of New England. Many people were ready to give up
the country for lost.

But the hostile fleet met with so many disasters and losses by storm and
shipwreck, that the Duke d'Anville is said to have poisoned himself in
despair. The officer next in command threw himself upon his sword and
perished. Thus deprived of their commanders, the remainder of the ships
returned to France. This was as great a deliverance for New England as
that which Old England had experienced in the days of Queen Elizabeth,
when the Spanish Armada was wrecked upon her coast.

"In 1747," proceeded Grandfather, "Governor Shirley was driven from the
Province House, not by a hostile fleet and army, but by a mob of the
Boston people. They were so incensed at the conduct of the British
Commodore Knowles, who had impressed some of their fellow-citizens,
that several thousands of them surrounded the council chamber and threw
stones and brickbats into the windows. The governor attempted to pacify
them; but not succeeding, he thought it necessary to leave the town and
take refuge within the walls of Castle William. Quiet was not restored
until Commodore Knowles had sent back the impressed men. This affair was
a flash of spirit that might have warned the English not to venture upon
any oppressive measures against their colonial brethren."

Peace being declared between France and England in 1748, the governor
had now an opportunity to sit at his ease in Grandfather's chair. Such
repose, however, appears not to have suited his disposition; for in the
following year he went to England, and thence was despatched to France
on public business. Meanwhile, as Shirley had not resigned his office,
Lieu-tenant-Governor Phips acted as chief magistrate in his stead.

CHAPTER VIII. THE OLD FRENCH WAR AND THE ACADIAN EXILES

IN the early twilight of Thanksgiving Eve came Laurence, and Clara, and
Charley, and little Alice, hand in hand, and stood in a semicircle
round Grandfather's chair. They had been joyous throughout that day of
festivity, mingling together in all kinds of play, so that the house had
echoed with their airy mirth.

Grandfather, too, had been happy though not mirthful. He felt that this
was to be set down as one of the good Thanksgivings of his life. In
truth, all his former Thanksgivings had borne their part in the present
one; for his years of infancy, and youth, and manhood, with their
blessings and their griefs, had flitted before him while he