Pt.1, Ch.3, The Founding Of Port Royal
Today one can stand on the grassy slopes covering the
ramparts of old Fort Anne, at Annapolis Royal, and look out
beyond the mouth of the Annapolis River to a widening tidal
basin. The Annapolis basin is in the shape of a stubby carrot
thirteen miles long and four miles at its widest; and off from
its northwestern shoulder, tides of sea water ebb and flow
through a narrow two mile cut, Digby Gut, a portal through the
North Mountain range to the Bay of Fundy, one of the largest
bays of the Atlantic ocean. The North Mountain range forms
a backbone on which, it seems, the larger peninsula of Nova
Scotia hangs. The cold north winds meet this sweeping range
and are veered up, sheltering the southeastern valley beyond.
This ensconcing hump of land extends itself northeastward,
covering the continuing valley below, until it dazzlingly drops
itself off from the precipitous purple heads of Cape Blomidon,
down, out of sight, through the jeweled shores of the Minas
Channel. This capturing hollow, the Annapolis Valley, is filled
with something not much of which is to be found in the rocky
northeast coast of North America, sweet alluvial soil. Meandering
along its hundred mile length, and splitting its ten mile width,
are its two main rivers, the one flowing southwest, the other
northeast: the Annapolis and the Cornwallis. Standing there
today on the grassy slopes of the mouth of the Annapolis River,
with the full length of the fertile valley behind, one can imagine
a small wooden ship, having passed through the gateway of
Digby Gut into the calm expanse of the Annapolis Basin. Let us
go back to 1604 and see the sight: a small sailing vessel ghosting
along this amphitheater of woody hills, to slowly come up to a
spot, not far off, just west of the present day ramparts of Old Fort
Anne; to a place back then which was but a head of land marking
where the fresh water coming west intermingles with the saltwater of the Atlantic. Here we see our intrepid French explorers,
led by de Monts, looking over the rails of their small boat at,
what appears to be, unoccupied land; here, they see a place much
to their liking. A year later, there on the northern shore of the
Annapolis Basin, tucked under the North Mountain range, this
group of Frenchmen were to establish one of the first permanent
European settlements in North America.
Pt.3, Ch.1, Louisbourg: Its Founding
Our scene opens on the wild and wonderful shores on the
Atlantic side of Cape Breton Island, much of it now as it was in
1713. Imagine yourself a soaring gull, beginning your flight at
the southern corner of this intriguing island, from Red Island to
Red Head, along the quiet reaches of the Grand River and out
to the Atlantic shores again. See the brilliant waters, the rocks,
the sands, the dunes, the bogs and your fellow gulls. See the
rugged beauty, the bird islands such as Esprit and Guyon, and
the blinding beaches such as may be found along Framboise
Cove; see the swelling Atlantic fetch up on Bull Rock with a low
rumble, with stunning sprays reaching up and then down into
the sea foam; pass with your fellow gulls over the headlands of
Bull Hill and Cape Gabarus and descend down along the waters
of Gabarus Bay and along into the quiet waters of what was to
be named, Louisbourg Harbor. This long gliding shot of several
minutes finishes up with the scene of a band of Indians gazing
out over their meager summer settlement, looking somewhat
puzzled as a French sailing ship, the Semslack glides into the
safety of the harbor.
Pt.3, Ch.3, Louisbourg: Its Trade
Louisbourg was busy; its character was metropolitan and
cosmopolitan. How impressed the newly arriving mariner must
have been as he first caught sight of Louisbourg from the sea.
Stone walls concealing spiraling structures within, and then, as
his sailing vessel closed with the land, the scene grew larger,
guns and ramparts were made out in detail. This impressive
scene, like no other on the North American continent, clears
off to his left as he sails through the channel with the island
battery bristling with crowning cannon, and then, all before him,
with the wind out of the east, the full spectacle, as his fishing or
trading vessel rounds and fetches up against her anchor rode. The
skyline of the interior is now fully exposed, ensconced within
the stone walls and bastions of Louisbourg, and speared through
with the spires of the hospital and the Chateau St. Louis. All
around beneath are the squared houses and fenced gardens, the
docks with their arches and sheds, and the dories, and the coils
of rope, the mounds of hay, racks of fish, and everywhere: boxes
and contrivances; all of it, animated by soaring gulls, roaming
animals and busy people.
