My name is Antonio and I was alive during the fall of New France. This entry in my diary is about what my feelings and location was after the fall of New France or should I call it British North America. It was a windy mid summer’s day and I was a 9 year old boy in my parents’ house near Montreal. When I was right about done hoeing the land, we were told of the fall of New France. I was devastated, and crushed that my home nation was defeated by the accursed British. Even though we were told that all French people could go back to France on a boat, my father and mother decided we would be better off on our own embracing nature then going to France. After all, the drugs there have corrupted our civilization. We were informed by some British messenger that the Monarch asked if they would become British, but we refused because we wanted our culture to remain strong and to be in Canada for future generations.
In a few weeks my friend from the First Nations of which name I cannot pronounce or spell visited me in my town and told me of how they didn’t wanted their land to be taken in Ohio Valley. His clan defended their land because the British think that since the amazing French were taken down by them they could take whatever land they wanted. He told an epic tale about how he, his father, and other people from his clan came together and took over several of the British forts, but in the end they went back to their home for the winter since it was too cold in the forts. They ended up making a truce so that the British felt safer and didn’t have to worry about the French attacking their forts. This tale I think is true enough, but some parts I think aren’t true.
