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In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for theSouthern District of New York.

PREFACE.

As I have a sort of religion in literature, believing that no author canjustly intrude upon the public without feeling that his writings may beof some benefit to mankind, I beg leave to apologize for this littlebook. I know, no critic can tell me better than I know myself, how muchit falls short of what might have been done by an abler pen. Yet it issomething—an index, I should say, to something better. The French inAmerica may sometime find a champion. For my own part, I would that thegentler principles which governed them, and the English under WilliamPenn, and the Dutch under the enlightened rule of the States General,had obtained here, instead of the narrower, the more penurious, and mostprescriptive policy of their neighbors.

I am indebted to Judge Haliburton's "History of Nova Scotia" for themain body of historical facts in this volume. Let me acknowledge myobligations. His researches and impartiality are most creditable, andworthy of respect and attention. I have also drawn as liberally as time[Pg iv]and space would permit from chronicles contemporary with the events ofthose early days, as well as from a curious collection of items relatingto the subject, cut from the London newspapers a hundred years ago, andkindly furnished me by Geo. P. Putnam, Esq. These are always the surestguides. To Mrs. Kate Williams, of Providence, R. I., I am indebted also.Her story of the "Neutral French," no doubt, inspired the author of themost beautiful pastoral in the language. The "Evangeline" of Longfellow,and the "Pauline" of this lady's legend, are pictures of the sameindividual, only drawn by different hands.

A word in regard to the two Acadian portraits. These are literalambrotypes, to which Sarony has added a few touches of his artisticcrayon. It may interest the reader to know that these are the first, theonly likenesses of the real Evangelines of Acadia. The women ofChezzetcook appear at day-break in the city of Halifax, and as soon asthe sun is up vanish like the dew. They have usually a basket of fresheggs, a brace or two of worsted socks, a bottle of fir-balsam to sell.These comprise their simple commerce. When the market-bell rings youfind them not. To catch such fleeting phantoms, and to transfer them tothe frontispiece of a book published here, is like painting theburnished wings of a humming-bird. A friend, however, undertook thetask. He rose before the sun, he bought eggs, worsted socks, andfir-balsam of the Acadians. By constant attentions he became acquainted[Pg v]with a pair of Acadian women, niece and aunt. Then he proposed thematter to them:

So my friend, who was a wise man, wrote to the priest of the settlementof Chezzetcook, to explain the "what for," and the consequencewas—these portraits! But these women had a terrible time at the head ofthe first flight of stairs. Not an inch would these shy creatures budgebeyond. At last, the wife of the operator induced them to rise to thehigh flight that led to the Halifax skylight, and there they werepainted by the sun, as we see them now.

CONTENTS.

ACADIA.

CHAPTER I.

Vague Rumors of Nova Scotia—A Fortnight upon Salt Water—InterestingSketch of the Atlantic—Halifax!—Determine to stay in theProvince—Province Building and Pictures—Coast Scenery—Liberty inLanguage, and Aspirations of the People—Evangeline and Relics ofAcadia—Market-Place—The Encampment at Point Pleasant—KissingBridge—The "Himalaya"—A Sabbath in a Garrison Town—Grand Celebrationof the Peace, and Natal Day of Halifax—And a Hint of a Visit toChezzetcook.

It is pleasant to visit Nova Scotia in the month of June. Pack up yourflannels and your fishing tackle, leave behind you your prejudices andyour summer clothing, take your trout-pole in one hand and a copy ofHaliburton in the other, and step on board a Cunarder at Boston. Inthirty-six hours you are in the loyal little province, and above youfloats the red flag and the cross of St. George. My word for it, youwill not regret the trip.[Pg 14] That the idea of visiting Nova Scotia everstruck any living person as something peculiarly pleasant and cheerful,is not within the bounds of probability. Very rude people are wont tospeak of Halifax in connection with the name of a place never alluded toin polite society—except by clergymen. As for the rest of the Province,there are certain vague rumors of extensive and constant fogs, butnothing more. The land is a sort of terra incognita. Many take it to bea part of Canada, and others firmly believe it is somewhere inNewfoundland.

In justice to Nova Scotia, it is proper to state that the Province is aprovince by itself; that it hath its own governor and parliament, andits own proper and copper currency. How I chanced to go there wasaltogether a matter of destiny. It was a severe illness—a gastricdisorder of the most obstinate kind, that cast me upon its balmy shores.One day, after a protracted relapse, as I was creeping feebly alongBroadway, sunning myself, like a March fly on a window-pane, whom shouldI meet but St. Leger, my friend. "You look pale," said St. Leger. Towhich I replied by giving him a full, complete, and accurate history ofmy ailments, after the manner of valetudinarians. "Why do you not trychange of air?" he asked; and then briskly[Pg 15] added, "You could spare acouple of weeks or so, could you not, to go to the Springs?" "I could,"said I, feebly. "Then," said St. Leger, "take the two weeks' time, butdo not go to the Springs. Spend your fortnight on the salt water—getout of sight of land—that is the thing for you." And so, shaking myhand warmly, St. Leger passed on, and left me to my reflections.

A fortnight upon salt water? Whither? Cape Cod at once loomed up;Nantucket, and Martha's Vineyard. "And why not the Bermudas?" said avoice within me; "the enchanted Islands of Prospero, and Ariel, andMiranda; of Shakspeare, and Raleigh, and Irving?" And echo answered:"Why not?"

It is but a day-and-a-half's sail to Halifax; thence, by a steamer, tothose neighboring isles; for the Curlew and the Merlin, Britishmail-boats, leave Halifax fortnightly for the Bermudas. A thousand milesof life-invigorating atmosphere—a week upon salt water, and you areamid the magnificent scenery of the Tempest! And how often had the vaguedesire impressed me—how often, indeed, had I visited, in imagination,those beautiful scenes, those islands which have made Shakspeare ournear kinsman; which are part and parcel of the romantic history of SirWalter Raleigh![Pg 16] For, even if he do describe them, in his strong oldSaxon, as "the Bermudas, a hellish sea for Thunder, and Lightning, andStorms," yet there is a charm even in this description, for doubtlessthese very words gave a title to the great drama of William ofStratford, and suggested the idea of

Ah, yes! and who that has read Irving's "Three Kings of Bermuda" has notfelt the influence of those Islas Encantadas—those islands of palms andcoral, of orange groves and ambergris! "A fortnight?" said I, quotingSt. Leger; "I will take a month for it." And so, in less than a weekfrom the date of his little prescription, I was bidding farewell to somedear friends, from the deck of the "Canada," at East Boston wharf, asCaptain Lang, on the top of our wheel-house, shouted out, in a verybriny voice: "Let go the starboard bow chain—go slow!"

It would be presumptuous in me to speak of the Atlantic, from thelimited acquaintance I had with it. The note-book of an invalid for twodays at sea, with a heavy ground swell, and the wind in the mostfavorable quarter, can scarcely be attractive. As the breeze freshened,and the tars of old England ran aloft, to strip from the black sailsthe[Pg 17] wrappers of white canvas that had hid them when in port; and asthese leathern, bat-like pinions spread out on each side of the funnel,there was a moment's glimpse of the picturesque; but it was a glimpseonly, and no more. One does not enjoy the rise and dip of the bow of asteamer, at first, however graceful it may be in the abstract. To besure, there were some things else interesting. For instance, threebrides aboard! And one of them lovely enough to awaken interest, on seaor land, in any body but a Halifax passenger. I hope those fair ladieswill have a pleasant tour, one and all, and that the view they take ofthe great world, so early in life, will make them more contented withthat minor world, henceforth to be within the limits of their dominion.Lullaby to the young wives! there will be rocking enough anon!

But we coasted along pleasantly enough the next day, within sight of thebold headlands of Maine; the sky and sea clear of vapor, except the longreek from the steamer's pipe. And then came nightfall and the northernstars; and, later at night, a new luminary on the edge of thehorizon—Sambro' light; and then a sudden quenching of stars, andhorizon, lighthouse, ropes, spars, and smoke stack; the sounds of hoarsevoices of command in the obscurity; a trampling of men; and then down[Pg 18]went the anchor in the ooze, and the Canada was fog-bound in the oldharbor of Chebucto for the night, within a few miles of the city.

But with the early dawn, we awoke to hear the welcome sounds of theengines in motion, and when we reached the deck, the mist was driftedwith sunlight, and rose and fell in luminous billows on water and shore,and then lifted, lingered, and vanished!

"And this is Halifax?" said I, as that quaint, mouldy old town poked itswooden gables through the fog of the second morning. "This is Halifax?This the capital of Nova Scotia? This the city that harbored those loyalheroes of the Revolution, who gallantly and gayly fought, and bled, andran for their king? Ah! you brave old Tories; you staunch upholders ofthe crown; cavaliers without ringlets or feathers, russet boots orsteeple-crown hats, it seems as if you were still hovering over thisvenerable tabernacle of seven hundred gables, and wreathing eachparticular ridge-pole, pigeon-hole, and shingle with a halo of fog."

The plank was laid, and the passengers left the steamer. There were afew vehicles on the wharf for the accommodation of strangers; square,black, funereal-like, wheeled sarcophagi, eminently suggestive ofburials and crape. Of course I did not[Pg 19] ride in one, on account ofunpleasant associations; but, placing my trunk in charge of a cart-boywith a long-tailed dray, and a diminutive pony, I walked through thesilent streets towards "The Waverley."

It was an inspiriting morning, that which I met upon the well-dockedshores of Halifax, and although the side-walks of the city were neitherbricked nor paved with flags, and the middle street was in its originaland aboriginal clay, yet there was novelty in making its acquaintance.Everybody was asleep in that early fog; and when everybody woke up, itwas done so quietly that the change was scarcely apparent.

But the "Merlin," British mailer, is to sail at noon for the ShakspeareIsland, and breakfast must be discussed, and then once more I am withyou, my anti-bilious ocean. It chanced, however, I heard at breakfast,that the "Curlew," the mate of the "Merlin," had been lost a short timebefore at sea, and as there was but one, and not two steamers on theroute, so that I would be detained longer with Prospero and Miranda thanmight be comfortable in the approaching hot weather, it came to passthat I had reluctantly to forego the projected voyage, and anchor mytrunk of tropical clothing in room Number Twenty, Hotel Waverley. It wasa great disappointment, to be sure, after such bril[Pg 20]liantanticipations—but what is life without philosophy? When we cannot getwhat we wish, let us take what we may. Let the "Merlin" sail! I willvisit, instead of those Islas Encantadas, "The Acadian land on the shoreof the Basin of Minas." Let the "Merlin" sail! I will see the ruinedwalls of Louisburgh, and the harbors that once sheltered the Venetiansailor, Cabot. "Let her sail!" said I, and when the morn passed I sawher slender thread of smoke far off on the glassy ocean, without a sighof regret, and resolutely turned my face from the promised palms towelcome the sturdy pines of the province.

The city hill of Halifax rises proudly from its wharves and shipping ina multitude of mouse-colored wooden houses, until it is crowned by thecitadel. As it is a garrison town, as well as a naval station, you meetin the streets red-coats and blue-jackets without number; yonder, with abrilliant staff, rides the Governor, Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, andhere, in a carriage, is Admiral Fanshawe, C.B., of the "Boscawen"Flag-ship. Every thing is suggestive of impending hostilities; war, inburnished trappings, encounters you at the street corners, and the airvibrates from time to time with bugles, fifes, and drums. But oh! what aslow place it is! Even two Crimean regiments with[Pg 21] medals anddecorations could not wake it up. The little old houses seem to lookwith wondrous apathy as these pass by, as though they had given eachother a quiet nudge with their quaint old gables, and whispered: "Keepstill!"

I wandered up and down those old streets in search of somethingpicturesque, but in vain; there was scarcely any thing remarkable toarrest or interest a stranger. Such, too, might have been the appearanceof other places I wot of, if those staunch old loyalists had had theirway in the days gone by!

But the Province House, which is built of a sort of yellow sand-stone,with pillars in front, and trees around it, is a well-proportionedbuilding, with an air of great solidity and respectability. There are init very fine full-lengths of King George II. and Queen Caroline, and twofull-lengths of King George III. and Queen Charlotte; a full-length ofChief-Justice Haliburton, and another full-length, by Benjamin West, ofanother chief-justice, in a red robe and a formidable wig. Of theseportraits, the two first-named are the most attractive; there issomething so gay and festive in the appearance of King George II. andQueen Caroline, so courtly and sprightly, so graceful and amiable, thatone is tempted to exclaim: "Bless the painter! what a genius he had!"[Pg 22]

And now, after taking a look at Dalhousie College with the parade infront, and the square town-clock, built by his graceless Highness theDuke of Kent, let us climb Citadel Hill, and see the formidableprotector of town and harbor. Lively enough it is, this great stonefortress, with its soldiers, swarming in and out like bees, and theglimpses of country and harbor are surpassingly beautiful; but just atthe margin of this slope below us, is the street, and that dark fringeof tenements skirting the edge of this green glacis is, I fear me,filled with vicious inmates. Yonder, where the blackened ruins of threehouses are visible, a sailor was killed and thrown out of a window notlong since, and his shipmates burned the houses down in consequence;there is something strikingly suggestive in looking upon this pictureand on that.

But if you cast your eyes over yonder magnificent bay, where vesselsbearing flags of all nations are at anchor, and then let your visionsweep past and over the islands to the outlets beyond, where the quietocean lies, bordered with fog-banks that loom ominously at theboundary-line of the horizon, you will see a picture of marvellousbeauty; for the coast scenery here transcends our own sea-shores, bothin color and outline. And behind us again stretch large green plains,dotted[Pg 23] with cottages, and bounded with undulating hills, with now andthen glimpses of blue water; and as we walk down Citadel Hill, we feelhalf-reconciled to Halifax, its queer little streets, its quaint, mouldyold gables, its soldiers and sailors, its fogs, cabs, penny andhalf-penny tokens, and all its little, odd, outlandish peculiarities.Peace be with it! after all, it has a quiet charm for an invalid!

The inhabitants of Halifax exhibit no trifling degree of freedom inlanguage for a loyal people; they call themselves "Halligonians." Thistitle, however, is sometimes pronounced "'Alligonians," by the morerigid, as a mark of respect to the old country. But innovation has beenat work even here, for the majority of Her Majesty's subjects aspiratethe letter H. Alas for innovation! who knows to what results thistrifling error may lead? When Mirabeau went to the French court withoutbuckles in his shoes, the barriers of etiquette were broken down, andthe Swiss Guards fought in vain.

There is one virtue in humanity peculiarly grateful to an invalid; tohim most valuable, by him most appreciated, namely, hospitality. Andthat the 'Alligonians are a kind and good people, abundant inhospitality, let me attest. One can scarcely visit a city occupied bythose whose grandsires[Pg 24] would have hung your rebel grandfathers (if theyhad caught them), without some misgivings. But I found the old Toryblood of three Halifax generations, yet warm and vital, happy to acceptagain a rebellious kinsman, a real live Yankee, in spite of Sam Slickand the Revolution.

Let us take a stroll through these quiet streets. This is the ProvinceHouse with its Ionic porch, and within it are the halls of Parliament,and offices of government. You see there is a red-coat with hissentry-box at either corner. Behind the house again are two othersentries on duty, all glittering with polished brass, and belted,gloved, and bayoneted, in splendid style. Of what use are thesesatellites, except to watch the building and keep it from running away?On the street behind the Province House is Fuller's American Book-store,which we will step into, and now among these books, fresh from theteeming presses of the States, we feel once more at home. Fullerpreserves his equanimity in spite of the blandishments of royalty, andonce a year, on the Fourth of July, hoists the "stars and stripes," andbravely takes dinner with the United States Consul, in the midst oflions and unicorns. Many pleasant hours I passed with Fuller, both intown and country. Near by, on the next corner, is the print-store of ourold friends the Wet[Pg 25]mores, and here one can see costly engravings ofLandseer's fine pictures, and indeed whole portfolios of English art.But of all the pictures there was one, the most touching, the mostsuggestive! The presiding genius of the place, the unsceptred Queen ofthis little realm was before me—Faed's Evangeline! And this reminded methat I was in the Acadian land! This reminded me of Longfellow'sbeautiful pastoral, a poem that has spread a glory over Nova Scotia, aromantic interest, which our own land has not yet inspired! I knew thatI was in Acadia; the historic scroll unrolled and stretched its longperspective to earlier days; it recalled De Monts, and the la Tours;Vice Admiral Destournelle, who ran upon his own sword, hard by, atBedford Basin; and the brave Baron Castine.

The largest settlement of the Acadians is in the neighborhood ofHalifax. In the early mornings, you sometimes see a few of these peoplein the streets, or at the market, selling a dozen or so of fresh eggs,or a pair or two of woollen socks, almost the only articles of theirsimple commerce. But you must needs be early to see them; after eighto'clock, they will have all vanished. Chezzetcook, or, as it ispronounced by the 'Alligonians, "Chizzencook," is twenty-two miles fromHalifax, and as[Pg 26] the Acadian peasant has neither horse nor mule, he orshe must be off betimes to reach home before mid-day nuncheon. A scoreof miles on foot is no trifle, in all weathers, but Gabriel andEvangeline perform it cheerfully; and when the knitting-needle and thepoultry shall have replenished their slender stock, off again they willstart on their midnight pilgrimage, that they may reach the great cityof Halifax before day-break.

Let us visit the market-place. Here is Masaniello, with his fish ingreat profusion. Codfish, three-pence or four-pence each; lobsters, apenny; and salmon of immense size at six-pence a pound (currency), equalto a dime of our money. If you prefer trout, you must buy them of theseMicmac squaws in traditional blankets, a shilling a bunch; and you mayalso buy baskets of rainbow tints from these copper ladies for a meretrifle; and as every race has a separate vocation here, only of thenegroes can you purchase berries. "This is a busy town," one would say,drawing his conclusion from the market-place; for the shifting crowd, inall costumes and in all colors, Indians, negroes, soldiers, sailors,civilians, and Chizzincookers, make up a pageant of no little theatricaleffect and bustle. Again: if you are still strong in limb, and ready[Pg 27]for a longer walk, which I, leaning upon my staff, am not, we will visitthe encampment at Point Pleasant. The Seventy-sixth Regiment has pitchedits tents here among the evergreens. Yonder you see the soldiers,looking like masses of red fruit amidst the spicy verdure of thespruces. Row upon row of tents, and file upon file of men standing atease, each one before his knapsack, his little leather household, withits shoes, socks, shirts, brushes, razors, and other furniture open forinspection. And there is Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, with a brilliantstaff, engaged in the pleasant duty of picking a personal quarrel witheach medal-decorated hero, and marking down every hole in his socks, andevery gap in his comb, for the honor of the service. And this PointPleasant is a lovely place, too, with a broad look-out in front, foryonder lies the blue harbor and the ocean deeps. Just back of the tentsis the cookery of the camp, huge mounds of loose stones, with grooves atthe top, very like the architecture of a cranberry-pie; and if thesimile be an homely one, it is the best that comes to mind to convey anidea of those regimental stoves, with their seams and channels of fire,over which potatoes bubble, and roast and boiled scud forth a savoryodor. And here and there, wistfully regarding this active scene, amidthe green shrubbery,[Pg 28] stands a sentinel before his sentry-box, built ofspruce boughs, wrought into a mimic military temple, and fancifulenough, too, for a garden of roses. And look you now! If here be not DieVernon, with "habit, hat, and feather," cantering gayly down the roadbetween the tents, and behind her a stately groom in gold-lace band,top-boots, and buck-skins. A word in your ear—that pleasanthalf-English face is the face of the Governor's daughter.

The road to Point Pleasant is a favorite promenade in the long Acadiantwilights. Mid-way between the city and the Point lies "Kissing Bridge,"which the Halifax maidens sometimes pass over. Who gathers toll nobodyknows, but I thought there was a mischievous glance in the blue eyes ofthose passing damsels that said plainly they could tell, "an' theywould." I love to look upon those happy, healthy English faces; thoseruddy cheeks, flushed with exercise, and those well-developed forms, notless attractive because of the sober-colored dresses and brown flathats, in which, o' summer evenings, they glide towards the mysteriousprecincts of "The Bridge." What a tale those old arches could tell?¿Quien sabe? Who knows?

But next to "Kissing Bridge," the prominent ob[Pg 29]ject of interest, now, toHalifax ladies, is the great steamer that lies at the Admiralty, theOriental screw-steamer Himalaya—the transport ship of two regiments ofthe heroes of Balaklava, and Alma, and Inkerman, and Sebastopol. A vastspecimen of naval architecture; an unusual sight in these waters; amarine vehicle to carry twenty-five hundred men! Think of this movingtown; this portable village of royal belligerents covered with glory andmedals, breasting the billows! Is there not something glorious in such aspectacle? And yet I was told by a brave officer, who wore thedecorations of the four great battles on his breast, that of hisregiment, the Sixty-third, but thirty men were now living, and of thethirty, seventeen only were able to attend drill. That regiment numbereda thousand at Alma!

No gun broke the silence of the Sabbath morning, as the giant ship movedfrom the Admiralty, on the day following our visit to Point Pleasant,and silently furrowed her path oceanward on her return to Gibraltar. Along line of thick bituminous smoke, above the low house-tops, was theonly hint of her departure, to the citizens. It was a grand sight to seeher vast bulk moving among the islands in the harbor, almost as large asthey.

And now, being Sunday, after looking in at the[Pg 30] Cathedral, which doesnot represent the usual pomp of the Romish Church, we will visit theGarrison Chapel. A bugle-call from barracks, or Citadel Hill, salutes usas we stroll towards the chapel; otherwise, Halifax is quiet, as becomesthe day. Presently we see the long scarlet lines approaching, andpresently the men, with orderly step, file from the street through theporch into the gallery and pews. Then the officers of field and line, ofordnance and commissary departments, take their allotted seats below.Then the chimes cease, and the service begins. Most devoutly we prayedfor the Queen, and omitted the President of the United States.

As the Crimeans ebbed from the church, and, floating off in thedistance, wound slowly up Citadel Hill against the quiet clear summersky, I could not but think of these lines from Thomas Miller's "SummerMorning:"

It was my fate to see next day a great celebration. It was thecelebration of peace between England and Russia. Peace having beenproclaimed, all Halifax was in arms! Loyalty threw out her bunting tothe breeze, and fired her crackers. The civic authorities presented anaddress to the royal representative of Her Majesty, requesting HisExcellency to transmit the same to the foot of the throne. Militia-menshot off municipal cannon; bells echoed from the belfries; the shippingfluttered with signals; and Citadel Hill telegraph, in a multitude offlags, announced that ships, brigs, schooners, and steamers, in vastquantities, "were below." Nor was the peace alone the great feature ofthe holiday. The eighth of June, the natal day of Halifax, was to becelebrated also. For Halifax was founded, so says the Chronicle, on theeighth of June, 1749, by the Hon. Edward Cornwallis[Pg 32] (not ourCornwallis), and the 'Alligonians in consequence made a specialty ofthat fact once a year. And to add to the attraction, the Board of Workshad decided to lay the corner-stone of a Lunatic Asylum in theafternoon; so there was no end to the festivities. And, to crown all, animmense fog settled upon the city.

Leaning upon my friend Robert's arm and my staff, I went forth to seethe grand review. When we arrived upon the ground, in the rear ofCitadel Hill, we saw the outline of something glimmering through thefog, which Robert said were shrubs, and which I said were soldiers. Afew minutes' walking proved my position to be correct; we foundourselves in the centre of a three-sided square of three regiments,within which the civic authorities were loyally boring Sir John Gaspardle Merchant and staff, to the verge of insanity, with the Address whichwas to be laid at the foot of the throne. Notwithstanding the despairingair with which His Excellency essayed to reply to this formidable paper,I could not help enjoying the scene; and I also noted, when the replywas over, and the few ragamuffins near His Excellency cheered bravely,and the band struck up the national anthem, how gravely and discreetlythe rest of the 'Alligonians, in the circumambient fog, echoed the[Pg 33]sentiment by a silence, that, under other circumstances, would have beendisheartening. What a quiet people it is! As I said before, to make thefestivities complete, in the afternoon there was a procession to lay thecorner-stone of a Lunatic Asylum. But oh! how the jolly old rain poureddown upon the luckless pilgrimage! There were the "Virgins" of MasonicLodge No.—, the Army Masons, in scarlet; the African Masons, in ivoryand black; the Scotch-piper Mason, with his legs in enormous plaidtrowsers, defiant of Shakspeare's theory about the sensitiveness of somemen, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose; the Clerical Mason in shovelhat; the municipal artillery; the Sons of Temperance, and the band. Awaythey marched, with drum and banner, key and compasses,Bible and sword,to Dartmouth, in great feather, for the eyes of Halifax were upon them.[Pg 34]

CHAPTER II.

Fog clears Up—The One Idea not comprehended by the American Mind—AJune Morning in the Province—The Beginning of the Evangeliad—IntuitivePerception of Genius—The Forest Primeval—Acadian Peasants—A NegroSettlement—Deer's Castle—The Road to Chezzetcook—Acadian Scenery—AGlance at the Early History of Acadia—First Encroachments of theEnglish—The Harbor and Village of Chezzetcook—Etc., etc.

The celebration being over, the fog cleared up. Loyalty furled herflags; the civic authorities were silent; the signal-telegraph was putupon short allowance. But the 'Alligonian papers next day were loaded tothe muzzle with typographical missiles. From them we learned that therehad been a great amount of enthusiasm displayed at the celebration, and"everything had passed off happily in spite of the weather." "OldChebucto" was right side up, and then she quietly sparkled out again.

There is one solitary idea, and only one, not comprehensible by theAmerican mind. I say it feebly, but I say it fearlessly, there is anidea which does not present anything to the American mind but a[Pg 35] blank.Every metaphysical dog has worried the life out of every abstraction butthis. I strike my stick down, cross my hands, and rest my chin uponthem, in support of my position. Let anybody attempt to controvert it!"I say, that in the American mind, there is no such thing as theconception even, of an idea of tranquillity!" I once for a littlerepose, went to a "quiet New-England village," as it was called, and thefirst thing that attracted my attention there was a statement in thevillage paper, that no less than twenty persons in that quiet place hadobtained patent-rights for inventions and improvements during the pastyear. They had been at everything, from an apple-parer to asteam-engine. In the next column was an article "on capital punishment,"and the leader was thoroughly fired up with a bran-new project for arailroad to the Pacific. That day I dined with a member of Congress, aperipatetic lecturer, and the principal citizens of the township, andtook the return cars at night amid the glare of a torch-lightprocession. Repose, forsooth? Why, the great busy city seemed to singlullaby, after the shock of that quiet New-England village.

