
patriotic Americans, and the devastating army of
General Howe has evacuated the town. I believe
his force carried with them the curses of the oppressed
and plundered inhabitants. You would not,
my dear, recognise the place, so shockingly has it
been defaced by these Goths and Vandals; I mean
as respects its splendor and opulence, it has been
sadly plundered and defaced. But whether dismantled
or not, it will always be recognised as the
place where the decisive blow for freedom has been
struck. Could you, my heroic sister, have witnessed
what I did a few days since—could you
have seen the enthusiastic reception given to the
friends of liberty when they entered the town with
their noble looking chief, (the finest looking man I
have ever seen,) you would have enjoyed it exquisitely.
There is a spirit in these raw and undisciplined
troops, ill clad and inexperienced though
they may be, that is altogether different from the
hirelings of the English army, or the treacherous
allies they have enlisted here.
I could not, my dear Pauline, but recollect the
last words of our ancient grandfather, uttered on
the very spot afterwards consecrated by the blood
of patriots, when General Washington entered the
town. I trust, under God, he will prove a deliverer
of the country with whose fortunes we are now
identified. I believe Ferdinand told you, when on
his late embassy, that he was to have a commission
in the American army. I can never describe my
feelings when I saw him ride by in the patriot
uniform, it being the first intimation I had of his 23(4)r 33
joining the service; but I trust I shall not disgrace
the mothers and wives of American heroes by any
foolish fear or unthankful murmurs. I applaud
dear Ferdinand, and am prepared to meet all the
vicissitudes we may be called to pass through; if
it is the will of God that we should be a sacrifice
on the altar of liberty, I bow in humble submission,
sufficiently blessed in being permitted to witness
the dawning of this glorious revolution.
And now, dear sister, what shall we say of
those who have gone down to the grave sorrowing
as though there was no hope? of our afflicted and
expatriated countrymen, to whom this day can afford
no pleasure? who have yielded to a grief that
has consumed them before they could see the end
of their banishment from that fondly remembered
home, to which they clung till the latest hour?
Verily, the Lord has not kept his anger forever, but
has with the punishment made a way of escape.
He hath brought us by a way that we knew not,
though his footsteps were in the great deep, and his
way not known.
I now fully believe that he who holds in his
hands the destinies of nations, had gracious designs
in bringing us here; that he transplanted us to a
warmer clime in order to incorporate us with a free
and happy people, and unite us in the great work.
Alas! alas! that the patience of the saints could
not have held out, and enabled them to live to see
this day. Where are the thousands who embarked
with us, when driven out of the land of our fathers?
Where those who perished with grief and despair
before they even saw land? Where those who miserably
gave up all exertion, and lingered a few
years after their arrival in the asylums and pauper-
houses? Where those who foolishly sought in
France a reward for their sufferings? Where the
hundreds who perished, from the pestilential heat 23(4)v 34
of the climate, on the sultry plains of St. Domingo?
Where those whom the relentless Byron drove from
the Falkland islands? Where those who threw
themselves into the arms of the savages, and became
incorporated with that blood-thirsty and relentless
race, whose crimes, committed against all
the better feelings of human nature, will eventually
call down the vengeance of heaven to their complete
extermination? Where the thousands who
have wandered back, through woods and wilds,
encountering all the perils of the desert and the
climate, to lay their bones beneath the sod polluted
by the foot of the oppressor? Could they have
stood where Moses stood, and viewed the land of
promise from afar, how different would have been
their feelings! It would doubtless have been harder
to force them back, than it was to transport them
in the first place.
But we are so ignorant, miserably ignorant of
the future! Still, I cannot see why those of my
unfortunate countrymen could have been as
patient as thou, my Pauline, and resorted to their
talents as thou and Ferdinand, my brothers, and
our resolute and honored mother.
By the way, hast thou ever learnt of the death
of our old persecutor, Colonel Winslow? He has
been dead now two or three years, yet it was but
the other day our mother took up a newspaper containing
his obituary, and a long and pompous list
of offices which he held under the two tyrants,
George the Second and Third; some of them,
methought, were too insignificant for enumeration;
but eleven different ones were named, with
high praises for the integrity with which he discharged
them—among others, ‘the office of commander-in-chief
of the provincial forces employed
to remove the encroachments of the French in Nova
Scotia
.’
Encroachments, indeed! There would 23(5)r 35
have been some sense in speaking of the encroachments
of the English, whose soldiers were at
that moment rioting in the wealth they had pillaged
from us. But the language of the papers
of that day were very different from the republican
tone of this. Will you believe it, dear sister? after
a sickening encomium on the bravery of this man,
it wound up with the sentence, ‘An honest man’s
the noblest work of God;’
a quotation, by the way,
that I believe has been oftener prostituted than any
other in the English language.
Well, our good mother, who certainly appears
to have as little of the leaven of malice in her disposition
as almost any other, stood perfectly petrified
a few moments after reading it. At last she
broke forth in a burst of resentment that would
have electrified the old tyrant himself, if he could
have heard it.
‘Yes, thou wert honest,’ she said, ‘as I can
witness. Thou didst agree to do this deed for a
specific sum, and thou didst it. No pang of remorse,
no touch of pity, was suffered to disturb the integrity
guaranteed by the purchase-money. If the
plunder of the defenceless, the separation of families
—if insulting the religion, and breaking the
hearts of thousands—if burning of dwellings, and
turning out poor dumb nature to perish, and inflicting
merciless chastisement upon our hunted race—
if, in short, the extermination of a whole people, in
obedience to the commands of a tyrant, and in requital
of his gold, be honesty, then thou wert honest;
for never did Lucifer, from his dark dominions,
send forth a messenger more prompt and unrelenting:
and I only wish thou couldst have lived to
have been driven out in thy turn, as others like
thee have been, to the fields stained with our blood,
and blackened by the fires of thy fierce soldiery.’
You may imagine my astonishment, but I 23(5)v 36
believe it was the only name that could have roused
her blood to such resentment, and I do not think it
would have broken out but for the extravagant and
misplaced encomiums of that ridiculous paper. But
let him rest; he who has taken him, knows where
to find him in the day when he shall judge the
world in righteousness. Alas! it is easy for wealth
to have a character here, but they cannot bribe the
omniscient God.
Thou mayest ask, dear Pauline, if I think it
possible that these patriotic Americans may not
give over, and bend again to the yoke of the tyrant?
I am prepared to answer that I think they never
will. Aside from their determination to secure the
blessings of freedom, every thing has taught them
no mercy would be shown them, in case of such a
surrender. Could you have seen the battle I witnessed,
I know you could have had no doubts of
their perseverance. It was more than I can find
language to describe. You cannot conceive of the
effect here, when the enemy were twice driven
back, with immense slaughter; one simultaneous
shout of joy rang through the town. It must have
struck our jailers with something of pain I think.
Had not General Clinton gone over in person and
rallied them, I think they would never have dared
the assault the third time; and although, from want
of ammunition, the brave Americans had to abandon
their position, it was a dear-bought victory, if
such it could be called. Oh, the heaps of slaughtered
British left upon that hill, and the poor mutilated
beings brought over here, it would have wrung
your heart.
Our situation, a few days since, was extremely
perilous. The neighboring hills were covered with
redoubts; their standards floated upon every height
within view of the city; even the gleaming of their
arms could be seen from some parts. Boston was 23(6)r 37
completely in their power, and we were expecting
every moment to be blown to atoms with the English,
as often a shell thrown in would explode
among some combustible materials, and the alarming
cry of fire was added to our other terrors. The
English thought the city would be taken by assault,
and Howe protested ‘if it was taken, they should
find nothing but a heap of ashes.’
The embarkation of the loyalists, as they were
called, was quite a distressing scene. It reminded
us forcibly of our own banishment, except as these
went voluntarily; and yet their embarkation was
not marked by the fortitude that distinguished our
fathers; there was none of that saint-like patience,
that heroic fortitude, that humble submission to the
divine will, that marked their deportment on that
occasion: all was weeping, wringing of hands, and
lamentation, among these voluntary slaves of arbitrary
power. Is it not a singular providence, that
they should have to go to Nova Scotia? They
were extremely reluctant to do so, but it seemed as
though every other place was interdicted. General
Howe
, in particular, was exceedingly averse to going
there, but he said there was no alternative; and
they seemed in a great hurry at the last of it, as
well they might, since the van of the American
army entered the town at one end, as the rearguard
of the enemy left it on the other.
You cannot imagine our relief, after sixteen
months of such suffering and terror as we have
endured, from privations and various kinds too. We
have now plenty of provisions, which came in with
the American army, who found us literally starving,
the last morsels we had having been snatched from
us by the poor wretches who have just departed.
They have, however, left what they could not take
away, a quantity of coal and wheat, and some other
grains; one hundred and fifty horses, besides the 23(6)v 38
two hundred and fifty pieces of cannon, four mortars,
and other munitions of war. The property of
the tories has been confiscated, and is to be sold in
a few days. A considerable quantity of specie, it
is said, has been buried in cellars, &c. by the patriots,
who, I presume, will now make a good use of
it. Many will make fortunes by buying the estates
of the banished tories. The first care will be,
however, Ferdinand says, to fortify the town, and
there is a great French engineer, and four Prussians,
who are to superintend the work.
We are all, notwithstanding our late sufferings,
in good health. You will rejoice with me that my
two eldest girls, and oldest boy likewise, are at a
seminary in the interior of the State, and have escaped
the scenes we have had to go through. They
are in good hands, and we felt no anxiety on their
account. Our youngest, however, are quite delighted
—they have remained in the city; they think
they shall never forget what they have witnessed,
nor the sight of a red coat.
We have made arrangements to lodge forty
persons; you know our house is large, and, besides,
less injured than almost any other from our late
unwelcome visitors. I have omitted to give you
an account of the death of Father Joseph, who
expired at my house, and was buried from here.
He has been travelling in disguise for a long time,
trying to comfort his spiritual children, had been
concealed some time in this place, when circumstances
rendered it necessary he should leave the
place of his concealment, and go where he could
be better attended to. Although some of the enemy
were quartered in my house, I did not hesitate to
receive him. I shall leave the melancholy history
of his trials, since leaving his country, and of his
death, to a future occasion, as I am unwilling to
dim the joy and triumph of this season, by the 24(1)r 39
affecting recital. Besides that, I have already extended
my letter to a most extravagant length.
Farewell, my dear sister, with my love to the
Chevalier, my brothers, and your children. May
good angels guard you all.
Your affectionate Josephine.”

Chapter VI.

“But nothing could a charm impart, To sooth the stranger’s woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow.”

We pass over a brief period, during which the
Americans, as history will show, were by no means
idle. The flames of war had burst out on every
side—battles had been fought with various success,
and the Declaration of Independence had been proclaimed
throughout the thirteen States of North
America
—the summer campaigns were ended, and
the respective armies gone into winter quarters.

It was on a cold and dismal evening in the month
of January, that the family of Ferdinand were
gathered around their winter’s fire. A furious tempest
of snow and sleet shook the windows and
doors of the house, and howled dismally in the
chimneys. In the kitchen, the servants had gathered
around a huge wood fire, and one of them,
whom they called the story-teller, was reciting a
ghost-story of a departed tory, whom, he averred,
had been seen to walk about the neighborhood,
looking for buried treasure.

“Now, I’ll be bound,” says one, “that’s not it;
the old sinner has murdered somebody and buried
him in his cellar, or something of that sort, I’ll 24 24(1)v 40
not believe money is of such consequence in ’tother
world. Bill, what say you?”

“I think just as you do, Molly; strange things
have been told of some of our neighbors, and when
the enemy was here, you may depend there was
nothing but what they did do.”

“I think,” says Molly, “the old tories were awful
wicked critters. Did you ever hear any thing
of the one that formerly owned this huge old castle?”

“No, I never,” said half a dozen voices at once;
“come, tell us.”

“Why, you see,” said Molly, “he was a great,
big-seeming fellow, with a power of money, and
nobody knew where it came from. One thing is
certain, he married four wives, and they all died in
this house, or he murdered them, I don’t know
which, but people had strange thoughts.”

“Four wives! an old sinner,” echoed Bill;
“why, to be sure he must have killed them; whoever
heard of so many dying of themselves?”

“Never,” said another. “I have heard my grandfather
say, that a man never survives his fourth
wife honestly.”

“Well, I don’t know as I should know the old
critter if I saw him,”
says Bill; “is he tall or
short?”

“Tall as the moon, to be sure,” said Molly;
“whoever heard of a ghost being short? and, besides,
he commonly comes in such stormy nights;
and groans, terrible ones, are heard often from him.”

“You mean the ghost, Molly; I was axing about
the fellow that used to live here.”

“Oh, he was neither tall or short; but he wore
dark clothes, and had a plaguey dark look with
him; and (speaking in an under tone) I should not
wonder if this house was haunted, for they do say
he stabbed a Frenchman in one of these chambers.
Hark! was not that a groan?”

24(2)r 41

A loud gust of wind howled through the kitchen
chimney, and burst in the door at the same time.
The terrified inmates rushed to the far part of the
room and huddled close together; but the driving
of the storm and cold compelled them to shut the
door soon, and draw round the fire again.

Ferdinand was at home on a furlough, and with
his wife and children—a most interesting family of
sons and daughters—were seated round a table
drawn before the parlor fire. The younger ones
laid down their books, and the elder ones paused
in their employments to hear him recount the perils
and hardships of the army during the past season, a
theme they never tired of. The females of the
family were busy in making coarse shirts and other
garments, destined for the brave and impoverished
soldiers, who were, too many of them, suffering for
such relief. They were a gratuity, and the children
had laid up all their spending money the last
year, and the older ones denied themselves every
article of luxury for this benevolent purpose; and
no higher reward could be offered to any of the
little ones at any time, than a small sum to add to
this their offering of benevolence and patriotism.

