Roger Davis, Loyalist Part 9

A few days later, and before entering finally on my duties with the trading firm, with David Elton and some other farmers I went up the river to my grant secured in Halifax. Though I was little accustomed to the use of an axe, I felled the first tree myself. Before the second day had closed my hands were much blistered. However, I continued to work every day from early in the morning till late at night for two weeks.

This was the limit of time given me by Mr. Simonds. But before returning to the mouth of the river, I engaged with David Elton to spend at least a month in chopping upon my grant.

I then returned to the river's mouth, and a few weeks later found myself far in the forest with a crew of twenty men. First a camp of logs was built, then the huge pines were cut, partly hewn, and dragged to the river by means of oxen. Many spruce trees were cut for yards.

Much of the work was extremely laborious. My duties as clerk were to see that the masts and yards were properly marked and measured when cut, to keep a record of the time each man worked, and to record the number of sticks, large and small, hauled to the river each day. Thus employed, I spent the winters until one spring, when on my way down the river, I learned that the war was over, that the rebels had won, that agents sent to the St. John had reported favourably on the land, and that five thousand Loyalists were expected from the New England colonies.

Chapter XII

Facing the Future

On arriving at the river's mouth, I found everything bustle and confusion. Mr. Simonds confirmed the reports I had heard on my way down. 'The settlers are coming in thousands,' he said enthusiastically, 'in thousands.'

The words were to be verified sooner than I expected. That afternoon--it was the 18th of May--I was sitting with Duncan Hale on a bluff near the fort looking off seaward. Duncan was telling me of the school he had succeeded in forming during the winter.

'I have thirteen pupils,' he said; 'the exact number of wors.h.i.+ppers Doctor Canfield had at his first service in Mr. Simonds' house. But we are both determined not to be discouraged. If these late reports that were brought in by the schooner yesterday are true----'

He stopped, shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked seaward. 'Look, Roger!' he cried.

The day was fine, the air thin and clear. Looking straight over the harbour and directly across the bay, I saw the wavy line of the distant coast beyond. My eye followed this southerly, till its irregularity shaded into the steady, even line of the sea. On this, between the distant low sh.o.r.e and the bold horn of land that made the westerly side of the harbour, delicately but firmly etched on the sky, I made out the shape of at least a dozen s.h.i.+ps. Duncan looked more critically.

'They're coming,' he said.

'They're coming,' I repeated.

For a full half-hour, speaking only now and then, till the vessels already in sight had grown large, till numerous others had emerged to stand like specks on the firm, far, high line of the sea, we sat and looked eagerly down the wide, sparkling bay.

After a time Duncan rose. 'They're coming,' he said once more. 'Let us go.'

We hurried down from the bluff to the little trading post at Portland Point, the bearers of great tidings. Three hours later the headmost vessels were at the rude piers, and the people were swarming ash.o.r.e.

It became evident at a glance that all cla.s.ses were represented among the newcomers. The soft-handed and fine-faced Englishman of culture; ladies richly dressed, who bore themselves as proudly as at court, came ash.o.r.e rubbing shoulders with the rough, plain farmer men and women from the hillside farms of Vermont. Some carried bundles in which were all their possessions. Some bore peddler-like packs on their backs.

Others rolled barrels before them or dumped rough boxes ash.o.r.e; many women bore crying infants swathed in shawls. There were a few, of both men and women, cripples; many were old and stooped. There were some armless sleeves, and now and then came men who limped, or whose foreheads were bandaged. These had been in arms.

Almost immediately after landing the people began to scatter about.

Some of the younger and more spirited ran gaily up the slope toward the fort, where flew the old familiar flag. Some slowly made their way along the rough bush-hung paths, over rocks and through thickets, until they found spots high enough to afford an outlook upon the surrounding country. It was not difficult for me to understand the look of disappointment which I saw creep over many faces.

The surroundings of the harbour were not attractive. Wave-beaten, weed-covered rocks, with the tide surging in and out among them, were everywhere; high, bare cliffs, a single mill, a patch of brown marsh, a score or less shanty-like buildings, a few Indian wigwams, the fort, and behind these, huddled close, bare in some spots and wooded in others, the unbroken ranks of the hills stretched away into the sunset.

Many looked long on these, then turned seaward to see the s.h.i.+ps that had brought them, sweeping off on the ebb of the tide that had borne them in. The surroundings were forbidding, but the captains of the vessels, by their speedy departure, had made going back impossible.

That evening I was talking with Duncan Hale in his small but comfortable quarters.

'I'll have no lack of pupils now,' he said. 'Doctor Canfield has this afternoon selected a site for a church.'

'How many people have come?' I asked.

'Almost three thousand; and there are many more to follow during the summer. It is well your grant is secured. The whole river front will be taken before fall, I hear. A new province is likely to be formed here north of the bay also. Halifax will be too far away when it comes to arranging the details of grants for all these people. See,' he said, waving his hand toward the many tents the people were putting up, 'we've a city already.'