But in this quaint, mouldy old town, onecan get an idea of the calmand the tranquil—especially after a celebration. It has been said:"Halifax is[Pg 36] the only place that is finished." One can readily believeit. The population has been twenty-five thousand for the lasttwenty-five years, and a new house is beyond the memory of the oldestinhabitant.

The fog cleared up. And one of those inexpressibly balmy days followed.June in Halifax represents our early May. The trees are all in bud; thepeas in the garden-beds are just marking the lines of drills with faintstripes of green. Here and there a solitary bird whets his bill on thebare bark of a forked bough. The chilly air has departed, and in itsplace is a sense of freshness, of dewiness, of fragrance and delight. Asense of these only, an instinctive feeling, that anticipates the odorof the rose before the rose is blown. On such a morning we went forth tovisit Chezzetcook, and here, gentle reader, beginneth the Evangeliad.

The intuitive perception of genius is its most striking element. I wastold by a traveller and an artist, who had been for nearly twenty yearson the northwest coast, that he had read Irving's "Astoria" as a mereromance, in early life, but when he visited the place itself, he foundthathe was reading the book over again; that Irving's descriptionswere so minute and perfect, that he was at home in Astoria, andfamiliar, not only with the country, but[Pg 37] with individuals residingthere; "for," said he, "although many of the old explorers, trappers,and adventurers described in the book were dead and gone, yet I foundthe descendants of those pioneers had the peculiar characteristics oftheir fathers; and the daughter of Concomly, whom I met, was asinteresting a historical personage at home as Queen Elizabeth would havebeen in Westminster Abbey. At Vancouver's Island," said the traveller,"I found an old dingy copy of the book itself, embroidered and seamedwith interlineations and marginal notes of hundreds of pens, in everystyle of chirography, yet all attesting the faithfulness of thenarrative. I would have given anything for that copy, but I do notbelieve I could have purchased it with the price of the whole island."

What but that wonderful clement of genius,intuitive perception, couldhave produced such a book? Irving was never on the Columbia River, neversaw the northwest coast. "The materials were furnished him from thelog-books and journals of the explorers themselves," says Dr. Dryasdust.True, my learned friend, but suppose I furnish you with pallet andcolors, with canvas and brushes, the materials of art, will you paint meas I sit here, and make a living, breathing picture, that will survivemy ashes for centuries? "I have not the genius of[Pg 38] the artist," repliesDr. Dryasdust. Then, my dear Doctor, we will put the materials aside forthe present, and venture a little farther with our theory of "intuitiveperception."

This is the opening line of the poem: this is the striking feature ofNova Scotia scenery. The shores welcome us with waving masses offoliage, but not the foliage of familiar woods. As we travel on thishilly road to the Acadian settlement, we look up and say, "This is theforest primeval," but it is the forest of the poem, not that of ourchildhood. There is not, in all this vast greenwood, an oak, an elm, achestnut, a beech, a cedar or maple. For miles and miles, we see nothingagainst the clear blue sky but the spiry tops of evergreens; or perhaps,a gigantic skeleton, "a rampike," pine or hemlock, scathed and spectral,stretches its gaunt outline above its fellows. Spruces and firs, such asadorn our gardens, cluster in never-ending profusion; and aromatic andunwonted odor pervades the air—the spicy breath of resinous balsams.Sometimes the sense is touched with a new fragrance, and presently[Pg 39] wesee a buckthorn, white with a thousand blossoms. These, however, onlymeet us at times. The distinct and characteristic feature of the forestis conveyed in that one line of the poet.

And yet another feature of the forest primeval presents itself, not lessstriking and unfamiliar. From the dead branches of those skeleton pinesand hemlocks, theserampikes, hang masses of white moss, snow-white,amid the dark verdure. An actor might wear such a beard in the play ofKing Lear. Acadian children wore such to imitate "grandpère,"centuries ago; Cowley's trees are "Patricians," these are Patriarchs.

We are re-reading Evangeline line by line. And here, at this turn of theroad, we encounter two Acadian peasants. The man wears an old tarpaulinhat, home-spun worsted shirt, and tarry canvas trowsers; innovation hascertainly changed him, in costume at least, from the Acadian of ourfancy; but the pretty brown-skinned girl beside him, with lustrous eyes,and soft black hair under her hood, with kirtle of antique form, andpetticoat of holiday homespun, is true to tradition. There is nothing[Pg 40]modern in the face or drapery of that figure. She might have stepped outof Normandy a century ago,

Alas! the ear-rings are worn out with age! but save them, the picture isvery true to the life. As we salute the pair, we learn they have beenwalking on their way since dawn from distant Chezzetcook: the man speaksEnglish with a strong French accent; the maiden only the language of herpeople on the banks of the Seine.

Who can help repeating the familiar words of the idyl amid such scenery,and in such a presence?

"We are now approaching a Negro settlement," said mycompagnon devoyage after we had passed the Acadians; "and we will take a freshhorse at Deer's Castle; this is rough travelling." In a few minutes wesaw a log house perched on a bare bone[Pg 41] of granite that stood out on aragged hill-side, and presently another cabin of the same kind came inview. Then other scare-crow edifices wheeled in sight as we drove along;all forlorn, all patched with mud, all perched on barren knolls, orgigantic bars of granite, high up, like ragged redoubts of poverty,armed at every window with a formidable artillery of old hats, rolls ofrags, quilts, carpets, and indescribable bundles, or barricaded withboards to keep out the air and sunshine.

"You do not mean to say those wretched hovels are occupied by livingbeings?" said I to my companion.

"Oh yes," he replied, with a quiet smile, "these are your people, yourfugitives."

"But, surely," said I, "they do not live in those airy nests during yourintensely cold winters?"

"Yes," replied my companion, "and they have a pretty hard time of it.Between you and I," he continued, "they are a miserable set of devils;they won't work, and they shiver it out here as well as they can. Duringthe most of the year they are in a state of abject want, and then theyare very humble. But in the strawberry season they make a little money,and while it lasts are fat and saucy enough. We can't do anything withthem, they won't work. There they are in their cabins, just as[Pg 42] you seethem, a poor, woe-begone set of vagabonds; a burden upon the community;of no use to themselves, nor to anybody else."

"Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy and pursue witheagerness the phantoms of hope, who expect that age will perform thepromises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will besupplied by the morrow, attend to the history of Rasselas, here in hishappy valley."

"Now then," said my companion, as this trite quotation was passingthrough my mind. The wagon had stopped in front of a little,weather-beaten house that kept watch and ward over an acre ofgreensward, broken ever and anon with a projecting bone of granite, andnot only fenced with stone, but dotted also with various mounds ofpebbles, some as large as a paving-stone, and some much larger. This was"Deer's Castle." In front of the castle was a swing-sign with aninscription:

I quote from memory. The precise words have escaped me, but the above isthe substance of the sense, and the metre is accurate.

It was a little, weather-beaten shanty of boards, that clung like flakesto the frame-work. A show-box of a room, papered with select wood-cutsfromPunch and theIllustrated London News, was the grandbanquet-hall of the castle. And indeed it was a castle compared with thewretched redoubts of poverty around it. Here we changed horses, orrather we exchanged our horse, for a diminutive, bantam pony, that,under the supervision of "Bill," was put inside the shafts and buckledup to the very roots of the harness. This Bill, the son and heir of theCastellen, was a good-natured yellow boy, about fifteen years of age,with such a development of under-lip and such a want of developmentelsewhere, that his head looked like a scoop. There was an infinite fundof humor in Billy, an uncontrollable sense of the comic, that wouldbreak out in spite of his grave endeavors to put himself under guard. Itexhibited itself in his motions and gestures, in the flourish of hishands as he buckled up the pony, in the looseness of his gait, the swingof his head, and the roll of his eyes. His very language was pregnantwith mirth; thus:

"Cheh, Cheh'z'ncook? Yes, sah," and so with that facetious gait anddroll twist of the elbow, Bill swings himself against the horse andunbuckles him in a perpetual jingle of merriment.

"And this," said I to my companion, as we looked from the door-step ofthe shanty upon the spiry tops of evergreens in the valley below us, andat the wretched log-huts that were roosting up on the bare rocks aroundus, "this is the negro settlement?"

"Then," I thought to myself, "I would, for poor[Pg 45] Cuffee's sake, thatmuch-vaunted British sympathy and British philanthropy had somethingbetter to show to an admiring world than the prospect around Deer'sCastle."

Notwithstanding the very generous banquet spread before the eyes of thetraveller, on the sign-board, we were compelled to dismiss the pleasantfiction of the poet upon the announcement of Mrs. Deer, that "Nathin wasin de house 'cept bacon," and she "reckoned" she "might have an egg ortwo by de time we got back from Chizzincook."

And so the pony being strapped up and buckled to the wagon, we left thenegro settlement for the French settlement. They are all in"settlements," here, the people of this Province. Centuries are mutable,but prejudices never alter in the Colonies.

But we are again in the Acadian forest—a truce to moralizing—let usenjoy the scenery. The road we are on is but a few miles from thesea-shore, but the ocean is hidden from view by the thick woods. As weride along, however, we skirt the edges of coves and inlets thatfrequently break in upon the[Pg 46] landscape. There is a chain of fresh-waterlakes also along this road; sometimes we cross a bridge over a rushingtorrent; sometimes a calm expanse of water, doubling the evergreens atits margin, comes in view; anon a gleam of sapphire strikes through theverdure, and an ocean-bay with its shingly beach curves in and outbetween the piny slopes. At last we reach the crest of a hill, and atthe foot of the road is another bridge, a house, a wharf, and two orthree coasters at anchor in a diminutive harbor. This is "Three FathomHarbor." We are within a mile of Chezzetcook.

Now if it were not for Pony we should press on to the settlement, but wemust give Pony a respite. Pony is an enthusiastic little fellow, but hislungs are too much for him, they have blown him out like a bagpipe. Amile farther and then eleven miles back to Deer's Castle, is a greatundertaking for so small an animal. In the meanwhile, we will ourselvesrest and take some "home-brewed" with the landlord, who isharbor-master, inn-keeper, store-keeper, fisherman, shipper, skipper,mayor, and corporation of Three Fathom Harbor, beside being father ofthe town, for all the children in it are his own. A draught of foamingale, a whiff or two from a clay pipe, a look out of the window to beassured that Pony had subsided, and we take leave of the corpo[Pg 47]rateauthority of Three Fathom Harbor, and are once more on the road.

One can scarcely draw near to a settlement of these poor refugeeswithout a feeling of pity for the sufferings they have endured; and thisspark of pity quickly warms and kindles into indignation when we thinkof the story of hapless Acadia—the grievous wrong done thosesimple-minded, harmless, honest people, by the rapacious, free-bootingadventurers of merry England, and those precious filibusters, ourPilgrim Fathers.

The early explorations of the French in the young hemisphere whichColumbus had revealed to the older half of the world, have been almostentirely obscured by the greater events which followed. Nearly a centuryafter the first colonies were established in New France, New England wasdiscovered. I shall not dwell upon the importance of this event, as ithas been so often alluded to by historians and others; and, indeed, Ibelieve it is generally acknowledged now, that the finding of thecontinent itself would have been a failure had it not been for thediscovery of Massachusetts. As this, however, happened long after theestablishment of Acadia, and as the Pilgrim Fathers did not interferewith their French neighbors for a surprising length of time, it will beas well not to expa[Pg 48]tiate upon it at present. In the course of a coupleof centuries or so, I shall have occasion to allude to it, in connectionwith the story of the neutral French.

In the year 1504, says the Chronicle, some fishermen from Brittanydiscovered the island that now forms the eastern division of NovaScotia, and named it "Cape Breton." Two years after, Dennys of Harfleur,made a rude chart of the vast sheet of water that stretches from CapeBreton and Newfoundland to the mainland. In 1534, Cartier, sailing underthe orders of the French Admiral, Chabot, visited the coast ofNewfoundland, crossed the gulf Dennys had seen and describedtwenty-eight years before, and took possession of the country around it,in the name of the king, his master. As Cartier was recrossing the Gulf,on his return voyage, he named the waters he was sailing upon "St.Lawrence," in honor of that saint whose day chanced to turn up on thecalendar at that very happy time. According to some accounts, Baron deLery established a settlement here as early as 1518. Some authoritiesstate that a French colony was planted on the St. Lawrence as early as1524, and soon after others were formed in Canada and Nova Scotia. In1535, Cartier again crossed the waters of the Gulf, and following thecourse of the[Pg 49] river, penetrated into the interior until he reached anisland upon which was a hill; this he named "Mont Real." Variousadventurers followed these first discoverers and explorers, and thecoast was from time to time visited by French ships, in pursuit of thefisheries.

Among these expeditions, one of the most eminent was that of Champlain,who, in the year 1609, penetrated as far south as the head waters of theHudson River; visited Lake George and the cascades of Ticonderoga; andgave his own name to the lake which lies between the proud shores of NewYork and New England. Thence le Sr. Champlain, "Capitaine pour leRoy," travelled westward, as far as the country of the Hurons, givingto the discovered territory the title of Nouvelle France; and to thelakes Ontario, Erie, and Huron, the names of St. Louis, Mer Douce, andGrand Lac; which any person can see by referring to the original chartin the State library of New York. But before these discoveries ofChamplain, an important step had been taken by the parent government. Inthe year 1603, an expedition, under the patronage of Henry IV., sailedfor the New World. The leader of this was a Protestant gentleman, byname De Monts. As the people under his command were both Protestants andCatholics, De Monts had per[Pg 50]mission given in his charter to establish,as one of the fundamental laws of the Colony, the free exercise of"religious worship," upon condition of settling in the country, andteaching the Roman Catholic faith to the savages. Heretofore, all thecountries discovered by the French had been called New France, but in DeMonts' Patent, that portion of the territory lying east of the Penobscotand embracing the present provinces of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, andpart of Maine was named "Acadia."

The little colony under De Monts flourished in spite of the rigors ofthe climate, and its commander, with a few men, explored the coast onthe St. Lawrence and the bay of Fundy, as well as the rivers of Maine,the Penobscot, the Kennebec, the Saco and Casco Bay, and even coasted asfar south as the long, hook-shaped cape that is now known in all partsof the world as the famous Cape Cod. In a few years, the settlementbegan to assume a smiling aspect; houses were erected, and lands weretilled; the settlers planted seeds and gathered the increase thereof;gardens sprang out of the wilderness, peace and order reignedeverywhere, and the savage tribes around viewed the kind, light-heartedcolonists with admiration and fraternal good-will. It is pleasant toread this part of the chronicle—of[Pg 51] their social meetings in the winterat the banqueting hall; of the order of "Le Bon Temps," established byChamplain; of the great pomp and insignia of office (a collar, a napkin,and staff) of the grand chamberlain, whose government only lasted for aday, when he was supplanted by another; of their dinners in the sunshineamid the corn-fields; of their boats, banners, and music on the water;of their gentleness, simplicity, and honest, hearty enjoyments. Thesehalcyon days soon came to an end. The infamous Captain Argall, hearingthat a number of white people had settled in this hyperborean region,set sail from Jamestown for the colony, in a ship of fourteen guns, inthe midst of a profound peace, to burn, pillage, and slaughter theintruders upon the territory of Virginia! Finding the people unpreparedfor defence, his enterprise was successful. Argall took possession ofthe lands, in the name of the King of England, laid waste some of thesettlements, burned the forts, and, under circumstances of peculiarperfidy, induced a number of the poor Acadians to go with him toJamestown. Here they were treated as pirates, thrown into prison, andsentenced to be executed. Argall, who it seems had some touch of manhoodin his nature, upon this confessed to the Governor, Sir Thomas Dale,that these people had[Pg 52] a patent from the King of France, which he hadstolen from them and concealed, and that they were not pirates, butsimply colonists. Upon this, Sir Thomas Dale was induced to fit out anexpedition to dislodge the rest of them from Acadia. Three ships weregot ready, the brave Captain Argall was appointed Commander-in-chief,and the first colony was terminated by fire and sword before the end ofthe year. This was in 1613, ten years after the first planting ofAcadia.

"Some of the settlers," says the Chronicle, "finding resistance to beunavailing, fled to the woods." What became of them history does notinform us, but with a graceful appearance of candor, relates that thetransaction itself "was not approved of by the court of England, norresented by that of France." Five years afterward we find Captain Argallappointed Deputy-Governor of Virginia.

This outrage was the initial letter only of a series that for nearly acentury and a half after, made the successive colonists of Acadia theprey of their rapacious neighbors. We shall take up the story from timeto time, gentle reader, as we voyage around and through the province.Meanwhile let us open our eyes again upon the present, for just below uslies the village and harbor of Chezzetcook.

A conspiracy of earth and air and ocean had cer[Pg 53]tainly broken out thatmorning, for the ominous lines of Fog and Mist were hovering afar offupon the boundaries of the horizon. Under the crystalline azure of asummer sky, the water of the harbor had an intensity of color rarelyseen, except in the pictures of the most ultra-marine painters. Here andthere a green island or a fishing-boat rested upon the surface of thetranquil blue. For miles and miles the eye followed indented grassyslopes, that rolled away on either side of the harbor, and the mostdelicate pencil could scarcely portray the exquisite line of creamy sandthat skirted their edges and melted off in the clear margin of thewater. Occasional little cottages nestle among these green banks, notthe Acadian houses of the poem, "with thatched roofs, and dormer windowsprojecting," but comfortable, homely-looking buildings of modern shapes,shingled and un-weather-cocked. No cattle visible, no ploughs norhorses. Some of the men are at work in the open air; all in tarpaulinhats, all in tarry canvas trowsers. These are boat-builders and coopers.Simple, honest, and good-tempered enough; you see how courteously theysalute us as we ride by them. In front of every house there is a knot ofcurious little faces; Young Acadia is out this bright day, and althoughYoung Acadia has not a clean face on, yet its hair is of the[Pg 54] darkestand softest, and its eyes are lustrous and most delicately fringed.Yonder is one of the veterans of the place, so we will tie Pony to thefence, and rest here.

"Can you give us anything in the way of refreshment? a glass of ale, ora glass of milk?"

"Oh no!" (with the unmistakable shrug of the shoulders); "we no havemilk, no have ale, no have brandy, no have noting here: ah! we very poorpeep' here." (Poor people here.)

"Oh yes! oh yes!" (with great politeness and alacrity); "walk in, walkin; we very poor peep', no milk, no brandy: walk in."

The little house is divided by a partition. The larger half is the hall,the parlor, kitchen, and nursery in one. A huge fire-place, an antiquespinning-wheel, a bench, and two settles, or high-backed seats, a table,a cradle and a baby very wide awake, complete the inventory. In theapartment adjoining is a bin that represents, no doubt, a Frenchbedstead of the early ages. Everything is suggestive of boat-builders,of Robinson Crusoe[Pg 55] work, of undisciplined hands, that have had to dowith ineffectual tools. As you look at the walls, you see the house isbuilt of timbers, squared and notched together, and caulked with moss oroakum.

"Very poor peep' here," says the old man, with every finger on his handsstretched out to deprecate the fact. By the fire-side sits an old woman,in a face all cracked and seamed with wrinkles, like a picture by one ofthe old masters. "Yes," she echoes, "very poor peep' here, and verycold, too, sometime." By this time the door-way is entirely packed withlittle, black, shining heads, and curious faces, all shy, timid, and yetnot the less good-natured. Just back of the cradle are two of theAcadian women, "knitters i' the sun," with features that might serve forPalmer's sculptures; and eyes so lustrous, and teeth so white, andcheeks so rich with brown and blush, that if one were a painter and notan invalid, he might pray for canvas and pallet as the very things mostwanted in the critical moment of his life. Faed's picture does notconvey the Acadian face. The mouth and chin are more delicate in thereal than in the ideal Evangeline. If you look again, after the firstsurprise is over, you will see that these are the traditional pictures,such as we might have fancied they should be, after reading the idyl.From the forehead[Pg 56] of each you see at a glance how the dark mass of hairhas been combed forward and over the face, that the little triangularNorman cap might be tied across the crown of the head. Then the hair isthrown back again over this, so as to form a large bow in front, thenre-tied at the crown with colored ribbons. Then you see it has beenplaited in a shining mesh, brought forward again, and braided withribbons, so that it forms, as it were, a pretty coronet, well-placedabove those brilliant eyes and harmonious features. This, with theantique kirtle and picturesque petticoat, is an Acadian portrait. Suchis it now, and such it was, no doubt, when De Monts sailed from Havre deGrace, two centuries and a half ago. In visiting this kind and simplepeople, one can scarcely forget the little chapel. The young Frenchpriest was in his garden, behind the little tenement, set apart for himby the piety of his flock, and readily admitted us. A small place indeedwas it, but clean and orderly, the altar decorated with toy images, thatwere not too large for a Christmas table. Yet I have been in thegrandest tabernacles of episcopacy with lesser feelings of respect thanthose which were awakened in that tiny Acadian chapel. Peace be with it,and with its gentle flock.

"Pony is getting impatient," said my compa[Pg 57]nion, as we reverentlystepped from the door-way, "and it is a long ride to Halifax." So, withcourteous salutation on both sides, we take leave of the good father,and once more are on the road to Deer's Castle.[Pg 58]

CHAPTER III.

A Romp at Three Fathom Harbor—The Moral Condition of the Acadians—TheWild Flowers of Nova Scotia—Mrs. Deer's Wit—No Fish—Picton—TheBalaklava Schooner—And a Voyage to Louisburgh.

Pony is very enterprising. We are soon at the top of the first longhill, and look again, for the last time, upon the Acadian village. Howcosily and quietly it is nestled down amid those graceful green slopes!What a bit of poetry it is in itself! Jog on, Pony!

The corporate authority of Three Fathom Harbor has been improving histime during our absence. As we drive up we find him in high romp with abrace of buxom, red-cheeked, Nova Scotia girls, who have just alightedfrom a wagon. The landlady of Three Fathom Harbor, in her matronly cap,is smiling over the little garden gate at her lord, who is pursuing hisDaphnes, and catching, and kissing, and hugging, first one and then theother, to his heart's content. Notwithstanding their[Pg 59] screams, andslaps, and robust struggles, it is very plain to be seen that theskipper's attentions are not very unwelcome. Leaving his fair friends,he catches Pony by the bridle and stops us with a hospitable—"Comein—you must come in; just a glass of ale, you'll want it;" and sureenough, we found when we came to taste the ale, that we did want it, andmany thanks to him, the kind-hearted landlord of the Three Fathoms.

"It is surprising," said I to my companion, as we rolled again over theroad, "that these people, these Acadians, should still preserve theirlanguage and customs, so near to your principal city, and yet with nomore affiliation than if they were on an island in the South Seas!"

"The reason of that," he replied, "is because they stick to their ownsettlement; never see anything of the world except Halifax early in themorning; never marry out of their own set; never read—I do not believeone of them can read or write—and are in factso slow, so destituteof enterprise, so much behind the age"——

I could not avoid smiling. My companion observed it. "What are youthinking about?" said he.

The truth is, I was thinking of Halifax, which was anything but afastplace; but I simply observed:

"Your settlements here are somewhat novel to a[Pg 60] stranger. That a merehandful of men should be so near your city, and yet so isolated: thatthis village of a few hundred only, should retain its customs andlanguage, intact, for generation after generation, within walkingdistance of Halifax, seems to me unaccountable. But let me ask you," Icontinued, "what is the moral condition of the Acadians?"

"As for that," said he, "I believe it stands pretty fair. I do not thinkan Acadian would cheat, lie, or steal; I know that the women arevirtuous, and if I had a thousand pounds in my pocket I could sleep withconfidence in any of their houses, although all the doors were unlockedand everybody in the village knew it."

Poor exiles! You will never see the Gasperau and the shore of the Basinof Minas, but if this very feeble life I have holds out, I hope to visitGrandpré and the broad meadows that gave a name to the village.

One thing Longfellow has certainly omitted in "Evangeline"—the wildflowers of Acadia. The[Pg 61] roadside is all fringed and tasselled withwhite, pink, and purple. The wild strawberries are in blossom, whiteningthe turf all the way from Halifax to Chezzetcook. You see their starrysettlements thick in every bit of turf. These are the silver mines ofpoor Cuffee; he has the monopoly of the berry trade. It is his onlyrevenue. Then in the swampy grounds there are long green needles insolitary groups, surmounted with snowy tufts; and here and there,clusters of light purple blossoms, called laurel flowers, but not likeour laurels, spring up from the bases of grey rocks and boulders;sometimes a rich array of blood-red berries gleams out of a mass ofgreenery; then again great floral white radii, tipped with snowy petals,rise up profuse and lofty; down by the ditches hundreds of pitcherplants lift their veined and mottled vases, brimming with water, to thewood-birds who drink and perch upon their thick rims; May-flowers ofdelightful fragrance hide beneath those shining, tropical-lookingleaves, and meadow-sweet, not less fragrant, but less beautiful, poursits tender aroma into the fresh air; here again we see the buckthorn inblossom; there, scattered on the turf, the scarlet partridge berry; thenwild-cherry trees, mere shrubs only, in full bud; and around all andabove all, the evergreens, the murmuring pines, and the hemlocks;[Pg 62] therampikes—the grey-beards of the primeval forest; the spicy breath ofresinous balsams; the spiry tops, and the serene heaven. Is this fairyland? No, it is only poor, old, barren Nova Scotia, and yet I thinkFelix, Prince of Salerno, if he were here, might say, and say truly too,"In all my life I never beheld a more enchanting place;" but Felix,Prince of Salerno, must remember this is the month of June, and summeris not perpetual in the latitude of forty-five.

We reach at last Deer's Castle. Pony, under the hands of Bill, seemsremarkably cheerful and fresh after his long travel up hill and down.When he pops out of his harness, with his knock-knees and sturdy, stockylittle frame, he looks very like an animated saw-buck, clothed inseal-skin; and with a jump, and snort, and flourish of tail, he escortsBill to the stable, as if twenty miles over a rough road was a triflenot worth consideration.