Madam St. Pierre was unusually grave on this
evening. The happy group had forcibly recalled to
her recollection Acadia’s golden age, when, blessed
with peace and plenty in their own dear native
land, at this season, after a day spent in skating or
sliding—their favorite winter amusement—they
used to convene around their cheerful fireside after
the close of day, and listen to the tales of their aged
grandfather about the old French wars. It was not
unusual for Madam to be pensive; years had not
destroyed the memory of her sorrows or her losses,
nor effaced the memory of that beloved husband
who once constituted her greatest earthly felicity,
whose fate she had mourned with sincerest sorrow, 24(2)v 42
and whose trials she sometimes wished she had
been permitted to share. Unwilling to cast a blight
upon the joys of others, she forbore often to speak
of her feelings; and on this evening, finding her
heart unusually heavy, retired early to rest, notwithstanding
the assurance of little Louis, who said
“grandmamma could not sleep, the wind blew so;”
but, pleading fatigue, she nevertheless retired early
to her pillow, and, soothed and composed by prayer,
despite the raging of the tempest, soon fell asleep.
The conversation, which had been interrupted by
the good night of Madam, who had to give and
receive a kiss from all the little ones, was now renewed.
The storm continued to rage with unabated
violence, and indeed had rather augmented in
its fury; and the poor, exposed, and houseless beings
roaming about the country, whom the fortunes of
war had made outcasts, and especially the poor sailors,
exposed to its fury on the tempestuous deep,
were most feelingly spoken of.

The servants in the kitchen, after their first
alarm, had carefully barred the door, and again
commenced their marvellous stories about unquiet
spirits, until there was not one of them but felt
his hair rise on his head. Suddenly, a loud rap
was heard at the front door, that, notwithstanding
the extent of the building, and the noise without,
was heard to the remotest extent of it. The whole
population of the kitchen crowded into the hall,
each endeavoring to get behind the other. The rap
was repeated.

“What is the meaning of this?” said Ferdinand,
opening the parlor-door at the same time, and
discovering the whole company huddled together
in one corner of the hall.

“Open that door,” shouted Ferdinand, in a voice
of thunder. “What do you mean by keeping one
waiting without such a night as this?”
The door 24(3)r 43
flew open in quick time, and gave ingress to a
poor, weather-beaten, sailor-looking man, who, taking
off his hat, respectfully advanced and inquired
if Ferdinand was the master of the house, or if
he was within. Now, it so chanced it was not
the custom in those days to keep a visitor or messenger
waiting an hour in a cold entry, while the
servant ascertained whether the master or the mistress
of the house chose to be at home. On the
contrary, if even a beggar made such an inquiry, he
was immediately ushered into the presence of the
person inquired after. We do not say they were
always relieved, but they were sure not to lose
much time in waiting.

The stranger was immediately shown into the
parlor, and with graceful hospitality, Ferdinand,
vacating his own chair, compelled him to accept
it, near the fire, to dry his garments, and most
amply did he feel rewarded, when thanked in the
accents of his native land.

For many years, the house of Ferdinand had
been often visited by the remnant of that unfortunate
people, who were exiled with himself, whenever
their necessities compelled them to ask relief
or advice; but, of late years, they had seldom seen
any of them from a distance, or that were strangers.
It was, therefore, with a feeling of joy that the
language was now recognised. Ferdinand took the
dripping hat, and little Louis brought him a pair of
dry shoes, while Joseph and Madeline began stirring
the fire, raking out hot coals, and putting on
more wood. Little Margaret asked to have a pair
of dry stockings to give the poor man, and the
fair mistress of the mansion busied herself in preparing
warm wine and water for him.

The poor Frenchman was affected even to tears,
at meeting with such kindness, and said,

24 24(3)v 44

“I ought to apologise for this intrusion, and give
some account of myself.”

“By no means,” said Ferdinand. “Take off
your wet overcoat, and dry your garments; you are
fatigued, too, travelling in this driving storm; rest
yourself, my friend, while we prepare some hot
supper for you.”

The traveller made no objection, but, with the
ready politeness of a Frenchman, bowed his thanks,
and busied himself in drying his garments; during
which, Ferdinand went to the kitchen to demand
an explanation of the rudeness of keeping the poor
stranger waiting so long. To say “they were
afraid of spirits,”
would not have answered; so
they one and all protested they thought “the inimy
had come.”
With this apology, the master was
obliged to be satisfied; and after reprimanding them
severely for their needless alarm, and telling them
what wretched soldiers they would make, he returned
to the stranger.

“Now that is cruel,” said Bill; “I dars’nt tell
master what I feared, because why I know he does
not believe in ghosts and haunted houses; but I
can tell him I am no more ’fraid to fight the reglars
than himself, and I had rather encounter ten at
once, than one single ghost. No, I say if I’ve got
to fight, let it be with flesh and blood.”
To this
brave declaration they all assented, and declared
that “if the British should come before morning,
they would jest as lief as not, turn out and fight
’em to a man.”

In the mean time, though curiosity was not a
predominant failing in this well-ordered family, yet
were the junior branches not entirely divested of
it; and on the present occasion, these little descendants
of Eve felt a longing desire to know how this
poor Frenchman came to be wandering about in
this inclement weather, and whether he came from 24(4)r 45
the east, west, north, or south. Politeness, however,
which persons with French blood in their veins
rarely lose sight of, restrained them. Little Louis,
however, at length ventured to him, and looking up
earnestly in his face, said,

“Do you come from the army, Sir?”

Ferdinand was about to reprove him, when the
stranger, kindly taking the little hand which was
laid upon his knee, answered,

“No, my dear little fellow, I have not been so
happy as to see the army of freedom yet.”

“Then my father,” said the boy, “can tell you
all about it, for he is an officer in it.”

“Then how came he here?” said the stranger,
with a searching glance.

“Why, you see,” said the child, with much simplicity,
“they are all froze up; and General Washington
has so many mouths to feed, that he has let
some go home; and my father is getting all the
blankets, and clothes, and things for them, and as
many as he can to go and help fight the British. Is
not that good?”
said he, clapping his hands in
exstasy.

“Yes, I think it is good, indeed,” said the stranger;
“and these misses, I divine, are engaged in a
labor of love, clothing the destitute soldiers.”

“Yes, that they are,” said the little Louis; “my
mother, grandmother, and the girls, have sent them
already a dozen thick bedquilts, twenty pair of
stockings, and as many handkerchiefs, shirts, and
jackets, and are knitting and making for them now,
and our ’quaintance too.”

“God bless them,” said the stranger, fervently;
“God forever bless them!”

The supper was now on the table, and the discourse
for the present suspended, while the traveller
was seated and urged to partake the plentiful
and hospitable meal. It was not long, however, 24(4)v 46
before Louis stole near the table, and, looking up
earnestly in the face of the stranger, said,

“Eat all you can, poor man, we have plenty; it
aint as when Boston was shut up, and nobody had
enough; eat all you want, monsieur.”

The sad countenance of the stranger relaxed a
little at this innocent speech, and a momentary
smile stole over his careworn face. Ferdinand interfered,
and threatened to send the little chatterbox
out of the room; but the traveller begged he
would not, “as his prattle had amused him very
much, and beguiled him of some very painful
thoughts.”

After the meal, the poor man professed himself
much refreshed, and taking again a seat by the fire,
he said, “I owe you many thanks, my friends, and
although it is usual for a stranger to give some
account of himself first, yet you will excuse me
for asking a few questions, as I think from your
name, you are some of the Neutral French.”

Ferdinand assured him they were; that they
were some of those banished from the district of
Minas.

“How many of you were there?” inquired the
stranger. Ferdinand gave the desired information.

“How many of the family are now living?”

“My wife’s mother, Madam St. Pierre,” said
Ferdinand, “three sons of the family, two of whom
are married and settled in Philadelphia, one in this
town; there was a fourth son, indeed he was the
eldest, that was lost on the passage there, and Pauline,
an elder daughter went there; she came here
alone with her grandfather first, who is dead; she
married the Chevalier D――, and my wife, who is
the youngest daughter; besides a host of little
ones,”
added he, smiling.

“The father of my wife,” said Ferdinand, after
a pause, “was left; he emigrated to Canada, as we 24(5)r 47
supposed; we have since heard he was lost in a
French vessel. Our mother, however, never seemed
willing to give him up; she mourns for him to
this day.”
Ferdinand then went on to give some
account of the other families of their district—of
their sufferings on the voyage, of the mortality on
board, and in the different places where they were
scattered, naming over several families that were
numerous when they embarked, and were now totally
extinct.

The stranger could bear it no longer; he covered
his face, and sobbed audibly. “Poor man,” thought
Josephine, “he has doubtless been exiled like ourselves,
either from Canada or from that fated region
we were driven out from, and lost all perhaps.”

“Stranger,” said she, involuntarily drawing near,
and bending upon him the most commiserating
looks, “I am grieved to witness your tears; mourn
not as those who have no hope; we are but strangers
and pilgrims here at the best; look to that
great and good Being who does not willingly afflict,
and who has now proved that in conducting us to
these provinces, though by a way that we knew
not, he had designs of mercy, for we trust in God
we soon shall be free and happy.”

The soft, sweet voice of the blooming hostess,
seemed to have its effect in stilling the tempest of
his bosom, for his tears gradually ceased; and when
little Louis drew near again, and innocently asked,
“Can’t I do something for you, poor man?” he
even smiled, though it was evident there was a
choking sensation somewhere about the region of
the throat, that prevented his speaking. At length,
making a great effort, he looked up to her who was
bending over him like some ministering angel, and,
grasping her robe, he exclaimed, with convulsive
energy,

“Josephine, dost thou not know me?”

24(5)v 48

With a loud shriek, Josephine fell on his neck,
exclaiming, “My father! my father!”

The scene that ensued, may be better imagined
than described. The startled and wondering domestics,
who had rushed into the room upon hearing
the noise, were witnesses of the overwhelming joy
of the meeting between these long-parted relatives,
and surely there was not a dry eye on the spot.
After composure had been in some measure restored,
a consultation was held how to break it to Madam
St. Pierre
. She slept in a distant part of the house,
and it was presumed she had heard nothing of the noise.
Ferdinand was for leaving it until morning, thinking
they would all feel more composed then; but
to this Josephine would in nowise consent, saying
it would be sinful to cheat her mother out of one
hour’s peace of mind, which she believed would be
effectually restored by knowing that her father was
alive and well, and under the same roof with them.
Accordingly, Ferdinand, who was the most composed
of the party, was commissioned to communicate
it, and the admirable judgment displayed in the
manner in which he managed the disclosure proved
he was competent to it.

Knocking quietly at Madam’s chamber-door, he
requested her to rise and dress, as he had something
to communicate. The terror of the times was
another invasion of the enemy; and although Madam
felt herself tremble some when she rose, yet she
had so much of the heroine left as to despatch her
toilet with something like composure, expecting
every moment to hear the bells and alarm-guns.
Ferdinand had said more than once, “that he never
would expose his family again in a captured town,
nor a besieged one.”

The perfect silence that reigned throughout the
town, save as the watchful sentinel paced his rounds,
and occasionally cried “all’s well,” at length began 24(6)r 49
to reassure her, and her first words were, as she
opened the chamber-door to her son-in-law,

“Ferdinand, I should think it a false alarm;
there is no stir, no guns, no bells, no beating to
arms; what has aroused you?”

Ferdinand, stepping in, took her hand, and seating
her by the grate, endeavored to prepare her
mind for some great news, while he raked open the
almost exhausted coals, and commenced replenishing
them. At length, he told her they had just
heard her husband was alive in France; she trembled
violently, but said “she did not believe it, she
had been deceived so often;”
and then added, if
he had been alive, he would not have neglected
them so long.”
Ferdinand argued,

“But you forget, mother, he had a price set upon
his head; how could he come here? and, in addition
to that, he may have been deceived by a report
of your death, as you have been about his; and in
fact that was the case, as his letter proves.”

“His letter!” said Madam; “then he is alive,
and has written; let me see it this moment, I should
know his hand.”

Ferdinand pretended to be busily fumbling in his
pockets; he turned first one inside out, and then
another, uncertain what to do next. At length he
said, with a smile,

“Have you firmness to hear all?” She looked
earnestly in his face, and read a confirmation of the
truth; when, bursting from him, she flew down
stairs, and was met by Louis at the foot of them,
and fell fainting in his arms.

We will not stop to paint the remainder of this
scene—to tell of the incoherent questions and inaudible
answers that followed—of the joy or the
amazement—of the wondering little ones, &c., but
briefly state, that Louis had been deceived by a
report that reached him soon after the banishment 24(6)v 50
of the Acadians, that the vessel that carried his
family had foundered, and every soul was lost.
How such a report reached him, and the whys and
the wherefores, will be given in the narrative of
Louis, which occupies the next chapter. The narration
consumed several of those long winter evenings
that Ferdinand was permitted to pass with his
happy family. His days were devoted mostly to
the drilling of raw recruits he was then enlisting
for the army, and whom it was expected he would
qualify and bring on with him to whatever point he
should be ordered early next spring. It was an
arduous duty, for it was devoid of that excitement
afforded by the tented field; but it was necessary,
and no one could have labored more patiently than
Ferdinand; his company had always enjoyed the
reputation of being exceedingly well trained, and
making a fine appearance.

Nothing could have been more interesting to the
children than grandpapa’s narrative. As a great
indulgence, they were always permitted to sit up
until nine, while it was narrating, and they were
never wearied with it, often interrupting by their
innocent questions and many a kind caress. The
old man felt himself domesticated in a few days.
He had not returned to them poor, exactly; he had
managed, while in the French service, to lay up
three hundred crowns, a large sum in those days.
When he first arrived, he insisted upon joining the
American army; but Ferdinand dissuaded him,
telling him “he had seen service enough, and that
it was now time he should rest; and, further, that
his presence in the family during his frequent absence,
would be truly grateful, as in case Boston
were invaded, he might be able to protect them,
and look them a place of safety.”
This last argument
prevailed.

25(1)r 51

Chapter VII.

Narrative of Louis.