It was only a few days after the landing of the Loyalists at St. John, that I set off for Halifax on one of Mr. Simonds' lime-laden schooners.

The weather proved remarkably fine, and on the third day after sailing we were discharging our cargo in Halifax, where I discovered much interest manifested in what had been taking place north of the bay.

I found my mother particularly happy over having received a letter from my brother, who had joined the King's troops before my father's death.

We had not heard from him for almost two years. He had learned of our flight to Nova Scotia from an officer who had returned to New York from Halifax.

My sisters were overjoyed when I told them that our new house would be ready for us--I had left the building of it largely to David Elton--on our arrival. They were very anxious to be off; and off we soon were.

After an uneventful voyage we reached the St. John in safety.

During the two weeks of my absence many changes had taken place. There were scores of new buildings in process of erection. Everybody seemed happy and hopeful. The look of disappointment I had formerly seen on so many faces had completely disappeared. Duncan Hale was happy in the promise of a large new school building; Doctor Canfield already had the foundation of a Church well under way. Back on the hill slopes there were already numerous little gaps in the green of the forest. Vessels from New England were bringing in new Loyalists almost daily.

These invariably told the same sad stories of reckless cruelty. The end of the war and the declaration of peace had roused many to barbarities unheard of during the conflict. On the way up the river to my farm with my mother and sisters, I talked with an old man on the deck of the little schooner.

'The mobs,' he said, 'were bad enough at the beginning of the war, but weeks after peace was declared soldiers were found wreaking vengeance on our helpless people. I saw my own son, whose only crime was that he had fought for the King, tarred and feathered. As I sailed out of the harbour of Charleston--it is true, every word of it, as G.o.d is above me--I saw on looking backward the bodies of twenty-four Loyalists swinging from a row of gibbets on a single wharf. And there, too,'--his voice broke and tears came freely then, covering his face as if to hide the awful scene, he sobbed out, 'there, too, I had a son.'

No one spoke. I recalled the narrow escape of Duncan Hale, and could believe it all.

'They say General Was.h.i.+ngton was opposed to these cruelties,' the old man added after a time, raising his head.

He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a paper. 'Here is a copy of part of a letter written by him. It fell into the hands of one of our officers. The hand and signature were Was.h.i.+ngton's, so there can be no mistake. Read this, young man,' he said, thrusting the paper toward me. I opened it and read:--

'BOSTON, _March_ 31, 1776.

'DEAR SIR,--All those who took upon themselves the style and t.i.tle of Loyalists have s.h.i.+pped themselves off. One or two have done what a great number ought to have done long ago, committed suicide. By all accounts there never existed a more miserable set of beings than these wretched creatures now are.'

'It may be,' the old man said, as I returned the paper to him, 'that Was.h.i.+ngton was opposed to the scourging and hanging of our people, but that's his opinion of the Loyalists, anyway.'

Without further remark he rose, turned, and walked away. Though no one spoke--it had become a fixed rule among us to treat the war and those who had wronged us with silent disdain--I saw by the faces about me that there had been a violent stirring up of deep and bitter thoughts.'

We follow one current only of the times out of which the United States grew into strength and greatness. The siege of Boston was far advanced when General Gage wrote home, 'The rebels are shown not to be the disorderly rabble too many have supposed.' Not all at once did Was.h.i.+ngton bring into relief the finer qualities of his people. The struggle when it began covered a vast region, and chaos brooded over many districts. In the first division of men natural pa.s.sion broke out in acts of violence. There was even a time of terror, and numbers were driven into the struggle who had little living interest in the things at stake. Gradually the true issues appeared, and the work of reconstruction went forward under different forms to the changes we now see.

It was wearing toward evening when the little schooner drew in toward sh.o.r.e, directly opposite a clearing in the middle of which stood a small log house. 'There is our home, mother,' I said, 'and there is David Elton waiting for us at the foot of the path by the river.'

My mother did not speak--she looked in silence. But a glance told me that she was seeing, not the little house of logs before us on the slope, but a fine, old colonial mansion with fluted Corinthian corners, with two spreading lindens in front, and wide, rich meadows about it.

In a short time all our possessions had been put ash.o.r.e. Then the schooner, bearing others to their grants further up the river, swung away, and we turned to go up the path to our new but humble home.

'I did the best I could, madam,' David was explaining to my mother, a little later. 'It's hardly a place for fine ladies like you my wife was telling me, but with good lan' and plenty of lumber you needn't live here long.'

'This is all right; this is good enough for anybody to live a whole life in,' broke in Caroline, as she looked about the walls of wood, and up to the ceiling of bark. 'This is all fine. And, mother, just see the magnificent view from this door. Isn't it grand? The river, the hills, the woods!'

That night we slept soundly and well. The next day, with prayers over, I climbed with a Union Jack to the top of a tall tree, flung it out to the breeze, then came down and began--as all the thousands of Loyalists began--the long, hard fight with the wilderness.