A savory odor of frying bacon and eggs stole forth from the door as wesat, in the calm summer air, upon the stone fence. William Deer, Jr.,was wandering about in front of the castle, endeavoring to get controlof his under lip and keep his exuberant mirth within the limits ofdecorum; but every instant, to use a military figure, it would flash inthe pan. Up on the bare rocks were the wretched, woe-[Pg 63]begone, patched,and ragged log huts of poor Cuffee. The hour and the season weresuggestive of philosophizing, of theories, and questions.

"Mrs. Deer," said I, "is that your husband's portrait on the back of thesign?" (there was a picture of a stag with antlers on the reverse of thepoetical swing-board, either intended as a pictographic pun upon thename of "Deer," or as a hint to sportsmen of good game hereabouts).

"Why," replied Mrs. Deer, an old tidy wench, of fifty, pretty well bentby rheumatism, and so square in the lower half of her figure, and sospare in the upper, that she appeared to have been carved out of her ownhips: "why, as to dat, he ain't good-looking to brag on, but I don'tthink he looks quite like a beast neither."

At this unexpected retort, Bill flashed off so many pans at once that heseemed to be a platoon of militia. My companion also enjoyed itimmensely. Being an invalid, I could not participate in the generalmirth.

"Oh, sah! a good many years; I cum here afore I had Bill dar." (HereWilliam flashed in the pan twice.)[Pg 64]

"Yes, sah; I left when I was young. Bill, what you laughing at?I wasyoung once."

"Yes, sah; but he didn't stay long dar after I left. He was after meputty sharp, soon as I travelled;" (here Mrs. Deer and Williaminterchanged glances, and indulged freely in mirth).

"Why, I never had no such work to do at home as I have to do here,grubbin' up old stumps and stones; dem isn't women's work. When I washome, I had only to wait on misses, and work was light and easy."(William quiet.)

"Oh! de work here is awful, grubbin' up old[Pg 65] stones and stumps; 'tain'tfit for women." (William much impressed with the cogency of thisrepetition.)

"And de winter here, oh! it's wonderful tryin." (William utters anaffirmative flash.)

"Well," said Mrs. Deer, glancing at Bill, "I like Nova Scotia best."(Whatever visions of Maryland were gleaming in William's mind, seemed tobe entirely quenched by this remark.)

"But why," said I, "do you prefer Nova Scotia to Maryland? Here you haveto work so much harder, to suffer so much from the cold and therheumatism, and get so little for it;" for I could not help looking overthe green patch of stony grass that has been rescued by the labor of aquarter century.

"Oh!" replied Mrs. Deer, "de difference is, dat when I work here, I workfor myself, and when I was working at home, I was working for otherpeople." (At this, William broke forth again in such a series of platoonflashes, that we all joined in with infinite merriment.)[Pg 66]

"Mrs. Deer," said I, recovering my gravity, "I want to ask you one morequestion."

"Well, sah," said the lady Deer, cocking her head on one side,expressive of being able to answer any number of questions in atwinkling.

"And suppose you had a chance to advise them in regard to this matter,would you tell them to run away, and take their part with you in NovaScotia, or would you advise them to stay where they are?"

Mrs. Deer, at this, looked a long time at William, and William lookedearnestly at his parent. Then she cocked her head on the other side, totake a new view of the question. Then she gathered up mouth andeyebrows, in a puzzle, and again broadened out upon Bill in an odd kindof smile; at last she doubled up one fist, put it against her cheek,glanced at Bill, and out came the answer: "Well, sah, I'd let 'em takedereown heads for dat!" I must confess the philosophy of this remarkawakened in me a train of very grave reflections; but my companion burstinto a most obstreperous laugh. As for Mrs. Deer, she shook her old hipsas long as she could stand, and then sat down and[Pg 67] continued, until shewiped the tears out of her eyes with the corner of her apron. Williamcast himself down upon a strawberry bank, and gave way to the mostflagrant mirth, kicking up his old shoes in the air, and fairlywallowing in laughter and blossoms. I endeavored to change the subject."Bill, did you catch any trout?" It was some time before William couldcontrol himself enough to say, "Not a single one, sah;" and then herolled over on his back, put his black paws up to his eyes, and twitchedand jingled to his heart's content. I did not ask Mrs. Deer any morequestions; but there is a moral in the story, enough for a day.

As we rattled over the road, after our brief dinner at Deer's Castle, Icould not avoid a pervading feeling of gloom and disappointment, inspite of the balmy air and pretty landscape. The old ragged abodes ofwretchedness seemed to be too clearly defined—to stand out toointrusively against the bright blue sky. But why should I feel so muchfor Cuffee? Has he not enlisted in his behalf every philanthropist inEngland? Is he not within ten miles of either the British flag orAcadia? Does not the Duchess of Sutherland entertain the authoress ofUncle Tom's Cabin, and the Black Swan? Why should I sorrow for Cuffee,when he is in the midst of his best friends? Why should I pretend[Pg 68] tosay that this appears to be the raggedest, the meanest, the worstcondition of humanity, when the papers are constantly lauding Britishphilanthropy, and holding it up as a great example, which we must "bowdown and worship?" For my own part, although the pleasant fiction ofseeing Cuffee clothed, educated, and Christianized, seemed to besomewhat obscured in this glimpse of his real condition, yet I hope hewill do well under his new owners; at the very least, I trust his berrycrop will be good, and that a benevolent British blanket or two mayenable him to shiver out the winter safely, if not comfortably. PoorWilliam Deer, Sen'r, of Deer's Castle, was suffering with rheumatism inthe next apartment, while we were at his eggs and bacon in the banquethall; but Deer of Deer's Castle is a prince to his neighbors. I shallnot easily forget the brightening eye, the swift glance of intelligencein the face of another old negro, an hostler, in Nova Scotia. He wasfrom Virginia, and adopting the sweet, mellifluous language of his ownhome, I asked him whether he liked best to stay where he was, or go backto "Old Virginny?" "O massa!" said he, withsuch a look, "youmustknow dat I has de warmest side for my own country!"

We rattled soberly into Dartmouth, and took the[Pg 69] ferry-boat across thebay to the city. At the hotel there was no little questioning aboutChezzetcook, for some of the Halifax merchants are at the Waverley."Goed bless ye, what took ye to Chizzencook?" said one, "I never wasthere een in my life; ther's no bizz'ness ther, noathing to be seen: aidoant think there is a maen in Halifax scairsly, 'as ever seen theplace."

At the supper-table, while we were discussing, over the cheese and ale,the Chezzetcook and negro settlements, and exhibiting with no littlevainglory a gorgeous bunch of wild flowers (half of which vanity mycompagnon de voyage is accountable for), there was a youngEnglish-Irish gentleman, well built, well featured, well educated: byname—I shall call him Picton.

Picton took much interest in Deer's Castle and Chezzetcook, but slilyand satirically. I do not think this the best way for a young man tobegin with; but nevertheless, Picton managed so well to keep hissarcasms within the bounds of good humor, that before eleven o'clock wehad become pretty well acquainted. At eleven o'clock the gas is turnedoff at Hotel Waverley. We went to bed, and renewed the acquaintance atbreakfast. Picton had travelled overland from Montreal to take the"Canada" for Liverpool, and had arrived too late.[Pg 70] Picton had nearly afortnight before him in which to anticipate the next steamer. Picton wasterribly bored with Halifax. Picton wanted to go somewhere—where?—"hedid not care where." The consequence was a consultation upon the bestdisposal of a fortnight of waste time, a general survey of the maritimecraft of Halifax, the selection of the schooner "Balaklava," bound forSydney in ballast, and an understanding with the captain, that the oldFrench town of Louisburgh was the point we wished to arrive at, intowhich harbor we expected to be put safely—three hundred and odd milesfrom Halifax, and this side of Sydney about sixty-two miles by sea. Toall this did captain Capstan "seriously incline," and the result was,two berths in the "Balaklava," several cans of preserved meats andsoups, a hamper of ale, two bottles of Scotch whisky, a ramshackle,Halifax van for the luggage, a general shaking of hands at departure,and another set of white sails among the many white sails in the blueharbor of Chebucto.

The "Balaklava" glimmered out of the harbor. Slowly and gently we sweptpast the islands and great ships; there on the shore is Point Pleasantin full uniform, its red soldiers and yellow tents in the thick of thepines and spruces; yonder is the admiralty, and the "Boscawen"seventy-four, the[Pg 71] receiving-ship, a French war-steamer, and merchantmenof all flags. Slowly and gently we swept out past the round fort andlong barracks, past the lighthouse and beaches, out upon the tranquilocean, with its ominous fog-banks on the skirts of the horizon; out uponthe evening sea, with the summer air fanning our faces, and a largewhite Acadian moon, faintly defined overhead.

Picton was a traveller; anybody could see that he was a traveller, andif he had then been in any part of the habitable globe, in Scotland orTartary, Peru or Pennsylvania, there would not have been the least doubtabout the fact that he was a traveller travelling on his travels. Helooked like a traveller, and was dressed like a traveller. He had atravelling-cap, a travelling-coat, a portable-desk, a life-preserver, awater-proof blanket, a travelling-shirt, a travelling green leathersatchel strapped across his shoulder, a Minié-rifle, several trunksadorned with geographical railway labels of all colors and languages,cork-soled boots, a pocket-compass, and a hand-organ. As for thehand-organ, that was an accident in his outfit. The hand-organ was apresent for a little boy on the other side of the ocean; butnevertheless, it played its part very pleasantly in the cabin of the"Balaklava." And now let me observe here, that when we left Hali[Pg 72]fax inthe schooner, I was scarcely less feeble than when I left New York. Imention it to show how speedily "roughing it" on the salt water willbring one's stomach to its senses.

The "Balaklava" was a fore-and-aft schooner in ballast, and very littleballast at that; easily handled; painted black outside, and pink inside;as staunch a craft as ever shook sail; very obedient to the rudder; ofsome seventy or eighty tons burden; clean and neat everywhere, except inthe cabin. As for her commander, he was a fine gentleman; true, honest,brave, modest, prudent and courteous. Sincerely polite, for ifpoliteness be only kindness mixed with refinement, then Captain Capstanwas polite, as we understand it. The mate of the schooner was a cannieScot; by name, Robert, Fitzjames, Buchanan, Wallace, Burns, Bruce; andBruce was as jolly a first-mate as ever sailed under the cross-bones ofthe British flag. The crew was composed of four Newfoundland sailor men;and the cook, whose h'eighth letter of the h'alphabet smacked somewhatstrongly of H'albion. As for the rest, there was Mrs. Captain Capstan,Captain and Mrs. Captain Capstan's baby; Picton and myself. It is cruelto speak of a baby, except in terms of endearment and affection, andtherefore I could not but condemn Picton, who[Pg 73] would sometimes, in hisposition as a traveller, allude to baby in language of most emphaticcharacter. The fact is, Pictonswore at that baby! Baby was in feeblehealth and would sometimes bewail its fate as if the cabin of the"Balaklava" were four times the size of baby's misfortunes. So Pictongot to be very nervous and uncharitable, and slept on deck after thefirst night.

"How do you like this?" said Picton, as we leaned over the side of the"Balaklava," looking down at the millions of gelatinous quarls in theclear waters.

"Oh! very much; this lazy life will soon bring me up; how exhilaratingthe air is—how fresh and free!

Just then the schooner gave a lurch and shook her feathers alow andaloft by way of chorus. "I like this kind of life very much; howgracefully this vessel moves; what a beautiful union of strength,proportion, lightness, in the taper masts, the slender ropes and stays,the full spread and sweep of her sails! Then how expansive the view, thecalm ocean in its solitude, the receding land, the twinkling lighthouse,the"——

"Not often. By the way, my appetite is improving; I think Cookey isgetting tea ready, by the smoke and the smell."

To the galley we went, where we saw Cookey in great distress; for thewind would blow in at the wrong end of his stove-pipe, so as to reversethe draft, and his stove was smoking at every seam. Poor Cookey's eyeswere full of tears.

"Hi av tried that," said Cookey, "but the helbow is so 'eavy the 'olething comes h'off."

So Cookey did, and very soon tea was ready. Imagine a cabin, not muchlarger than a good-sized omnibus, and far less steady in its motion,choked up with trunks, and a table about the size of a wash-stand;imagine two stools and a locker to sit on: a canvas table-cloth in fullblotch; three chipped yellow mugs by way of cups; as many plates, but ofgreat variety of gap, crack, and pattern; pewter spoons; ablacking-bottle of milk; an earthen piggin of brown sugar, embroideredwith a lively gang of great, fat, black pismires; hard bread, old asNineveh; and butter of a most[Pg 75] forbidding aspect. Imagine this array setbefore an invalid, with an appetite of the most Miss Nancyish kind!

"One misses the comforts here at sea," said the captain's lady, a prettyyoung woman, with a sweet Milesian accent.

"I don't rightly know," she continued, "how I forgot the rocking-chair;"and she gave baby an affectionate squeeze.

Pic and I sat down, but we could neither eat nor drink; we were verysoon on deck again, sucking away dolefully at two precious cigars. Atlast he broke out:

"Don't be impolite, Picton," said I; "it is not[Pg 76] my intention to sing itthis evening. Indeed, I never heard it before I heard it in Halifax. Ihad the good fortune to make one of a very pleasant company, at thehouse of an old friend in the city, and I must say that song touched me,both the song and thesinging of it. You know it wasthe song in theCrimea?"

"I asked Major ——," said I, "if 'Annie Laurie' was sung by the soldiersin the Crimea; and he replied 'they did not sing anything else; theysang it,' said he, 'by thousands at a time.' How does it go, Picton?Come now!"

So Picton held forth under the moon, and sang "Annie Laurie" on the"Balaklava." And long after we turned in, the music kept singing on—

CHAPTER IV.

The Voyage of the "Balaklava"—Something of a Fog—A NovelSensation—Picton bursts out—"Nothing to do"—Breakfast under Way—APhantom Boat—Mackerel—Gone, Hook and Line—The Colonists—Sectionalismand Prejudices—Cod-fishing and an Unexpected Banquet—Past the OldFrench Town—A Pretty Respectable Breeze—We get past theRocks—Louisburgh.

"Hallo!" replied the traveller, sitting up on his locker; "what is thematter now?"

"Nothing, only it is morning; let us get up, I want to see the sun riseout of the ocean."

"Pooh!" replied Picton, "what do you want to be bothering with the sunfor?" And again Picton rolled himself up in his sheet-rubbertravelling-blanket, and stretched his long body out on the locker. I gotup, or rather got down, from my berth, and casting a bucket over theschooner's side soon made a sea-water toilet. I forgot to mention thesleeping arrangements of the "Balaklava." There were two lower berths onone side[Pg 78] the cabin, either of which was large enough for two persons;and two single upper berths on the other side, neither of which waslarge enough for one person. At the proper hour for retiring, thecaptain's lady shut the cabin-door to keep out intruders, deliberatelyarrayed herself in dimity, turned in with baby in one of the largeberths, and reöpened the door. There she lay, wide awake, with herbright eyes twinkling within the folds of her night cap, unaffected,chatty, and agreeable; then the captain divested himself of boots andpea-jacket and turned in beside his lady (the mate slept, when off hiswatch, in the other double berth). Picton rolled himself up in hisblanket and stretched out on his locker; I climbed into the narrow coop,over the salt beef and hard biscuit department; and so we dozed andtalked until sleep reigned over all. In the morning the ceremonies werereversed, with the exception of the Captain, who was up first. "I neversee a man sleep so little as the captain," said Bruce; "about two hoors,an' that's aw."

The sun was already risen when I came out on the deck of the"Balaklava;" but wherewas the sun? Indeed, where was the ocean, oranything? The schooner was barely making steerage-way, with a lighthead-wind, over a small patch of water,[Pg 79] not much larger apparently thanthe schooner herself. The air was filled with a luminous haze thatappeared to be penetrable by the eye, and yet was not; that seemed atonce open and dense; near yet afar off; close yet diffuse; contractedyet boundless. There was no light nor shade, no outline, distance,aërial perspective. There was no east and west, nor blushing Aurora,rising from old Tithonus' bed; nor blue sky, nor green sea, nor ship,nor shore, nor color, tint, hue, ray, or reflection. There was nothingvisible except the sides of the vessel, a maze of dripping rigging, twosailors bristling with drops, and the captain in a shiny sou-wester. Thefeeling of seclusion and security was complete, although we might havebeen run down by another vessel at any moment; the air was deliciouslybland, invigorating, and pregnant with life; to breathe it was atransport; you felt it in every globule of blood, in every pore of thelungs. I could have hugged that fog, I was so happy!

Up and down the rolling deck I marched, and with every inspiration ofthe moist air, felt the old, tiresome, lingering sickness floating away.Then I was startled with a new sensation, I began to get hungry!

It was between four and five o'clock in the morning, and the "Balaklava"did not breakfast until[Pg 80] eight. Reader, were you ever hungryat sea?Were you ever on deck, upon the measureless ocean, four hours earlierthan the ring of the breakfast-bell? Were you ever awake on the brinydeep, in advance, when the cook had yet two hours to sleep; when thestove in the galley was cold, and the kindling-wood unsplit; the coffeestill in its tender, green, unroasted innocence? Were you ever upon "theblue, the fresh, the ever free," under these circumstances? If so, Ineed not say toyou that the sentiment, then and there awakened, isstronger than avarice, pride, ambition or, love.

Presently Picton burst out like a flower on deck, in a mass ofover-coats, with an India-rubber mackintosh by way of calyx. These werehis night-clothes. Picton could do nothing except in full costume; hecould not fish, in ever so small a stream, without being booted to thehips; nor shoot, in ever so good a cover, without being jacketed abovethe hips. He shaved himself in front of a silver-mounted dressing-case,wrote his letters on a portable secretary, drew off his boots with apatent boot-jack, brewed his punch with a peripatetic kettle, and infact carried a little London with him in every quarter of the globe."Well," said Picton, looking around at the fog with a low and expressivewhistle, "thisis serene!"[Pg 81]

Although Picton used the word "serene" ironically, just as a man ridingin an omnibus and suddenly discovering that he was destitute of theneedful sixpence might exclaim, "This is pleasant," yet the phrase wasnot out of place. The "Balaklava" was gliding lazily over the water, atthe rate of three knots an hour, sometimes giving a little lurch by wayof shaking the wet out of her invisible sails, for the fog obscured allher upper canvas, and the mind and body easily yielded to the lullabymovement of the vessel. Talk of lotus-eating; of Castles of Indolence;of the dreamy ether inhaled from amber-tubed narghilé; of poppy andmandragora, and all the drowsy syrups of the world; of rain upon themidnight roof; the cooing of doves, the hush of falling snow, the murmurof brooks, the long summer song of grasshoppers in the field, thetinkling of fountains, and everything else that can soothe, lull, ortranquillize; and what are these to the serenity of this sail-swinging,ripple-stirring, gently-creaking craft, in her veil of luminous vapor?"How delightful this is!" said I.

The traveller eyed me with surprise, but at last comprehending the idea,admitted, that with the exception of the fog and the calm, the scarcityof news, the damp state of the decks, and the want of the morningpapers, it was very charming indeed.[Pg 82] Then the traveller got a littlerestive, and began to peer closely into the fog, and look aloft to seeif he could make out the stay-sails, and then he entered into a longconfidential talk with the captain, in relation to the chances of"getting on," of a fresh breeze springing up, and the fog lifting;whether we should make Louisburgh by to-morrow night, and if not, when;with various other salt-water speculations and problems. Then Pictonclimbed up on the patent-windlass to get a full view of the fog at theend of the bow-sprit, and took another survey of the buried stay-sails,and the flying-jib. Then he and the Newfoundland sailor on the look-out,had a long consultation of great gravity and importance; and finally heturned around and came up to the place where I was standing, and brokeout: "I say, what the devil are we to do with ourselves this morning?"

"What are we to do?" That eternal question. It instantly seemed todouble the thickness of the fog, to arrest the slow movement of thevessel. Picton had nothing to do for a fortnight, and I had left homewith the sole object of going somewhere where soul and body could rest."Nothing to do," was precisely the one thing needful. "Nothing to do,"is exquisite happiness, for real happiness is but a negation. "Nothingto do," is repose for the body,[Pg 83] respite for the mind. It is an idealhammock swinging in drowsy tropical groves, apart from the roar of thebusy, relentless world; away from the strife of faction, the toils ofbusiness, the restless stretch of ambition, wealth's tinsel pride,poverty's galling harness. "Nothing to do," is the phantom of youngImagination, the evanescent hope that promises to crown

"Nothing to do," was the charm that lured us on board the "Balaklava,"and now "nothing to do," was with us like the Bottle-Imp, an incubus,still crying out: "You may yet exchange me for a smaller coin, if suchthere be!" "Nothing to do," is an imposture. Something to do is the verylife of life, the beginning and end of being. "Picton," said I, "onething we must do, at least, this morning."

"What is that?" replied the traveller, eagerly opening his mackintosh,and drawing it off so as to be ready to do it.

"Taking into consideration the slow and sleepy nature of this climate,the thickness of the fog, the faint, thin air that impels the vessel,the early time of day, and the regulations of the 'Balaklava,' it[Pg 84] seemsto me we shall have to be steadily occupied, for at least three hours,in waiting for breakfast."

Then Picton got hungry! He was a large, stout man, wrapped up by amultitude of garments to the thickness of a polar bear, and when he gothungry, it was on a scale of corresponding dimensions. First he alludedto the fact that we had gone supperless to bed the night before; then hebuttoned up his mackintosh, had a brief interview with the captain,shouted down the gang-way for the cook, and finally disappeared in theforecastle. Then he came up again with that officer, rummaged in thegalley for the ship's hatchet, and split up all the kindling-wood ondeck; then he shed his petals (mackintosh and over-coats) and instructedCookey in the mystery of building a fire. Then he emerged from theintolerable smoke he had raised in the galley, and devoted himself tothe stove-pipe outside, Cookey, meanwhile, within the caboose, gettingthe benefit of all the experiments.

At last a faint smell of coffee issued forth from the caboose, a littleArabia breathed through the humid atmosphere, and a sound, as if Cookeywere stirring the berries in a pan, was heard in the midst of the smoke.Meanwhile Picton descends in the hold with a bucket of salt-water toenjoy the luxury of a bath, and reappears in full toilet just as Cookey[Pg 85]is grinding the berries, burnt and green, with a hand-mill between hisknees. The pan by this time is put to a new use; it is now lined withbacon in full frizzle; presently it will be turned to account as abake-pan, for pearl-ash cakes of chrome-yellow complexion: everythingmust take its turn; the pan is the actor of all work; it accepts coffee,cakes, pork, fish, pudding, besides being general dish-washer andsoup-warmer, as we found out before long.

During the preparation of these successive courses, Picton and I sat ondeck in hungry silence. Now and then an anxious glance at the galley, ora tormenting whiff of the savory viands, would give new life to thedemon that raged within us. I believe if Cookey had accidentally upsetthe coffee tea-kettle, and put out the fire, his sanctuary would havebeen sacked instantly. Eight o'clock came, and yet we had not brokenbread. We walked up and down the deck to relieve our appetites. At lastwe saw the three cracked mugs, our tea-cups, which had been ourale-glasses of the night before, brought up for a rinse, and then weknew that breakfast was not far off. The cloth was spread, the saffroncakes, ship's butter, yellow mugs, coffee, pork, and pismires temptinglyarrayed. We did not wait to hear the cook ring the bell. We watched himas[Pg 86] he came up with it in his hand, and squeezed past him before heshook out a single vibration.

Breakfast being over, the fog lightened a little. Our tiny horizonwidened its boundaries a few hundred feet, or so; we could see once morethe top-mast of the schooner. So we lazily swung along, with nothing todo again. Sometimes a distant fog-bell; sometimes a distant sound acrossthe face of the deep, like the falling of cataract waters.

"It's the surf breakin' on the rocks," responds Bruce; "I hae beenlistenen to it for hoors."

Presently we heard the sound of human voices; a laugh; the stroke ofoars in the row-locks, plainly distinguishable in the mysterious vapor.The captain hailed: "Hallo!" "Halloo!" echoes in answer. The strokes ofthe oars are louder and quicker; they are approaching us, but where?"Halloo!" comes again out of the mist. And again the captain shouts inreply. Then a white phantom boat, thin, vapory, unsubstantial, now seen,now lost again, appears on the skirts of our horizon.

"Looking for our nets," is the reply; and once more boat and boatmendisappear in the luminous vapor. These aremackerel fishermen; theirnets are adrift from their stone-anchors: the fish are used for bait inthe cod-fisheries, as well as for salting down. If we could but comeacross the nets, what a rare treat we might have at dinner!

Lazily on we glide—nothing to do. Picton is reading a stunning book;the captain, his lady, the baby, and I making a small family circlearound the wheel; the mate is on the look-out over the bows; all atonce, he shouts out: "There they are! the nets!" Down goes Picton'sbook on the deck; Bruce catches up a rope and fastens it to a large ironhook; the sailors run to the side of the vessel; captain releases hisforefinger from baby's hand, and catches the wheel; all is excitement ina moment. "Starboard!" shouts the mate, as the nets come sweeping on,directly in front of the cut-water. The schooner obeys the wheel, sheersoff, and now, as the floats come along sidewise, Bruce has dropped hishook in the mesh—it takes hold! and the heavy mass is partiallyraised up in the water. "Thousands of them," says Picton; sure enough,the whole net is alive with mackerel, splashing, quivering, glistening."Catch hold here,[Pg 88] I canna hold them; O the beauties!" says the mate.Some grasp at the rope, others look around for another hook. "Hauld 'em!hauld 'em!" shouts Bruce; but the weighty piscatorial mass is too muchfor us, it will drag us desperately along the deck to the stern of thevessel. The schooner is going slowly, but still she is going. Anotherhook is rigged and thrown at the struggling mesh; but it breaks loose,the mackerel are dragging behind the rudder; we are at our rope's end.At last, rope, hook, and nets are abandoned, and again we have nothingto do.