“Forced from their homes, a melancholy band, To seek the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And winter, lingering, chills the lap of May.”
“I will not, my dear family, give you the history
of my journey to the other settlement, where
our dear friends and relations lived; suffice it to
say, I had to go by by-paths, and, dogged as I was,
it was no easy matter to thread the thickets, leap
the precipices, and breast the torrents that I passed,
before I reached the settlement. I found a company
of our people hid, before I gained it, in a neighboring
road I had to pass; by accident, I stumbled
upon an advanced guard of those afflicted families,
and, faint and weary, was conducted to the fastness
they had chosen to conceal themselves in, with
what provision they could bring away, and some of
the most valuable of their effects. I told them the
story of your wrongs, and exhorted them never to
give themselves up alive.
From the top of an eminence hard by, a view
could be obtained of the settlement; and when the
last blow was struck, namely, burning the chapel, it
was I who incited them to resistance, and led them
on with crows, pickaxes, shovels, scythes, and
whatever came to hand, to rush down and avenge
the deed. How many of the enemy we left upon
the ground dead, I cannot tell, but at least thirty,
besides many wounded. The consternation was so
great among the English at this unexpected resistance,
that we easily regained our covert before we
were pursued; and, indeed, the enemy gave over
pursuit any farther than the entrance of the forest,
fearing an ambuscade. From our mountain heights, 25 25(1)v 52
we discovered them drawing off the men, and holding
a consultation, the conclusion of which was
judged to be to retreat for the present, and surround
us next day with a superior force.
Our situation might have been occupied with
comfort through the winter, with a little preparation,
but prudence forbade our tarrying another
night; and the shades of evening had no sooner
fallen, than we commenced our wearisome journey
towards a place where some of the company had
formerly been to trade with the savages. The
travels of that night were dreadful; many a mother
had to carry two children, for the fathers were generally
loaded with provisions, blankets, clothing, &c.
For my own part, I never suffered more fatigue;
the way was very bad, and I employed myself in
assisting the females, and occasionally relieving
them of their burdens. Now and then, for some
distance, a ray of light would flash from the still
burning buildings across our path, but we soon got
out of the light of it. There had recently been a
heavy rain, which had made the way slippery and
dangerous, and it was often with difficulty we could
stifle the cries and sobs of the sleepy and hungry
children, whom we dared not stop to feed until we
should have gained our retreat.
When we approached the fastness, we were
met by three savages, whom the people of the settlement
knew, they having often been there to
trade; they at once recognised some of the party,
and when informed of our grievances, protested they
would avenge them. We informed them of the
number of our foes, and assured them they could
do nothing for us, unless it was to assist us to our
place of safety.
The interior of the place chosen for our concealment
was now soon attained; it was a hollow
square, surrounded by high, rocky precipices on 25(2)r 53
every side; a gap, nearly filled with stones, was
the only place of entrance, and that only admitted
one at a time. It was, too, by great scrambling
that we attained it. The inside was filled up with
trees and bushes, sufficient to hide us, so that, ten
to one, if an enemy should chance to look over our
ramparts, they would not have discovered us. With
the help of our red friends, we continued to improve
the places already scooped beneath the overhanging
cliffs, and to form couches of the dried leaves of
the forest. A beautiful spring of water trickled
down the rocks on one side, and, winding among
the stones at the bottom, discharged itself through
the crooked gap of the entrance.
The red men determined to go on next day,
and see what had become of our stock, &c. Knowing
as they did every avenue to the settlement,
they believed they could manage to elude the enemy,
and bring away some of the spoil, and in
truth they effected this, and came laden with provisions;
but cautioned us on their return not to
stir abroad, as the soldiers of the King were in our
immediate neighborhood. How they managed to
elude them, none but an Indian can tell. We besought
them to remain with us a few days, while
our women should cook for them, and make them
comfortable as possible. You recollect the blooming
families of our cousins, Joseph and Bertrand;
each buried two children, ere we had been there
many days; the hardships we had encountered,
and the damp lodgings on our beds of leaves, was
undoubtedly the cause. We dug their graves just
without our camp; alas! this was the beginning of
troubles.
Our savage friends left us in a few days, cautioning
us not to make an attempt to gain the St. Lawrence,
as the way was beset with so many dangers,
but to remain where we were through the approaching 25(2)v 54
winter, if possible, and early in the spring to
endeavor to gain Lower Canada by the way of the
St. John. The advice was bad, as we afterwards
learnt; as if we had been on that side, we should
have been taken off most probably by persons despatched
by the Governor of Quebec for that purpose.
The approaching season warned us to prepare
for winter, and various consultations were held
about remaining where we were; but as it was
evident the health of our company suffered greatly
from the extreme dampness of the place, the idea
of remaining was discarded, and we resolved to
push forward, and once more commenced our wearisome
march.
Spare me the recital of all we endured, before
we gained the neighborhood of the St. John. I
have seen the anguished mother bending over her
dying infant, without a shelter from the cold dews
of night; I have seen her give it up within one
hour to the grave, and, giving one last look of anguish,
take up the next and travel on.
I have seen the beautiful maiden withering with
burning fever, with nothing but the massy rock for
her bed, and the helpless arms of a feeble mother
to support her, yield her expiring sigh in a desert.
I have seen the young and promising family of a
dear friend all drowned by my side, without the
power to help them, by the upsetting of a canoe;
but never have I seen any thing that has wrung
my heart, since I left our blazing habitations, like
the marriage of some of our most beautiful of our
young girls with the sons of an Indian chief.
‘It is the will of God,’ said the pale Maria
S――
and Madeline D――, on the morning of their
mournful nuptials; ‘it is my friend, the will of
God! Our widowed mothers can go no farther;
our fathers are dead, and our brethren carried into 25(3)r 55
captivity; our little brothers and sisters need a home
and protector; and these generous men have tended
us many a wearisome day, hunted for our food, and
bore our fainting forms in their arms when we had
no power or strength to proceed on our journey.
Alas! dear friends, how otherwise can we reward
them? and what better have we to look forward to
in this world?’
We could offer no objections; we could only
sob out an adieu to these youthful martyrs. We
left them at the Indian town a little above the
mouth of the St. John. The swarthy bridegrooms
were professed Christians, after the Catholic order,
and, through means of their frequent intercourse
with the French, about half civilized; their habitations,
too, were more tolerable than the wigwams
of the Indians generally are; and I have no doubt
they became more tenantable through means of the
suggestions of the new inmates. Be that as it may,
I left them with a pang I hope never to feel again.
Oh, God! how fervently I prayed, ‘that come what
might to my dear family, they might never share
such a lot.’
A few miles above Frederickton, which, it will be recollected,
is about twenty miles above the mouth of the St. John, and is now
the seat of government for the province of Nova Scotia, there is a
very beautiful little settlement, which I think is called Frenchtown.
It is inhabited by a mixed race of French and Indians; it
is difficult to tell which blood predominates. Their habitations are
simple, resembling those of the Narragansetts of Rhode Island, at
the present day, but the appearance of the people is infinitely
superior, and their grounds laid out with much more method and
taste. The situation is delightful in the extreme, being on a very
high ground that overlooks the St. John’s river, and a number of
beautiful little islands. Another river discharges itself into the St.
John
, immediately opposite this settlement, forming one of the
most graceful sweeps. The settlement is scattered around the
bank and to the highest point of the hill. The deep green of the
turf is finely contrasted by the roads and paths, the soil being
impregnated with a bright red soft stone, that gives the landscape
something of a Salvator Rosa tinge.
There is another settlement about sixty miles farther down the
river, which seems to be quite Indian, on a little island in its neighborhood.
The wigwams are entirely Indian fashion, with oval
tops and low entrances, and look as though a person could not
stand upright in them. The Indians were dodging in and out, as
we passed within a few paces of their doors in the steamboat. In
the former village, saw several very pretty half-Indian girls, dressed
in tolerable taste, and chattering in French. The females in
this region paddle their canoes about without any fear, often in
only a hollow log, called a Dug-out Standing up with a large
straw hat, confined to the head by a narrow black string passing
from the crown under the chin, the large brim standing out straight,
offering but little protection against sun or wind, they are odd
figures enough. In this guise, they will shoot a canoe through the
rapids of the St. John with inimitable dexterity, and with as much
ease as a boy would manage a wheelbarrow. There is a melancholy
interest attached to these poor half-casts in the minds of
reflecting persons, when we think of their origin, as most of them
are the descendants of wretched Acadian mothers, who threw
themselves into the arms of savages to escape a worse fate. We
can conceive little at this day of the extremity of misery to which
a white woman must be reduced, to drive her to such an alternative.
25 25(3)v 56 We departed from the friendly Indians with
many sad forebodings, and with diminished numbers.
We would paddle as far up the river as possible,
whenever we could do so with safety, and
seek a resting-place at night on shore. It was hard
work stemming the current of this rapid river, and
the weather was now become quite cold.
On one occasion, when we had gone on shore
for the night, and prepared our wretched lodging-
place, kindled a fire, &c., we were much alarmed
by the entrance of three British soldiers; but they
immediately quieted our fears, by telling us they
were British deserters, and consequently could not
betray us. One of them had shot a fat doe, which
he begged to dress and cook at our fire, and invited
us to partake of it. They had deserted from a post
in our old neighborhood, and were able to furnish
us with some valuable information; but how they
became possessed with the notion that one of the
transports was wrecked in sight of land, that conveyed
our friends to the provinces, I cannot tell; 25(4)r 57
however, they said so, and that my family was in
it, as they recollected the name, and that the last
persons seen, as she went down, were my eldest
daughter supporting an aged blind man, whom I at
once recognised as my venerable father. I have
since learnt there was a violent wind the night the
transports sailed, and that there was a report that
one of them capsized in the squall. I did not then
know of the refinement in cruelty practised in separating
different members of families; had I been
apprized of that, I should still have thought some
of you might be alive, and even the price set upon
my head would not have prevented my seeking you.
I have never believed these poor soldiers designedly
misstated this thing. It was the last thing they
heard probably as they came away, having taken
advantage of the darkness of that memorable night
to make their escape.
I can never describe my feelings at the astounding
intelligence; but as I had often wished we had
all been put to the sword, the first words I spoke
were to thank God that my family were beyond
the oppressor. I then swore a terrible oath, that I
would never cease to labor in obtaining revenge—
that I would compass sea and land for a chance to
fight the foes of our innocent people—and I have
kept my word: but I am anticipating.
The soldiers, upon leaving us, took their course
over towards the St. Croix river, hoping to disguise
themselves so effectually as to remain in the New
England
provinces undiscovered. We supplied them
with suits of old clothes in exchange for their own,
which completely metamorphosed them, and tried
hard to purchase their guns, which they were very
loth to part with, as their subsistence might depend
upon the game they would kill, while travelling
through that lonely country; besides, they thought
they might pass for hunters, without fear of detection; 25(4)v 58
but as we supplied them with what miserable
apparatus we had to take game, and as the guns
were marked with the name of the regiment to
which they belonged, they at length concluded it
was best to part with them. Our own plan in obtaining
possession of them was, in case we were
constrained to approach any English settlement, to
dress and arm three of our men, and pass them off
as soldiers guarding the rest. What the success
might have been I cannot say, as circumstances did
not compel us to such a hazardous undertaking.
Our arms, however, were very useful in shooting
game, and the St. John’s river abounded with beautiful
salmon, so that we escaped the pangs of hunger.
About one hundred and fifty miles above the
mouth of the St. John, we discovered a small settlement,
and fearing they might be hostile, resolved
to shun it. We were obliged then to encamp on
the shore, hiding our canoes in the bushes until
after dark, and then pass it in the night.
Happily, we escaped the observation of the
settlement; but our difficulties multiplied, for, in
addition to the now freezing weather, which began
to congeal the waters round the shores, the rapids
commenced just above there very frequent; and,
after a long consultation, we agreed to look out for
a resting-place for the winter, and we finally selected
a secluded spot in the forest, a few miles from
the St. John, and not far from where the pretty
little stream, called the river De Shute, empties
itself into that river. There we erected temporary
huts in the best manner we were able, joining them
all together in such a manner as to keep each other
warm, and have access to one another during the
deep snows that fall in this region. Nature had
provided this beautiful place as though for our reception.
In the midst of a dark and almost impenetrable 25(5)r 59
forest, a beautiful grove was enclosed, sloping gently
to the south; part of this was occupied by our
habitations, and part was afterwards obliged to be
used for our burial-place, where a rude cross alone
commemorated the virtues of our friends and our
loss, the mortality this winter sweeping off a number
of our company. Alas! how many that braved
the danger thus far, and even assisted to prepare our
simple habitations, fell victims to the hardships of
this winter. The weather was intensely cold, but
ere it fairly set in, we succeeded in drying a quantity
of fish and game; and in our habitations, which
consisted of logs and lower branches, and leaves
mixed with clay, we hung up the bear and other
skins we could procure, to keep out the cold. Our
lamps were some old powder-horns, filled with
bears’ grease. The greatest things we felt the
want of were bread and milk, two articles impossible
to procure; but we discovered a vegetable,
which we called the wild potato, and our women
selected and dried roots and herbs as could be
procured so late in the season to dry.
The windows of our huts were made by leaving
a hole on the south side covered with a white
cloth, which, in the coldest of the weather, we
were obliged to stop up entirely, and light our
lamps.
Could the memory of a rooted sorrow have
been obliterated from my brain, I believe I could
have enjoyed myself some part of the winter tolerably
well; as it was, constant employment prevented
the indulgence of my griefs. As I had no
family in particular to provide for, I acted as father
for the whole.”

“What could you find to do for them, grandfather?”
asked little Louis.

