11 May 1812

Every evening after supper I sit on my stool in the parlour with the rest of the family until we all retire. Tonight Mama and Maria and I sewed while Hamilton told us more stories about Kingston. Then he brought up the subject I dread. "Everyone in Kingston believes there will be a war," he said.

Mama covered her eyes, even though her headache had gone. "Pray that there is not," she said. "Oh, please pray that there is not! We have had too much war. I cannot bear the thought of another."

My heart leapt in my throat. All my life, it seems, I have sat on my stool and listened to the adults talk about war. Mama's older brother, Richard, fought in Papa's regiment against the rebels and was killed by them in Virginia. Mama was as devoted to Richard as I am to Hamilton. She often tells me about the terrible day when she found out he was dead.

Papa has also told me about his brother, Shubal, who was shot when he returned to New York from New Brunswick after the war. Two uncles I will never know, all because of the war.

Mama began to weep, and Hamilton soothed her by reading poems from the book he had brought her. I leaned against her and no one knew how violently my heart was beating.

Will there really be a war? The adults have been talking about it for months, but I do not entirely understand it. When I think of war I feel the same icy dread as when Mama talks about Richard. What if my brother had to fight? Perhaps Papa would as well, although I hope he would be considered too old.

I cannot bear the prospect. I will do as Mama asks and pray tonight that God will spare us such a calamity.


From Dear Canada: Whispers of War, copyright © 2002 by Kit Pearson.

Back to Top >