High noon, and a red spot visible overhead; the captain brings out hissextant to take an observation. This proceeding we viewed with no littleinterest, and, for the humor of the thing, I borrowed the sextant of thecaptain and took a satirical view of a great luminary in obscurity. As Ihad the instrument upside down, the sailors were in convulsions oflaughter; but why should we not make everybody happy when we have it inour power?

High noon, and again hunger overtook us. Picton, by this time, hadbrought out the cans of preserved meats, the curried tin chicken, theportable soup, the ale and pickles. The cook was put upon duty; pot andpan were scoured for more delicate viands; Picton waschef de cuisine;we had a[Pg 89] magnificent banquet that day on the "Balaklava."

To give a zest to the entertainment, the captain's lady dined with us;the mate kindly undertaking the charge of the baby.

When we came on deck, after a repast that would have been perfect butfor the absence of potatoes, Bruce was marching up and down, danglingthe baby in a way that made it appear all legs; "I doan't see," said he,"hoo a wummun can lug a baby all day aboot in her airms! I hae onlycarried this one half an 'our, and boath airms is sore. But I supposeit's naturely, it's naturely—everything to its nature."

The dinner having been a success, Picton was in great spirits for therest of the day. The fog spread its munificent halo around us, andbefore nightfall broke into myriads of white rainbows—sea-dogs thesailors call them—and finally lifted so high that we could see thespectral moon shining through the thin rack. Once more we sang "AnnieLaurie;" the traveller brought out his travelling blanket for a dewyslumber on deck; the ladyof the "Balaklava" put on her night-cap andretired with baby to the double berth: Bruce took the helm. As I waspassing the light in the binnacle, I looked in at the compass for amoment.[Pg 90] "She's nailed there," said the old mate. Nailed there, true toher course, as steadfast to the guiding rudder as truth is to religion.We were but a few miles from a dangerous coast, in a vessel of thefrailest kind, but she was "nailed there," obedient to man'sintelligence, and that was security and safety. What a text to say one'sprayers upon!

"Picton," said I, the next morning, after the schooner-breakfast, "itseems to me the strangest thing that Mrs. Capstan should have the pureIrish pronunciation and the mate the thorough Scotch brogue, althoughboth were born in Newfoundland, and of Newfoundland parents. I mustconfess to no small amount of surprise at the complete isolation of thepeople of these colonies; the divisions among them; the separatepursuits, prejudices, languages; they seem to have nothing in common; noaggregation of interests; it is existence without nationality;sectionalism without emulation; a mere exotic life with not a fibrerooted firmly in the soil. The colonists are English, Irish, Scotch,French, for generation after generation. Why is this, O Picton? Why isit that the captain's lady has high cheek-bones, and speaks the pureHibernise? why is the only railroad in the colony but nine andthree-quarter miles long, and the great Shubenacadie Canal yetunfinished, although it was begun in the[Pg 91] year 1826; a canal fifty-threemortal miles in length, already engineered and laid out by nature in achain of lakes, most conveniently arranged with the foot of each littlelake at the head of the next one—like 'orient pearls at randomstrung'—requiring but a few locks to be complete: the head of the firstlake lying only twelve hundred and ten yards from Halifax harbor, andthe Shubenacadie River itself at the other end, emptying in the place ofdestination, namely, the Basin of Minas; a work that, if completed,would cut off more than three hundred miles of outside voyaging around astormy, foggy, dangerous coast; a work that was estimated to cost butseventy-five thousand pounds, and for which fifteen thousand pounds hadalready been subscribed by the government; a work that would be thesaving of so many vessels, crews, and cargoes of so much value; a workthat would traverse one of the most fertile countries in America; a workthat would bring the inland produce within a few hours of the seaboard;a work so necessary, so obvious, so easily completed, that no Yankeecould see it undone, if it were within the limits of his county, andhave one single night's rest until the waters were leaping from lock tolock, from lake to lake in one continuous flood of prosperity from[Pg 92]Minas to Chebucto? Why is this, O traveller of the 'Balaklava?'"

"The reason of it all," replied Picton, with great equanimity of manner,"is entirely owing to the stupidity of the people here; the Britishgovernment is the best government, sir, in the world; it fosters,protects, and supports the colonies, with a sort of parental care, sir;the colonies, sir, afford no recompense to the British government forits care and protection, sir; each colony is only a bill of expense,sir, to the mother country, and if, with all these advantages, thepeople of these colonies will persist, sir, in being behind the age,sir, what can we do to prevent it, I would like to know, sir?"

"It does seem to me, Picton, this fostering, protecting, and paying thegovernmental expenses of the colonies, is very like pampering andamusing a child with sweetmeats and nick-nacks, and at the same timekeeping it in leading-strings. It is very certain that these colonistswould not be the same people if their ancestors had been transplanted, acentury or so ago, to our side of the Bay of Fundy; no, not even if theyhad pitched their tents at the 'jumping-off place,' as it iscalled—Eastport, for even there they would have produced a crop of pureYankees, although grown from divers nations, religions, and tongues."[Pg 93]

Here Picton turned up his lip, and smiled out of a little battery ofsarcasm: "And you think," said he, after a pause, "that these colonistswould no longer revel in those little prejudices and sectionalisms sodear to every American heart, if they were transplanted to your ownfavored coasts? Why, sir, there is more sectionalism in the country youwould transport these people to, than in any one nation I ever heard of;every one of your States is a petty principality; it has its ownseparate interests; its own bigoted boundaries; its conventionalisms;its pet laws; and as for its prejudices, I will just ask you, as acandid man, not as a Yankee, but as a traveller like myself, acosmopolite, if you please, what you think of the two great eternalStates of Massachusetts and South Carolina, and whether prejudices andsectionalisms are to be fairly charged upon these colonies, and uponthem only?"

"Picton, I will be frank with you. The States you name are looked uponas the great game-cocks of the Union, and we give them a tolerably largearena to fight their battles in. Either champion has flapped its wingsand crowed its loudest, and drawn in its local backers, but the greatStates of my country are not these two. I feel at this moment an almostirrepressible desire to instance a[Pg 94] single one as an example; butinsomuch as nobody has ever flapped wing or crowed because of it, I willnot be the first to break the silence. This much I will say, there aresome States, and those the very greatest in the Union, that neitherclaim to be, nor make a merit of beingprovincial."

"But, even in your State, you have your stately prejudices," saidPicton, with a marked emphasis upon the "stately."

"No, sir, we have no stately prejudices, at least among those entitledto have them, the native-born citizens; nor do I believe such prejudicesexist in many of the States with us at home, sir."

"But as you admit there is a sectional barrier between your people,"said Picton, "I do not see why our form of government is not as wise asyour form of government."

"The difference, Picton, is simply this: your government is foreign, andalmost unchangeable; ours is local, and mutable as the flux and refluxof the tide. As a consequence, sectionalism is active with us, andapathetic with you. Your colonists have nothing to care for, and we haveeverything to care for."

We think it is best to choose the active instead of the stagnant; if aman cannot take part in the great mechanism of humanity, better to diethan to sleep. And Picton, so far as this is concerned, so far as thegeneral interests of humanity are concerned, your colonists are onlydead men, while our "stately" men are individually responsible, notonly to their own kind, but to all human kind, and herein each form ofgovernment tells its own story."

"I think you are rather severe upon poor Nova Scotia this morning," saidPicton, drily.

"You mistake me, Picton; I do not intend to cast any reflections uponthe people; I am only contrasting the effects produced by two differentforms of government upon neighboring bodies of men that would have beenalike had either a republican or monarchical rule obtained over both."

Meantime the schooner was lazily holding her course through the fog,which was now dense as ever. What an odd little bit of ocean this is tobe on! "The sea, the sea, the open sea," all your own, with a diameterof perhaps forty yards. Picton, who is full of activity, begins tounroll the log line; the captain turns the glass, away goes the log.[Pg 96]"Stop," "not three knots!" and then comes the question again: "Whatshall we do?—we are getting becalmed!"

There are plenty of hooks on board the "Balaklava," and unfortunatelyonly one cod-line; but what with the deep-sea lead-and-line, and a rollof blue cord, with a spike for a sinker, and the hooks, we are soon inthe midst of excitement. Now we almost pray for a calm; the schoonerwill heave ahead, and leave the lines astern; but nevertheless, upcome the fine fish, and plenty of them, too; the deck is all flop andglister with cod, haddock, pollock; and Cookey, with a short knife, isat work with the largest, preparing them for the banquet, according tothe code Newfoundland. Certainly the art of "cooking a cod-fish" is notquite understood, except in this part of the world. The white flakes donot exhibit the true conchoidal fracture in such perfection elsewhere;nor break off in such delicious morsels, edged with delicate brown."Another bottle of ale, please, and a granitic biscuit, and a pickle, byway of dessert."

Lazily along swings the "Balaklava." Picton brings up his travellingblanket, and we stretch out upon it on deck, basking in the warm, humidlight,[Pg 97] and leisurely puffing away at our segars, for we have nothingelse to do. Towards evening it grows colder, very much colder;over-coats are in requisition; the captain says we are nearing someicebergs; the fog folds itself up and hangs above us in strips of cloud,or rolls away in voluminous masses to the edges of the horizon. Thestars peep out between the strips overhead, the moon sends forth hersilver vapors and finally emerges from the "crudded clouds;" the wake ofthe schooner is one long phosphoric trail of flame; the masts arecreaking, sails stretching, the waters pouring against the bows; out onthe deep, white crests lift and break, the winds are loosened, and nowgood speed to the "Balaklava." Meanwhile, the hitherto listlessNewfoundland men are now wide awake, and busy; the man at the wheel ison the alert; the captain is looking at his charts; Picton and I walkingthe deck briskly, but unsteadily, to keep off the cold; Mrs. Capstan hasturned in with the baby. Blacker and larger waves are rising, withwhiter crests; on and on goes the schooner with dip and rise—tossingher yards as a stag tosses his antlers. On and on goes the brave"Balaklava," the captain at the bows on the look-out; the sky is mottledwith clouds, but fortunately there is no fog; nine, ten o'clock, and atlast a light[Pg 98] begins to lift in the distance. "Is it Louisburgh light,captain?" "I don't make it out yet," replies Captain Capstan, "but Ithink it is not." After a pause, he adds: "Now I see what it is; it isScattarie light—we have passed Louisburgh."

This was not pleasant; we had undertaken the voyage for the sake ofvisiting the old French town. To be sure, it was a great disappointment.But then we were rapidly nearing Scattarie light; and after we doubledthe island, the wind would be right astern of us, and by breakfast timewe would be in the harbor of Sydney.

"Captain," said we, after a brief consultation, "we will leave thematter entirely to you; although we had hoped to see Louisburgh thisnight, yet we can visit it overland to-morrow; and as the wind is sofavorable for you, why, crack on to Sydney, if you like."

"It is strange," said Picton, "the captain should have passed the lightwithout seeing it."

"Ever since we left Richmond," said the man at the wheel, "his eyes hasbeen weak, so as he couldn't see as good as common."

We looked, and at last made it out: a faint, nebulous star, upon thevery edge of the gloomy waters.

The captain walked aft to the steersman and peered anxiously in thedistance. Then he came forward again, and shouted down the forecastle:"Hallo, hallo, turn out there! all hands on deck! turn out, men! turnout!"

And sure enough, the little schooner came up to the wind; the men hauledaway at the sheets, the sails fluttered—filled upon the new tack, andin a few minutes our bows were pointed for Louisburgh.

The "Balaklava" had barely broadened out her sails to the fair wind,after she had been put about, when we were conscious of an increasedstraining and chirping of the masts and sails, an uneasy, laboriousmotion of the vessel; of blacker and larger waves, of whiter and highercrests, that sometimes broke over the bows, even, and made the deck wetand slippery. The moon was now rising high, but the clouds were rapidlythickening, and her majesty seemed to be reeling from side to side, aswe bore[Pg 100] on, with plunge and shudder, for the light ahead of us. Brucehad taken the wheel; all hands were on deck, and all busy, hauling uponthis rope or that, taking in the stay-sails and flying-jib, as thecaptain shouted out from time to time; and looking ahead, with no littleappearance of anxiety.

"Ah! she's a pretty creature," said the mate; "look there," nodding withhis head at the compass, "did'na I tell you? She's nailed there." Thenhe broke out again: "Ay, she's a flyin' noo; see hoo she'sraisin' thelight!"

It was, indeed, surprising to see the great beacon rising higher andhigher out of the water.

"When ye get in," answered the mate; "but it's narrar, it's narrar; yecan pitch a biscuit ashore as ye go through; and inside o't is the'Nag's Head,' a sunken bit o' rock, with about five feet water; if yemiss that, ye're aw right!" We were now rapidly approaching thebeacon, and could fairly see the rocks and beach in the track of itslight. On the other side there were great masses of savage surf,whirling high up in the night, the indications of the three islands onthe west of the harbor. The captain had climbed up in the rigging tokeep a good look-out ahead; the light of the beacon broadened on thedeck; we were within the very jaws of[Pg 101] the crags and surf; the wildocean beating against the doors of the harbor; the churning, whirling,whistling danger on either side, lighted up by the glare of the beacon!past we go, and, with a sweep, the "Balaklava" evades the "Nag's Head,"and rounding too, drops sail and anchor beside the walls of Louisburgh.

Then the thick fog, which had been pursuing us, came, and enveloped allin obscurity.

"It is lucky," said Captain Capstan, "that it didn't come ten minutessooner."[Pg 102]

CHAPTER V.

Louisburgh—The Great French Fortress—Incidents of the Old FrenchWar—Relics of the Siege—Description of the Town—The twoExpeditions—A Yankeeruse de guerre—The Rev. Samuel Moody'sGrace—Wolfe's Landing—The Fisherman's Hutch—The Lost Coaster—TheFisheries—Picton tries his hand at a fish-pugh.

Nearly a century has elapsed since the fall of Louisburgh. The greatAmerican fortress of Louis XV. surrendered to Amherst, Wolfe, andBoscawen in 1758. A broken sea-wall of cut stone; a vast amphitheatre,inclosed within a succession of green mounds; a glacis; and some milesof surrounding ditch, yet remain—the relics of a structure for whichthe treasury of France paid Thirty Millions of Livres!

We enter where had been the great gate, and walk up what had been thegreat avenue. The vision follows undulating billows of green turf thatindicate the buried walls of a once powerful military town. Fifteenthousand people were gathered in and about these walls; six thousandtroops were locked within this fortress, when the key turned in thestupendous gate.[Pg 103]

A hundred years since, the very air of the spot where we now stand,vibrated with the chime of the church-bells and the roll of the statelyorgan, or wafted to devout multitudes the savor of holy incense. Herewere congregated the soldiers, merchants, artisans of old France; onthese high walls paced the solemn sentry; in these streets the nun stolepast in her modest hood; or the romantic damsel pressed her cheek to thelatticed window, as the young officer rode by and, martial music filledthe avenues with its inspiring strains; in yonder bay floated the greatwar-ships of Louis; and around the shores of this harbor could becounted battery after battery, with scores of guns bristling from theembrasures.

The building of this stronghold was a labor of twenty-five years. Thestone walls rose to the height of thirty-six feet. In those brokenarches, studded with stalactites, those casemates, or vaults of thecitadel, you still see some evidence of its former strength. You willknow the citadel by them, and by the greater height of the mounds whichmark the walls that once encompassed it. Within these stood the smallermilitary chapel. Think of looking down from this point upon those broadavenues, busy with life, a hundred years ago!

Neither roof nor spire remain now; nor square[Pg 104] nor street; nor convent,church, or barrack. The green turf covers all: even the foundations ofthe houses are buried. It is a city without an inhabitant. Dismantledcannon, with the rust clinging in great flakes; scattered implements ofwar; broken weapons, bayonets, gun-locks, shot, shell or grenade,unclaimed, untouched, corroded and corroding, in silence and desolation,with no signs of life visible within these once warlike parapets exceptthe peaceful sheep, grazing upon the very brow of the citadel, are theonly relics of once powerful Louisburgh.

Let us recall the outlines of its history. In the early part of the lastcentury, just after the death of Louis XIV., these foundations werelaid, and the town named in honor of the ruling monarch. Nova Scotiaproper had been ceded, by recent treaty, to the filibusters of Old andNew-England, but the ancient Island of Cape Breton still ownedallegiance to the lilies of France. Among the beautiful and commodiousharbors that indent the southern coast of the island, this one wasselected as being most easy of access. Although naturally well adaptedfor defence, yet its fortification cost the government immense sums ofmoney, insomuch as all the materials for building had to be brought froma distance. Belknap thus describes it: "It was environed,[Pg 105] two miles anda half in circumference, with a rampart of stone from thirty tothirty-six feet high, and a ditch eighty feet wide, with the exceptionof a space of two hundred yards near the sea, which was inclosed by adyke and a line of pickets. The water in this place was shallow, andnumerous reefs rendered it inaccessible to shipping, while it receivedan additional protection from the side-fire of the bastions. There weresix-bastions and eight batteries, containing embrasures for one hundredand forty-eight cannon, of which forty-five only were mounted, and eightmortars. On an island at the entrance of the harbor was planted abattery of thirty cannon, carrying twenty-eight pound shot; and at thebottom of the harbor was a grand, or royal battery, of twenty-eightcannon, forty-two pounders, and two eighteen-pounders. On a high cliff,opposite to the island-battery, stood a light house, and within thispoint, at the north-east part of the harbor, was a careening wharf,secure from all winds, and a magazine of naval stores. The town wasregularly laid out in squares; the streets were broad and commodious,and the houses, which were built partly of wood upon stone foundations,and partly of more durable materials, corresponded with the generalappearance of the place. In the centre of one of the chief bastions wasa stone building, with[Pg 106] a moat on the side near the town, which wascalled the citadel, though it had neither artillery nor a structuresuitable to receive any. Within this building were the apartments of thegovernor, the barracks for the soldiers, and the arsenal; and, under theplatform of the redoubt, a magazine well furnished with military stores.The parish church, also, stood within the citadel, and without wasanother, belonging to the hospital of St. Jean de Dieu, which was anelegant and spacious structure. The entrance to the town was over adrawbridge, near which was a circular battery, mounting sixteen guns offourteen-pound shot."

This cannon-studded harbor was the naval dépôt of France in America, thenucleus of its military power, the protector of its fisheries, the keyof the gulf of St. Lawrence, the Sebastopol of the New World. For aquarter of a century it had been gathering strength by slow degrees:Acadia, poor inoffensive Acadia, from time to time, had been the prey ofits rapacious neighbors; but Louisburgh had grown amid its protectingbatteries, until Massachusetts felt that it was time for the armies ofGad to go forth and purge the threshing-floor with such ecclesiasticaliron fans as they were wont to waft peace and good will with, whereverthere was a fine opening for profit and edification.[Pg 107]

The first expedition against Louisburgh was only justifiable upon theground that the wants of New England for additional territory werepressing, and immediate action, under the circumstances, indispensable.Levies of colonial troops were made, both in and out of the territoriesof the saints. The forces, however, actually employed, came fromMassachusetts, Connecticut, and New Hampshire; the first supplying threethousand two hundred, the second five hundred, the third three hundredmen. The coöperation of Commodore Warren, of the English West-Indianfleet, was solicited; but the Commodore declined, on the ground "thatthe expedition was wholly a provincial affair, undertaken without theassent, and probably without the knowledge, of the ministry." ButGovernor Shirley was not a man to stop at trifles. He had a heart oflignum vitæ, a rigid anti-papistical conscience, beetle brows, and aneye to the cod-fisheries. Higher authority than international law waspressed into the service. George Whitefield, then an itinerant preacherin New-England, furnished the necessary warrant for the expedition, bygiving a motto for its banner: "Nil desperandum Christo duce"—Nothingis to be despaired of withChrist for leader. The command was, however,given to William Pepperel, a fish and shingle merchant[Pg 108] of Maine. One ofthe chaplains of the filibusters carried a hatchet specially sharpened,to hew down the wooden images in the churches of Louisburgh. Everythingthat was needed to encourage and cheer the saints, was provided byGovernor Shirley, especially a goodly store of New England rum, and theRev. Samuel Moody, the lengthiest preacher in the colonies. Louisburgh,at that time feebly garrisoned, held out bravely in spite of theformidable array concentrated against it. In vain the Rev. Samuel Moodypreached to its high stone walls; in vain the iconoclast chaplainbrandished his ecclesiastical hatchet; in vain Whitefield's bannerflaunted to the wind. The fortress held out against shot and shell,saint, flag and sermon. New England ingenuity finally circumventedLouisburgh. Humiliating as the confession is, it must be admitted thatour pious forefathers did actually abandon "Christo duce," and usedinstead a little worldly artifice.

Commodore Warren, who had declined taking a part in the siege ofLouisburgh, on account of the regulations of the service, had received,after the departure of the expedition, instructions to keep a look-outfor the interests of his majesty in North America, which of course couldbe readily interpreted, by an experienced officer in his majesty's[Pg 109]service, to mean precisely what was meant to be meant. As a consequence,Commodore Warren was speedily on the look-out, off the coast of CapeBreton, and in the course of events fell in with, and captured, the"Vigilant," seventy-four, commanded by Captain Stronghouse, or, as histitle runs, "the Marquis de la Maison Forte." The "Vigilant" was astore-ship, filled with munitions of war for the French town. Here was aglorious opportunity. If the saints could only intimate to Duchambon,the Governor of Louisburgh, that his supplies had been cut off,Duchambon might think of capitulation. But unfortunately the French wereprejudiced against the saints, and would not believe them under oath.But when probity fails, a little ingenuity and artifice will do quite aswell. The chief of the expedition was equal to the emergency. He tookthe Marquis of Stronghouse to the different ships on the station, wherethe French prisoners were confined, and showed him that they weretreated with great civility; then he represented to the Marquis that theNew England prisoners were cruelly dealt with in the fortress ofLouisburgh; and requested him to write a letter, in the name ofhumanity, to Duchambon, Governor, in behalf of those suffering saints;"expressing his approbation of the conduct of the English, andentreating similar[Pg 110] usuage for those whom the fortune of war had thrownin his hands." The Marquis wrote the letter; thus it begins: "On boardthe 'Vigilant,'where I am a prisoner, before Louisburgh, Junethirteen, 1745." The rest of the letter is unimportant. The confessionof Captain Stronghouse, that he was a prisoner, was the point; and theconsequences thereof, which had been foreseen by the filibusteringbesiegers, speedily followed. In three days Louisburgh capitulated.

Then the Rev. Samuel Moody greatly distinguished himself. He was apainful preacher; the most untiring, persevering, long-winded,clamorous, pertinacious vessel at craving a blessing, in the provinces.There was a great feast in honor of the occasion. But more formidablethan the siege itself, was the anticipated "grace" of Brother Moody. NewEngland held its breath when he began, and thus the Reverend Samuel:"Good Lord, we have so many things to thank Thee for, that time will beinfinitely too short to do it; we must therefore leave it for the workof eternity."

Upon this there was great rejoicing, yea, more than there had been uponthe capture of the French stronghold. Who shall say whether BrotherMoody's brevity may not stretch farther across the[Pg 111] intervals of timethan the longest preaching ever preached by mortal preacher?

In three years after its capture, Louisburgh was restored to the Frenchby the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle. Ten years after its restoration, aheavier armament, a greater fleet, a more numerous army, besieged itsalmost impregnable walls. Under Amherst, Boscawen, and Wolfe, no lessthan twenty-three ships of war, eighteen frigates, sixteen thousand landforces, with a proportionable train of cannon and mortars, were arrayedagainst this great fortress in the year 1758. Here, too, many of our ownancestral warriors were gathered in that memorable conflict; hereGridley, who afterwards planned the redoubt at Bunker Hill, won hisfirst laurels as an engineer; here Pomeroy distinguished himself, andothers whose names are not recorded, but whose deeds survive in thehistory of a republic. The very drum that beat to arms before Louisburghwas braced again when the greater drama of the Revolution opened atConcord and Lexington.

The siege continued for nearly two months. From June 8th until July26th, the storm of iron and fire—of rocket, shot, and shell—swept fromyonder batteries, upon the castellated city. Then when the King's, theQueen's, the Dauphin's bastions were lying in ruins, the commander, LeCheva[Pg 112]lier de Drucour, capitulated, and the lilies of the Bourbon wavedover Louisburgh no more.

And here we stand nearly a century after, looking out from thesewar-works upon the desolate harbor. At the entrance, the wrecks of threeFrench frigates, sunk to prevent the ingress of the British fleet, yetremain; sometimes visited by our still enterprising countrymen, who comedown in coasters with diving-bell and windlass, to raise again from thedeep, imbedded in sea-shells, the great guns that have slept in the oozeso long. Between those two points lay the ships of the line, andfrigates of Louis; opposite, where the parapets of stone are yetvisible, was the grand battery of forty guns: at Lighthouse Pointyonder, two thousand grenadiers, under General Wolfe, drove back theFrench artillerymen, and tamed their cannon upon these mighty walls.Here the great seventy-four blew up; there the English boats were sunkby the guns of the fortress; day and night for many weeks this groundhas shuddered with the thunders of the cannonade.

And what of all this? we may ask. What of the ships that were sunk, andthose that floated away with the booty? What of the soldiers that fellby hundreds here, and those that lived? What of the prisoners thatmourned, and the captors that[Pg 113] triumphed? What of the flash ofartillery, and the shattered wall that answered it? Has any benefitresulted to mankind from this brilliant achievement? Can any man, of anynation, stand here and say: "This work was wrought to my profit?" Canany man draw such a breath here amid these buried walls, as he can uponthe humblest sod that ever was wet with the blood of patriotism? I trownot.

A second time in possession of this stronghold, England had not themeans to maintain her conquest; the fortification was too large for anybut a powerful garrison. A hundred war-ships had congregated in thatharbor: frigates, seventy-fours, transports, sloops, under theFleur-de-lis. Although Louisburgh was the pivot-point of the Frenchpossessions, yet it was but an outside harbor for the colonies. So theorder went forth to destroy the town that had been reared with so muchcost, and captured with so much sacrifice. And it took two solid yearsof gunpowder to blow up these immense walls, upon which we now sadlystand, O gentle reader! Turf, turf, turf covers all! The gloomiestspectacle the sight of man can dwell upon is the desolate, but oncepopulous, abode of humanity. Egypt itself is cheerful compared withLouisburgh!