“Why, I hunted sometimes for their sustenance,
and when within, I could stop chinks in the buildings 25(5)v 60
with mud and clay, with which I made a composition,
and made various improvements in the
fireplaces, which were only at first kindled in the
middle of the hut, with a hole over head to let the
smoke escape; and I made the important discovery,
that smoke would go out as well through a small
place, if it had a conducter, as through a hole big
enough for a bear to jump through. And then I
contrived wooden hooks to hang the meat, fish, &c.
on, and helped them draw water from a neighboring
spring, except in the case of deep snows, when
for a long time together we used only snow-water;
and in making paths there was constant employ,
the snow being often up to the tops of our dwellings,
and we had frequently to go up through our
apology for a chimney to begin to clear it away.
The former part of the day each family was busied
within itself, but the latter part we spent together,
when we would discourse of our trials, form plans
for the future, pray for those who had been carried
away captive, and at parting sing a song of praise.
And then the care of our drooping ones, the mournful
ceremony of interment in the deep snow, for
they were not put beneath the sod until spring.
But the long and tedious winter at length wore
away; the snows melted, the frosts left the ground,
the birds began to sing, and the wilderness of leafless
trees to put forth their buds. And now the
consultations were renewed about our future settlement
and subsistence; some, attached to the spot
by the memory of buried friends, wished to remain
here, but there were insuperable objections; some
were determined to travel to Canada; others wished
to attain a place described by the Indians, some
hundred miles farther up, where there were rich
bottom lands, and had formerly been a settlement
of that wandering people.
The land where we were was broken and uneven, 25(6)r 61
too far from the river, and too near our enemies.
In the place described here, there are a number of graves still
to be seen; some of the rude crosses are still entire, others rotting
on the ground. There is a tradition that a British regiment was
disbanded here at the expiration of the old war; and it has been suggested
that the graves might be accounted for by supposing there
might have been an encampment of them for some time in the
neighborhood. This cannot be, as American or English soldiers
never use this emblem at the graves of their friends. They must
have been placed there by Catholics. It is singular that no memento
of human habitation exists there except these graves. You
pass many miles on this river, without coming near a human habitation.
The author of this, visited that region in the summer of
18391839, and found the difficulties of travelling very great. The only
stage that passes here is a two-horse wagon, twice a week, carrying
the overland mail from Frederickton to Quebec, about three hundred
miles. The road from Woodstock to the grand falls of the
St. John, is so bad that travellers have often to alight and walk
through the deep gaps between the hills. The few and far between
habitations are generally tenanted by the old disbanded soldiers of
the British army, who receive their land as a bounty after the
term of service has expired. I asked one of these old men “how
long he served?”
he said, “twenty years; principally in the East
and West Indies.”
(What a change from the burning clime of
India.) He said he had his choice, a hundred acres of land
there, or fifty crowns; that he chose the former, and had never
repented it. As might be expected, they make very indifferent
farmers. The females, in this desolate region, are much the most
intelligent; they are very near the disputed territory, only a few
miles; and during the late boundary troubles, some of them told
me they prayed incessantly they might chance to come under the
States, for, in that case, something they knew would be done for
the improvement of the country—that the vast difference in improvement,
as soon as you crossed the border, was the topic of
discourse to every one who ever crossed it—that the English took
no pains to improve the country—that they only stripped it of
timber, and then left it to poverty and wretchedness.
The great object of stopping short of Canada,
was to form a rallying point for those of our
countrymen who should have escaped our enemies,
and who would undoubtedly travel that way.
Accordingly, in the month of May, we departed
from our winter’s home; many tears were shed
upon taking leave of the spot that contained the
remains of our friends; some of our venerable fathers,
and many a mother’s hope, lay there. With 25(6)v 62
much difficulty, we again took up our line of march
to the river; then embarking in our canoes, we
avoided the rapids generally, by keeping very near
shore; the rapidity of the current, and other hindrances,
prevented our making very good progress.
A few miles up we came very near being
swamped, the eddies in the river whirling our little
barks round and round like something crazy. Some
difficulty we had near the mouth of a large river
that discharges itself into the St. John with great
force on the left, on the second day of our voyage,
as also from passing the mouth of one on the right,
a little lower down, a counter current setting in in
those places (These must have been the Arostook
on the left, as you ascend, and the Tobique on the
other.) However, after a few evolutions, we at
length got on our way, and proceeded on our voyage.
The last day of our voyage up this river, all
seemed to go well; the beautiful highlands were
visible on the right, and forests of lofty oak on the
left, superior in height and beauty to any I had
ever seen. At length the banks began to rise on
each side, and to assume quite a new appearance,
the most wild and romantic scenery was on every
side. To our left, there was a little creek or cove
with pebbly shore, and, taking a sweep to the right,
the river was then compressed between two high,
rocky cliffs, that looked as though they had been
split asunder by some great convulsion of nature.
So dark and frowning was the aperture, that some
of our company even remonstrated upon entering
it, and as night was approaching, thought we had
better put ashore at the little cove. Anxious, however,
to go as far as possible, the majority decided
upon going on, thinking that the river would widen,
and we should soon get out of this confined pass.
As we entered it, however, which we did with 26(1)r 63
some difficulty, owing to the increased rapidity of
the current, we observed the frowning cliffs must
rise on each side some hundred feet, and to say
truth, there was not one of us but repented, and
wished we had heard to the females; but shame
prevented our acknowledging it. It was with the
greatest difficulty we managed to steady the canoes,
or to force them along.
There were no females in the canoe with me,
only one man and baggage. Suddenly, at a turn
in the rock, the astounding roar of a water-fall burst
upon our ears; there was no mistaking it, the white
foam was rushing towards us, threatening to engulf
us in a watery grave. The crookedness of the
passage prevented our seeing the fall, but we could
have no doubt where we were, and we had now
arrived at a point where the light of day seemed
almost excluded; the stream was much narrower,
and the wall of dark rock higher.
By the greatest presence of mind, my companion
immediately made signals for the other canoes
to turn back: he was understood, and we turned
also.
It is to this hour a mystery how we got out
alive; but on we went like lightning, the force of
the current carrying us back with such rapidity,
that, even after we emerged from the gulf, we
could not stop ourselves for some time.
After regaining our track, and recovering ourselves
in some sort from our terror, we made the
little cove before described. It was at the foot of
an almost inaccessible hill, but to us it looked a
perfect elysium. The shades of evening were fast
closing around, and looking out a favorable position
sheltered from the winds, we kindled our fire and
made preparations for spending the night there;
but, first of all, fell on our knees and devoutly returned
thanks for our wonderful preservation; never 26 26(1)v 64
had we felt our lives to be of so much importance
since our exile.
With the help of a few bear-skins, &c., we
lodged upon the cold ground; but this night we
felt it not, so delightful was the feeling of security
after the imminent danger we had been exposed
to; and when the bright beams of the morning
sun awoke us to consciousness again, we arose
with renewed hopes that he who had conducted
us through so many and great dangers, was not
reserving us for captivity, but would in the end
conduct us to a peaceful haven, and permit the
residue of our days to be spent in peace. I speak
of my companion’s hopes; for myself, I had chalked
out a different course. Their home was nearer
than they thought for.
After a hearty meal of such things as we had,
we proceeded to explore the neighborhood Providence
had conducted us; and leaving the most of
the females to take care of the aged and little
ones, we ascended the high and steep bank, which,
covered with timber and underwood, was no easy
task. Arrived at the top, the impervious forest lay
on each side, preventing our seeing our situation,
and it was impossible to judge, except from what
we recollected of the bend of the river, which we
felt persuaded we should find in a straightforward
course. After proceeding a mile or two, admiring
the increased fertility of the soil, the noise of the
water-fall again broke on our ear; and, rushing to
the edge of the bank, we found ourselves transfixed
by an involuntary awe—the scene was one
of indescribable beauty.
To the left, the broad and beautiful cove lay
stretched at our feet; beyond it, for a mile or two,
we had a view of the course of the river, and its
shelving and thickly-wooded banks; by a sudden
curve of the river, the prospect beyond was hid. 26(2)r 65
To the right of the beautiful cove, the river narrowed,
suddenly increasing in velocity as it approached
the gulf; it seemed to gather itself into a
narrow space to make the plunge down the rugged
rock, the leap being about seventy-five feet, into
the narrow and deep channel we had entered on the
preceding evening. It is said to fall an equal number
in the rapids below, before it reaches the point
at which we saw it. The mighty cataract, foaming
and roaring, and tossing its white spray high in the
air, was surrounded by woody heights, and on its
margin the trees dipped their branches in its sparkling
waters. This was the upper or grand falls of
the St. John. The beautiful little sheltered cove
above, was finely contrasted by the deep and dark
channel below, while, over the cataract, the morning
sun exhaling the vapors, exhibited a bright and
beautiful rainbow that spanned the torrent of waters.
The mist was fast rolling off the river, the trees
bursting into bloom, and the feathered warblers
singing in their branches.
One of our company, who always wore a horn
suspended at his waist, (a precaution used by us in
hunting, to give each other notice of the direction
we had taken,) lifted it to his lips, and blew a loud
and prolonged blast, awakening the sleeping echoes
of the woods and rocks.
It seemed as though a thousand spirits answered
from their caves, and such was our delight at the
effect that no one could reprove the boldness of the
deed; besides, had we not got beyond human habitations?
Another and another blast succeeded;
when, lo! parting the bushes from before him, at
one bound a human figure, a son of the forest,
sprang through, and, stepping out on a projecting
rock on the other side of the cataract, exhibited his
majestic person; and in truth never had I seen any 26(2)v 66
thing that to my view resembled majesty so much
as the figure now before me.
High o’er the ample forehead, waved the tuft
of many-colored plumes; his arms and legs were
ornamented with gold and silver bracelets that glittered
in the sun; while his mantle of skins, a fortune
almost, was confined at the neck by a broad belt of
wampum; another, round his waist, fell to the
ankle. A bunch of arrows was fastened to his
back, and from beneath his mantle peeped the head
of the deadly tomahawk and the handle of the
scalping-knife. The bow was in his hand, and one
moccasined foot, advanced a little forward, rested
on the very verge of the precipice. Unmoved, unawed
by the rushing waters that foamed and dashed
beneath, he looked like some fine statue, fresh from
the sculptor’s hand. Indeed, had he been chiselled
from the solid rock, he could not have appeared
more immovable.
Methinks I see him yet, the stately, kingly
savage, he who, in after times, goaded on by the
injuries of his people, avenged himself by the promiscuous
slaughter of infant innocence, youth, and
age, and offered to the manes of his slaughtered
and betrayed friends, whole hecatombs of victims.
There he stood, majestic in the wilderness and silence
of nature, his eagle eye alone giving signs of
life; the parting lip, the lifted hand, the advanced
foot, one might almost have supposed him just
struck into existence, and gazing upon this our
world for the first time.
Fortunately, I was partially acquainted with
the language of the tribe to which he belonged, or
rather of the tribe that belonged to him, for Kehowret
was a sagamore or chief, a prince of the Abenaquis
nation. I had often heard of his exploits,
but knew him not. To speak across the falls so
as to make ourselves heard, was impossible; but, 26(3)r 67
acquainted with the modes of Indian salutation,
we succeeded in making ourselves understood.
The figure of the chief, however, continued immovable
until we providentially bethought ourselves
of the sign of the cross.
Blessed, thrice blessed emblem of our crucified
Redeemer! to the Jews a stumbling-block, and to
the Greeks foolishness, but recognised in every land
where the name of Jesus has been proclaimed, operating
as though by magic upon the most rugged as
well as the gentlest natures, taming the fierce savage
and softening the barbarian.
The symbol of a kindred faith was recognised,
and, darting back among the trees, our red friend
shortly appeared again on the shore, a little above,
with his bark canoe on his shoulder. To launch
the little frigate, seize his paddle, and skim across,
was the work of a moment; and when, upon landing,
he was made acquainted with our condition,
our exile, and our sufferings, his eyes glared with
deadly resentment, and he vowed a revenge which
too surely, I fear, he has accomplished, and that the
blood of innocence has more than once flowed for
our wrongs.
The meeting with the chief was the turning
point in the destiny of our exiles. By him we
were advised to stop on the banks of the river,
some thirty or forty miles above, and try to effect a
settlement. He assured us that the foot of a white
man had never cursed the soil, and that we should
be perfectly secure from discovery, and as the lands
were good, could soon obtain a comfortable support.
We conducted him to our encampment, and
gave him of such food as we had to eat, and he in
return, assisted us in repairing our canoes, which
had been much damaged in our perilous proximity
to the falls the evening before. Carrying them across
the plat just described, we again embarked, pushing 26 26(3)v 68
off from the little cove just above the cataract, and
took our course up stream again. Towards night we
came upon the encampment of the chief’s people,
and most welcome was the curling smoke above the
top of the forest, to our chilled and weary company.
Hauling up to the bank, we landed our company,
and were received with that silent but cordial welcome,
that Indians alone, of all the earth, know
how to give. One totally unacquainted with their
ways, would not know their quiet welcome. The
best skins were spread, and the best preparations
made to promote our comfort.
One of the old men, after we were seated, recognised
me; he had visited our country in his
trading expeditions, several times, and had been in
my house; he asked me ‘where squaw and pappooses
were?’
The shock was more than I could
bear with fortitude, and I covered my face with my
hands, and sobbed aloud. The chief, in a few
words, related the fate of our people, and our own
escape. The confusion for a few moments was terrible;
knives and tomahawks were brandished, and
many horrible gesticulations exhibited, threatening
vengeance upon the ‘Yangeese’
We soon discovered our red friends were about
to leave this station for a better hunting-ground;
and finding the lands good, and feeling great security
from the interruption of water communication
between us and our dreaded foes, our people concluded
to remain where they were, and take up our
residence, at least for the present, on the banks of
the river. And here, supposing my beloved family
at the bottom of the ocean, I stayed the first two
seasons, assisting our people to construct their houses,
to plant and reap their fields, and to perform
such acts of necessity and humanity as their situation
in this wilderness required. My knowledge of
the arts of husbandry and of mechanics was, without 26(4)r 69
boasting, better than most of them. Fortunately,
we had some grain we had carefully hoarded
at our flight, and reserved for this very purpose;
and other things we needed, we bargained with the
Indians to procure us, without betraying our place
of abode. We planted, and the virgin soil yielded
its treasures most abundantly. Our huts were most
ingeniously hid from observation, and every method
contrived and artifice resorted to, to shield us from
sight should any of our foes ascend the river.
Could the fate of our countrymen and our best
friends have been forgotten, we might have felt
happy; as it was, they were contented, all but one;
but the restlessness of misery haunted me. I could
not remain in quiet, and determined at length to
find my way to Canada, and offer my services to
Villabon, at Quebec, whom we learnt by the occasional
visits of the Indians, was hard pressed.
Guided by some of our red friends, I reached,
after a toilsome journey, the desired haven, and
immediately volunteered to fight the battles of my
countrymen. Since that time I have sought death
in the heat of the fight; I have faced the cannon’s
mouth in vain; the death I sought was denied me.
I prayed to be buried under the walls of Quebec,
when it fell into the hands of the English, but my
prayer was rejected. I have braved the horrors of
the tempest and the battle on the sea, and the pestilence
on land, without injury; the death I coveted
eluded me; and it was not until about one year
since, that I began to have a relish for life, for it
was only then that I learnt my family had escaped
the dreadful doom that I believed had engulfed
them all.
At Marseilles, I chanced to meet with a native
of the city of Philadelphia, an elderly man, who
well recollected the arrival of the Neutral French
in the province of Pennsylvania—province no longer, 26(4)v 70
thank God! Among the various names, he
well remembered mine. I was questioning him
about them, hoping to hear something of my old
neighbors; in enumerating the names, he mentioned
yours, and said you had gone to Boston to find
a part of the family that were missing; he was
sure of it, described yourself and the boys, and
believed it was a daughter missing. I thought
then of the report of the lost vessel, and believed
my Pauline and her grandfather had perished—
nevertheless, I was overjoyed at the prospect of
once more beholding even one of you.
I could not immediately leave the service I
was in; but as soon as I could be discharged from
the ship, I hastened to this country. I will not
fatigue you with an account of our hazardous voyage
in time of war, nor the history of our hair-
breadth escapes, and how near we came falling into
the hands of the enemy, nor the skirmish in which
I had a chance of giving them a few more blows.
You know I came in an American privateer, and I
have been publicly thanked by the officers and
owners, and liberally rewarded for my share of the
enterprise.”