Pt.4, Ch.9, Siege Work
At Louisbourg, during the first week of May, 1745, there
was a disuniformed collection of Englishmen in charge of
the surrounding grounds. The initial success of these reveling
invaders, achieved without any loss, had come about more to
good luck than to good management. They had many detractors
both at home and abroad; many, who would have bet good
money (and would continue to do so, despite this initial success)
that bunches of farmers and fishermen headed up by lawyers and
merchants would not succeed at cracking this French military
nut. The boys from New England may have been enthusiastic and
excited; more so, now that they were before the walls, standing
there back at a safe distance, their mouths agape, marveling at
this medieval apparition. The next stage, however, the detractors
might well have said, would require some real soldiering. There
was no place in all of English North America that could compare
to Louisbourg with its European style fortifications. Many of
the young colonial boys must have been rudely started by their
guffawing elders. There was work to be done; there was a siege
to be gotten underway.
Pt.4, Ch.11, The Island Battery
As many New Englanders died that dark night as did die
since their arrival. Indeed, as many died of battle wounds within
the interval of that bloody hour or two on the shore of that small
island at the mouth of Louisbourg Harbor, as did during the entire
period of the siege. There was no appreciation of the extent of
their losses until morning. It was foggy. And there came drifting
in from the direction of the Island Battery along the shores of
the harbor lifeless junks of men. Bodies: some headless, some
armless, some legless. The count was sixty dead and the French
had 116 new prisoners to deal with. ...
On the 29th of May, at Louisbourg, the good spring weather
had finally established itself, things were greening up and the
lady slippers and trilliums which abound thereabouts were
showing themselves. A number of the provincial sailing vessels
were slowly swinging on their anchors as the reflections of the
sun glittered on the surface of Gabarus Bay. Readily to be seen
would have been the Shirley, John Rouse’s vessel, with her 24
guns also picking up the sunlight. Some of her 150 men were aloft
gathering in sail — when, suddenly, a crack was heard and seven
men fell and three were killed in a moment. Three more bodies
are thus to be brought to the New England cemetery which had
now been added to the countryside of Louisbourg. A cemetery,
at which, on that day, May 29th, there were gathered hundreds
of quiet and reflecting men; gathered to see more than 50 of
their dead comrades committed to the freshly turned earth. A
melancholy scene. For the first four weeks the English invaders
were buoyant; they were in charge of the entire countryside;
they had smelt success. On the 27th, Pepperrell, in surveying
the rumbled remnants of the four hundred which had set out the
night before, declared: “Now things looked something dark.”
Pt.4, Ch.13, The Capitulation
Such as is the case in the making of all great historical events, results (winning or losing) come about because of the effects
of many events occurring over a period of time all interacting
with one another. It is life — is it not! Some events are small at the happening and large in the result; others large in the happening,
small in the result. Some predictable, some unpredictable, some
as a result of nature, some of a group’s making or even that of an
individual. The outcome of the siege of Louisbourg in 1745 was
the result of many factors and one can weave their own tapestry
of events both minor and major. I have dealt with a number of
these events and they are spread throughout this work. The three
principal events which brought about the capitulation, I believe,
are: the cooperation that existed between William Pepperrell and
Peter Warren, the weather and the early desertion of the Royal
Battery.
Pt.5, Ch.9, English Fortification
Edward How was “an intelligent and agreeable person.” He
ably represented the English claims to Nova Scotia; but, in so
doing, he proceeded with “the greatest of fidelity and care.” He
was forever mindful that minds, faculties, and manners differed,
not only from one race to another, but from one man to another.
