CHAPTER 1

"The peremptory orders of his majesty are, that all the FrenchPre Inhabitants of these districts be removed; and through hisMajesty's goodness I am directed to allow you the liberty ofcarrying with you your money and as many of your householdgoods as you can take without overloading the vessels you go in.I shall do everything in my power that all these goods be securedto you, and also that whole families shall go in the same vessel; sothat this removal, which I am sensible must give you a great dealof trouble, may be made as easy as his Majesty's service will admit;and I hope in that whatever part of the world your lot may fall, youmay be faithful subjects, and a peaceable and happy people."

Lieut. Colonel John Winslow to theinhabitants of Grand Pre, Nova Scotia,September 5, 1755 in Arthur HamiltonWentworh Eaton. The History of KingsCounty, Nova Scotia.

August, 1759

Andre Dupuis and his wife Marie's family had travelled east to makesummer camp by a river he knew by its French name, the Gaspereau. Healso knew what lay downstream, and that he had to return, if only once.Marie had insisted she go with him, even though the half day trek couldnot have been easy for her, swollen as she was with an unborn child.

In the early afternoon the forest thinned and they stood atop a wideprairie sloping down to the sea.

"This is the Grand Pre," he said to her in her tongue, gesturing over thefields of ripe grass, and then pointing seaward. "The water is the Baie desMines. The land beyond is the Grand Habitant, and that," he said, pointingto the promontory where the land met the sea, "Is Cap Blomindon. I wentthere hunting once with my father."

Squawking gulls soared on the rising wind. Warm gusts stirred the tallgrass and rustled forsaken orchards. He half ran into the wind, followingthe river bank toward the earthen dikes built by his ancestors. He couldstill see his father and uncles repairing the sluices that held back the tidesfrom the fertile marsh. The dikes were still there, but the fields they hadprotected lay drowned under glittering sea water.

"Andre, wait," Marie called from behind. He turned. The wind liftedher black braids and pressed her blanket against her belly. When she caughtup, he took her hand and they walked more slowly on together.

He was remembering how he and his younger sister Catherine, hiddenin the forest above the Pre, had watched as English soldiers with theirbayonets herded all the boys and men they could find into the church, thenmarched them down to the shore and put them aboard waiting ships. Thewomen and girls, small children and elderly had stood helplessly weeping atthe roadside. He had sent Catherine to join their mother and sisters whilehe retreated deeper into the woods. He had been helpless to do anythingbut watch over several days as the soldiers guarded the village and whatwas left of his family. Then new ships came and the women and childrenwere taken away. His last memory of the place of his birth was seeing everybarn and house, the church and all the fields in flames as the last of theships sailed away.

The two of them headed up the hill, passing between piles of blackenedstone that had once been the footings and chimneys of the village of GrandPre.

At the top of the slope, he stopped before a deep rectangular foundationfitted with stones larger and more exactingly selected than those of theother structures. Within its overgrown perimeter, charred beams laycollapsed upon each other. He stepped in. He lifted aside some debrisand squatted, touching a hard, curved edge protruding from the ground.He took a handful of coarse earth and rubbed it against the dark surface.Beneath his fingers, the sheen of bronze appeared. He reached and pulledthe object upright. It was a small steeple bell inscribed in the language ofthe French people.

He stepped back over the stone foundation, turned and circled thestructure to where the ground lay in gentle mounds and a few ruined woodcrosses were scattered. Marie stood mutely, eyes downcast as he knelt, madethe sign of the cross and pressed his hands together in prayer.

Marie also made the sign of the cross, then turned her dark eyestowards the bay and made her way towards a stand of overgrown appletrees close by. Small, late fruit hung from the branches. More lay scatteredon the ground. She pulled several apples down and tucked them into ahollow in her blanket. Then she polished one against her thigh, bit andchewed slowly, turning to gaze in Andre's direction.

Near the fruit trees stood a solitary birch, its leaves a school of yellowminnows swimming up the wind. Marie went to it and sat with her backagainst its white trunk. She laid the fruit on the ground, removed hershoulder bag and took from it a knife, a chunk of pemmican, a small loafand a leather water bag.

Shielding her eyes, she peered out to sea. Beyond the purple flanks ofthe Grand Habitant and the cape, the sky was darkening and the horizonwas obscured. The gulls, were now a soaring multitude wafting furtherinland.

"We should rest, but only for a short time," Andre called as heapproached her. He sat and began to eat. When he had finished, he layback, throwing his forearm across his eyes. She lay beside him and openedher blanket to cover them both.