Here ended the narrative, much to the grief of
the children, who, however, had the promise of
hearing about the hair-breadth escapes, and why
grandpapa came upon them so strangely in the
storm, and wore his old clothes, and seemed so
poor, at some future day.

26(5)r 71

Chapter VIII.

“Know ye this picture? There is one alone, Can call its pencilled lineaments her own.”Halleck.

On the morning after the narration just given, by
Louis, he announced the determination to set out
for Philadelphia during the season when his two
sons would probably be at home. Ferdinand informed
him they would not be at home, as they
were now at a fort up at the north, where they
could not be spared.

“But Pauline, my eldest daughter, I shall see,
and you cannot think how much I long to embrace
her. My wife, I think, will go with me to see this
darling, this dutiful child, whose light figure I see
now in imagination bounding over the hills, as she
used to come to meet me.”

“My dear sir,” said Ferdinand, “you must not
go; remain here with us this winter, and in the
spring, if you insist upon going, I will myself accompany
you the greater part of the distance, as it
will be all in my way to quarters. You can then,
perhaps, see your sons, and at least their families;
recollect you have one son to see here yet. He
will return ere long, and his wife and children,
whom you have not seen.”

“And why not my daughter, Ferdinand? you
say nothing about seeing her. Well as I love the
boys, that excellent child is, I am free to confess it,
uppermost in my mind. Speak; do you now answer;
what is the matter? is my child dead? Speak
quick! I must hear the worst of it.”

Ferdinand arose and walked the room in violent
agitation. Madam and Josephine both sprang from
their seats, exclaiming, “Pauline is dead, and you
have kept it from us.”

“Indeed, you deceive yourselves entirely,” said 26(5)v 72
Ferdinand, catching the almost fainting form of his
wife in his arms, and seating her. “Pauline was
alive and well, when last I heard from her; but,
but,”
and he hesitated, in visible embarrassment.

“Then she is a prisoner, I fear,” said Madam,
clasping her hands; “fallen into the power of our
enemies once more.”

“God forbid!” said her son-in-law; “if she is
I do not know it; but she is not in the country,”

he added, with heightened embarrassment.

“Then she must be dead,” said Josephine; “she
would not have left it at this time. Oh, my sister!
my dear sainted sister! you was too good to live,
indeed you was,”
and she sobbed convulsively,
while Madam hid her face in agonizing silence.

“For mercy sake, have patience,” said Ferdinand.
“I tell you I believe her to be alive and
well, but, unhappily, I cannot at this moment disclose
the place of her residence.”

“What possible reason can you have to conceal
her place of abode?”
said the incredulous wife.

“My dear, I cannot now explain the reason; you
certainly will take my word for it. I have assured
you that I believe her to be alive and well, though
not in the country. Where she has gone, I am not
at liberty to name at present, or at least I do not
think it proper.”

“Perhaps,” said Josephine, “her husband has
some business that causes this mystery; does he
accompany her?”

“Oh, to be sure he does,” said Ferdinand, smiling
at her pertinacity. “But she herself desired
me not to acquaint you at present. I should not
have spoken of her absence at all, but your father
obliged me too.”

A long silence succeeded this remark, which was
at length broken by the last speaker addressing his
father-in-law.

26(6)r 73

“But, my dear Sir, I have quite a gratification
for you, which I will withhold no longer. Your
daughter, on the eve of her departure, had a portrait
drawn on purpose to leave with us. It has
come safely to my hand, and if the likeness of a
lady of forty, for your once sylph-like daughter,
would be acceptable, you can see it.”
So saying,
he unlocked a drawer in the secretary, and drawing
forth the picture, presented it to the wondering
group.

Oh, what a face and figure were there exhibited!
If Louis had been struck by the improved appearance
and beauty of Josephine, what must he have
felt while looking on the noble Pauline? Josephine
was symmetry; but there was a majesty about the
person of the eldest, that seemed to display the fine
proportions of the form in a far more imposing manner:
and then the face! how could the painter
have caught its highly intellectual expression? Her
complexion was fine, the mouth and all the features
perfect, as in the first blush of womanhood; but
there was in the expression of the dark blue eyes,
a something of care and anxiety never observed
before, an expression of deep and intense feeling,
that, although it did not detract from, but rather
heightened the beauty of one of the finest faces
ever exhibited on canvass, yet at once excited the
sympathy of the gazer. Tears, unbidden, ran down
the cheeks of Louis and Madam, while gazing on
this portrait. The mother and sister had not seen
her now for several years.

“Can it be,” said Louis, with rapture, “that this
is my dear, dear child? the poor, exiled wanderer,
leading about an old, blind grandfather? the poor
outcast that, more than twenty years ago, supported
the tottering steps of my venerable parent, a stranger
in a strange land, now grown into such beauty?
and—and—Pauline, Pauline, I prayed to die. May 26(6)v 74
God pardon the sinful petition. I feel it a privilege
to live, if it is only to be father to a child like thee,
thou blessed of him who upheld thee, as he did
holy Joseph, in the land whither he was carried
captive.”

“There is evidence here,” said Josephine, “she
was about to depart. See, one beautiful hand holds
a bonnet by the string, as though just about to go,
while the other is drawn round the fat neck of a
little cherub child, who is hiding her face in her
mother’s dress, as though loth to release her. But
Pauline was very plain in her apparel, and I marvel
at the splendor of the dress.”

“The dress,” said Louis, with the air of extreme
absence of mind, “is exactly such as is now
worn at the court of France.”

Josephine turned suddenly to Ferdinand, who
frowned, and laid his finger on his lips; but it was
too late, the remark of Louis had elucidated the
mystery, as far as related to the place of Pauline’s
destination, and Ferdinand was subjected to the
tumultuous questions and assertions of the whole
party.

Ferdinand, as soon as he could make himself
heard, stated that the husband of Pauline had long
been desirous of visiting his native land, and had
only been detained by his wife, whose dread of
crossing the water had been so great since the
wretched voyage from Nova Scotia; that her mind
had recently changed, as the Chevalier had received
a bequest of an estate near Paris, which required
his presence; and they both, after mature deliberation,
had come to the conclusion that they could
not do better than go and stay a few years, during
the troubled state of the country; that they had at
first resolved to leave the children to their care, as
the danger was so great, both from the season of the
year and from British cruisers, but had at length 27(1)r 75
decided to take them; and Pauline desired her
mother and sister might not be apprized of their
departure until they should be informed they were
safely arrived in France. To gratify her husband,
he added, she was drawn in the dress that, it seemed,
had betrayed her.

“Husband,” said Josephine, “there is but one
objection to all this. I believe every word you say,
for I know you would not assert a falsehood; but
my sister, my heroic sister, is so patriotic, I would
have engaged she would have stayed by the country
until she had secured her independence.”

The father’s and mother’s eyes were fixed upon
the sweet countenance of the portrait, and the children
admiring the richness of the dress; but Ferdinand,
who appeared to writhe at the remark of
his wife, turned upon her such a look that the
conscious Josephine actually blushed crimson, and
was particular not to ask any more questions.

It is not to be supposed but that the family in
Boston endured some anxiety during this severe
winter, after the departure of Pauline; nevertheless,
they had so much reason to be thankful, blessed
as they were with the society of their long-lost
father, that they could not repine, but waited with
hope and confidence the event, trusting that the
Providence that had hitherto watched over the beloved
one, would not now desert her.

As to Louis, his character had much improved by
the society he had been thrown among. He had
held a commission in the French army at one time;
he had travelled and seen much of the world, and
age had sobered his feelings and strengthened his
judgment, and he was, on the whole, just such a
person as the family needed during the long absence
of its head. In his protection they felt additional
safety; and to the children, his society was a great
acquisition.

27 27(1)v 76

Chapter IX.

“To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, We turn, and France displays her bright domain.”

Turn we to the land of vineyards, the land of
song and dance—to that gay and happy nation that
knows no care beyond the morrow, or rather beyond
to-day—that never borrows affliction—that
can pass through the greatest changes, without
being changed themselves—that can even wade
through seas of blood without being stained—the
whole flitting past like the scenes of a magic lantern,
and leaving no trace behind—to the paradise
of heroes and the heaven of women—to the only
nation on earth, where pure good nature and social
enjoyment exists, unalloyed by the contempt of the
critic and the sneer of the scorner.

Great was the transition from America, struggling
with unheard-of difficulties, and warring with embattled
hosts—her people exerting every power and
straining every nerve in her service—her rude and
undisciplined army—her great men rising early and
taking no rest—her sons dragged into captivity or
slain on the field—and her priests, clothed in the
garments of mourning, weeping between the porch
and the altar.

Strong, indeed, was the contrast to Pauline, when
she first set foot on the soil of France; she found
herself surrounded by scenes of beauty and splendor,
but one feeling was uppermost in her heart—
she felt she was in the country of her ancestors.
It was the first time she had found herself among
a people professing the same faith and speaking
the same language, since her banishment from beloved,
ever-to-be-remembered Acadia. So great was
her transport, that it even broke out in expressions
of rapture, to the great amusement of her husband, 27(2)r 77
and very likely to that of many of the passengers
in the street, as she frequently put her head out of
the carriage-window, in jostling through the crowded
streets of Paris, to catch the accents of her native
tongue. But the French are so polite; in
England or America it would have excited ridicule,
if nothing worse, on the instant; but the French
never exhibit surprise or disgust at the blunders of
strangers; it would be the height of ill-breeding in
France, though the Chevalier, as we observed, was
much amused.

This accomplished Frenchman had left the country
when quite a young man, determined to push
his fortunes in the new world. He was an orphan,
not penniless, but he had a great deal of heroism
about him, and the situation of Quebec at that
time called loudly for the assistance of such spirits,
and offered them a suitable field of action, where
their heroic qualities were not likely to rust. He
distinguished himself in that devoted province on
various occasions, and was one of the last to stand
by Vandreuil; but he was also one of those who
thought the Canadas too tamely surrendered, and
for that reason disdained to return to France and
claim the rewards his valor deserved at the hands
of the French King. For several years past, however,
he had felt a lingering desire to revisit his
native land. By the death of a relative, he had
become possessed of a very considerable estate, and
he now felt the necessity of appearing there as the
representative of his family; but to his great grief,
his wife was most reluctant to go. It was about
the time that the difficulties were brewing between
Great Britain and her American colonies, and both
husband and wife watched the progress of events
with much anxiety. Time passed on, and the
Chevalier, fired with the love of liberty, had already
fought in several skirmishes as a volunteer, and 27(2)v 78
now signified to his lady that he had decided upon
taking a commission in the American army, when,
to his great surprise, she acquainted him with the
resolution she had just formed of accompanying
him to France, and begged him to defer his plan
until he could go over and arrange his business in
that country.

The husband could not but think of the variableness
of woman, and the whimsical desire to
visit a place she had before been so averse to go to,
now at a time of such imminent danger. But, fearing
she might not again be willing and loth to be
separated from his family, he concluded it was best
to take her while the fit was on, particularly as
he might, by some informality, lose the estate hereafter,
unless he was there to take possession in person,
and secure to his growing family a fortune
they would so much need. Still, the Chevalier
demurred to going in the way his lady proposed;
for it was in an American vessel, going to carry
despatches to the commissioners, that she proposed
going in.

Nevertheless, she was so very urgent, and the
prospect of actual service being so distant, for the
respective armies were about going into winter
quarters, that he acceded to the plan. But now
another difficulty arose. What should they do with
the children? would it be right to expose them to
the dangers of the sea, and of capture? and they
had almost concluded to leave them to the care of
Josephine. The children themselves, in the mean
time, were anxious to share the fate of their parents
and to visit France. The Chevalier was distracted
between the desire to provide for the safety of those
dear ones, and, on the other hand, to keep his family
together if possible; and he finally left the
question to his wife; and entreated her to decide
for him.

27(3)r 79

“I made the request,” said he, in a letter to Ferdinand,
“to my wife while she was busiest in her
own preparations for the voyage; and I shall never
forget how she looked as she stopped in the middle
of the room, and with that instant decision of character
for which she is so remarkable, immediately
answered:

‘Should the fortune of war prove disastrous to
this people, their fate might be as bad as ours was.
I do not think it will. I think they commenced
resistance in the right place, and with the right determination;
but it is our duty to be prepared for
all reverses, and should the contest be decided
against them, where could our dear children be as
safe as in France? If you leave it to my judgment,
I say carry them.’”

The joy of the young family was exuberant at
the prospect before them; and although they encountered
much rough weather, and the near danger
of capture more than once, yet they kept their
word of remaining quiet, and not adding to the
general confusion on board. Arrived in France,
their joy was boundless, particularly when they
came to the really elegant and antique chateau to
which their father introduced them as to their future
home; and they sat themselves to adorning it, and
putting things in order, with so much zeal and
alacrity as perfectly to astonish the old domestics
who had remained in the care of the building, and
who could not conceive of genteel and fashionable
people, particularly those in whose veins ran the
blood of the ancient nobility, degrading themselves
by engaging in such menial employments, especially
in restoring and arranging the gardens; the boys
discovered great tact in managing with the hoe, the
shovel, the crowbar, and wheelbarrow, all of which
they had brought with them.

Of course, the Chevalier paid his devoirs at court 27 27(3)v 80
soon after his arrival, and received the congratulations
of majesty upon the acquisition of his property.