How, on the day of his death, was doing what he did best, as the
DCB describes, he went out under “a flag of truce ... to secure the
release of some English prisoners.” This was a regular event for
Edward How, as he proceeded out to parley with what he thought
was a fellow officer, a French officer, when, but in a brief and for
him a last moment, he saw, but not to hear, arise from the cover
of the dyke and the tall marsh grass in between, a line of men;
and then, along the line, puffs of white smoke. Treacherous men
sent their messengers into his chest. And so, we end this part
with the scene of Edward How: slain, lying in the deep grass that
lines the Missaguash River; there, splayed on his back, lifeless
and still, his tunic of homespun serge ripped apart by a score of
leaden blunt balls, and his bright red blood oozing its last.
Pt.6, Ch.5, A Long Time Plan
Way before they staked out their respective claims in North
America, beginning in the early 17th century, as any reader of
European history will know, the French and the English were
long time enemies. Very old wounds were to break out as they
jostled one another in the wilds of North America. The English
claims were rooted in the discoveries of Cabot (1497); the French
in Cartier (1534). A European hunger for fish and furs drove
mariners and traders, of both countries, to the northern eastern
shores of North America. Small wooden sailing vessels made
their way out over the broad Atlantic in the spring of the year
and with the early autumn westerlies returned to the docks of
Europe, their holds filled with product: the ivory and hides of the
walrus; the long horn of the narwhal, the down of eider ducks;
the skins of the beaver, the otter, the fisher, the martin, the mink,
the muskrat and the bear (brown, black and white); and, of
course, bundles of dried fish and barrels of pickled fish. These
early European venturers likely got on with one another, just as
traders usually do. As a practical matter, however, no European
settlement of North America was to take place for many, many
years.
Pt.6, Ch.9, Winslow’s Arrival
The Bay of Fundy splits itself against a rock like a carrot
piercing itself into ill-cultivated ground; the rock in this case
is Cape Chignecto, which sends the fast rising tides of water
of the Bay of Fundy left and right of the Cobequid Mountains.
The cleavage of the Fundy results in two separate bodies of tidal
water; the one continuing northeast as the true extension of the
larger bay, the Bay of Fundy; and the other which fits its way,
twice a day, through a pincered channel and into Minas Basin
which runs directly east. The northeast extension of the Bay
of Fundy is known as Chignecto Bay, and it splits itself again
on Cape Maringouin into two smaller tidal basins, Shepody
Bay and Cumberland Basin (which in the days under review
was known as Beaubassin). The eastern extension of the Bay
of Fundy is known as Minas Basin; it is isoscelar like with
its base to the west and its apex to the east; its sides run fifty
miles or so, and its base is twenty. It was on the south-western
shoulder of Minas Basin that the greatest Acadian population
was to occur: below the sheltering highland of Blomidon, areas
flooded by their respective rivers: Pereaux, Habitant, Canard,
St. Antoine (Cornwallis, these days) and the Gaspereau. This
area was populated by the Acadians for a very good reason.
They contain flood plains which have been silted up by the high
tides of the Fundy system for centuries, and centuries. No back
breaking clearing of the land was much required and the soil
with a minimum of toil yielded its produce in great abundance,
year after year. These are the legendary Acadian lands which we
simply know as Minas. ...
So, Winslow’s objective of setting up a camp at the center
of one of the major Acadian communities, Grand Pré, was, by
the 21st of August, well under way. When Winslow arrived at
Grand Pré in 1755 it consisted of a cluster of rustic wooden homes
on rising ground south of a flat plain which the Acadians had
captured from the sea through the use of dykes. These Acadians,
all related to one degree or another, farmed this rich plain that
stretched away to the north, towards another rise which was
once an island. The Acadians had built and expanded upon dykes
leading away from the mainland to each end of the island. Their
homes were not on this plain, I repeat, but on the rising lands (thus to be free of potential floods) to the south and north of it. In
the background, beyond the dykes, beyond the ensconced green,
east and west, will be seen, at low tide, masses of red mud which
cover the long shores everywhere in the Fundy system. Beyond
again, to the north and east, is the blue of the Minas Basin water;
and beyond that, to the north is Cape Blomidon, its red cliffs
pincering off the western extremity of Minas basin; and then as
one’s eyes scan to the northeast, well over the blue waters and
very much in the distance, a line of hills marking the Cobequid
range which shelters and closes in the fifty mile long northern
shore line of the Minas Basin.
