'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 ashore.
It became evident at a glance that all classes 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 ashore 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 ashore; 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 ships 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.