“But, in truth,” said the monarch, “I wonder
much that your chivalry had not inclined you to
take up arms for these brave Americans. Why, all
our young cavaliers are going stark mad to fight
their battles.”

The Chevalier smiled. “My present duties necessarily
led me here; but it is not impossible I
may return and offer my poor services. As a volunteer,
I have already fought in their defence in
two battles, and with braver men it has never been
my lot to fight, untrained and almost undisciplined
as they are.”

“It is from that circumstance I fear for them,”
said Louis; “the veterans of England and Germany,
thou knowest, are trained to war.”

“It is from the knowledge of that fact, please
your Majesty,”
said the Chevalier, “that I confidently
predict their success. If with such raw and
undisciplined troops, so much can be effected, what
must we look for when discipline shall be added to
indomitable courage and that hatred of oppression
and ardent love of liberty that now pervades the
bosom of all ranks of their people?”

“And I am told,” added Louis, “that the people
of that country are singularly enlightened, notwithstanding
the exercise of British tyranny, that has
held them in subjection so long.”
This is a very brief sample of the manner in which the unfortunate
Louis conversed on the subject of the American Revolution;
and to us it must appear in the highest degree astonishing,
that this otherwise amiable monarch did not see the tyranny with
which his own people were governed. The bastile and lettre de
cachet
were then in full operation. The satellites of the court
were in general a set of profligates, (as in all courts they are;)
and they on the one hand were rioting in wealth, while the poor
and laboring classes, of all professions, were almost in the situation
of beasts of burden, and the half-starved peasantry, bought and sold
with the estates, were actually below them. Humanity weeps at
the reflection, that, the friend of liberty in America, Louis the
Sixteenth
—whose name, with all his faults, will ever be dear to
Americans—could see so clearly the oppressive exactions under
which we suffered and rebelled, and was blind to those of his own
dominions. What terrible infatuation must have guided his counsels!
If, with the power placed in his hands, he had then attempted
a reform, the horrors of the revolution might have been averted,
Louis saved from a violent and premature death, and France from
the ignominy of deluging her own fair country with the blood of
her citizens. No doubt there would have been much plotting and
opposition from the proud and avaricious priests and nobles, as
there is now in England, but nine tenths of the people would have
stood by him; every Lafayette among the nobles, and every Massillon
among the priests, would have been his firm supporters;
and, above all, the prayers of the poor would have called down
blessings upon his reign, and a glorious immortality awaited him.

27(4)r 81

“Your Majesty knows,” said the Chevalier, “that
the British government attributes the revolution entirely
to the loose manner in which they have held
the reins of power in that country. But I rather
attribute this fact to a knowledge of the spirit of
the people; they have never been able even to establish
their church in America yet, though the
great body of the people are not particularly set
against the church, but wholly from the fear of
being priest-ridden; and they will rue the day when
they attempted to govern an enlightened nation by
brute force.”

The beautiful Antoinette inquired “if the Chevalier
had married a rebel wife?”
To which Ferdinand
modestly replied “he was afraid so; but he
had married a lady of French extraction.”

“Then we shall be impatient to see her,” was
the polite remark. However, Pauline did not go
immediately to court, and the reputation of her
beauty preceded her. A new face had always great
attraction for the Parisian public, and somehow a
rumor had come into circulation that Madam D――
was exquisitely handsome, and the nobles were on
the que vive to behold the newly-arrived lady.

27(4)v 82

It may appear surprising to us that a lady of forty,
or nearly that, should have excited interest or curiosity
on account of her beauty; but we must recollect
the French are celebrated for their admiration
of mature charms, and that no one ever hears of a
lady’s beauty until it is appropriated. One reason,
probably, why it is the heaven of women, is because
they never grow old there. Certain it is, that
women have made conquests there at an age when,
in any other country, they would have been in their
second cradle; yes, and “men have died for love,
and worms have eaten them,”
for some of those
antiquated charmers. However, we are not going
to compare any of these with our incomparable
heroine.

Chapter X.

“A kind true heart, a spirit high, That could not fear, and would not bow, Were written in his manly eye, And on his venerable brow.”

We must pause a moment to look at the state of
political affairs at the time of our heroine’s arrival
in the French capital. Doctor Franklin, one of the
commissioners sent by the American Congress, was
there, soliciting the assistance and co-operation of
the French monarch. History says, “no single
individual ever created equal excitement in the
French capital.”
Be that as it may, it is certain
that he was much admired by persons of all ranks,
much sought, much talked of. He was then over
seventy years of age; and it shows the generous
nature of the French, that they seemed to appreciate
the efforts of the venerable patriot, who had
traversed the ocean at his advanced age to recommend 27(5)r 83
the cause of his suffering country. He resided
at Passy, a few miles out of Paris, in a style
of simplicity that truly became his character as a
representative of a republic; and he even appeared
at court, it is said, and on all public occasions, in
most conspicuous simplicity, which had the effect
to recommend his cause powerfully; a proof, undoubtedly,
that even the fashionable, the dissipated,
and the extravagant, feel an involuntary respect for
every one who has the independence to appear according
to his circumstances. It was said of this
good and consistent man, that “wherever he appeared,
there was an immediate interest excited in
his favor; and hence, by a natural transition, to the
cause he advocated.”

The whole French capital, and indeed the nation,
were favorable to the interests of America previous
to the arrival of the commissioners; and after that
event, they were even clamorous for permission to
assist them; still, there were those who wilily suggested
doubts about the prudence of engaging in a
cause which would, in their opinion, soon be overturned
by its adversaries, and deserted by its friends.
But, whatever were the opinions advanced, America
was on all hands the subject of general conversation;
nor could all the intrigues of cunning politicians
prevent, This was a time when there were a vast many intriguers in
the service and pay of Great Britain at the French court—so say
the historians of those times. Botta, in his History of the United
States
, says: “It was the business of these, to suggest continually
to the French ministry that America, unable to cope with her
powerful adversary, would soon yield in unconditional submission,
or with some few reserves, insignificant in themselves, and immaterial
to England; that her resources were nearly used up, her
forces undisciplined, her officers unequal to the character they
assumed, and the trust they were invested with, and their courage
would soon evaporate; that their Congress were a set of
shallow-pated, empty demagogues, who already repented the business
they sat out upon; and that the whole posse would undoubtedly
be hanged as soon as the rebels should lay down their arms,
although they asserted the greater part of them had privately
written to the British authorities to make the best terms they could
in case of such an event; and that France, should she take part
in the contest, would soon find herself alone in the field, saddled
with a war in which she had no concern, in behalf of a set of desperadoes,
the ringleaders of whom would all meet their deserts at
the hands of the hangman.”
When the secrets of all men shall be disclosed at the great day,
it is presumable that the expose of court diplomacy will reveal the
greatest mystery of iniquity the whole assembled universe can
produce. We shall then know how certain nations have contrived
to make themselves so powerful, and of England among the rest,
whose boasted system is essentially systematic intrigue. There is
not a court in Europe—to say nothing of America, where her
facilities are boundless, speaking the same language, &c.—where
there is not a set of hired traitors employed to sow the seeds of
jealousy, discord, and discontent, against the existing government.
If the real origin of many of the disturbances that have deluged
Europe in blood, divided the counsels and destroyed the resources
of nations, could be known, in nineteen cases out of twenty the
intriguers of foreign courts would be found at the bottom of them,
and in nine cases out of ten, during the last five hundred years,
England has been the intriguer. It is now a well known fact, that
that celebrated diplomatist and arch-fiend, Talleyrand, was in
constant and private correspondence with the English government
during his whole career, both under the Bourbons and under Bonaparte;
but it is a matter of speculation, how far his wicked counsels
might have produced the state of things that caused the revolution
in France, or how far he might have influenced the measures
of Bonaparte to bring about his overthrow.
but, on the contrary, their efforts 27(5)v 84
rather served to increase the general interest in
American affairs. There could not, then, have been
a time when the Chevalier and his fair partner
would have been more admired, more a subject of
conversation and public attention than at the present.
To this, her French extract very essentially
contributed. The particulars of the history of her
family they were too polite to inquire; the French
are always satisfied with what you choose to communicate
to them, and are little given to inquire
into the private affairs of others.

It was in the spring of 17771777, that Pauline and
her husband arrived in the French capital. Detained
as they had been by storms and contrary 27(6)r 85
winds on the ocean, she had contracted a cold that
prevented her seeing much company for several
weeks, and during this time curiosity had been on
tiptoe to see her, so that when she did display herself,
she had, without knowing it, created a very
considerable interest. Her person and manners
were much admired, even by majesty, and her reception
at the French court was of the most flattering
kind. The ease and grace of her manners,
which, to say truth, were almost intuitive, were the
subject of universal remark, coming as she did from
a country where the inhabitants were not to be
supposed court-bred, while her uncommon beauty
and very peculiar cast of countenance, (being, as
we before remarked, a highly intellectual character,)
excited unqualified admiration.

During the few weeks of Pauline’s indisposition
and confinement to the chateau, she amused herself
with superintending the painting in oil colors of the
set of landscapes mentioned in a former part of this
work, of which she and her sister each possessed a
set in water colors, done by themselves and Ferdinand
at the time when drawing was taught in their
schools. She had always had a strong desire to
have them painted by a master in the art, and had
now a favorable opportunity, as an eminent artist
then in the city, had agreed to come out to the
chateau three times a week, to give lessons to her
children. From her glowing description of “beautiful
Acadia,”
the artist was enabled to improve
materially, and when the last touch was given,
they were really elegant and masterly performances,
and Pauline proposed having them exhibited at the
gallery of the Louvre, in order to recommend the
artist.

The singularity of these paintings, having no
designation, and affording no clue by which to explain
them, at once excited great attention; but 27(6)v 86
the persons who had charge of the collection, could
give nothing of their history. Various surmises
were made, as in Boston, as to what part of the
world they represented, and what was the story of
the singular group there represented. By the request
of his wife, the Chevalier had abstained from
saying any thing on the subject, though he contrived
to be present several times and hear the remarks.
Several wondered what opinion his Majesty would
give, as it was known he regularly visited the gallery,
for the purpose of inspecting the paintings,
one day in each week, usually carrying some one
of the royal household with him; at times, he
walked alone there, and his visits were not made
during the hours of public exhibition. Pauline
called once to observe their situation, and see if the
light fell in the right quarter.

On the following day, attired with great simplicity,
but looking remarkably beautiful, she came
down stairs, prepared to visit the gallery again.

“My dear love,” said her husband, “I am half
a mind to prevent your going, you have been so
much indisposed of late; going two days in succession,
I fear may injure you, though”
(he added,
with a smile) “I never saw you look better.” However,
when the carriage drove up, he handed her
very gallantly in, and followed, to attend her safe
there.

For some time they walked about among the
brilliant circle, and the Chevalier had the pleasure
of introducing his beautiful helpmate to a number
of the nobility and gentry who had not yet seen
her. The hour at length arrived when the galleries
cleared, and one by one the visitors departed.

“You may leave me,” said Pauline, seating herself
directly in front of a beautiful landscape of
Claude Loraine, and taking a paper and pencil, “I
have obtained permission to sit here a little time to 28(1)r 87
take a sketch. I shall not, in this corner, be molested,
or molest any one.”

“As you like, my love,” said the Chevalier;
“but I seriously fear you are not sufficiently
strong to engage in what you are about; besides,
do you know this is the day on which his Majesty
visits the gallery? and I should be loth he should
see my wife here alone. I am afraid he will think
you an artist yourself, and I rather think you would
be unable to support that character,”
with a smile.

“Never mind,” said Pauline, gayly; “I can easily
manage to elude his observation, and I will not
disgrace you, I promise.”

The polite husband took his leave, not, however,
without a feeling of anxiety he could not altogether
account for. He feared his idolized wife was taxing
herself beyond her strength for a mere whim.
He had observed her to tremble, and several times
change color; and more than once he turned back
to insist upon her coming away with him. Then,
ashamed of his fears, and loth to deprive her of a
gratification, he slowly retraced his steps, and departed.

Chapter XI.

“Strike! till the last armed foe expires; Strike! for your altars and your fires; Strike! for the green graves of your sires, God, and your native land!”

Left almost alone in the silent and now deserted
gallery, the fair intruder began to feel her heart
throb. The works of an art that she delighted in,
that invited her admiration on every side, had suddenly
lost their power to charm. She sat for a few
moments quite absorbed, her eyes fixed on the 28 28(1)v 88
beautiful picture of Claude Loraine, without sensing
at all what she was gazing at; then softly sighing
“this will not do,” she arose and paced the
gallery. It is not to be supposed but she had felt
some curiosity to know the remarks his Majesty
would make upon the landscapes which had excited
so much attention from the casual visitors within a
few days past, and had chosen a retreat from which
she could observe what past without being seen.
An anxiety, however, to know that her pictures
were now placed in the best possible light, urged
her to view them once more before they should be
seen by so illustrious a visitant. Satisfied with the
position of the group, she was again retiring, and
was about to regain her hiding-place, when an improvement,
she had not before observed, struck her
in one of the pieces, and she stopped to observe
it. It was the strong resemblance a figure there
bore to herself in the morning of her days. The
painter had easily divined which of the pictures
represented herself, and on the day succeeding her
visit, had added a few touches to the piece, which
rendered the likeness perfect. Lost in admiration
of an art that could with so much ease bring back
the days of childhood, and lift the veil of years,
she stopped involuntarily, while the big tears gathered
in her eyes, and her bosom swelled with unutterable
emotion.

