Now, a desolate wife might be heard calling for her husband.  He, alas! had gone, she knew not whither, or perhaps had fled into the woods of Acadia, and had now returned to weep over the ashes of their dwelling.  An aged widow was crying out, in a querulous, lamentable tone, for her son, whose affectionate toil had supported her for many a year.  He was not in the crowd of exiles; and what could this aged widow do but sink down and die?  Young men and maidens, whose hearts had been torn asunder by separation, had hoped, during the voyage, to meet their beloved ones at its close.  Now, they began to feel that they were separated forever.  And, perhaps, a lonesome little girl, a golden-haired child of five years old, the very picture of our little Alice, was weeping and wailing for her mother, and found not a soul to give her a kind word.

Oh, how many broken bonds of affection were here!  Country lost!—­friends lost!—­their rural wealth of cottage, field, and herds, all lost together!  Every tie between these poor exiles and the world seemed to be cut off at once.  They must have regretted that they had not died before their exile; for even the English would not have been so pitiless as to deny them graves in their native soil.  The dead were happy; for they were not exiles!

While they thus stood upon the wharf, the curiosity and inquisitiveness of the New England people would naturally lead them into the midst of the poor Acadians.  Prying busy-bodies thrust their heads into the circle, wherever two or three of the exiles were conversing together.  How puzzled did they look, at the outlandish sound of the French tongue!  There were seen the New England women, too.  They had just come out of their warm, safe homes, where every thing was regular and comfortable, and where their husbands and children would be with them at night-fall.  Surely, they could pity the wretched wives and mothers of Acadia!  Or, did the sign of the cross, which the Acadians continually made upon their breasts, and which was abhorred by the descendants of the Puritans—­did that sign exclude all pity?

Among the spectators, too, was the noisy brood of Boston school-boys, who came running, with laughter and shouts, to gaze at this crowd of oddly dressed foreigners.  At first they danced and capered around them, full of merriment and mischief.  But the despair of the Acadians soon had its effect upon these thoughtless lads, and melted them into tearful sympathy.

At a little distance from the throng, might be seen the wealthy and pompous merchants, whose warehouses stood on Long Wharf.  It was difficult to touch these rich men’s hearts; for they had all the comforts of the world at their command; and when they walked abroad, their feelings were seldom moved, except by the roughness of the pavement, irritating their gouty toes.  Leaning upon their gold-headed canes, they watched the scene with an aspect of composure.  But, let us hope, they distributed some of their superfluous coin among these hapless exiles, to purchase food and a night’s lodging.