It had rained all the morning; but what did that matter when a hundredyears since was in one's mind? Picton, in his mackintosh, was animpervious representative of the nineteenth century; but I was as fullysaturated with water as if I were living in the place under the oldFrenchrégime.

"Let us go down," said Picton, "and see the jolly old fishermen outsidethe walls. What is the use of staying here in the rain after you haveseen all that can be seen? Come along. Just think how serene it will beif we can get some milk and potatoes down there."

There are about a dozen fishermen's huts on the beach outside the wallsof the old town of Louisburgh. When you enter one it reminds you of thedescriptive play-bill of the melo-drama—"Scene II.: Interior of aFisherman's Cottage on the Sea-shore: Ocean in the Distance." The wallsare built of heavy timbers, laid one upon another, and caulked with mossor oakum. Overhead are square beams, with pegs for nets, poles, guns,boots, the heterogeneous and picturesque tackle with which such ceilingsare usually ornamented. But oh! how clean everything is! The knots arefairly scrubbed out of the floor-planks, the hearth-bricks red ascherries, the dresser-shelves worn thin with soap and sand,[Pg 115] and whiteas the sand with which they have been scoured. I never saw drawing-roomthat could compare with the purity of that interior. It was cleanlinessitself; but I saw many such before I left Louisburgh, in both the oldtown and the new.

We sat down in the "hutch," as they call it, before a cheery wood-fire,and soon forgot all about the outside rain. But if we had shut out therain, we had not shut out the neighboring Atlantic. That was nearenough; the thunderous surf, whirling, pouring, breaking against therocky shore and islands, was sounding in our ears, and we could see thegreat white masses of foam lifted against the sky from the window of thehutch, as we sat before the warm fire.

"You was lucky to get in last night," said the master of the hutch, anold, weather-beaten fisherman.

"Yes," replied Picton, surveying the grey head before him with as muchcomplacency as he would a turnip; "and a serene old place it is when weget in."

"Rather a dangerous coast," continued Picton, stretching out one thighbefore the fire. "I say,[Pg 116] don't you fishermen often lose your lives outthere?" and he pointed to the mouth of the harbor.

"There was only two lives lostin seventy years," replied the old man(this remarkable fact was confirmed by many persons of whom we asked thesame question during our visit), "and one of them was a young man, astranger here, who was capsized in a boat as he was going out to avessel in the harbor."

"You are speaking now of lives lost in the fisheries," said Picton, "notin the coasting trade."

"Oh!" replied the old man, shaking his head, "the coasting trade isdifferent; there is a many lives lost in that. Last year I had a brotheras sailed out of this in a shallop, on the same day as yon vessel,"pointing to the Balaklava; "he went out in company with your captain; hewas going to his wedding, he thought, poor fellow, for he was to bring ayoung wife home with him from Halifax, but he got caught in a storm offCanseau, and we never heard of the shallop again. He was my youngestbrother, gentlemen."

It was strange to be seated in that old cottage, listening to so drearya story, and watching the storm outside. There was a wonderfulfascination in it, nevertheless, and I was not a little loth to[Pg 117] leavethe bright hearth when the sailors from the schooner came for us andcarried us on board again to dinner.

The storm continued; but Picton and I found plenty to do that day.Equipped with oil-skin pea-jackets and sou'-westers, with a couple offish-pughs, or poles, pointed with iron, we started on a cruise afterlobsters, in a sort of flat-bottomed skiff, peculiar to the place,called adingledekooch. And although we did not catch one lobster, yetwe did not lose sight of many interesting particulars that werescattered around the harbor. And first of the fisheries. All the peoplehere are directly or indirectly engaged in this business, and to thisthey devote themselves entirely; farming being scarcely thought of. Idoubt whether there is a plough in the place; certainly there was not ahorse, in either the old or new town, or a vehicle of any kind, as wefound out betimes.

The fishing here, as in all other places along the coast, is carried onin small, clinker-built boats, sharp at both ends, and carrying twosails. It is marvellous with what dexterity these boats are handled;they are out in all weathers, and at all times, night or day, as ithappens, and although sometimes loaded to the gunwale with fish, yetthey encounter the roughest gales, and ride out[Pg 118] storms in safety, thatwould be perilous to the largest vessels.

"I can carry all sail," said one old fellow, "when the captain therewould have to take in every rag on the schooner."

And such, too, was the fact. These boats usually sail a few miles fromthe shore, rarely beyond twelve; the fish are taken with hand-linesgenerally, but sometimes a set line with buoys and anchors is used. Thefish, are cured onflakes, or high platforms, raised upon poles fromthe beach, so that one end of the staging is over the water. The cod arethrown up from the boat to the flake by means of the fish-pugh—a sortof one-pronged, piscatory pitchfork—and cleaned, salted, and curedthere; then spread out to dry on the flake, or on the beach, and packedfor market.Nothing can be neater and cleaner than the whole system ofcuring the fish! popular opinion to the contrary notwithstanding. Thefishermen of Louisburgh are a happy, contented, kind, and simple people.Living, as they do, far from the jarring interests of the busy world,having a common revenue, for the ocean supplies each and all alike;pursuing an occupation which is constant discipline for body and soul;brave, sincere, and hospitable by nature, for all of these virtues areinseparable from their relations to each[Pg 119] other; one can scarcely bewith them, no matter how brief the visit, without feeling a kindredsympathy; without having a vague thought of "sometime I may be only tooglad to escape from the world and accept this humble happiness instead;"without a dreamy idea of "Perhapsthis, after all, is the realArcadia!"

While I was indulging in these reflections, it was amusing to see Pictonat work! The heads and entrails of the cod-fish, thrown from the"flakes" into the water, attract thousands of the baser tribes, such assculpins, flounders, and toad-fish, who feed themselves fat upon theoffals, and enjoy a peaceful life under the clear waters of the harbor.As the dingledekooch floated silently over them, they lay perfectlyquiet and unsuspicious of danger, although within a few feet of thefatal fish-pugh, and in an element almost as transparent as air.Lobster, during the storm, had gone off to other grounds; but here weregreat flat flounders and sculpin, within reach of the indefatigablePicton. Down went the fish-pugh and up came the game! The bottom of theskiff was soon covered with the spearings of the traveller. Greatflounders, those sub-marine buckwheat cakes; sculpins, bloated with rageand wind, like patriots out of office; toad-fish, savage and vindictiveas Irishmen in a riot. Down went the fish-[Pg 120]pugh! It was rare sport, andno person could have enjoyed it more than Picton—except perhaps some ofthe veteran fishermen of Louisburgh, who were gathered on the beachwatching the doings in the dingledekooch.[Pg 121]

CHAPTER VI.

A most acceptable Invitation—- An Evening in the Hutch—OldSongs—Picton in High Feather—Wolfe and Montcalm—Reminiscences of theSiege—Anecdotes of Wolfe—A Touch of Rhetoric and its Consequences.

Quite a little crowd of fishermen gathered around us, as thedingledekooch ran bows on the beach, and Picton, warm with exercise andexcitement, leaped ashore, flourishing his piscatorial javelin with anair of triumph, which oddly contrasted with the faces of theLouisburghers, who looked at him and at his game, with countenances ofgreat gravity—either real or assumed. Presently, another boat ran bowson the beach beside our own, and from this jumped Bruce, our jolly firstmate, who had come ashore to spend a few hours with an old friend, atone of the hutches. To this we were hospitably invited also, and wereright glad to uncase our limbs of stiff oil-skin and doff oursou'-westers, and sit down before the cheery fire, piled up with sprucelogs and hackmatack; comfortable, indeed, was it to be thus snuglyhoused, while the weather outside was so lowering, and the schooner wetand cold with rain.[Pg 122] To be sure, our gay and festive hall was not sobrilliant as some, but it was none the less acceptable on that account;and, before long, a fragrant rasher of bacon, fresh eggs, white bread,and a strong cup of bitter tea made us feel entirely happy. Then theseviands being removed, there came pipes and tobacco; and as somethingelse was needed to crown the symposium, Picton whispered a word in theear of Bruce, who presently disappeared, to return again after a briefabsence, with some of our stores from the schooner. Then the table wasdecked again, with china mugs of dazzling whiteness, lemons, hot water,and a bottle of old Glenlivet; and from the centre of this gallant show,the one great lamp of the hutch cast its mellow radiance around, andnursed in the midst of its flame a great ball of red coal that burnedlike a bonfire. Then, when our host, the old fisherman, brought out abundle of warm furs, of moose and cariboo skins, and distributed themaround on the settles and broad, high-backed benches, so that we couldloll at our ease, we began to realize a sense of being quite snug andcozy, and, indeed, got used to it in a surprisingly short space of time.

"Now, then," said Picton, "this is what I call serene," and thetraveller relapsed into his usual activity; after a brief respite—"Isay, give us a[Pg 123] song, will you, now, some of you; something about thisjolly old place, now—'Brave Wolfe,' or 'Boscawen,'" and he broke out—

"Good Lord!" said the old fisherman, "I harn't heard that song formore'n thirty years. Sing us another bit of it, please."

But Picton had not another bit of it; so he called lustily for some oneelse to sing. "Hang it, sing something," said the traveller. "'Howstands the glass around;' that, you know, was written by Wolfe; atleast, it was sung by him the night before the battle of Quebec, andthey call it Wolfe's death song—

Here Picton forgot the next line, and substituted a drink for it, incorrect time with the music:

"Then there is another song," said Picton, lighting his pipe with coaland tongs; "'Wolfe and Montcalm'—you must know that," he continued,addressing the old fisherman. But the ancient trilobite did not know it;indeed, he was not a singer, so Picton trolled lustily forth—

"There," said Picton, throwing himself back upon the warm and cosy furs,"I am at the end of my rope, gentlemen. Sing away, some of you," and thetraveller drew a long spiral of smoke through his tube, and ejected itin a succession of beautiful rings at the beams overhead.

"Picton," said I, "what a strange, romantic interest attaches itself tothe memory of Wolfe. The very song you have sung, 'How stands the glassaround,' although not written by him, for it was composed before he wasborn, yet has a currency from the popular belief that he sang it on theevening preceding his last battle. And, indeed, it is by no meanscertain that Gray's Elegy does not derive additional interest from akindred tradition."

"Of course you will remember it. When Gray had completed the Elegy, hesent a copy of it to his friend, General Wolfe, in America; and thestory goes, that as the great hero was sitting, wrapped in his militarycloak, on board the barge which the sailors were rowing up the St.Lawrence, towards Quebec, he produced the poem, and read it in silenceby the waning light of approaching evening, until he came to theselines, which he repeated aloud to his officers:[Pg 126]

"Gentlemen," he added, "I would rather be the writer of this poem, thanthe greatest conqueror the world ever produced."

"That's true," said the old fisherman, sententiously. "We are all boundto that place, sometime or other."

"The berrying-ground," answered the ancient; "that is if we don't getoverboard instead."

"But," he continued, "since you are speaking of General Wolfe, you mustknow my grandfather served under him at Minden, and at the battle here,too, where he was wounded, and left behind, when the general went backto England."

"No, sir," replied the old man, "he went first to London, and came backagain, and then went to Canada. Well," he continued, "my grandfatherserved under him, and was left here to get over his wownds, and so hemarried my grandmother, and[Pg 127] lived in Louisburgh after the French wereall sent away." Here the veteran placed his paws on the table, andlooked out into the infinite. We could see we were in for a long story."All the French soldiers and sailors, you see, were sent to Englandprisoners of war—and the rest of the people were sent to France; thegovernor of this here place was named Drucour; he was taken toSouthampton, and put in prison. Well now, as I was saying, this hutch ofmine was built by my father, just here by Wolfe's landing, forgrandfather took a fancy to have it built on this spot; you see, Wolferowed over one night in a boat all alone from Lighthouse point yonder,and stood on the beach right under this here old wall, looking straightup at the French sentry over his head, and taking a general look at thetown on both sides. There wasn't a man in all his soldiers who wouldhave stood there at that time for a thousand pounds."

"What do you suppose the old file was doing over here?" inquired Picton,who was getting sleepy.

"I don't know," answered our host, "except it was his daring. He was thebravest man of his time, I've heard say—and so young"——

"And a tall, elegant officer, too," continued the[Pg 128] ancient fisherman."I've heard tell how the French governor's lady used to send himsweetmeats with a flag of truce, and he used to return his complimentsand a pine apple, or something of that kind. Ah, he was a great favoritewith the ladies! I've heard say, he was much admired for his elegantstyle of dancing, and always ambitious to have a tall and graceful ladyfor his partner, and then he was as much pleased as if he was in thethick of the fight. He was a great favorite with the soldiers, too; verycareful of them, to see they were well nursed when they were sick, andsharing the worst and the best with them; but my grandfather used tosay, very strict, too."

"General Amherst was in command, and got the credit of it, too; butWolfe did the fighting—so grandfather used to say."

"I do not remember," replied the ancient, "but I've heard it. You knowhe was to be married, when he got back to England. And when the firstshot struck him in the wrist, at Quebec, he took outher handkerchieffrom his breast-pocket, smiled, wrapped it about the place, and went onwith the[Pg 129] battle as if nothing had happened. But, soon after he gotanother wound, and yet he wasn't disheartened, but waved his ratan overhis head, for none of the officers carried swords there, and kept on,until the third bullet went through and through his breast, when he fellback, and just breathed like, till word was brought that the French wereretreating, when he said, then 'I am content,' and so closed his eyesand died."

Here there was a pause. Our entertainer, waving his hand towards ourmugs of Glenlivet, by way of invitation, lifted his own to his mouth bythe handle, and with a dexterous tilt that showed practice, turned itsbottom towards the beams of the hutch.

"Oh, yes," replied the old man, "I remember grandfather telling us howhe saw the bodies of fifteen or sixteen deserters hanging over thewalls; they were Germans that had been sold to the French, four yearsbefore the war, by a Prussian colonel. Some of them got away, and cameover to our side. He used to say, the old town looked like a big shipwhen they came up to it; it had two tiers of guns, one above the other,on the south—that is towards Gabarus bay, where our troops landed. Andnow I mind me of his telling that[Pg 130] when they landed at Gabarus, they hada hard fight with the French and Indians, until Col. Fraser's regimentof Highlanders jumped overboard, and swam to a point on the rocks, anddrove the enemy away with their broad-swords."

"Among the Indians killed at Gabarus," continued our host, "they saythere was one Micmac chief, who was six feet nine inches high. TheFrench soldiers were very much frightened when the Highland men climbedup on the rocks; they called them English savages."

"And, while I think of it," added our host, rising from his seat, "Ihave a bit of the old time to show you," and so saying, he retreatedfrom the table, and presently brought forth a curious oak box from amysterious corner of the hutch, and after some difficulty in drawing outthe sliding cover, produced a roll of tawny newspapers, tied up withrope yarn, a colored wood engraving in a black frame—a portrait, withthe inscription, "James Wolfe, Esq'r, Commander in Chief of HisMajesty's Forces in the Expedition to Quebec," and on the reverse thefol[Pg 131]lowing scrap from the London Chronicle of October 7, 1759:

This inscription I read aloud, and then, under the influence of theloquacious potable, leaned back in my furry throne, crossed my handsover my forehead, looked steadily into the blazing fire-place, andcontinued the theme I had commenced an hour before.

"What a strange interest attaches itself to the memory of Wolfe! Ayouthful hero, who, under less happy auspices, might have been knownonly as the competent drill-master of regiments, elevated by thesagacity of England's wisest statesman to a prominent position ofcommand; there to exhibit his generalship; there to retrieve the longlist of disasters which followed Braddock's defeat; there to annihilateforever every vestige of French dominion[Pg 132] in the Americas; to fulfillgloriously each point of his mission; to achieve, not by long delays,but by rapid movements, the conquest of two of the greatest fortressesin the possession of the rival crown; to pass from the world amid theshouts of victory—content in the fullness of his fame, withoutoutliving it! His was a noble, generous nature; brave without cruelty;ardent and warlike, yet not insensible to the tenderest impulses ofhumanity. To die betrothed and beloved, yet wedded only to immortalhonor; to leave a mother, with a nation weeping at her feet; to servehis country, without having his patriotism contaminated by titles,crosses, and ribbons; this was the most fortunate fate of England'sgreatest commander in the colonies! No wonder, then, that with agrateful sympathy the laurels of his mother country were woven with thecypress of her chivalric son; that hundreds of pens were inspired to paysome tribute to his memory; that every branch of representative art,from stone to ink, essayed to portray his living likeness; thatparliament and pulpit, with words of eloquence and gratitude, utteredthe universal sentiment!

"Brave Wolfe," I continued, "whose memory is linked with his no lessyouthful rival, Montcalm"——here I was interrupted by the voice of themate of the Balaklava[Pg 133]—

The scene was a striking one. Right before me, with his grey head on thetable, buried in his piscatorial paws, lay the master of the hutch, fastasleep. On a settle, one of the fishermen, who had been a devoutlistener to all the legends of the grandson of the veteran ofLouisburgh, was in a similar condition; Bruce, our jolly first mate,with the pertinacity of his race, was wide awake, to be sure, but therewere unmistakable signs of drowsiness in the droop of his eyelids; andPicton? That gentleman, buried in moose and cariboo skins, prostrate ona broad bench, drawn up close by the fire-place, was dreaming, probably,of sculpins, flounders, fish-pugh, and dingledekooch!

"I say! wake up here!" said the jolly mate of the Balaklava; bringinghis fist down upon the table with an emphatic blow, that roused all thesleepers except the traveller. "I say, wake up!" reiterated Brace,shaking Picton by the shoulder. Then Picton raised himself from hiscouch, and yawned twice; walked to the table, seated himself on a bench,thrust his fingers through his black hair, and instantly fell asleepagain, after shaking[Pg 134] out into the close atmosphere of the hutch astifling odor of animal charcoal.

"A little straw makes a great reek," said Bruce, laughing, "and when amon gives out before his pipe, he is like to be burnet," and he pointedto a long black and brown singe on the worsted comforter of thetraveller, by which we understood that Picton had fallen asleep, pipe inmouth, and then dropped his lighteddudeen just on the safest part ofhis neck.

Once again we roused the sleeper; and so, shaking hands with ourhospitable host, we left the comfortable hutch at Wolfe's Landing, andwere soon on our way to the jolly little schooner.[Pg 135]

CHAPTER VII.

The other side of the Harbor—A Foraging Party—Disappointment—Twilightat Louisburgh—Long Days and Early Mornings—A Visit and View of anInterior—A Shark Story—Picton inquires about a Measure—Hospitalityand the Two Brave Boys—Proposals for a Trip overland to Sydney.

To make use of a quaint but expressive phrase, "it is patent enough,"that travellers are likely to consume more time in reaching a place thanthey are apt to bestow upon it when found. And, I am ashamed to say,that even Louisburgh was not an exception to this general truth;although perhaps certain reasons might be offered in extenuation for oursomewhat speedy departure from the precincts of the old town. First,then, the uncertainty of a sailing vessel, for the "Balaklava" wascoquettishly courting any and every wind that could carry her out of ourharbor of refuge. Next, the desire of seeing more of the surroundings ofthe ancient fortress—the batteries on the opposite side, the new town,the lighthouse, and the wild picturesque coast. Add to these the wish ofour captain to[Pg 136] shift his anchorage, to get on the side where he wouldhave a better opening towards the ocean, "when the wind came on toblow,"—to say nothing of being in the neighborhood of his old friends,whose cottages dotted the green hill-sides across the bay, as you lookedover the bows of the jolly little schooner. And there might have beenother inducements—such as the hope of getting a few pounds of whitesugar, a pitcher of milk (delicious, lacteous fluid, for which we hadyearned so often amid the briny waves); and last, but not least, ahamper of blue-nosed potatoes. So, when the shades of the second eveningwere gathering grandly and gloomily around the dismantled parapets, andLouisburgh lay in all the lovely and romantic light of a red and stormysunset, it seemed but fitting that the cable-chain of the anchor shouldclank to the windlass, and the die-away song of the mariner shouldresound above the calm waters, and the canvas stretch towards the landopposite, that seemed so tempting and delectable. And presently the"Balaklava" bore away across the red and purple harbor for the new town,leaving in her wake the ruined walls of Louisburgh that rose up higherthe further we sailed from them.

The schooner dropped anchor inside the little cove on the opposite sideof the old town, which[Pg 137] the reader will see by referring to the map; andthe old battles of the years '45 and '58 were presently forgotten in thenew aspects that were presented. The anchor was scarcely dropped fairly,before the yawl-boat was under the stroke of the oars, and Picton and Ien route for the store-house; the general, particular, and onlyexchange in the whole district of Louisburgh. It was a small woodenbuilding with a fair array of tarpaulin hats, oil-skin garments, shelvesof dry-goods and crockery, and boxes and barrels, such as are usuallykept by country traders: on the beach before it were the customary flakefor drying fish, the brown winged boats, and other implements of thefisheries.

But alas! the new town, that looked so pastoral and pleasant, with itstender slopes of verdure, was not, after all, a Canaan, flowing withmilk and blue-nosed potatoes. Neither was there white sugar, nor coffee,nor good black tea there; the cabin of the schooner being as wellfurnished with these articles of comfort as the store-house of McAlpin,towards which we had looked with such longing eyes. Indeed, I would nothave cared so much about the disappointment myself, but I secretly feltsorry for Picton, who went rummaging about the barrels in search ofsomething to eat or to drink. "No white sugar?" said the traveller. "Wedon't have white[Pg 138] sugar in this town," was the answer. "Nor coffee?""No, Sir." And the tea had the same flavor of musty hay, with which wewere so well acquainted. At last Picton stumbled over a prize—abushel-basket half-filled with potatoes, whereat he raised a bugle-noteof triumph.

It may seem strange that a gentleman of fine education, a traveller, whohad visited the famous European capitals, London, Paris, Rome, Madrid,Vienna; who had passed between the Pillars of Hercules, and voyaged uponthe blue Mediterranean, far as the Greek Archipelago; who had wanderedthrough the galleries of the Vatican, and mused within the courts of theAlhambra; who had seen the fire-works on the carnival dome of St.Peter's, and the water-works of Versailles; the temples of Athens, andthe Boboli gardens of Florence; the sculptures of Praxiteles, and thefrescoes of Raphael; should exhibit such emotion as Picton exhibited,over a bushel-basket only half-filled with small-sized blue-nosedtubers. But Picton was only a man, and "Homo sum——" the rest of thesentence it is needless to quote. I saw at a glance that the potatoeswere cut in halves for planting; but Picton was filled with the divineidea of a feast.

"A peck?" was the answer. "Why, man, I[Pg 139] wouldn't sell ye myseed-potatoes at a guinea apiece."

Here was a sudden let-down; a string of the human violin snapped, justas it was keyed up to tuning point. Slowly and sorrowfully we regainedthe yawl after that brief and bitter experience, and a few strokes ofthe oars carried us to the side of the "Balaklava."

It may seem absurd and trifling to dwell upon such slight particulars inthis itinerary of a month among the Blue Noses (as our brothers of NovaScotia are called); but to give a correct idea of this rarely-visitedpart of the world, one must notice the salient points that presentthemselves in the course of the survey. Louisburgh would speedly becomerich from its fisheries, if there were sufficient capital invested thereand properly used. Halifax is now the only point of contact between itand the outside world; Halifax supplies it with all the necessaryarticles of life, and Halifax buys all the produce of its fisheries.Therefore, Halifax reaps all the profits on either side, both of buyingand selling, in all not amounting to much—as the matter now stands. Butinsomuch as the sluggish blood of the colonies will never move withoutsome quickening impulse from exterior sources, and as Louisburgh is onlyten days' sail, under canvas,[Pg 140] from New York, and as the fisheries therewould rapidly grow by kindly nurture into importance, it does seem as ifa moderate amount of capital diverted in that direction, would be afortunate investment, both for the investor and hardy fishermen of theold French town.

I have alluded before to the long Acadian twilights, the tender andloving leave-takings between the day and his earth; just as two fond andfoolish young people separate sometimes, or as the quaint old poet inBritannia's Pastorals describes it:

Even so these fond and foolish old institutions part[Pg 141] company innorthern regions, and, at the early hour of two o'clock in the morning,the amorous twilight reappears in his foggy mantle, to look at the fairface of his ancient sweetheart in the month of June.

Tea being over, the "cluck" of the row-locks woke the echoes of thetwilight bay, as our little yawl put off again for the new town, with agay evening party, consisting of the captain, his lady, the baby, Pictonand myself, with a brace of Newfoundland oarsmen. If our galley was nota stately one, it was at least a cheerful vessel, and as the keel gratedon the snow-white pebbles of the beach, Picton and I sprang ashore, withall the gallantry of a couple of Sir Walter Raleighs, to assist thequeen of the "Balaklava" uponterra firma. Her majesty being landed,we made a royal procession to the largest hutch on the green slopebefore us, the captain carrying the insignia of his marital office (thebaby) with great pomp and awkward ceremony, in front, while his lady,Picton and I, loitered in the rear. We had barely crossed the sill ofthe hutch-door, before we felt quite at home and welcome. The samecheery fire in the chimney-place, the spotless floor, the tidyrush-bottomed chairs, and a whole nest of little white-heads andtwinkling eyes, just on the border of a bright patch[Pg 142]work quilt, wasinvitation enough, even if we had not been met at the threshold by themaster himself, who stretched out his great arms with a kind,"Come-in-and-how-are-ye-all."

And what a wonderful evening we passed in that other hutch, before theblazing hearth-fire! What stories of wrecks and rescues, of icebergs andwhales, of fogs and fisheries, of domestic lobsters that brought uptheir little families, in the mouths of the sunken cannon of the Frenchfrigates; of the great sharks that were sometimes caught in the meshesof the set-nets! "There was one shark," said our host, another oldfisherman, who, by the way, wore a red skull-cap like a cardinal, andhad a habit of bobbing his head as he spoke, so as to put onecontinually in mind of a gigantic woodpecker—"there was one shark Imind particular. My two boys and me was hauling in the net, and soon asI felt it, says I, 'Boys, here's something more than common.' So we allhauled away, and O my! didn't the water boil when he come up? Such atime! Fortnatly, he come up tail first.Lord, if he'd a come up headfirst he'd a bit the boat in two at one bite! He was all hooked in, andtwisted up with the net. I s'pose he had forty hooks in him; and when hegot his head above water, he was took sick, and such a time as he had!He must a'[Pg 143] vomited up about two barrels of bait—true as I set here.Well, as soon as he got over that, then he tried to get his head aroundto bite!Lord, if he'd got his head round, he'd a bit the boat in two,and we had it right full of fish, for we'd been out all day withhand-lines. He had a nose in front of his gills just like a duck, onlyit was nigh upon six feet long."