Shall we wonder that even he who had seen the
beautiful Antoinette, gazed on her with admiration?
Louis the Sixteenth had entered the gallery unobserved,
alone, on this day, and seeing the figure of
a female standing so perfectly absorbed, with noiseless
step drew near to observe her. In the crowd,
her uncommon beauty, though observed, was not
calculated to make such an impression; for who, among
hundreds of elegant and well dressed women, would
have time or opportunity to examine the beauties 28(2)r 89
of one individual. That she had a very fine form
and beautiful face, was often repeated; and, added
to this, she was an American, though, sooth to say,
of this there was sometimes a doubt, she spoke the
pure French with such fluency. Beautiful women
were not then very uncommon at the French court;
besides the incomparable Antoinette, there were
many there who could lay claim to a large share,
but the beauty of Pauline was of an entirely different
cast; there was a chaste and classic elegance
about her, in that region at least, entirely unique.
Perfectly unconscious of the admiration she excited
in the usually cold breast of the monarch, she continued
to gaze upon the picture, with her bonnet in
her hand, discovering at a view the perfect bust and
profile, the marble neck, the flushed cheek, continually
varying its color, the full, ripe, parting lips,
the penciled brown, and long dark eyelash, now wet
with a tear, which had just dropped on her cheek,
the profusion of chestnut hair, just stirred by the
current of air which was now floating through the
gallery, the beautiful hand and arm, were all exposed
in a side view; and when, startled by hearing
a deep suspiration near her, she turned those
full blue eyes upon the monarch, there was in their
exquisite expression a something which reminded
him of a faintly imaged being of a dream, or of
something he had caught an idea of from a picture,
but of the existence of which, in real life, he had
always doubted. As soon as she found herself observed,
with a low and graceful salutation, she
turned to retire. But Louis, who in a moment divined
that the pictures opposite, which had so absorbed
Madam D――, were the ones that had been
so much spoken of within a few days, and thinking
he had now an opportunity of discovering a secret
that had puzzled so many heads, a gratification
that always gave him particular pleasure, called to 28(2)v 90
the lady, and in a very polite manner requested her
to stop and give him some information. Notwithstanding
the civility with which the request was
made, there was an air of command about him,
who had been accustomed to say to this man “go,”
and he went, and to another, “do this”, and he did it,
that could not be mistaken; and Pauline, instantly
turning back, with another respectful salutation,
awaited his commands in silence.

“Can you,” said the monarch, pointing to the
group of landscapes, “explain to me the design of
those, and in what part of the world the scenes are
laid? This, for instance,”
pointing first to the one
that represented the debarkation of the Neutrals,
when banished from their happy homes; “it certainly
represents a scene of touching distress.”

“Not more so than it was, Sire; the pencil can
never do justice to that scene of suffering. It represents
the forcible banishment of a once happy and
affluent people, from their homes and possessions,
and the cruel and remorseless manner in which
they were shipped to distant and unknown shores,
among a people whose language, manners, and laws
they were utter strangers to, separated from each
other, and exposed to the insolence of unfeeling
soldiery, for one only solitary offence.”

“Why, what crime could a whole people have
committed, to warrant such exterminating vengeance?
Was there no punishment agreeable to
the laws of war?”
demanded Louis.

“It was during a season of profound peace,”
replied Pauline; “for I believe there is no war
where the blows are all on one side.”

“No, certainly not; but the crime! the crime!”
said the monarch, impatiently.

“No crime,” said Pauline, looking down, and
meekly folding her hands upon her bosom, “but
having French blood in our veins.”

28(3)r 91

“Our,” said Louis; “then thou, the beautiful
and accomplished wife of our friend the Chevalier
――
, thou wert one of them; but from where,
and by whom?”

Pauline, pointing to a flag upon one of the ships,
so small as to have escaped the observation of the
King, said, “Yes, Sire, I am one of the Neutral
French
; one of those unfortunate exiles, eighteen
thousand of whom were, twenty years since, driven
from the province of Nova Scotia, and scattered as
paupers among the now United States, contrary to
all their pledges to us, and our good treatment guaranteed
to the King of France.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Louis, “I begin to comprehend.
Traitors and monsters of cruelty! was that
the way it was done? Great God!”
exclaimed he,
clasping his hands, and raising his eyes, in which
tears that did not disgrace manhood were fast gathering,
“avenge this people!”

“Amen!” said Pauline, fervently, covering her
face, and sobbing with irrepressible emotion.

“Compose yourself, madam,” said Louis, while
leading her to a seat near, and sitting down by her
side; “and now give me a succinct history of this
transaction. I have a very imperfect idea of it.
It was, as you know, during the life of the King
my grandfather; his history was one long turmoil
with those ancient enemies of France, whose avenging
sword was only stayed, in many instances, by
the utter impossibility of wielding it.”

“We knew, Sire, that the King of France was
not obligated to avenge a people, who, for so many
years, had consented to remain peaceable subjects
of another government; and, further, we always
believed France knew not the extent of our wrongs,
nor the treachery with which we were beguiled
and finally betrayed, in violation of the most solemn
compact originally made with the French government,28 28(3)v 92
and repeatedly renewed to ourselves.”

She then gave the monarch a brief history of the
transactions connected with their expulsion.

“And there, Sire,” she added, rising and advancing
to the first landscape in the group, “there is a
true representation of our happy homes, before the
spoiler came; those deep intervales were diked as
you see, and a vast extent of country reclaimed
from the ocean by French ingenuity and enterprise;
and oh, what years of labor were ruthlessly destroyed.
Those flocks and herds were ours, and
ours ‘the cattle on a thousand hills;’ and there,”

(pointing to the chapel,) “after the manner that they
called heresy, we worshipped the God of our fathers;
the cross you observe the soldier rudely striking
down, was borne by one who would have succeeded
our aged pastor; his life was the sacrifice of
bearing the sacred emblem; the blow he received,
he never recovered from. But that was a trifle to
the sacrifice of human life, the hundreds who perished
in the woods, in the pestilential vessels, and
beneath the blighting influence of a sultry clime.

Oh, Sire, it is now twenty-three years since I
was transported to Boston in that vessel you observe
dashing through the turbulent sea, and lighted from
the shore by the blaze of our dwellings; yet never
from that hour to this, has the memory of that
terrible transaction faded from my recollection;
through all the subsequent events of my life, that
one dark, terrible scene, has still haunted me, as if
it were burnt into my brain. Acadia, sacked and
ruined, is ever before me. I still hear the moans
of my unfortunate countrymen in that crowded
ship, as, mingled with the roar of wind and waters,
they ascended to heaven. I still see their wasted
forms, lustreless eyes, and despairing countenances,
when landed in an enemy’s country, and told to
seek their bread. True, I have a beloved mother, 28(4)r 93
sister, and brethren, whom I, happier than many of
them, was permitted to find again; I have a husband,
even dearer; but never, even in my happiest
hours in their society, have the miseries of the Neutral
French
been forgotten. But God”
(she exclaimed
with energy) “has at length heard our prayers;
his avenging arm is bared, and is punishing our
oppressors with the instruments of their cruelty.
Our cries have entered into the ears of the God of
Sabbaoth, and his own right hand is chastising our
foes, while accomplishing the salvation of a nation.
America will be free, and the remnant of our people
saved from the tyranny of Britain.”

“And thou,” said the monarch, who had listened
with breathless attention to this burst of enthusiasm,
“thou art from that country, fair maiden, and
on my soul I believe, already tinctured with republicanism;
for had I questioned a lady of my court
except thyself, I had never obtained thy plain, unvarnished
tale.”
(The fair orator blushed deeply
as she recollected, for the first time, the singular
position she occupied) “However, thy story is a
melancholy one,”
(taking her hand,) “and thy husband
a brave and worthy man, to whom France
owes much for his services in Canada. But these
Americans—were they not the instruments of enforcing
this most barbarous edict against your people?
are they worthy of being freed from a master
whose cruel mandates they have been so expert in
fulfilling? Is it not just that they should be permitted
to suffer from a Power whose hands they
have strengthened in this most unholy warfare
against the innocent and defenceless?”

“Please your Majesty,” said Pauline, “the people
were deceived; they did not even know, when
carried by thousands to Nova Scotia, what they
went for. I speak not of their rulers and officers,
many of whom, by a singular providence, have 28(4)v 94
fled to that very place for shelter now, to escape
an exasperated people. In the affair of the Neutral
French
, too, pity for our situation was much stifled
by the continual suggestions of the English, that
we instigated the barbarities of the Indians; that
unjust accusation often steeled the hearts of the
Americans, and indeed awakened their deepest resentment
against us. But from the time of our
landing among them, they have been convinced we
were not a people to sanction such cruelties, and
to the present moment have treated us with uniform
kindness.”

“I am truly happy to hear it,” said Louis; “thou
knowest we are daily importuned to assist these
people, but their recent defeats are rather discouraging.
Dost thou think, Madam D――, their constancy
may be counted on? May they not become
discouraged, and return to the yoke of bondage?”

“Never, never, Sire!” said Pauline, fervently.
“It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm that
pervades all ranks; they will now rather perish in
the wreck of their country, than ever again submit
to British rule; and—and they now look to your
Majesty in the confidence that, in commiseration of
their situation, you will graciously forgive the sins
they have been driven to commit against your subjects”
—she hesitated—the blood mounted to the
temples of Louis the Sixteenth—he drew in his
breath, and, compressing his lips fervently, sat in
the attitude of a man who waits to hear more.
The opportunity was not lost. Sliding gracefully
from her seat to the feet of the monarch, the fair
and agitated pleader continued: “And suffer me,
gracious King, to avail myself of this unexpected
opportunity to plead their cause against that tyrant
nation, that has not only been our scourge, but
drenched their fair fields in blood, and already
wrought out such barbarities as will, in after ages, 28(5)r 95
excite the astonishment and indignation of mankind.
Remember, great King, you are one of God’s
vicegerentsviceregents here on earth; let the sorrowful sighing
of such as are appointed unto death, come up
before thee—by all the sufferings of the Neutral
French
—by long ages of persevering warfare against
our ancestors—by the blood shed in Canada, and
now deluging the plains of fair America, be entreated
to interpose an arm of power between them
and their oppressors!”

“Enough,” said Louis, gently raising the fair
suppliant from the floor; “enough, lady, thou hast
prevailed; the people thou hast so eloquently plead
for shall be remembered. The movements of a
nation cannot keep pace with the impatience of enthusiasm;
but, with the first favorable omen, I
will press the subject. In the mean time, keep this
in thine heart; remember,”
(said he, solemnly,) “even
from the friend of thy bosom.”

“I pledge myself, gracious King,” said Pauline,
kissing the hand extended to her, and dropping
upon it a tear as she did so.

Chapter XII

“And consecrated ground it is, The last, the hallowed home of one, Who lives upon all memories, Though with the buried gone.” Halleck.

At the gate of his chateau, the Chevalier D――
received from the carriage the exhausted person of
his wife, blaming himself severely for the false
tenderness that impelled him to leave her so long,
in her feeble state of health, to sketch pictures.

“But did you see the King, my love? you have
staid a long time.”

28(5)v 96

“Yes,” Pauline answered; “I had a very perfect
view of him while he was examining the landscapes,”
and then turned the conversation.

No bad effects followed the exertion, though
Madam D―― had for many days previous exhibited
symptoms of almost alarming indisposition;
she had been afflicted with something of an intermittent
fever, with extreme nervousness, and her
anxious husband had watched her countenance
closely; but from this day she sensibly recovered,
and the Chevalier protested, “that if it had been
possible his wife had any thing distressing on her
mind, he should have believed it was suddenly removed,
and the wound healed; but as he knew she
was much too innocent to have a troubled conscience,
and could have no grief, because every
wish of her heart was gratified as soon as known,
he supposed it impossible.”
Some days after, they
attended a court ball, and their reception from the
monarch and his consort was as usual gracious, but
there was no allusion to the gallery. His Majesty
had before this been complimented upon his superior
discernment in finding out the disputed paintings,
the supple courtiers at once attributing it to
royal sagacity.

Some little time after the interview mentioned
in the preceding chapter, the news of the capture of
Burgoyne’s army was received at the French capital,
and great joy was felt on this occasion by all
the friends of America. This event, it is well
known, was the turning point with the French
ministry—France no longer refused her aid, and
the treaty was speedily made with the United
States
.

It was two full years, before the affairs of the
Chevalier’s deceased kinsman could be settled; but,
during the time, the burning desire to be engaged
in the war in America, continued to harass his 28(6)r 97
mind and disturb his peace, although America was
doubtless much better served by him where he was,
since he was of very efficient aid during that season,
in negotiating loans and inducing many brave
spirits to engage in the contest, and enroll their
names among the forces destined for its relief.

“My dear husband,” Pauline would say, “it is
comparatively easy to serve a good cause where
glory awaits us; but that is true virtue and true
patriotism that enables a man to make sacrifices for
the public good, which, from their nature, must be
unknown, which must be done in secret, where no
eye but God’s sees the deed. It is true, your name
will not shine upon the pages of American history,
but you will have the satisfaction of reflecting you
have done what you could, and consequently your
duty. In my eyes, you are a greater hero for refraining
from the battle-field, than you would be in
returning from it. If it is glory you seek, you will
be disappointed certainly; but if it is the real good
of that country where we have been so greatly
blessed, you can certainly accomplish more for them
on this side the water, than your single arm on that
could achieve.”

Two years more, peace was declared, and now
more serious obstacles intervened. The health of
the Chevalier’s eldest son was so delicate, the physicians
gave it as their opinion he could not in his
then state of health be removed to America. Old
affections and associations had by this time got
such hold on the feelings of the Chevalier, that he
decided on passing the remainder of his days in his
native country. Meanwhile, a very spirited correspondence
had been kept up between the two sisters,
and the letters of Josephine had often been
perused in the first circles in Paris, and even at the
palace royal.

Admired and respected in France, though differing 28(6)v 98
in morals and manners from most of that licentious
court, Pauline saw her sons and daughters
growing up around her. If a tear of regret to the
memory of her adopted country sometimes rose, it
was quickly dried by the recollection of the blessings
that surrounded her. Once, the hearth of this
happy family was made glad by the presence of
Pauline’s father, who went over to visit this his
first-born and beloved daughter; he strongly urged
the family to return to the United States, but it
was now settled France was to be their home, and
Louis, after a visit of a few months, returned to
his wife.

Nothing very remarkable happened in the family
of Pauline from this time to the period of the
French Revolution, except the marriage of their
eldest daughter to a worthy private gentleman of
France, who, agreeably to the customs of the country,
took up his residence with the family of his
wife.