Pt.6, Ch.12, Grand Pré (Part 2)
With most all of the Acadians gone and those that were left,
five to six hundred, compressed into their cousins’ homes in the
Grand Pré area, the English could proceed with the execution of
the final part of their plan without being bothered by “weeping
& waling” Acadians. Detachments spread out into the Acadian
countryside; and, then, proceeded to torch every standing
structure they came upon. Close up, there was the crackle and
heat of raging fires; and, in the nearby fields, animals, some
on the scurry, others looking on over their shoulders, seemingly
wondering; and, in the distance, all about, stretching everywhere,
twirling white plumes reach into the blue. Within two weeks,
excluding those at Grand Pré, 698 wooden structures went up in
smoke.
Pt.6, Ch.17, The Wanderings
During the deportations of 1755, in total, around 6,000 Acadians
were shipped out of the province. It might be estimated that
close to twice that number constituted the Acadian population at
its peak, in 1749. A couple of thousand, through the years 1749-
53, fearing the worst, fled into the French territories that then
existed: Île St. Jean (Prince Edward Island) and Île Royale (Cape
Breton). The Acadians that did not get caught up in the English
net, in 1755, may have amounted to three or four thousand. The
bulk of those made their way out of the province: the Chignecto
Acadians either to Île St. Jean or up the coast of northern New
Brunswick (as we know it today); and, the Cobequid Acadians,
likely to Île St. Jean and Île Royale. Certain of the Acadians,
those in the areas of Cape Sable and the Annapolis River, having
avoided the English, retreated to the woods, whence they waged,
for several years, guerilla warfare. By the end of 1755, however,
the Acadian strength in Nova Scotia was certainly broken, for
all time. The Acadians which were transported in 1755, were
distributed down along the eastern coast of North America,
beginning with Massachusetts.
Pt.7, Ch.6, Setting & Start (The Second Siege of Louisbourg, 1758)
Prime Minister Pitt had been ever so careful with details.
The redundancy of the enterprise was such that if a part of the
attack force was missing, even a key officer, then the instructions
were that the attack should be gotten underway rather than to
sacrifice an early start. Amherst, the appointed leader, was not
at Halifax. This detail, too, had been covered off: the next most
senior officer in place was to take command. While on May
21st Boscawen issued orders in respect to the departure of the
force for Louisbourg, it is to be remembered — that these were
the days of sailing ships and their use depended on the right
wind and tide. By the 24th, we see Wolfe writing, the “troops have been all embarked there three or four days (except Bragg’s
and two hundred men from Lunenburg, who we suppose to be
at hand), but the war ships are not quite ready, and, if they were,
the wind, rain, and fog of this last week would have kept us
here.” By Monday, the 29th, however, the advance was begun.
At dawn the signal to unmoor was given from Boscawen’s flag
ship, the 90-gun Namur. The whole, 27 thousand men, as James
Cunningham, our contemporary witness observed, were in good
“harmony, spirit, and confidence.” At nine o’clock in the morning
all of the ships of the fleet were underway. From the battery
atop Citadel Hill at Halifax there boomed out a seventeen gun
salute. A large manoeuvering fleet of square riggers, no matter
the copious harbor, meant for tight quarters. The ships moved
slowly as there was not much wind. So light was the breeze that
crews were put out in their row boats to assist in the movement
hoping that the wind would come up once they cleared the land
and got themselves into the broad expanse of the sea. By 10:30
the ships’ boats were still towing, and by the afternoon they had
not made much head way, being yet only off Cape Sambro.
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