as you can, without discommoding the vessels you go
And he then declared them the king's prisoners.
Their wives and families shared their lot; their sons, five hundred and twenty-seven in number, their daughters, five hundred and seventy-six; in the whole, women and babes and old men and children all included, nineteen hundred and twenty-three souls.
The blow was sudden; they had left home but for the morning, and they never were to return.
Their cattle were to stay unfed in the stalls, their fires to die out on their hearths.
They had for that first day even no food for themselves or their children, and were compelled to beg for bread.
The tenth of September was the day for the embarkation of a part of the exiles.
They were drawn up six deep, and the young men, one hundred and sixty-one in number, were ordered to march first on board the vessel.
They could leave their farms and cottages, the shady rocks on which they had reclined, their herds and their garners; but nature yearned within them, and they would not be separated from their parents.
Yet of what avail was the frenzied despair of the unarmed youth?
They had not one weapon; the bayonet drove them to obey; and they marched slowly and heavily from the chapel to the shore, between women and children, who, kneeling, prayed for blessings on their heads, they themselves weeping, and praying, and singing hymns.
The seniors went next; the wives and children must wait till other transport vessels arrive.
The delay had its horrors.
The wretched people left behind, were kept together near the sea, without proper food, or raiment, or shelter, till other ships came to take them away; and December with its appalling cold, had struck the