A sudden crack of thunder jolted them awake. Rain pelted their faces.The sky, the cape, the bay were shades of dark gray. The wind tore at thetrees. He shouted to her and struggled to his feet.

"We must hurry. The river will rise, and we won't be able to cross!"

He helped cover her with her blanket, and threw his own around hisshoulders, and then pulled her by the hand as they made their way backin the direction of the river. The wind by then was so intense they had torun ahead of it to keep their footing.

Suddenly, he fell, pulling her down with him. On his hands and knees,he clawed at the grass with his fingers. He uncovered a squared peg of whitewood, the top of a stake, driven into the soil. A tin square was nailed to thetop. Stamped onto it, in a language he knew could only be English was:"Horton Township – Lot 48". He stared transfixed for a moment. Then,distracted by Marie pulling at his arm, he struggled to his feet and carriedon, now limping and grimacing with each step. At the edge of the Pre, heturned, shielding himself from the blast of wind and rain. He glared backinto the storm, his young eyes wild and cried,

"May God curse those who come here."

CHAPTER 2

Found poem.Proclamation of the LordsCommissioners of TradeAnd Plantations.Boston, 1758

June, 1760

Six ships from Connecticut lay at anchor at the mouth of the Gaspereau.Aboard the brig Baltimore, Zadoc Bennet, his wife Mercy, their four sonsand the other settlers were called on deck for disembarkation. It was notyet dawn when the Captain, whom Mercy hadn't heard speak during theentire voyage, strode into the light of the ship's lanterns.

"Good morning," he said, his face impassive. "And welcome to thecolony of Nova Scotia. The ships must weigh anchor with high tide the dayafter tomorrow. That being the case, all persons, provisions, equipment andlivestock must be ashore by then. I would ask that the women and childrenbegin lining up at the ship's ladder to board the boats."

Many of the women balked in terror at the thought of stepping off theship into the darkness, and none moved toward the rail. Mercy could thinkof nothing but the black water lapping noisily against the ship's side.

"Let me be clear," the Captain said, his voice rising. "You must getinto the boats and quickly. If necessary I will order my men to carry youbodily down the ladder."

Mercy looked over to Zadoc, standing apart with the other men nearthe quarterdeck. He met her gaze. She had never before seen the desolateexpression he now wore. She realized she and the others had no choiceand had to do as they were told. She joined the queue with ten year-oldEphraim and nine year old Nathan in front of her and eighteen month-oldBenjamin in her arms. She looked for John, her eldest. She couldn'tsee him, but she knew that being thirteen, he would want to be with hisfather and the other men. Ephraim and Nathan scrambled down the ladderwithout hesitation. A sailor took Benjamin from Mercy and carried himdown. She then backed down, clinging to the ladder's cold, damp steps.The boat rolled under her as she stepped into it and she crouched to findher balance. The boys were sitting in front of the helmsman. Ephraim washolding on to his wailing little brother with both arms. Unsteadily, shemade her way to them.

The children grew quiet as the boat pushed off, clinging to anyonenear them and whimpering softly. The women, shawls pulled tight aroundtheir shoulders, stared transfixed at the fog-haloed lantern at the bow,grimly marking the rhythmic clatter of oarlocks in the gun whales and theforward surge at each stroke of the oars.

As the boat found bottom, two black men sent ahead for the purposeappeared by the gun whales and hauled the boats further in. Not a wordwas exchanged as the women and children were helped into the icy, shindeep water and led ashore to a sheltering grove of trees a short way up fromthe shore. Mercy and the others, stranded in the mist, could see neitherthe land upon which they were to spend the rest of their lives nor the shipsthat brought them there.

They heard the shouts of men in the distance and the panicked bellowingof the livestock being hoisted over the ships' sides and lowered into the sea."Stay amidst the trees," they had been told. "Lest you be trampled."

In the sun's early light, the fog glowed white. Mercy tried to seethrough it in the direction of the voices off shore but could see nothing.The children, sensing the tension, huddled around their mothers. Then,as desperate hooves found land, a thunderous clamor arose. The earthshuddered and the children screamed as the beasts stampeded around thegrove on either side, hulking phantoms leaping momentarily in and outof view as they raced past. The uproar ended as abruptly as it had begun.Soon the women were talking and some had dispersed in pairs to gatherdriftwood for a cooking fire. The fog thinned as the men came ashore,landing the first of the provisions. The children, particularly the boys,laughed and shouted as they chased each other up and down the beach.

Mercy was three months pregnant. She had been wretchedly ill fromthe very start of the voyage and still felt weak. Had the voyage lastedanother few days, she might not have survived. She and Anna Horton,the eighteen year-old second wife of her husband Zadoc's cousin Caleb satapart from the others. Mercy had lain down and was resting her head inAnna's lap. Little Benjamin and the youngest of Anna's stepsons tumbledin the grass beside them.

