Roger Davis, Loyalist

by Frank Baird

I saw the colour come up into Duncan's old face. 'Well said,' he exclaimed; 'well and nobly spoken.' Then turning to me as we walked away, 'Are there many like that on the river?'

'We're all like that,' I said. 'Why shouldn't we be? David is just one of thousands.'

'It will be a right loyal representative you'll be sending to the new parliament from here then, won't it? Who is likely to be chosen?'

But my mind was on preparations for the coming of the governor. 'Wouldn't it be well to have the people gathered here to give the governor a reception when he lands?'

''Twould be capital, capital,' Duncan assented eagerly. 'He's not coming officially, but he'd be immensely pleased. Isn't the time too short, though?' he added.

'David would go for Father Bourg and the Indians—they're only a few miles up—I could see the French at Sainte Ann's; the people about here will come in swarms—at a word. It can be done,' I said.

Three days later the shore of the river in front of our home was lined for a full half-mile with a strangely mixed crowd of expectant people. The governor's vessel was in full view on the river—and coming slowly up. Father Bourg was there with a group of Indians; there were many French from Sainte Ann's; the Loyalists were present from the surrounding country in hundreds.

As the governor stepped ashore, a mighty cheer went up that seemed to set the very bed of the river quivering. The people saw in this representative, the King they loved, and for whom they had sacrificed. After a loyal address, a reply, and much good humour on all sides, the people dispersed.

With the governor had come Colonel Francklin and Doctor Canfield. They had tents and provisions sufficient for two weeks in the woods, and it was arranged that Duncan Hale, myself and two Indian guides should accompany them across the country by portage some twenty miles into the very heart of the forest, to a trout stream that ran at a sharp angle to the river, emptying into it some ten miles below. Our plan was to strike the stream about thirty miles from its mouth, and fish down to the main St. John. But not all plans are carried out.

We reached the stream in safety, and I sent the team back to the settlement. It was late June, and the whole forest seemed to throb with life. The governor was delighted. He was a lover of the woods, and insisted upon taking long rambles back from the stream, following the winding, logging roads. It was owing to one of these rambles that our original plan was not carried out.