Le 10 octobre 1755
À bord du Leynord

Below the hill, I could see the mouth of the river all jammed with ships. Longboats scuttled like water beetles between them and the shore — longboats loaded with people!

A party of soldiers came tramping along. One pointed his musket at me and said I must hurry or be shot. I suppose he did not mean it, for the others laughed as I took to my heels. At last I caught up with a crowd moving slowly down to the beach. The road was choked with two-wheeled carts piled high with household goods. On some, ailing grandparents rode. Women, many carrying their babies, struggled to pull them along. Everyone, even the tiniest children, carried bundles on their backs. Babies wailed, and a low moan rose up from the people, the sound of weeping and praying.

I wormed my way through the crowd, stopping my ears when people begged my help. I felt wicked, but I had to find my family! At last I reached the shore, which was jammed with people and carts and baggage. As longboats came aground, soldiers forced people aboard them at musket point. They went, weeping, leaving most of their belongings behind. Worse, far worse, than the weeping was the screaming when those who were together were forced aboard different boats.

I swear I will never forget these sights, these sounds, until I am cold in my grave. My hand cramps and my heart is sick with sorrow. I can write no more.


From Dear Canada: Banished from Our Home, copyright © 2004 by Sharon Stewart.

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