The Chevalier D―― had seen, with prophetic
eye, the end from the beginning of the revolutionary
movements. Enemy as he was to arbitrary
power, the idea of the blood that must flow ere the
object could be gained, made him sick at the heart,
and decided him to leave the country before his
own safety should be compromised. Various hindrances,
however, retarded his departure, the principal
one of which was the difficulty of disposing
of his property; that, however, was at length accomplished,
at a sacrifice of nearly half its value,
and the proceeds remitted to America. They,
themselves, unable to follow immediately, rented
apartments in Paris until their business should all
be settled. Alas! too soon the storm burst over
their heads; and it was while Paris was in arms,
and her streets filled with the populace that want
had driven mad, while the King was menaced, and 29(1)r 99
the royal residence surrounded by an armed force,
that the Chevalier D―― and Pauline sought and
obtained for the last time an interview with the
French monarch. The character of the Chevalier
was such, that, even at this dangerous era in the
affairs of the nation, no suspicion attached to his
name. His passports for leaving the kingdom were
readily obtained, and himself and family were to leave
on the ensuing day. In the earlier part of his residence
in France, he refused a high office about the
court, and had subsequently refused to be a candidate
for an obsolete title, which his friends and admirers
wished revived in his family on his account,
he always protesting that his ambition was satisfied
with the station of a private gentleman. This declaration,
probably, afterwards saved him his head.
But, though exasperated at the folly and profligacy
of the nobles, there was a latent feeling of affection,
and indeed reverence, towards the French
King—the good natured but mistaken Louis—that
prevented his taking part with the revolutionists,
and caused him earnestly to desire to save him if
possible; and having devised, as he thought, a feasible
plan, he procured, as we before remarked, an
interview with the monarch, for the sole purpose of
conjuring him to leave the kingdom, when, throwing
himself at the feet of the doomed King, he
ventured to use all the eloquence he was master of,
to prevail on him to accede to the plan he had
formed for his escape to America.

“Oh, Sire,” said Pauline, after her husband had
ineffectually exhausted all his eloquence, and tears
coursed each other down her cheeks, “Oh, Sire,
trust to those who never would deceive you; we
can get away safely, and once in America you are
secure; doubt not you would be protected, and
every thing that gratitude could render would be 29 29(1)v 100
done to make you happy, and there you would
have a little kingdom in every heart.”

“And thinkest thou, lady, they would help me
to regain my crown? they, who have so recently
set crowns and principalities at defiance?”
And
he shut his teeth, and drew in his breath, as though
suddenly stung by some peculiarly exciting thought.

“Indeed, I cannot say,” said Pauline, somewhat
confused; then, recovering herself, “I will not affect
to believe they would war in behalf of a crown,
but I am sure they would protect your Majesty’s
person.”

The mournful monarch folded his arms on his
breast, and for a moment bent his eyes on the floor,
as though in deep thought; then heaving a deep
sigh, he said,

“It is in vain, all in vain. I cannot believe the
people of France will ever lay violent hands upon
the person of their sovereign; but should that be
the event, I will die like a King.”

“Alas! alas!” said Pauline, wringing her hands.
“Of what consequence will it be, Sire, in the eternal
world, whether you died as a man or a King?
Be persuaded, most gracious and beloved prince, to
follow the leadings of Providence, and escape while
it is possible. Indeed, indeed, Sire, you are not
safe!”

“Then why not stay and assist me?” demanded
the King.

“Because,” said the Chevalier, “my single arm,
opposed to all France, my liege, would avail you
nothing.”

“Farewell, then!” said the afflicted monarch,
extending his hand to break up the conference,
while a slight shade of resentment seemed to mingle
with his grief.

But if there was a feeling of anger at being thus
plainly told the truth, it was quickly banished, 29(2)r 101
when the distressed couple pressed their quivering
lips for the last time to his royal hand, and literally
bathed it with their tears.

“Dear lady,” said Louis, “I might almost believe
your acquaintance was a sad omen; the first
time I ever conversed with you, you left a tear
upon my hand.”

The hurry and terror of departure, left little time
for the gratification of curiosity, and it was not
until they were fairly on their voyage, that the
Chevalier asked and obtained the explanation of the
monarch’s last words. “Ah! Pauline, Pauline,”
said the husband, shaking his head. “I never doubted
my wife, thank heaven, but your explanation
has cleared up a mystery that has puzzled me for
many a year. The state of excitement in which
you returned from the Louvre, did not escape my
observation, but, knowing your prudence, I doubted
not there was some very good reason for withholding
your confidence.”

The children of this excellent pair expressed the
deepest regret on leaving France, particularly the
two eldest sons, and the eldest daughter, who was
now married, and, with her husband, accompanied
Pauline to America.

As the receding shores of France faded from their
view, Pauline felt the big tears coursing down her
cheeks, and her bosom swell with the recollection
of the blessings that had there been dispensed to
herself and family, and drawing herself apart from
the group, she stood with clasped hands in mental
prayer for those her late dear companions who had
sought to render her delightful home still more delightful,
and who, whatever their political sins
might have been, had unvaryingly manifested themselves
her friends; nor did she forget him who, in
the day of adversity, had proved himself America’s
fast friend, who had advanced to the rescue and 29(2)v 102
stood in the breach. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed,
“perhaps his blood may soon be made to flow; if
it be possible, spare him, aid, succor, preserve him
for future mercies; but if be thy will that he
should lose his crown in this world, may it be replaced
by one which shall endure through endless
ages, even a heavenly one.”

But how different were her feelings as she approached
Boston for the second time, a voluntary
exile from the land of her fathers. “Who,” said
the still animated Pauline, laying her hand upon the
arm of the Chevalier, “who would have believed,
when our wretched countrymen were forced upon
these shores, that any of them, in after years,
should seek them as a refuge from that happy
France to which we then looked as a second heaven
—that the dreaded country, where our expatriated
people were to be scattered, was soon to be the
refuge of the oppressed of all the earth, the stranger’s
home, the pilgrim’s shrine, the star of hope
to the distant captive, and the home of liberty to
all within its borders?”

They were bound to the port of Boston, and
like all other voyages Pauline had ever taken, she
thought it a rough one. Nothing could exceed the
joy of this affectionate family at their reunion. The
family of Josephine had counted hour by hour after
they heard of the troubles in France, and were
apprised of the remittance of Monsieur’s property.
“Oh, Pauline,” exclaimed Josephine, as she hung
round the neck of her sister, “you were born to
witness revolutions; this is the third you have been
involved in.”

“My dear sister,” returned Pauline, “would that
every revolution could end like that of this favored
land; but, alas! for France I fear. Let us rejoice
that our beneficent Creator has placed us in the
only land where true liberty is to be found. I 29(3)r 103
have, as you know, traversed Europe within the
last few years, on account of the health of our
eldest son, and I have seen no country where true
liberty is enjoyed. It is not in sunny Italy, in
despotic Russia, or magnificent Austria, far less in
proud and imperious Britain. France, beautiful
France has it not; her dear, deluded monarch,
though he could see the oppressions under which
America groaned, could not discern the abuses of his
own government, blinded as he was by those whose
interest it was that the many should suffer that the
few might riot. That is and must be the best
government, that decrees the greatest good to the
greatest number—it is the people, emphatically the
people, whose happiness and safety a righteous
government will look to. By the people I mean
that class called the ‘canaille’ in France, the ‘rabble’
in England, and in this happy land alone denominated
the ‘people’.”

End of Volume Second.

29 29(3)v 29(4)r

Appendix.

We insert copies of a few of the letters relating to the
removal of the Neutrals, now in possession of the Massachusetts
Historical Society
. They only confirm the truth
of this Story, and exhibit the indecent levity, as well
as heartless cruelty with which it was managed. In a
Book of State papers, published by Robert Walsh, is a
description of the situation of those of the unfortunate beings
landed at Philadelphia. The Society of Friends took these
unhappy people under their protection, and in addition to
their own means, bespoke for them the sympathy of the
public, and procured a large contribution for their relief.—
A List of the sick and insane among them accompanies the
Document, the latter they denominate idiots. It is a fact,
that the astounding calamities that befell them, reduced
many of them to this state!!!

To Gov. Lawrence,

I am favoured with your Excellency’s letters of the 1755-08-1111th
and 1755-08-2626th of this instant, which Capt. Murray was so good
as to be the bearer of, and with whom I have consulted as
to the duty proposed; and as the corn is now all down, the
weather being such, has prevented the inhabitants from
housing it, it is his opinion and mine, that your Excellency’s
orders should not be made public till next Friday; on which
day we propose to put them in execution. We had picketted
in the camp before the receipt of your Excellency’s
letter, and I imagine it is so far from giving surprise to the
inhabitants, as to their being detained, that they look upon
it a settled point, that we are to remain with them all winter;
and as this duty is of no expense to Government, I cannot
but flatter myself your Excellency will approve of the matter, 29(4)v 106
as fifty men to remain will be better in our present
circumstances, than one hundred without this protection, and
the other part of the troops put on duty abroad. As to the
supplying of ammunition, &c. I shall apprise Colonel Moncton
as directed, and in every material point shall counsel
Captain Murray; and although it is a disagreeable part of
duty we are put upon, I am sensible it is a necessary one,
and shall endeavor strictly to obey your Excellency’s orders,
to do every thing in me to remove the neighbors about me
to a better country; as to poor father Le Blanc, I shall,
with your Excellency’s permission, send him to my own
place. I am, with the greatest regard, your Excellency’s
most dutiful and obedient servant.

(Signed)

John Winslow.

This morning Capt. Adams and party returned from their
march to the river Canard, and reported it was a fine country
and full of inhabitants, a beautiful church, abundance
of the good of this world, provisions of all kinds in great
plenty. Capt. Holby ordered with one subaltern, two sergeants,
two corporals, and fifty private men, to visit the
village Molanson on the river Gaspereau, and Capt. Osgood,
with the like number of officers and men, to reconnoitre
the county in the front, or to the southward of our
encampment, both of which parties returned in the evening,
and gave each account that it was a fine country. This
day held a consultation with the different Captains—the
result was, that I should give out my citation to-morrow
morning.

John Winslow,
Lieut. Col. Commanding.

I was out yesterday at the villages, all the people were
quiet and busy at the harvest; if this day keeps fair, all
will be in here into their barns. I hope to-morrow will
crown all our wishes. I am most truly, with great esteem,
your most obedient and humble servant,

A. Murray.

29(5)r 107

All officers, soldiers and seamen, employed in his Majesty’s
service, as well as all his subjects, of what denomination
soever, are hereby notified, that all cattle, viz. horses,
horned cattle, sheep, goats, hogs, and poultry of every kind,
that was this day supposed to be vested in the French
inhabitants of this Province, are become forfeited to his
Majesty, whose property they now are; and every person,
of what denomination soever, is to take care not to hurt,
destroy or kill, any of any kind, nor to rob orchards or
gardens, or to make waste of any thing dead or alive, in
these districts, without special order given at my camp, the
day and place above to be published throughout the camp,
and at the village where the vessels lie.

John Winslow.

One of the transports having arrived from Messrs. Apthorp
and Hancock, hired to carry off the French inhabitants
of this River, immediately ordered out a party to bring
in about one hundred of the heads of families who had retired
into the woods, having taken their bedding with them;
therefore I am to desire you to send me a reinforcement of
men, so soon as you can spare them, that may enable me
to bring them to reason.

I am, Sir,
Your most humble servant,

J. Hanfield.

Dear Sir.

—I have succeeded finely, and have got 183
men into my possession. I believe there are but very few
left, excepting their sick. I am hopeful you have had
equally as good luck, should be glad you would send me
transports as soon as possible for you know our fort is but
small; I should also esteem it a favor if you could also 29(5)v 108
send me an officer and thirty men more as I shall be obliged,
to send to some distant rivers, where they are not all come
yet. Your answer as soon as possible, will greatly oblige
your most obedient humble servant.

A. Murray.

P.S.—I have sent father Le Blanc’s son to you, to go
with his father, as you have taken him under your protection.
At the nearest computation, it will require 360
tons of shipping, which I think at the least computation too
small; therefore I believe 400 tons will be better,—since
writing the above, two of the transports have arrived.
A. Murray.

The order of the day parole being Prince of Wales, the
French inhabitants to repair to their quarters, in the church
at Tattoo, and in the day time not to extend their walks beyond
the Commandant’s quarters on the east, without leave
from the officer of the guard, and that one half the guard
take shelter under my Marque, as patrole, a sergeant, and
twelve men, to walk constantly round the church—the centries
every where to be doubled.

John Winslow.

1755-09-05Sept. 5.—The French people not having with
them any provisions, and many of them pleading hunger,
begged for bread, on which I gave them, and ordered that
for the future, they be supplied from their respective families.
Thus ended the memorable 1755-09-05fifth of September, a day
of great fatigue and trouble.
J.W.

Dear Sir

—I embrace this opportunity with pleasure, to
let you know that these leave me and all friends, as I hope
they will find you, in good health, and we rejoice to hear
of your safe arrival at Minas, and am well pleased that you
are provided with so good quarters for yourself and soldiers,
and as you have taken possession of the friar’s house, hope 29(6)r 109
you will execute the office of priest. I am tired of your
absence, and long for nothing more than to be with you;
here is Capt. Proby and eight transports, arrived last Wednesday;
Capt. Taggart arrived this morning, and a sloop
from New York with provisions for the troops, the news
has not yet come on shore, our troops remain in good health,
and long to follow you.

Yours, &c.

Prebble.

Dear Sir

—I received your favor from Captain Nichols,
of the 1755-08-2323d Aug. rejoiceRejoice to hear that the lines are fallen to
you in pleasant hands, and that you have a goodly heritage.
I understand you are surrounded by good things of this
world, and having a sanctified place for your habitation, hope
you will be prepared for the enjoyments of another; we
are mouldering away our time in your absence, which has
rendered this place to me worse than a prison; we have
only this to comfort us, that we are as nigh heaven as you
are at Minas, and since we are denied the good things in
this world, doubt not we shall be happy in the next. It is
with grief I inform you, that on the second instant, Major
Frye
, being at Shepoudie, where he was ordered to burn
the buildings and bring off the women and children, the
number of which was only twenty-three, which he had sent
on board, and burned 253 buildings, and had sent fifty men
on shore to burn the Mess House and some other buildings
which was the last they had to do, when about three hundred
French and Indians came suddenly upon them, and
killed Doctor Marsh, shot Lieut. Billing through the body,
and through the arm, killed and wounded 22, and wounded
six more; they retreated to the dykes, and Major Frye
landed with what men we got on shore and made a stand,
but their numbers being superior to ours; we were forced
to retreat.

—Your sincere friend,

Jedediah Prebble.