"That's what a captain of a coaster told me," replied Red-Cap; "he saidit must a been a shovel-nose. If he'd only got that shovel-nose turnedaround, he'd a shovelled us into eternity, fish and all."

"Why, sir, I took two half-hitches round his tail, soon as I see himcome up. And I tell ye when I make two half-hitches, they hold; askcaptain there, if I can't make hitches as will hold. What say, captain?"

"Get him ashore?" muttered Red-Cap, covering his mouth with one broadbrown hand to muffle a[Pg 144] contemptuous laugh; "get him ashore! why, we waspretty well off shore for such a sail."

"Rowed him ashore?" echoed Red-Cap, with another contemptuous smileunder the brown hand; "rowed him ashore?"

The traveller, finding he was in deep water, answered: "Yes; that is, ifyou were not too far out."

"A little too far out," replied Red-Cap; "why if I had been a hundredyards only from shore, it would ha' been too far to row, or sail in,with that shovel-nose, without counting the set-nets."

"Why," said Red-Cap, "I had to let him go, but first I cut out hisliver, and that I did bring ashore, although it filled my boat prettywell full. You can judge how big it was: after I brought it ashore I layit out on the beach and we measured it, Mr. McAlpin and me, and he'lltell you so too; we laid it out on the beach, that ere liver, and itmeasured seventeen feet, and then we didn't measure all of it."

Meantime the good lady of the hutch was busy arranging some tumblers onthe table, and to our great surprise and delight a huge yellow pitcherof milk soon made its appearance, and immediately after an old-fashionediron bake-pan, with an upper crust of live embers and ashes, was liftedoff the chimney trammel, and when it was opened, the fragrance of hotginger-bread filled the apartment. Then Red-Cap bobbed away at a cornercupboard, until he extracted therefrom a small keg or runlet of St.Croix rum of most ripe age and choice flavor, some of which, by anadroit and experienced crook of the elbow, he managed to insinuate intothe milk, which, with a little brown sugar, he stirred up carefully anddeliberately with a large spoon, Picton and I watching the proceedingswith intense interest. Then the punch was poured out and handed around;while the good wife made little trips from guest to guest with a hugeplatter filled with the brown and fragrant pieces of the cake, freshfrom the bake-pan. And so the baby having subsided (our baby of the"Balaklava"), and the twilight having given place to a grand moonlighton the bay, and the fire sending out its beams of warmth and happiness,glittering on the utensils of the dresser, and tenderly touching withrosy light the cheeks of the small, white-headed fishermen on the[Pg 146]margin of the patchwork quilt; while there was no lack of punch andhospitality in the yellow pitcher, who shall say that we were not aswell off in the fisherman's hutch as in a grand saloon, surrounded withfrescoes and flunkeys, and served with thin lemonade upon trays ofsilver?

I do not know why it is, but there always has been something veryattractive to me in the faces of children; I love to read thephysiognomy of posterity, and so get a history of the future world inminiature, before the book itself is fairly printed. And insomuch asNova Scotia and Newfoundland are said to be the nurseries of England'sseamen, it was with no little interest that I caught a glimpse of twoboys, one thirteen, the other eleven years old, the eldest children ofour friend Red-Cap.

They came in just as we entered the hutch, and quietly seated themselvestogether by the corner of the fire-place, after modestly shaking handswith all the guests. They were dressed in plain home-spun clothes, withsomething of a sailor rig, especially the neat check shirts, andold-fashioned, little, low-quartered, round-toed shoes, such as arealways a feature in the melo-drama where Jack plays a part. It is notusual, too, to see such stocky, robust frames as these fisher-boyspresented; and in all three, in the father and his two sons, was onegeneral, pervad[Pg 147]ing idea of cleanliness and housewifery. And then, tonotice the physiognomy again, each small face, though modest as that ofno girl which I could recall at the moment, had its own tale ofhardihood to tell; there was a something that recalled the open sea,written in either countenance; courage and endurance; faith andself-reliance; the compass and the rudder; speaking plainly out undereach little thatch of white hair. And indeed, as we found outafterwards, those young countenances told the truth; those fisher-boyswere Red-Cap's only boat-crew. In all weathers, in all seasons, by nightand by day, the three were together, the parent and his two children,upon the perilous deep.

"If I were the father of those boys," I whispered to Red-Cap, "I wouldbe proud of them."

"Would ye?" said he, with a proud, fatherly glance towards them; "well,I thought so once mysel'; it was when a schooner got ashore out there onthe rocks; and we could see her, just under the lights of thelighthouse, pounding away; and by reason of the ice, nobody wouldventure; so my boys said, says they, 'Father, we can go, any way.' So Iwouldn't stop when they said that, and so we laid beside the schoonerand took off all her crew pretty soon, and they mostly dead with thecold; but it was an awful bad night, what with the dark[Pg 148]ness and theice. Yes," he added, after a pause, "they are good boys now; but theywon't be with me many years."

"And why not?" I inquired, for I could not see that the young Red-Capsexhibited any migratory signs of their species to justify the remark.

"To the States!" I echoed with no little surprise; "why, I thought theyall entered the British Navy, or something of that kind."

"Lord bless ye," said Red-Cap, "not one of them. Enter the British Navy!Why, man, you get the whole of our young people. What would they want toenter the British Navy for, when they can enter the United States ofAmerica?"

"The air of Cape Breton is certainly favorable to health," said I, in awhisper, to Picton; "look, for example, at the mistress of the hutch!"and so surely as I have a love of womanity, so surely I intended toconvey a sentiment of admiration in the brief words spoken to Picton.The wife ofBonnet Rouge was at least not young, but her cheek wassmooth, and flushed with the glow of health; her eyes liquid and bright;her hair brown, and abundant; her step light and elastic. Althoughneither Picton, captain, or anybody else in the hutch would[Pg 149] remind oneof the Angel Raphael, yet Mrs. Red-Cap, as

was somewhat suggestive of Eve; her movements were grand and simple;there was a welcome in her face that dimpled in and out with everycurrent topic; a Miltonic grandeur in her air, whether she walked orwaited. I could not help but admire her, as I do everything else nobleand easily understood. Mrs. Red-Cap was a splendid woman; the wife of afisherman, with an unaffected grace beyond the reach of art, and poorold Louisburgh was something to speak of. Picton expressed hisadmiration in stronger and profaner language.

We were not the only guests at Red-Cap's. The lighthouse keeper, Mr.Kavanagh, a bachelor and scholar, with his sister, had come down to takea moonlight walk over the heather; for in new Scotland as in oldScotland, the bonny heather blooms, although not so much familiarizedthere by song and story. But we shall visit lighthouse Point anon, andspend some hours with the two Kavanaghs. Forthright, into the teeth ofthe harbor, the wind is blowing: "The wind bloweth where it listeth, andthou nearest the sound therof, but canst[Pg 150] not tell whence it cometh, andwhither it goeth." How long the "Balaklava" may stay here is yetuncertain. So, with a good-night to the Red-Caps and their guests, weonce more bear away for the cabin of the schooner and another night'sdiscomfort.

As I have said before in other words, this province is nothing more thana piece of patchwork, intersected with petty boundary lines, so thatevery nation is stitched in and quilted in spots, without any harmony,or coherence, or general design. The people of Louisburgh are a kind,hospitable, pleasant people, tolerably well informed for the inhabitantsof so isolated a corner of the world; but a few miles further off wecome upon a totally different race: a canting, covenanting, oat-eating,money-griping, tribe of second-hand Scotch Presbyterians: atransplanted, degenerate, barren patch of high cheek-bones and red hair,with nothing cleaving to them of the original stock, except covetousnessand that peculiar cutaneous eruption for which the mother country iscelebrated. But we shall soon have enough of these Scotsmen, goodreader. Our present visit is to Lighthouse Point, to look out upon thebroad Atlantic, the rocky coast, and the island battery, which a centurysince gave so much trouble to our filibustering fathers of New England.[Pg 151]As we walked towards the lighthouse over the pebbly beach that bordersthe green turf, Picton suddenly starts off and begins a series of greatjumps on the turf, giving with every grasshopper-leap a sort ofinterjectional "Whuh! whuh!" as though the feat was not confined to theleg-muscles only, but included also a necessary exercise of the lungs.And although we shouted at the traveller, he kept on towards thelighthouse, uttering with every jump, "Heather, heather." At last hecame to, beside a group of evergreens, and grew rational. The springy,elastic sod, the heather of old Scotland, reproduced in new Scotland,had reminded him of reels and strathspeys, "for," said he, "nobody canwalk upon this sort of thing without feeling a desire to dance upon it.Thunder and turf! if we only had the pipes now!"

And sure enough here was the heather; the soft, springy turf, which hasmade even Scotchmen affectionate. I do not wonder at it; it answers tothe foot-step like an echo, as the string of an instrument answers itsconcord; as love answers love in unison. I do not wonder that Scotchmenlove the heather; I am only surprised that so much heather should bewasted on Scotchmen.

We had anticipated a fine marine view from the lighthouse, but in placeof it we could only see a[Pg 152] sort of semi-luminous vapor, usually called afog, which enveloped ocean, island, and picturesque coast. We could notdiscover the Island Battery opposite, which had bothered Sir William inthe siege of '45; but nevertheless, we could judge of the difficulty ofreaching it with a hostile force, screened as it was by its waves andvapors. The lighthouse is striped with black and white bars, like azebra, and we entered it. One cannot help but admire such order andneatness, for the lighthouse is a marvel of purity. We wereeverywhere—in the bed-rooms, in the great lantern with its glitteringlamps, in the hall, the parlor, the kitchen; and found in all the samepervading virtue; as fresh and sweet as a bride was that oldzebra-striped lighthouse. TheKavanaghs, brother and sister, live hereentirely alone; what with books and music, the ocean, the ships, and thesky, they have company enough. One could not help liking them, they havesuch cheerful faces, and are so kind and hospitable. Good bye, goodfriends, and peace be with you always! On our route schooner-ward wedanced back over the heather, Picton with great joy carrying a smallbasket filled with his national fruit—a present from theKavanaghs. Whata feast we shall have, fresh fish, lobster, and above all—potatoes![Pg 153]

It is a novel sight to see the firs and spruces on this stormysea-coast. They grow out, and not up; an old tree spreading over an areaof perhaps twenty feet in diameter, with the inevitable spike of greenin its centre, and that not above a foot and a half from the ground. Thetrees in this region are possessed of extraordinary sagacity; they knowhow hard the wind blows at times, and therefore put forth their branchesin full squat, just like country girls at a pic-nic.

On Sunday the wind is still ahead, and Picton and I determine to abandonthe "Balaklava." How long she may yet remain in harbor is a matter offate; so, with brave, resolute hearts, we start off for a five-milewalk, to McGibbet's, the only owner of a horse and wagon in the vicinityof Louisburgh. Squirrels, robins, and rabbits appear and disappear inthe road as we march forwards. The country is wild, and in its pristinestate; nature everywhere. Now a brook, now a tiny lake, and "themurmuring pines and the hemlocks." At last we arrive at the house ofMcGibbet, and encounter new Scotland in all its original brimstone andoatmeal.[Pg 154]

CHAPTER VIII.

A Blue-Nosed Pair of the most Cerulean Hue—Prospects of a HardBargain—Case of Necessity—Romantic Lake with an Unromantic Name—TheDiscussion concerning Oatmeal—Danger of the Gasterophili—McGibbetmakes a Proposition—Farewell to the "Balaklava"—A MidnightJourney—Sydney—Boat Excursion to the Mic Macs—Picton takes off hisMackintosh.

Some learned philosopher has asserted that when a person has becomeaccustomed to one peculiar kind of diet, it will be expressed in thelineaments of his face. How much the constant use of oatmeal couldproduce such an effect, was plainly visible in the countenances ofMcGibbet and his lady-love. Both had an unmistakable equine cast;McGibbet, wild, scraggy, and scrubby, with a tuft on his poll that wouldnot have been out of place between the ears of a plough-horse, stared atus, just as such an animal would naturally over the top of a fence;while his gentle mate, who had more of the amiable draught-horse in heraspect, winked at us with both eyes from under a close-crimped frill,that bore a marvellous resemblance to a head-stall. The pair had[Pg 155]evidently just returned from kirk. To say nothing of McGibbet's hat, andhis wife's shawl, on a chair, and his best boots on the hearth (for hewas walking about in his stockings), there was a drypreceese airabout them, which plainly betokened they were newly stiffened up withthe moral starch of the conventicle, and were therefore well prepared todrive a hard bargain for a horse and wagon to Sydney. But what surprisedme most of all was the imperturbable coolness of Picton. Without takinga look scarcely at the persons he was addressing, the traveller stalkedin with an—"I say, we want a horse and wagon to Sydney; so look sharp,will you, and turn out the best thing you have here?"

The moral starch of the conventicle stiffened up instantly. Like theblacksmith of Cairnvreckan, who, as aprofessor, would drive a nailfor no man on the Sabbath or kirk-fast, unless in a case of absolutenecessity, and then always charged an extra saxpence for each shoe; soit was plain to be seen that McGibbet had a conscience which required tobe pricked both with that which knows no law, and the saxpence extra. Heturned to his wife and addressed her inGaelic! Then we knew what wascoming.

Mrs. McGibbet opened the subject by saying that they were bothaccustomed to the observance of the[Pg 156] Sabbath, and that "she didn't thinkit was right for man to transgress, when the law was so plain"——

Here McGibbet broke in and said that—"He was free to confess he hadcommeeted a grreat menny theengs kwhich were a grreat deal worse thanSabbath-breaking."

Upon which Mrs. McG. interrupted him in turn with a few words, which,although in Gaelic, a language we did not understand, conveyed theimpression that she was not addressing her liege lord in the language ofendearment, and again continued in English: "That it was held sinful inthe community to wark or do anything o' the sort, or to fetch or carryeven a sma bundle"——

"For kwich," said McGibbet, "is a fine to be paid to the meenister, offive shillins currency"——

Here Picton stopped whistling a bar of "Bonny Doon," and observed to me:"About a dollar of your money. We'll pay the fine."

"Yes," chimed in McGibbet, "a dollar"——and was again stopped by hiswife, who raised her eyebrows to the borders of her kirk-frill andbrought them down vehemently over her blue eyes at him.

"Or to travel the road," she said, "even on foot, to say nothing of awagon and horse."

"But," interrupted Picton, "my dear madam, we must get on, I tell you; Imust be in[Pg 157] Sydney to-morrow, to catch the steamer for St. John's."

At this observation of the traveller the pair fell back upon theirGaelic for a while, and in the meantime Picton whispered me: "I see;they want to raise the price on us: but we won't give in; they'll besharp enough after the job by and by."

The pair turned towards us and both shook their heads. It was plain tobe seen the conference had not ended in our favor.

"Ye see," said the gude-wife, "we are accustomed to the observance ofthe Sabbath, and would na like to break it, except"—

"In a case of necessity; you are perfectly right," chimed in Picton; "Iagree with you myself. Now this is a case of necessity; here we are; wemust get on, you see; if we don't get on we miss the steamer to-morrowfor St. John's—she only runs once a fortnight there—it's plain enougha clear case of necessity; it's like," continued Picton, evidentlytrying to corner some authority in his mind, "it's like—let mesee—it's like—a—pulling—a sheep out of a ditch—a—which they alwaysdo on the Sabbath, you know, to a—get us on to Sydney."

Both McGibbet and his wife smiled at Picton's ingenuity, but straightwayput on the equine look[Pg 158] again. "It might be so; but it was cleancontrary to their preenciples."

"I'll be hanged," whispered Picton, "if I offer more than the usualprice, which I heard at Louisburgh was one pound ten, to Sydney, and thefine extra. I see what they are after."

There was an awkward pause in the negotiations. McGibbet scratched hispoll, and looked wistfully at his wife, but the kirk-frill was stiffenedup with the moral starch, as aforesaid.

Suddenly, Picton looked out of the window. "By Jove!" said he, "I thinkthe wind is changed! After all, we may get around in the 'Balaklava.'"

McGibbet looked somewhat anxiously out of the window also, and gruntedout a little more Gaelic to his love. The kirk-frill relented a trifle.

"Perhaps the gentlemen wad like a glass of milk after thae long walk?and Robert" (which she pronounced Robbut), "a bit o' the corn-cake."

Upon which Robbut, with great alacrity, turned towards the bed-room,from whence he brought forth a great white disk, that resembled the headof a flour-barrel, but which proved to be a full-grown griddle cake ofcorn-meal. This, with the pure milk, from the cleanest of scoured pans,was acceptable enough after the long walk.

We had observed some beautiful streams, and[Pg 159] blue glimpses of lakes onthe road to McGibbet's, and just beyond his house was a larger lake,several miles in extent, with picturesque hills on either side,indented-with coves, and studded with islands, sometimes stretching awayto distant slopes of green turf, and sometimes reflecting masses ofprecipitous rock, crowned with the spiry tops of spruces and firs.Indeed, all the country around, both meadow and upland, was verypleasing to the sight. A low range of hills skirted the northern part ofwhat seemed to be a spacious, natural amphitheatre, while on the southside a diversity of highlands and water added to the whole the charm ofvariety.

"We ca' it Get-Along!" said Robbut, with an intensely Scotch accent onthe "Get."

"And yonder beautiful lake—what is the name of that?" said I, in hopesof taking refuge behind something more euphonious.

"Oh! ay," replied he, "that's just Get-Along, too. We doan't usuallyspeak of it, but whan we do, we just ca' it Get-Along Lake, and it's notgood for much."

I thought it best to change the subject. "Do[Pg 160] you like this as well asthe oat-cake?" said I, with my mouth full of the dry, husky provender.

Not so filling! Think of that, ye pampered minions of luxury, who liveonly upon delicate viands; who prize food, not as it useful, but as itis tasteful; who can even encourage a depraved, sensual appetite so faras to appreciate flavor; who enjoy meats, fish, and poultry, only asthey minister to your palates; who flirt with spring-chickens and triflewith sweet-breads in wanton indolence, without a thought of your cubiccapacity; without a reflection that you can live just as well upon somany square inches of oatmeal a day as you can upon the most elaborateFrench kickshaws; nay, that you can be elevated to the level of ascientific problem, and work out your fillings, with nothing to guideyou but a slate and pencil!

"Then you like oatmeal better than this?" said Picton, soothing down ahusky lump, with a cup of milk.

"And you always eat it, whenever you can get it, I suppose?" continuedPicton, with a most innocent air.

"I should think some of you Scotchmen would be afraid of contracting adisease that is engendered in the system by the use of this sort ofgrain. I hope, Mr. McGibbet," said Picton, with imperturbable coolness,"you keep clear of the bots, and that sort of thing, you know?"

"The gasterophili," replied Picton, "which I would advise you to steerclear of, if you want to live long."

As this was a word with too many gable-ends for Robbut's comprehension,he only responded by giving such a smile as a man might be expected togive who had his mouth full of aloes, and as the conversation waswandering off from the main point, addressed himself to Mrs. McG. in thevernacular again.

"We would like to obleege ye," said the lady, "if it was not for thetransgression; and we do na like to break the Sabbath for ony man."

"Although," interposed Robbut, "I am free to confess that I have done agreat many things worse than breakin' the Sabbath."

"But if to-morrow would do as well," resumed his wife, "Robbut wouldtake ye to Sydney."

"Or to-night; I wad na mind that," said the pious Robbut, "if it wasafter dark, and that will bring ye to Sydney before the morn."

"That will do," said Picton, slapping his thigh. "Lend us your horse andwagon to go down to the schooner and get our luggage; we will be backthis evening, and then go on to Sydney, eh? That will do; a ride bymoonlight;" and the traveller jumped up from his seat, walked with greatstrides towards the fire-place, turned his back to the blaze, hung acoat-tail over each arm, and whistled "Annie Laurie" at Mrs. McGibbet.

The suggestion of Picton meeting the views of all concerned, thediplomacy ended. Robbut put himself in his Sunday boots, and hitched upa spare rib of a horse before a box-wagon without springs, which hebrought before the door with great complacency. The traveller and I weresoon on the ground-floor of the vehicle, seated upon a log of wood byway of cushion; and with a chirrup from McGibbet, off we went. At thefoot of the first hill, our horse stopped; in vain Picton jerked at therein, and shouted at him: not a step further would he go, until Robbuthimself came down to the rescue. "Get along, Boab!" said his master; andBob, with a mute, pitiful appeal in his countenance, turned his facetowards salt-water. At the[Pg 163] foot of the next hill he stopped again, whenthe irascible Picton jumped out, and with one powerful twitch of thebridle, gave Boab such a hint to "get on," that it nearly jerked hishead off. And Boab did get on, only to stop at the ascent of the nexthill. Then we began to understand the tactics of the animal. Boab hadbeen the only conveyance between Louisburgh and Sydney for many years,and, as he was usually over-burdened, made a point to stop at the upside of every hill on the road, to let part of his freight get out andwalk to the top of the acclivity with him. So, by way of compromise, wemade a feint of getting out at every rise of ground, and Boab, whoalways turned his head around at each stopping-place, seemed to besatisfied with the observance of the ceremony, and trotted gailyforward. At last we came to a place we had named Sebastopol in themorning—a great sharp edge of rock as high as a man's waist, that cutthe road in half, over which we lifted the wagon, and were soon in viewof the bright little harbor and the "Balaklava" at anchor. Mr. McAlpinkindly gave quarters to our steed in his out-house, and offered to raisea signal for the schooner to send a boat ashore. As he was Deputy UnitedStates Consul, and as I was tired of the red-cross of St. George, Iasked him to hoist his consular flag. Up[Pg 164] to the flag-staff truck rosethe roll of white and red worsted, then uncoiled, blew out, and theblessed stars and stripes were waving over me. It is surprising to thinkhow transported one can be sometimes with a little bit of bunting!

And now the labor of packing commenced, of which Picton had the greatestshare by far; the little cabin of the schooner was pretty well spreadout with his traps on every side; and this being ended, Picton got outhis travelling-organ and blazed away in afinale of great tunes andsmall, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, as the humor took him. After all,we parted from the jolly little craft with regret: our trunks werelowered over the side; we shook hands with all on board; and were rowedin silence to the land.

I have had some experience in travelling, and have learned to bear withordinary firmness and philosophy the incidental discomforts one iscertain to meet with on the road; but I must say, the discipline alreadyacquired had not prepared me for the unexpected appearance of our wagonafter Picton's luggage was placed in it. First, two solid English trunksof sole-leather filled the bottom of the vehicle; then the traveller'sMinié-rifle, life-preserver, strapped-up blankets, and hand-bag werestuffed in the sides: over these again were piled my[Pg 165] trunk and thetraveller's valise (itself a monster of straps and sole-leather); thenagain his portable-secretary and the hand-organ in a box. These madesuch a pyramid of luggage, that riding ourselves was out of thequestion. What with the trunks and the cordage to keep them staid, ourwagon looked like a ship of the desert. To crown all, it began to rainsteadily. "Now, then," said Picton, climbing up on his confoundedtravelling equipage, "let's get on." With some difficulty I made ahalf-seat on the corner of my own trunk; Picton shouted out at Boab; theNewfoundland sailors who had brought us ashore, put their shoulders tothe wheels, and away we went, waving our hats in answer to the heartycheers of the sailors. It was down hill from McAlpin's to the firstbridge, and so far we had nothing to care for, except to keep a look-outwe were not shaken off our high perch. But at the foot of the first hillBoab stopped! In vain Picton shouted at him to get on; in vain he shookrein and made a feint of getting down from the wagon. Boab was notintractable, but he was sagacious; he had been fed on that sort of chafftoo long. Picton and I were obliged to humor his prejudices, anddismount in the mud, and after one or two feeble attempts at a ride,gave it up, walked down hill and up, lifted the wagon by inches overSebastopol, and[Pg 166] finally arrived at McGibbet's, wet, tired, and hungry.That Sabbath-broker received us with a grim smile of satisfaction, puton the half-extinguished fire the smallest bit of wood he could find inthe pile beside the hearth, and then went away with Boab to the stable."Gloomy prospects ahead, Picton!" The traveller said never a word.

Now I wish to record here this, that there is no place, no habitation ofman, however humble, that cannot be lighted up with a smile of welcome,and the good right-hand of hospitality, and made cheerful as a palacehung with the lamps of Aladdin!

McGibbet, after leading his beast to the stable, returned, and warminghis wet hands at the fire, grunted out; "It rains the nigcht."

"Yes," answered Picton, hastily, "rains like blue blazes: I say, get usa drop of whisky, will you?"

To this the equine replied by folding his hands one over the other witha saintly look. "I never keep thae thing in the hoose."

"Picton," said I, "if we could only unlash our luggage, I have a bottleof capital old brandy in my trunk, but it's too much trouble."

"Oh! na," quoth Robbut with a most accommodating look, "it will be naetrooble to get to it."

"Well, then," said Picton, "look sharp, will you?" and our host, withgreat swiftness, moved off[Pg 167] to the wagon, and very soon returned withthe trunk on his shoulder, according to directions.

"But," said I, taking out the bottle of precious fluid, "here it is,corked up tight, and what is to be done for a cork-screw?"