"No good will come of this," Mercy said. "We are sure to perish thiswinter."

"Cousin," Anna whispered, looking about to see if Mercy had beenheard. "You shouldn't say such things. You will vex your husband andfrighten the children."

Mercy stared up into a web of foliage. The branches seemed contortedto her, out of their natural arrangement.

"I'll tell you something I've never told a living soul. I sense things,terrible things in dreams. I once dreamt I saw chimneys falling, and peoplerunning from their houses. Not a fortnight later, it happened."

"The quake. I was just a girl then, but I remember," Anna replied. "Butcould the dream not have come by chance?"

"There have been many others. And how I dread them. But they cometo me as I sleep, just as they did to my poor mother and her mother beforeher. Every day and night I pray that the dreams won't come. Yet comethey do."

Mercy sighed and after a moment said, "Anna, you must forgive mefor burdening you with this. Sometimes I think I shall go mad if I can'ttalk to someone."

"Whatever help I can be, I will gladly be. But Mercy, don't even thinkof speaking about this to anyone else. You might be...."

"Thought to be possessed or worse," Mercy smiled ruefully. "That fearis always with me."

Anna smoothed Mercy's damp hair and tucked it under the brow ofher cap.

"I know you to be a good woman, Mercy. But such things happen,particularly to humble folk like us. If rumors started, and the Selectmendecided...."

"Just hear me out this once," Mercy said.

Anna sighed, again checking for anyone who might overhear. "If it'swhat you really want, cousin. But you must keep your voice down."

"For three nights, the last three," Mercy said. "I've seen my mother.She's on her knees, praying. She sees me and reaches out weeping. I can'thear her cries, but there is such despair in her eyes."

"Surely it's grief that brings on such a dream," Anna said. "With yourmother passing so suddenly and you having to bury her two days beforewe sailed."

"She knew she was dying. The Hacket women always know. She knewand so did I. We grieved together while she was still alive. No cousin, if mymother weeps, it is not for herself. I fear she's weeping for us. It's a warning.Mark my words, we will suffer here."

"But everyone has such high hopes," Anna said. "There's fertile land,more than we could have ever imagined having. There is to be a town anda school."

"So the Lords of Trade would have us believe," Mercy said. "And themen so eager to believe it. They think they'll be free from the Old Lightsand the Selectmen. But they forget the Lord. Do you suppose He willbless us for seeking gain by the misery of others? We know very well whoseland it is. We know their names. We've seen and spoken to them. Frenchwomen, children, elders, put off ships with nothing but the clothes on theirbacks, made to live away from the town and...."

"Cousin, they are traitors, papists, and the women...." Anna stoppedand shook her head. "You shouldn't say such things, even to me. Youshouldn't even think them."

"Our lot won't change," Mercy went on as though she hadn't heard."We poor planters will stay poor. Zadoc told me there are wealthy menfrom Hartford who have sailed with us. Not for any good reason, you canbe sure. And think who we've brought with us. The likes of Abner Standonand Ezekial Head. Slave owners, God help us! Zadoc says they and othershave brought lumber already cut to build themselves fine houses on thetown site. All with the toil of their poorest neighbors, you can be sure. Andnot a clergyman among us to preach the way of the Lord."

"But there would have been," Anna said. "Had Mr. Ackerly not diedat sea."

Mercy looked away. "And there won't be another if Zadoc and Calebhave their way."

"Mercy!" Anna pleaded.

"I'm sorry. I'll be still."

There was an edge in Anna's voice. "Our husbands are good men.Caleb has said to me that the Lord resides with all people of good will,and that there are New Lights amongst us who will help us to liverighteously. He says it is the Old Light religion that has kept us poorand powerless."

Mercy sat up, smiling. She touched the younger woman's cap, almostplayfully. "Better Old Light than no light at all, I should say," she said,standing. "You've been a great comfort to me, Anna. I'm starting to feelbetter, I truly am."

"Mother, mother!" It was Ephraim and Nathan running towardthem.

"We can't find John," Ephraim said. Father told us to look for him andwe've looked everywhere."

Mercy smiled. "Never mind Ephraim. You can't have lookedeverywhere. John is off somewhere exploring. You know what he's like.He's probably hiding, just to trouble us. Why don't the two of you go andfind your father and see what he's doing."

Ephraim brightened. "We can watch the lottery. They're doing it downon the beach."

"They have maps that show all the lots." Nathan added, `Father sayswe're to have four of them!"