and foreland, and at last brings into view the tranquil harbour of dreams, the Bay of Shelburne.
In April, 1783, eighteen square-rigged vessels flying the British flag left New York. The five thousand passengers were Tory refugees from the thirteen colonies. After a voyage of a week's duration the fleet sighted Cape Sable, then bore to the north-east and entered the postern of a peculiarly long and beautiful basin. On the right bank, at the head of the harbour, the company disembarked their chattels, not the least valued of which were the surveying instruments that were to plot a new city. Streets were named and houses built in disproportion to the inhabitants already arrived, but Shelburne, so named for the then Secretary of State for the Colonies, later Marquis of Lansdowne, was a city built upon faith—and the foundations were fashioned strong. This was to be the major port of Nova Scotia, exceeding Halifax in commerce and power. Previously, a French colony, and an Irish one called New Jerusalem had proven unsuccessful on this site. But this did not daunt the Royalists, who came in increasing numbers until a community of over 10,000 people dwelt inside the bounds of the new-born city. Several million dollars were expended by the optimists who were content to live without labour so long as the Government rations and their own means lasted. Many families brought their slaves; one master had fifty-seven. A Tory Utopia was here, bathed in the