And Robbut did look sharp, and produced the identical instrument beforePicton and I had exchanged smiles. Then Robbut spread out three greentumblers on the table, and following Picton's lead, poured out a stouthalf-glass, at which I shouted out, "Hold up!" for I thought he wasfilling the tumbler for my benefit. It proved to be a mistake; Robbutstopped for a moment, but instantly recovering himself, covered thetumbler with his four fingers, and, to use a Western phrase, "gotoutside of the contents quicker than lightning." Then he brought fromhis bed-room a coarse sort of worsted horse-blanket, and with a "Ye'llmay-be like to sleep an hour or twa?" threw down his family-quilt andretired to the arms of Mrs. McG. Picton gave a great crunching blow withhis boot-heel at the back-stick, and laid on a good supply of fuel. Wewere wet through and through, but we wrapped ourselves in ourtravel[Pg 168]ling-blankets like a brace of clansmen in their plaids, put ourfeet towards the niggardly blaze, and were soon bound and clasped withsleep.

At two o'clock our host roused us from our hard bed, and after astretch, to get the stiffness out of joints and muscles, we took leaveof the Presbyterian quarters. The day was just dawning: at this earlyhour, lake and hill-side, tree and thicket, were barely visible in thegrey twilight. The wagon, with its pyramid of luggage, moved off in therain, McGibbet walking beside Boab, and Picton and I following after,with all the gravity of chief mourners at a funeral. To give some ideaof the road we were upon, let it be understood, it had once been an oldFrench military road, which, after the destruction of the fortress ofLouisburgh, had been abandoned to the British Government and theelements. As a consequence, it was embroidered with the ruts and gulliesof a century, the washing of rains, and the tracks of wagons; howbeit,the only traverse upon it in later years were the wagon of McGibbet andthe saddle-horse of the post-rider. "Get-Along" had a population ofseven hundred Scotch Presbyters, and therefore it will be easy tounderstand the condition of its turnpike.

Up hill and down hill, through slough and over rock, we trudged, formile after mile. Sometimes[Pg 169] beside Get-Along Lake, with its grey,spectral islands and woodlands; sometimes by rushing brooks and drearyfarm-fields; now in paths close set with evergreens; now in more opengrounds, skirted with hills and dotted with silent, two-penny cottages.Sometimes Picton mounted his pyramid of trunk-leather for a mile or soof nods; sometimes I essayed the high perch, and holding on by a cord,dropped off in a moment's forgetfulness, with the constant fear ofwaking up in a mud-hole, or under the wagon-wheels. But even theserespites were brief. It is not easy to ride up hill and down by rock andrut, under such conditions. We were very soon convinced it was best toleave the wagon to its load of sole-leather, and walk through the mud toSydney.

After mouldy Halifax, and war-worn Louisburgh, the little town of Sydneyis a pleasant rural picture. Everybody has heard of the Sydneycoal-mines: we expected to find the miner's finger-marks everywhere; butinstead of the smoky, sulphurous atmosphere, and the black road, and thesulky, grimy, brick tenements, we were surprised with clean, white,picket-fences; and green lawns, and clever, little cottages, nestled inshrubbery and clover. The mines are over the bay, five miles from SouthSydney. Slowly we dragged on, until we came to a sleepy little one-storyinn, with superna[Pg 170]tural dormer windows rising out of the roof, beforewhich Boab stopped. Wepaid McGibbet's kirk-fine, wagon-fare, and hisunconscionable charge for his conscience, without parleying with him; wewere too sleepy to indulge in the luxury of a monetary skirmish. Apretty, red-cheeked chambermaid, with lovely drooping eyes, showed us toour rooms; it was yet very early in the morning; we were almost ashamedto get into bed with such dazzling white sheets after the dark-brownaccommodations of the "Balaklava;" but we did get in, and slept; oh! howsweetly! until breakfast at one!

"Twenty-four miles of such foot-travel will do pretty well for aninvalid, eh, Picton?"

"Then let's have a bath," and, at Picton's summons, the chambermaidbrought up in our rooms two little tubs of fair water, and a small pileof fat, white napkins. The bathing over, and the outer men new clad,"from top to toe," down we went to the cosy parlor to breakfast; andsuch a breakfast!

I tell you, my kind and gentle friend;you, who are now reading thisparagraph, that here, as in all other parts of the world, there are agreat many[Pg 171] kinds of people; only that here, in Nova Scotia, thedifference is in spots, not in individuals. And I will venture to say tothose philanthropists who are eternally preaching "of the masses," and"to the masses," that here "masses" can be found—concrete "masses," notyet individualized: as ready to jump after a leader as a flock of sheepafter a bell-wether; only that at every interval of five or ten milesbetween place and place in Nova Scotia, they are apt to jump in contrarydirections. There are Scotch Nova Scotiaites even in Sydney. Otherwisethe place is marvellously pleasant.

I must confess that I had a romantic sort of idea in visiting Sydney; adesire to return by way of theBras d'Or lake, the "arm of gold," theinland sea of Cape Breton, that makes the island itself only a borderfor the water in its interior. And as the navigation is frequentlyperformed by the Micmac Indians, in their birch-bark canoes, Idetermined to be avoyageur for the nonce, and engage a couple ofMicmacs to paddle me homewards, at least one day's journey. The wigwamsof the tribe were pitched about a mile from the town, and I proposed avisit to their camp as an afternoon's amusement. Picton readilyassented, and down we went to the wharf, where the landlady assured uswe would find some of the tribe. These Indians, often expert[Pg 172] coopers,are employed to barrel up fish; the busy wharf was covered withlaborers, hard at work, heading and hooping ship loads of salt mackerel;and among the workmen were some with the unmistakable lozenge eyes, highcheek-bones, and rhubarb complexion of the native American. Uponinquiry, we were introduced to one of the Rhubarbarians. He was a littlefellow, not in leggings and quill-embroidered hunting-shirt, with beltof wampum and buckskin moccasins; armed with bow and arrow, tomahawk andscalping-knife; such as one would expect to navigate a wild, romanticlake with, in birch-bark canoe; but a pinched-up specimen of a man, in aseedy black suit, out of which rose a broad, flat face, like the orb ofa sun-flower, bearing one side the aboriginal black eye, and on theother the civilized, surrounded with the blue and purple halo of battle.We had barely opened our business with the Indian, when a bonnyScotchman, a fellow-cooper of salt mackerel, introduced himself:

"De'il a canoe has he to tak ye there" (the Indian slunk away), "butI'll tak ye tull 'em for one and saxpence, in a gude boat."

The fellow had such an honest face, and the offer[Pg 173] was so fair andearnest, that Picton's and my own trifling prejudices were soonovercome, and we directed Malcolm, for that was his name, to bring hisboat under the inn-windows after the dinner-hour. I regret to say thatwe found Malcolm tolerably drunk after dinner, with a leaky boat, underthe inn-windows. And farther, I am pained to state the nationalcharacteristic was developed in Malcolm drunk, from which there was noappeal to Malcolm sober, for he insisted upon double fare, and time waspressing. To this we assented, after a brief review of formerprejudices. We got in the boat and put off. We had barely floated awayinto the beautiful landscape when a fog swept over us, and Malcolm'snationality again woke up. He would have four times as much as he hadcharged in the first instance, or "he'd tak us over, and land us on theither side of the bay."

Then Picton's nationality woke up, and he unbuttoned his mackintosh."Now, sir," said he to Malcolm, as he rose from his seat in the boat,his head gracefully inclined towards his starboard shirt-collar, and histwo tolerably large fists arrayed in order of battle within a few briefinches of the delinquent's features, "did I understand you to say thatyou had some idea of taking this gentleman and myselfto the other sideof the bay?"[Pg 174]

There was a boy in our boat—a fair-haired, blue-eyed representative ofNova Scotia; a sea-boy, with a dash of salt-water in his ruddy cheeks,who had modestly refrained from taking part in the dispute.

"Come, now," said he to Malcolm, "pull away, and let us get thegentlemen up to the camp," and he knit his boy brow with determination,as if he meant to have it settled according to contract.

"I'm pullin' an't I?" quoth the descendant of King Duncan, a littlefrightened, and suiting the action to the word; "I'm a-pewlin," and herehis oar missed the water, and over he tumbled with a great splash in thebottom of the boat. "I'm a-pewlin," he whined, as he regained his seatand the oar, "and all I want is to hae my honest airnins."

"Ay," quoth the Scotchman, "I know the Micmacs weel, and thae squawstoo; deil a one o' 'em but knows Malcolm"——

"They are guid-lookin', thae squaws, and I'm a bachelter; and I tell yewhen I tak ye tull em[Pg 175]—for I know the hail o' em—if ye are gentlemen,ye'll pay me my honest airnins."

"And I tell you," answered Picton, his fist clenched, his eye flashingagain, and his indignant nostrils expressing a degree of anger languagecould not express; "I tell you, if you do not carry us to the Micmaccamp without further words, I'll pay you your honest earnings before youget there: I'll punch that Scotch head of yours till it looks like aphotograph!"[Pg 176]

CHAPTER IX.

The Micmac Camp—Indian Church-warden and Broker—Interior of aWigwam—A Madonna—A Digression—Malcolm discharged—An IndianBargain—The Inn Parlor, and a Comfortable Night's Rest.

The threat had its effect: in a few minutes our boat ran bows-on up theclear pebbled beach before the Micmac camp.

It was a little cluster of birch-bark wigwams, pitched upon a carpet ofgreensward, just at the edge of one of the loveliest harbors in theworld. The fog rolled away like the whiff of vapor from a pipe, andmelted out of sight. Before us were the blue and violet waters, tingedwith the hues of sunset, the rounded, swelling, curving shores opposite,dotted with cottages; the long, sweeping, creamy beaches, the distantshipping, and, beyond, the great waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence.Nearer at hand were "the murmuring pines and the hemlocks," the tendergreen light seen in vistas of firs and spruces, the thin smoke curlingup from the wigwams, the birch-bark canoes, the black, bright[Pg 177] eyes ofthe children, the sallow faces of the men, and the pretty squaws,arrayed in blue broad-cloth frocks and leggings, and modesty, andmoccasins.

"Now, here we are," said Malcolm, triumphantly, "and wha d'ye thenk o'the Micmacs? Deil a wan o' the yellow deevils but knows Malcolm, an I'llintrojewce ye to the hail o' em."

"Stop, sir," said Picton, sternly, "we want none of your company. Youcan take your boat back," (here I nodded affirmatively), "and we'll walkhome."

It was quite a picture, that of our oarsman, upon this summons todepart. He had just laid his hand upon the shoulder of a fat,good-natured looking squaw, to commence the introjewcing; one footrested on the bottom of an overturned canoe, in an attitude of command;his old battered tarpaulin hat, his Guernsey shirt, and salt-mackereltrowsers, finely relieved against the violet-tinted water; but oh! howchop-fallen were those rugged features under that old tarpaulin!

The scene had its effect; I am sure Picton and myself would gladly havepaid the quadruple sum on the spot—after all, it was but a trifle—forwe both drew forth a sovereign at the same moment.[Pg 178]

Unfortunately Malcolm had no change; not a "bawbee." "Then," said we,"go back to the inn, and we'll pay you on our return."

"And," said Malcolm, in an unearthly whine that might have been heardall over the camp, "d' ye get me here to take advantage o' me, and nopay me my honest airnins?"

"What the devil to do with this fellow, short, of giving him a drubbing,I do not know," said Picton. "Here, you, give us change for a sovereign,or take yourself off and wait at the hotel till we get back again."

"Wad ye send me away without my honest airnins?" he uttered, with awhine like the bleat of a bagpipe.

Picton drew a little closer to Malcolm, with one fist carefully doubledup and put in ambush behind his back. But the boy interposed—"Perhapsthe Micmac chief could change the sovereign."

"Oh! ay," quoth Malcolm, who had given an uneasy look at Picton as hestepped towards him; "Oh! ay; I'se tak ye tull 'im;" and without furtherado he stepped off briskly towards the centre of the camp, and wefollowed in his wake. When our file-leader reached the wigwam of thechief, he[Pg 179] went down on hands and knees, lifted up a little curtain orblanket in front of the low door of the tent, crawled in head first, andwe followed close upon his heels.

As soon as the eye became accustomed to the dim and uncertain light ofthe interior, we began to examine the curious and simple architecture ofthis human bee-hive. A circle of poles, say about ten feet in diameterat the base, and tied together to an apex at the top, covered with thethin bark of the birch-tree, except a space above to let out the smoke,was all the protection these people had against the elements in summeror winter. The floor, of course, was the primitive soil of Cape Breton;in the centre of the tent a few sticks were smouldering away over alittle pile of ashes: the thin smoke lifted itself up in folds of bluevapor until it stole forth into the evening air from the opening in theroof. Through this aperture the light—the only light of the tent—felldown upon the group below: the old chief with his great silver cross,and medal, and snow-white hair; the young and beautiful squaw with herpappoose at the breast, like a Madonna by Murillo; Malcolm's batteredtarpaulin and Guernsey shirt; and the two unpicturesque objects of theparty—Picton and myself. Around the central fire a broad,[Pg 180] green borderof fragrant hemlock twigs, extending to the skirts of the tent, wasraised a few inches from the ground. Upon this couch we sat, and openedour business with the aged sagamore.

Old Indian was very courteous; he drew forth a bag of clinking dollars,for strange as it may seem, he was a churchwarden: the Micmacs being allCatholics, the chief holds the silver keys of St. Peter. But venerableand pious as he appeared, with his silver cross and silver hair, the oldfellow was something too of a broker! He demanded a fair rate ofcommission—eight per cent. premium on every dollar! Even this would notanswer our purpose; it was as difficult to make change with the oldchurchwarden as with Malcolm: there was no money in the camp except hardsilver dollars.

So we went forth from the wigwam again on all fours, and it was only byanother promise of a sound drubbing that Malcolm was finally persuadedto drop off and leave us.

Aboriginal certainly is the camp of the Micmacs. The birch-bark wigwams;the canoes that lined the beach; the paddles, the utensils; the bows andarrows; the parti-colored baskets, are independent of, are earlier thanour arts and manufactures. So far as these people are concerned, thecolonial[Pg 181] government has been mild and considerate. Although there aregame-laws in the Province, yet Micmac has a privilege no white man canpossess. At all seasons he may hunt or fish; he may stick hisaishkunin the salmon as it runneth up the rivers to spawn, and shoot thepartridge on its nest, if he please, without fine and imprisonment. Somemay think it better to preserve the game than to preserve the Indian;but some think otherwise. For my part, when the question is between theman and the salmon, I am content to forego fish.

As we walked through the Micmac camp we met our semi-civilized friendwith the lozenge eyes, and I made a contract with him for a brief voyageon le Bras d'Or. But alas! Indian will sometimes take a lesson from hiswhite comrades! Micmac's charge at first was one pound for a trip oftwenty-four miles on the "Arm of Gold;" cheap enough. But before we leftthe camp it was two pounds. That I agreed to pay. Then there was aportage of three miles, over which the canoe had to be carried. "Well?""And it would take two men to paddle." "Well?" "And then the canoe hadto be paddled back." "Well?" "And then carried over the portage again.""Well?" "And so it would be four pounds!" Here the negotiations werebroken off; how much more it would cost I[Pg 182] did not ascertain. The rateof progression was too rapid for further inquiry.

So we walked home again amid the fragrant resinous trees, until wegained the high road, and so by pretty cottages, and lawns, and picketfences; sometimes meeting groups of wandering damsels with their youngand happy lovers; sometimes twos and threes of horse-women, in habits,hats, and feathers; now catching a glimpse of the broad, blue harbor;now looking down a green lane, bordered with turf and copse; until wereached our comfortable quarters at Mrs. Hearn's, where the prettychambermaid, with drooping eyes, welcomed us in a voice whose music wassweeter than the tea-bell she held in her hand. And here, too, we foundMalcolm, waiting for his pay, partially sober and quiet as a lamb.

I trust the reader will not find fault with the writer for dwelling uponthese minute particulars. In this itinerary of the trip to the Acadianland, I have endeavored to portray, as faithfully as may be, the salientfeatures of the country, and particularly those contrasts visible in thesettlements; the jealous preservation of those dear, old, splendidprejudices, that separate tribe from tribe, clan from clan, sect fromsect, race from race. I wish the reader to see and know the country asit is, not for[Pg 183] the purpose of arousing his prejudices against aneighboring people, but rather with the intent of showing to what resultthese prejudices tend, in order that he may correct his own. A mereaggregation of tribes is not a great people. Take the human species in astate of sectionalism, and it does not make much difference whether itis in the shape of the Indian, proud of the blue and red stripes on hisface, or the Scotchman, proud of the blue and red stripes on his plaid,the inferiority of the human animal, with his tribal sheep-mark on him,is evident enough to any person of enlarged understanding. Therefore Ihave been minute and faithful in describing the species McGibbet andMalcolm, and in contrasting them with the hardy fisherman of Louisburgh,the Micmacs of Sydney, the negroes of Deer's Castle, the Acadians ofChizzetcook, and as we shall see anon with other sectional specimens,just as they present their kaleidoscopic hues in the local settlementsof this colony.

It is just a year since I was seated in that cosy inn-parlor at Sydney,and how strangely it all comes back again: the little window overlookingthe harbor, the lights on the twinkling waters; the old-fashionedhouse-clock in the corner of the room; the bright brass andirons; thecut paper chimney-[Pg 184]apron; the old sofa; the cheerful lamp, and thewell-polished table. And I remember, too, the happy, tranquil feeling oflying in the snow-white sheets at night, and talking with Picton of ouroverland journey from Louisburgh; of McGibbet and Malcolm; and then webranched out on the great subject of Indian rights, and Indian wrongs;of squaws and pappooses; of wigwams and canoes, until at last I droppedoff in a doze, and heard only a repetition ofMicmac—Micmac—Micmac—Mic—Mac——Mic———Mac! To this day I amunable to say whether the sound I heard came from Picton, or the greathouse-clock in the corner.[Pg 185]

CHAPTER X.

Over the Bay—A Gigantic Dumb Waiter—Erebus—Reflections—White andBlack Squares of the Chess-board—Leave-taking—An Interruption—TheAibstract Preencipels of Feenance.

Bright and early next morning we arose for an expedition across the bayto North Sydney and the coal-mines. A fresh breakfast in a sunny room, abrisk walk to the breezy, grass-grown parapet, that defends the harbor;a thought of the first expedition to lay down the telegraph line betweenthe old and new hemispheres, for here lie the coils of the sub-marinecable, as they were left after the stormy essay of the steamer "JamesAdger," a year before—what a theme for a poet!

—and we take an airy seat on the poop-deck of the little Englishsteamer, and are wafted across the[Pg 186] harbor, five miles, to a smallsea-port, where coal-schutes and railways run out over the wharfs, andcoasters, both fore-and-aft, and square-rigged, are gathered inprofusion. A glass of English ale at a right salt-sea tavern, a bayhorse, and two-wheeled "jumper" for the road, and away we roll towardsthe mines. Now up hill and down; now passing another Micmac camp on thegreen margin of the beach; now by trim gardens without flowers; nowgetting nearer to the mines, which we know by the increasing blacknessof the road; until at last we bowl past rows of one story dingytenements of brick, with miners' wives and children clustered about themlike funereal flowers; until we see the forges and jets of steam, anddavits uplifted in the air; and hear the rattle of the iron trucks andthe rush of the coal as it runs through the schutes into the rail-carson the road beneath. We tie our pony beside a cinder-heap, and mount aladder to the level of the huge platform above the shaft. A constantsupply of small hand-cars come up with demoniac groans and shrieks fromthe bowels of the earth through the shaft. These are instantly seized bythe laborers and run over an iron floor to the schute, where they arecaught in titantic trammels, and overturned into harsh thunder.Meanwhile the demon car-bringer has sunk again on its errand; the[Pg 187]suspending rope wheeling down with dizzy swiftness. As one car-bearerdescends, another rises to the surface with its twin wheel-vessels ofcoal.

Three hundred and sixty feet! Think of being suspended by a thread, froma height twice that of Trinity's spire, and whirled into such a depth bysteam! We crawled into the little iron box, just large enough to allowus to sit up with our heads against the top, both ends of our parachutebeing open; the operator presses down a bar, and instantly the earth andsky disappear, and we are wrapt in utter darkness. Oh? how sickening isthis sinking feeling! Down—down—down! What a gigantic dumb-waiter!Down, down, a hot gust of vapor—a stifling sensation—a concussion uponthe iron floor at the foot of the shaft; a multitude of twinkling lamps,of fiends, of grimy faces, and no bodies—and we are in a coal-mine.

There was a black, bituminous seat for visitors, sculptured out of thecoal, just beyond the shaft, and to this we were led by thecarboniferous fiends. My heart beat violently. I do not know how it wentwith Picton, but we were both silent. Oh![Pg 188] for a glimpse of the blue skyand waving trees above us, and a long breath of fresh air!

As soon as the stifling sensation passed away, we breathed more freely,and the lungs became accustomed to the subterranean atmosphere. In thegloom, we could see the smutted features only, of miners moving about,and to heighten the Dantesque reality, new and strange sounds, fromdifferent parts of the enormous cavern, came pouring towards the commoncentre—the shaft of the coal-pit.

These were the laden cars on the tram-ways, drawn by invisible horses,from the distant works in the mine, rolling and reverberating throughthe infernal aisles of this devil's cathedral. One could scarcely helprecalling the old grandfather of Maud's Lord-lover:

Intermingled with these sounds were others, the jar and clash ofgateways, the dripping and splash[Pg 189]ing of water, the rolling thunder ofthe ascending and descending iron parachutes in the shaft, the tramplingof horses, the distant report of powder-blasts, and the shrill jargon ofhuman speakers, near, yet only partially visible.

"Is it a clear day overhead?" said the black bust of one of the miners,with a lamp in itshat!

Just think of it! We had only been divorced from the aërial blue of aJune sky a minute before. Our very horse was so high above us that wecould have distinguished him only by the aid of a telescope—that is, ifthe solid ribs of the globe were not between us and him.

As soon as we became accustomed to the place, we moved off after theforeman of the mine. We walked through the miry tram-ways under the low,black arches, now stepping aside to let an invisible horse and car,"grating harsh thunder," pass us in the murky darkness; now through adoor-way, momently closed to keep the foul and clear airs separate,until we came to the great furnace of the mine that draws off all thenoxious vapors from this nest of Beelzebub. Then we went to the stableswhere countless horses are stalled—horses that never see the light ofday again, or if they do, are struck blind by the apparition; now inwider galleries,[Pg 190] and new explorations, where we behold the busy miners,twinkling like the distant lights of a city, and hear the thunder-burst,as the blast explodes in the murky chasms. At last, tired, oppressed,and sickened with the vast and horrible prison, for such it seems, weretrace our steps, and once more enter the iron parachute. A touch ofthe magic lever, and again we fly away; but now upwards, upwards to theglorious blue sky and air of mother earth. A miner with his lampaccompanies us. By its dim light we see how rapidly we spin through theshaft. Our car clashes again at the top, and as we step forth into theclear sunshine, we thankGod for such a bright and beautiful world upstairs!

"Do you know," said I, "Picton, what we would do if we had such adevil's pit as that in the States?"

"I dare say," replied Picton, drily and satirically; "but, sir, I amproud to say that our government does not tolerate barbarity; to consignan inoffensive fellow-creature to such horrible labor, merely because heis black, is at variance with the well-known humanity of the wholeBritish nation, sir."[Pg 191]

"The miners," replied Picton, with impressive gravity, "are black, butnot negroes."

"Only white people, and therefore we need not waste one grain ofsympathy over a whole pit full of them."

"Because they are not niggers, what is the use of wasting sympathy upona rat-hole full of white British subjects?"

We were now rolling past the dingy tenements again. Squalid-looking,care-worn women, grimy children:

But these children's faces are not such. A child's face—God bless it!should always have a little sunshine in its glance; but these are merestaring faces, without expression, that make you shudder and feel[Pg 192] sad.Miners by birth; human moles fitted to burrow in darkness for alife-time. Is it worth living for? No wonder those swart laborersunderground are so grim and taciturn: no wonder there was not a facelighted up by those smoky lamps in the pit, that had one line of humansympathy left in its rigidly engraved features!

But we must have coal, and we must have cotton. The whole plantations ofthe South barely supply the press with paper; and the messenger ofintelligence, the steam-ship, but for coal could not perform itsglorious mission. What is to be done, Picton? If every man is willing togive up his morning paper, wear a linen shirt, cross the ocean in aclipper-ship, and burn wood in an open fire-place, something might bedone.

As Picton's steamer (probably fog-bound) had not yet arrived in Sydney,nor yet indeed the "Balaklava," the traveller determined to take aNewfoundland brigantine for St. John's, from which port there arevessels to all parts of the world. After leaving horse and jumper withthe inn-keeper, we took a small boat to one of the many queer looking,high-pooped crafts in the harbor, and very soon found ourselves in atiny cabin, panelled with maple, in which the captain and some of themen were busy over a pan of savorylobscouse, a salt-sea dish of[Pg 193]great reputation and flavor. Picton soon made his agreement with thecaptain for a four days' sail (or more) across to the neighboringprovince, and his luggage was to be on board the next morning. Once morewe sailed over the bay of Sydney, and regained the pleasant shelter ofour inn.

"Picton," said I, after a comfortable supper and a pensive segar, "weshall soon separate for our respective homes; but before we part, I wishto say to you how much I have enjoyed this brief acquaintance; perhapswe may never meet again, but I trust our short voyage together, will nowand then be recalled by you, in whatever part of the world you maychance to be, as it certainly will by me."

The traveller replied by a hearty, earnest grasp of the hand; and then,after this formal leave-taking, we became suddenly estranged, as itwere, sad, and silent, and shy; the familiar tone of conversation lostits key-note; Picton looked out of the inn window at the luminousmoon-fog on the bay, and I buried my reflections in an antiquatedpamphlet of "Household Words." We were soon interrupted by a strangercoming into the parlor, a chance visitor, another dry, preceese specimenof the land of oat-cakes.

After the usual salutations, the conversation[Pg 194] floated easily on, uponindifferent topics, until Picton happened to allude, casually, to thegeneral banking system of England. This was enough for a text. Ourvisitor immediately launched forth upon the subject, and gaed us atwa-hours discourse on the system of banking in Scotland; wherein thesuperiority of the method adopted by his countrymen, to wring the lastdrop of interest out a shilling, was pertinaciously and dogmaticallyargued, upon the great groundwork of "the general and aibstractpreencepels of feenance!"

It was in vain that the traveller endeavored to silence him by a fewflashes of sarcasm. He might as well have tried to silence a park ofartillery with a handful of torpedoes! On and on, with the doggedness ofa slow-hound, the Scot pursued the theme, until all other considerationswere lost in the one sole idea.

But thus it is always, when you come in contact with people of"aibstract preencepels." All sweet and tender impulses, all generous andnoble suggestions, all light and shade, all warmth and color, must giveplace to these dry husks of reason.

"Confound the Scotch interloper," said Picton, after our visitor hadretired, "what business had he to impose upon our good nature, with histhreadbare 'aibstract preencepels?' Confound him and[Pg 195] his beggarly highcheek-bones, and his Caledonian pock-pits. I am sorry that I ever cameto this part of the world; it has ruined a taste which I had acquired,with much labor, for Scottish poetry; and I shall never see 'Burns'sWorks' again without a sickening shudder."[Pg 196]

CHAPTER XI.

The Bras d'Or Road—Farewell to Picton—Home sweet Home—The Rob Roys ofCape Breton—Note and Query—Chapel Island—St. Peter's—Enterprise—TheStrait of Canseau—West River—The last Out-post of the Scottish Chiefs.

The road that skirts the Arm of Gold is about one hundred miles inlength. After leaving Sydney, you ride beside the Spanish River a shortdistance, until you come to the portage, which separates it from thelake, and then you follow the delicious curve of the great beach untilyou arrive at St. Peter's. From St. Peter's you travel across a narrowstrip of land until you reach the shore upon the extreme westerly end ofthe island of Cape Breton, where you cross the Strait of Canseau, andthen you are upon the mainland of Nova Scotia. I had fondly hoped tovoyage upon the Bras d'Or, instead of beside it; but was obliged toforego that pleasure. Romance, at one dollar per mile, is a dear pieceof extravagance, even in so ethereal a vehicle as a birch-bark canoe.Therefore I engaged a seat[Pg 197] in the Cape Breton stage, instead of theaboriginal conveyance, in which you have to sit or lie in the bottom, atthe risk of an upset, and trust to fair weather and the dip of thepaddle.

At day-break (two o'clock in the morning in these high latitudes) thestage drove up to the door of our pleasant inn. I was speedily dressed,and ready—and now—"Good bye, Picton!"

It was painful to leave such an agreeable companion, but then what arelief it was to escape from the cannie Scots! The first inhalation ofthe foggy air went tingling through every vein; the first movement ofthe stage, as we rolled westward, was indescribable happiness; I was atlast homeward bound; in full health, in full strength; swift upon mysight came the vision of the one familiar river; the cottage and thechestnuts; the rolling greensward, and the Palisades; and there, too,was mybest friend; and there—

Our Cape Breton stage is an easy, two-seated ve[Pg 198]hicle; a quiet, littlerockaway-wagon, with a top; and although H. B. M. Royal Mail Coach,entirely different from the huge musk-melon upon wheels with which weare familiar in the States. In it I am the only passenger. Thank Heavenfor that! I might be riding beside an aibstract preencepel.

But never mind! Drive on, John Ormond; we shall soon be among anotherrace of Scotsmen, the bold Highlandmen of romance; the McGregors, andMcPhersons, the Camerons, Grahams, and McDonalds; and as a century or sodoes not alter the old-country prejudices of the people in thesesettlements, we will no doubt find them in their pristine habiliments;in plaids and spleuchens; brogues and buckles; hose and bonnets; withclaymore, dirk, and target; the white cockade and eagle feather, sobeautiful in the Waverley Novels.

We left the pretty village of Sydney behind us, and were not long ingaining the margin of the Bras d'Or. This great lake, or rather arm ofthe sea, is, as I have said, about one hundred miles in length by itsshore road; but so wide is it, and so indented by broad bays and deepcoves, that a coasting journey around it is equal in extent to a voyageacross the Atlantic. Besides the distant mountains that rise proudlyfrom the remote shores, there are many noble islands in its expanse, andforest-covered penin[Pg 199]sulas, bordered with beaches of glittering whitepebbles. But over all this wide landscape there broods a spirit ofprimeval solitude; not a sail broke the loneliness of the lake until wehad advanced far upon our day's journey. For strange as it may seem, theGolden Arm is a very useless piece of water in this part of the world;highly favored as it is by nature, land-locked, deep enough for vesselsof all burden, easy of access on the gulf side, free from fogs, and onlyseparated from the ocean at its western end by a narrow strip of land,about three quarters of a mile wide; abounding in timber, coal, andgypsum, and valuable for its fisheries, especially in winter, yet theBras d'Or is undeveloped for want of that element which scorns to bealien to the Colonies, namely,enterprise.

If I had formed some romantic ideas concerning the new and strangepeople we found on the road we were now travelling, the Highlandmen, theRob Roys and Vich Ian Vohrs of Nova Scotia, those ideas were soondissipated. It is true here were the Celts in their wild settlements,but without bagpipes or pistols, sporrans or philabegs; there was noteven a solitary thistle to charm the eye; and as for oats, there were atleast two Scotchmen to one oat in this garden of exotics. I have areasonable amount of respect for a Highlandman in full cos[Pg 200]tume; but fora carrot-headed, freckled, high-cheeked animal, in a round hat andbreeches, that cannot utter a word of English, I have no sympathy. Onefellow of this complexion, without a hat, trotted beside our coach forseveral miles, grunting forth his infernal Gaelic to John Ormond, with ahah! to every answer of the driver, that was really painful. When hedisappeared in the woods his red head went out like a torch. But we hadscarcely gone by the first Highlandman, when another darted out upon usfrom a by-path, and again broke the sabbath of the woods and waters; andthen another followed, so that the morning ride by the Bras d'Or wasfringed with Gaelic. Now I have heard many languages in my time, andknow how to appreciate the luxurious Greek, the stately Latin, themellifluous Chinese, the epithetical Sclavic, the soft Italian, the richCastilian, the sprightly French, sonorous German, and good old English,but candor compels me to say, that I do not think much of the Gaelic. Itis not pleasing to the ear.

Yet it was a stately ride, that by the Bras d'Or; in one's own coach, asit were, traversing such old historic ground. For the very name, and itsassociations, carry one back to the earliest discoveries in America,carry one back behind Plymouth Rock to the earlier French adventurers inthis hemi[Pg 201]sphere; yea, almost to the times of Richard Crookback; for onthe neighboring shores, as the English claim, Cabot first landed, andnamed the placePrima Vista, in the days of Henry the Seventh, the"Richmond" of history and tragedy.

"Le Bras d'Or! John Ormond, do you not think le Bras d'Or sounds muchlike Labrador?"

"And why not? That mysterious, geological coast is only four days' sailfrom Sydney, I take it? Labrador! with its auks and puffins, its sealsand sea-tigers, its whales and walruses? Why not an offshoot of le Brasd'Or, its earlier brother in the family of discovery. But drive on, JohnOrmond, we will leave etymology to the pedants."

Well, well, ancient or modern, there is not a lovelier ride bywhite-pebbled beach and wide stretch of wave. Now we roll along amidstprimeval trees, not the evergreens of the sea-coast, but familiargrowths of maple, beech, birch; and larches, juniper orhackmatack—imperishable for ship craft. Now we cross bridges, oversparkling brooks, alive with trout and salmon, and most surprising ofall, pregnant withwater-power. "Surprising," because no motive-powercan be presented to the eye of a citizen of the young republic withoutthe corresponding thought of "Why not use it?" And[Pg 202] why not, when Brasd'Or is so near, or the sea-coast either, and land at forty cents anacre, and trees as closely set, and as lofty, as ever nature plantedthem? Of a certainty, there would be a thousand saw-mills screamingbetween this and Canseau if a drop of Yankee blood had ever fertilizedthis soil.

Well, well, perhaps it is well. But yet to ride through a hundred milesof denationalized, high-cheeked, red, or black-headed Highlandmen, withillustrious names, in breeches and round hats, without pistols orfeathers, is a sorry sight. Not one of these McGregors can earn morethan five shillings a day, currency, as a laborer. Not a digger upon ourcanals but can do better than that; and with the chance ofrising. Buthere there seems be no such opportunity. The colonial system providesthat every settler shall have a grant of about one hundred and twentyacres, in fee, and free. What then? the Government fosters and protectshim. It sends out annually choice stocks of cattle, at a nominal price;it establishes a tariff of duties on foreign goods, so low that therevenue derived therefrom is not sufficient to pay the salaries of itsofficers. What then? The colonist is only a parasite with all theseadvantages. He is not an integral part of a nation; a citizen,responsible for his franchise. He is but a colonial Micmac, orScotch-[Pg 203]Mac; a mere sub-thoughted, irresponsible exotic, in agovernmental cold grapery. By the great forefinger of Tom Jefferson, Iwould rather be a citizen of the United States thanown all thefive-shilling Blue Noses between Sydney and Canseau!

As we roll along up hill and down, a startling flash of sunlight burstsforth from the dewy morning clouds, and touches lake, island, andpromontory, with inexpressible beauty. Stop, John Ormond, or driveslowly; let us enjoydolce far niente. To hang now in our curricleupon this wooded hill-top, overlooking the clear surface of the lake,with leafy island, and peninsula dotted in its depths, in all its nativegrace, without a touch or trace of hand-work, far or near, save andexcept a single spot of sail in the far-off, is holy and sublime.

And there we rested, reverentially impressed with the week-day sabbath.We lingered long and lovingly upon our woody promontory, our eyrie amongthe spruces of Cape Breton.

Down hill go horses and mail-coach, and we are lost in a vast avenue oftwinkling birches. For[Pg 204] miles we ride within breast-high hedges of sunnyshrubs, until we reach another promontory, where Bras d'Or again breaksforth, with bay, island, white beach, peninsula, and sparkling cove. Andbefore us, bowered in trees, lies Chapel Island, the Micmac Mecca, withits Catholic Church and consecrated ground. Here at certain seasons thered men come to worship the whiteChrist. Here the western descendantsof Ishmael pitch their bark tents, and swing their barbaric censersbefore the Asiatic-bornRedeemer. "They that dwell in the wildernessshall bow beforeHim." That gathering must be a touching sermon to theheart of faith!

But we roll onwards, and now are again on the clearings, among thelog-cabins of the Highlandmen. Although every settler has hisgovernmental farm, yet nearly the whole of it is still in forest-land. Alog hut and cleared-acre lot, with Flora McIvor's grubbing, hoeing, orchopping, while their idle lords and masters trot beside the mail-coachto hear the news, are the only results of the home patronage. At last wecome to a gentle declivity, a bridge lies below us, a wider brook; wecross over to find a cosy inn and a rosy landlord on the other side; andJohn Ormond lays down the ribbons, after a sixty-mile drive, to say:"This is St. Peter's."

Now so far us the old-fashioned inns of New Scot[Pg 205]land are concerned, Imust say they make me ashamed of our own. Soap, sand, and water, do notcost so much as carpets, curtains, and fly-blown mirrors; but still, tothe jaded traveller, they have a more attractive aspect. We sit before asnow-white table without a cloth, in the inn-parlor, kitchen, laundry,and dining-room, all in one, just over against the end of the lake; andenjoy a rasher of bacon and eggs with as much gusto as if we were in themidst of a palace of fresco. Ornamental eating has become with us aspecies of gaudy, ostentatious vulgarity; and a dining-room a sort offool's paradise. I never think of the little simple meal at St. Peter'snow, without tenderness and respect.

Here we change—driver, stage, and horses. Still no other passenger. Thenew whip is a Yankee from the State of Maine; a tall, black-eyed,taciturn fellow, with gold rings in his ears. Now we pass the narrowstrip of land that divides Bras d'Or from the ocean. It is onlythree-quarters of a mile wide between water and water, and look atEnterprise digging out a canal! By the bronze statue of De Witt Clinton,if there are not three of the five-shilling Rob Roys at work, with twoshovels, a horse, and one cart!

As we approach Canseau the landscape becomes flat and uninteresting; butdistant ranges of moun[Pg 206]tains rise up against the evening sky, and as wetravel on towards their bases they attract the eye more and more.Ear-rings is not very communicative. He does not know the names of anyof them. Does not know how high they are, but has heard say they are thehighest mountains in Nova Scotia. "Are those the mountains of Canseau?"Yes, them's them. So with renewed anticipations we ride on towards thestrait "of unrivalled beauty," that travellers say "surpasses anythingin America."

And, indeed, Canseau can have my feeble testimony in confirmation. It isa grand marine highway, having steep hills on the Cape Breton Islandside, and lofty mountains on the other shore; a full, broad, mile-widespace between them; and reaching from end to end, fifteen miles, fromthe Atlantic to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. As I took leave of Ear-rings,at Plaister Cove, and wrapped myself up in my cloak in the stern-sheetsof the row-boat to cross the strait, the full Acadian moon, larger thanany United States moon, rose out of her sea-fog, and touched mountain,height, and billow, with effulgence. It was a scene of Miltonicgrandeur. After the ruined walls of Louisburgh, and the dark caverns ofSydney, comes Canseau, with its startling splendors! Truly this is awonderful country.[Pg 207]

Another night in a clean Nova-Scotian inn on the mountain-side, a deepsleep, and balmy awakening in the clear air. Yet some exceptions must betaken to the early sun in this latitude. To get up at two o'clock orfour; to ride thirty or forty miles to breakfast, with a convalescentappetite, is painful. But yet, "to him, who in the love of Nature holdscommunion with her visible forms, she speaks a various language."Admiration and convalescent hunger make a very good team in thisbeautiful country. You look out upon the unfathomable Gulf of St.Lawrence, and feel as if you were an unfathomable gulf yourself. Youride through lofty woods, with a tantalizing profusion of living ediblesin your path; at every moment a cock-rabbit is saying his prayers beforethe horses; at every bosk and bole a squirrel stares at you withunwinking eyes, and Robin Yellow-bill hops, runs, and flies before thecoach within reach of the driver's whip,sans peur! And this too isthe land of moose and cariboo: here the hunters, on snow-shoes, trackthe huge animals in the season; and moose and cariboo, in the Halifaxmarkets, are cheaper than beef with us. And to think this place is onlya four days' journey from the metropolis, in the languid winter! By theashes of Nimrod, I will launch myself on a pair of snow-shoes, and shoota moose in the snow before I am twelve[Pg 208] months older, as sure as theseponies carry us to breakfast!

Now I had been anxious to get a sight of our ponies, for the sake ofestimating their speed and endurance; but at this time they were not insight. For the coach we (three passengers) were in, was built like anomnibus-sleigh on wheels, with a high seat and "dasher" in front, sothat we could not see what it was that drew our ark, and therefore Iclimbed up in the driver's perch to overlook our motors. There were fourof them; little, shaggy, black ponies, with bunchy manes and fetlocks,not much larger than Newfoundland dogs. Yet they swept us along the roadas rapidly as if they were full-sized horses, up hill and down, withoutvisible signs of fatigue. And now we passed through another Frenchsettlement, "Tracadie," and again the Norman kirtle and petticoat of thepastoral, black-eyed Evangelines hove in sight, and passed like aday-dream. And here we are in an English settlement, where we enjoy asubstantial breakfast, and then again ride through the primeval woods,with an occasional glimpse of the broad Gulf and its mountain scenery,until we come upon a pretty inland village, by name Antigonish.

At Antigonish, we find a bridal party, and the[Pg 209] pretty English landladyoffers us wine and cake with hospitable welcome; and a jovial time of itwe have until we are summoned, by crack of whip, to ride over to WestRiver.

I must say that the natural prejudices we have against Nova Scotia areill-placed, unjust, and groundless. The country itself is the greatredeeming feature of the province, and a very large portion of it isuninfested by Scotchmen. Take for instance the road we are nowtravelling. For hours we bowl along a smooth turnpike, in the midst of adeep forest: although scarce a week has elapsed since these gigantictrees were leafless, yet the foliage has sprung forth as it were with atouch, and now the canopy of leaves about us, and overhead, is so denseas scarcely to afford a twinkle of light from the sun. Sometimes we rideby startling precipices and winding streams; sometimes overlook anEnglish settlement, with its rolling pasture-lands, bare of trees andrich in verdure. At last we approach the precincts of NorthumberlandStrait, and are cleverly carried into New Glasgow. It is fast-day, andthe shops are closed in Sabbath stillness; but on the sign-boards of thevillage one reads the historic names of "Ross" and "Cameron;" and"Graham," "McGregor" and "McDonald." What a pleasant thing it must be[Pg 210]to live in that village! Here too I saw for the first time in theprovince a thistle! But it was a silver-plated one, in the blue bonnetof a "pothecary's boy." A metallic effigy of theoriginal plant, thathad bloomed some generations ago in native land. There was poetry in it,however, even on the brow of an incipient apothecary.

When we had put New Glasgow behind us, we felt relieved, and rode alongthe marshes on the border of the strait that divides the Province fromPrince Edward's Island, so named in honor of his graceless highness theDuke of Kent, Edward, father of our Queen Victoria. Thence we came forthupon higher ground, the coal-mines of Pictou; and here is the greatPictou railway, from the mines to the town, six miles in length. Then byrolling hill and dale down to West River, where John Frazer keeps theTwelve-Mile House. This inn is clean and commodious; only twelve milesfrom Pictou; and, reader, I would advise you, as twelve miles is but ashort distance, to go to Pictou without stopping at West River. For JohnFrazer's is a house of petty annoyances. From the moment you enter, youfeel the insolence of the surly, snarling landlord, and his no lessgifted lady; the same old greed which has no eye except for money; themiserly table, for which you are obliged to pay be[Pg 211]fore hand; the lackof attendance; the abundance of impertinence. Just as you are gettinginto bed you are peremptorily called to the door to pay for your room,which haply you had forgotten; if you want your boots brushed the answeris, "Perhaps"—if you request them to call you in the morning, for theonly stage, they say, "Just as it happens;" (indeed, it was only byaccident that the stage-driver discovered he had one more trunk than hiscomplement of passengers, and so awoke me just as the coach was on thepoint of departure;) if you can submit to all this, then, reader, go toTwelve-Mile House, at West River.

We left this last outpost of the Scotch settlements with pleasure. Afterall, there is a secret feeling of joy in contrasting one's self withsuch wretched, penurious, mis-made specimens of the human animal. Andfrom this time henceforth I shall learn to prize my own language, andnot be carried away by any catch-penny Scotch synonyms, such as thelift for the sky, and thegloamin for twilight. And as forpoortithcauld, andpauky chiel, I leave them to those who can appreciatethem:

CHAPTER XII.

The Ride from West River—A Fellow Passenger—Parallels of History—OneHundred Romances—Baron de Castine—His Character—Made Chief of theAbenaquis—Duke of York's Charter—Encroachments of thePuritans—Church's Indian Wars—False Reports—Reflections.

It would make a curious collection of pictures if I had obtainedphotographs of all the coaches I travelled in, and upon, during my briefsojourn in the province; some high, some low, some red, some green, oryellow as it chanced, with horses few or many, often superioranimals—stylish, fast, and sound; and again, the most diminutive ofponies, such as Monsieur the Clown drives into the ring of his canvasscoliseum when he utters the pleasant salute of "Here I am, with all mylittle family?" This morning we have the old, familiar stage-coach ofYankee land—red, picked out with yellow; high, narrow, iron steps;broad thoroughbraces; wide seats; all jingle, tip, tilt, and rock, fromone end of the road to the other. My fellow traveller on the box is alittle man with a big hat; soft spoken, sweet[Pg 213] voiced, and excessivelyshy and modest. But this was a most pleasing change from the experiencesof the last few hours, let me tell you; and, if you ever travel by WestRiver, you will find any change pleasant—no matter what.

My companion was shy, but not taciturn; on the contrary, he could talkwell enough after the ice was broken, and long enough, too, for thatmatter. I found that he was a Church of England clergyman by profession,and a Welshman by birth. He was well versed in the earlier history ofthe colony—that portion of it which is by far the most interesting—Imean its French or Acadian period. "There are in the traditions andscattered fragments of history that yet survive in this once unhappyland," he said, in a peculiarly low and mellifluous voice, "much thatdeserves to be embalmed in story and in poetry. Your Longfellow hasalready preserved one of the most touching of its incidents; but I thinkI am safe in asserting that there yet remain the materials of onehundred romances. Take the whole history of Acadia during theseventeenth century—the almost patriarchal simplicity of its society,the kindness, the innocence, the virtues of its people; the universaltoleration which prevailed among them, in spite of the interference ofthe home government; look,"[Pg 214] said he, "at the perfect and abiding faithwhich existed between them and the Indians! Does the world-renownedstory of William Penn alone merit our encomiums, except that we haveforgotten this earlier but not less beautiful example? And with the truespirit of Christianity, when they refused to take up arms in their owndefence, preferring rather to die by their faith than shed the blood ofother men; to what parallel in history can we turn, if not to themartyred Hussites, for whom humanity has not yet dried all its tears?"

As he said this, a little flush passed over his face, and he appearedfor a moment as if surprised at his own enthusiasm; then shrinking underhis big hat again, he relapsed into silence.

We rode on for some time without a word on either side, until I venturedto remark that I coincided with him in the belief that Acadia was theromantic ground of early discovery in America; and that even the fluentpen of Hawthorne had failed to lend a charm to the harsh, repulsive,acrimonious features of New England's colonial history.

"I have read but one book of Hawthorne's," said he—"'The ScarletLetter.' I do not coincide with you; I think that to be a remarkableinstance of the triumph of genius over difficulties. By the way," saidhe, "speaking of authors, what an ex[Pg 215]quisite poem Tom Moore would havewritten, had he visited Chapel Island, which you have seen no doubt?(here he gave a little nod with the big hat) and what a rich volumewould have dropped from the arabesque pen of your own Irving (anothernod), had he written the life of the Baron de St. Castine, chief of theAbenaquis, as he did that of Philip of Pokanoket."

"I do not know the particulars," he replied, "only the outlines derivedfrom chronicle and tradition. Imagination," he added, with a faintsmile, "can supply the rest, just as an engineer pacing a bastion candraw from it the proportions of the rest of the fortress."

And then, from under the shelter of the big hat, there came low and sadtones of music, like a requiem over a bier, upon which are laid funeralflowers, and sword, and plume; a melancholy voice almost intoning thehistory of a Christian hero, who had been the chief of that powerfulnation—the rightful owners of the fair lands around us. Even if memorycould now supply the words, it would fail to reproduce the effectconveyed by the tones ofthat voice. And of the story itself I can butfurnish the faint outlines:[Pg 216]

Baron de St. Castine, chief of the Abenaquis, was a Frenchman, born inthe little village of Oberon, in the province of Bearn, about the middleof the seventeenth century. Three great influences conspired to make himunhappy—first, education, which at that time was held to be a reputablepart of the discipline of the scions of noble families; next, a delicateand impressible mind, and lastly, he was born under the shadow of thePyrenees, and within sight of the Atlantic. He had also served in thewars of Louis XIV. as colonel of the Carrignan, Cavignon, or Corignonregiment; therefore, from his military education, was formed to endure,or to think lightly of hardships. Although not by profession aProtestant, yet he was a liberal Catholic. The doctrines of Calvin hadbeen spread throughout the province during his youth, and John laPlacette, a native of Bearn, was then one of the leaders of the freechurches of Copenhagen, in Denmark, and of Utrecht, in Holland.

But, whatever his religious prejudices may have been, they do notintrude themselves in any part of his career; we know him only as a pureChristian, an upright man, and a faithful friend of humanity. Like manyother[Pg 217] Frenchmen of birth and education in those days, the Baron de St.Castine had been attracted by descriptions of newly discovered countriesin the western hemisphere, and fascinated by the ideal life of thechildren of nature. To a mind at once susceptible and heroic, impulsiveby temperament, and disciplined to endure, such promptings have a charmthat is irresistible. As the chronicler relates, he preferred theforests of Acadia, to the Pyrenian mountains that compassed the place ofhis nativity, and taking up his abode with the savages, on the firstyear behaved himself so among them as to draw from them theirinexpressible esteem. He married a woman of the nation, and repudiatingtheir example, did not change his wife, by which he taught his wildneighbors that God did not love inconstancy. By this woman, his firstand only wife, he had one son and two daughters, the latter wereafterwards married, "very handsomely, to Frenchmen, and had gooddowries." Of the son there is preserved a single touching incident. Inperson the baron was strikingly handsome, a fine form, a well featuredface, with a noble expression of candor, firmness and benevolence.Possessed of an ample fortune, he used it to enlarge the comforts of thepeople of his adoption; these making him a recom[Pg 218]pense in beaver skinsand other rich furs, from which he drew a still larger revenue, to be inturn again devoted to the objects of his benevolence. It was said ofhim, "that he can draw from his coffers two or three hundred thousandcrowns of good dry gold; but all the use he makes of it is to buypresents for hisfellow savages, who, upon their return from hunting,present him with skins to treble the value."

Is it then surprising that this man, so wise, so good, so faithful tohisfellow savages, should, after twenty years, rise to the mosteminent station in that unsophisticated nation? That indeed these simpleIndians, who knew no arts except those of peace and war, should havelooked up to him as their tutular god? By the treaty of Breda, the landsfrom the Penobscots to Nova Scotia had been ceded to France, in exchangefor the island of St. Christopher. Upon these lands the Baron de St.Castine had peacefully resided for many years, until a new patent wasgranted to the Duke of York, the boundaries of which extended beyond thelimits of the lands ceded by the treaty. Oh, those patents! thosepatents! What wrongs were perpetrated by those remorseless instruments;what evil councils prevailed when they were hatched; what corrupt, whatbase, what knavish hands[Pg 219] formed them; what vile, what ignoble, whatponderous lies has history assumed to maintain, or to excuse them, andthe acts committed under them?

The first English aggression after the treaty, was but a trifling one inrespect to immediate effects. A quantity of wine having been landed by aFrench vessel upon the lands covered by the patent, was seized by theDuke of York's agents. This, upon a proper representation by the Frenchambassador at the court of Charles II., was restored to the rightfulowners. But thereupon a new boundary line was run,and the whole ofCastine's plantations included within it. Immediately after this, theRose frigate, under the command of Captain Andross, sailed up thePenobscot, plundered and destroyed Castine's house and fort, and sailedaway with all his arms and goods. Not only this, intruders from otherquarters invaded the lands of the Indians, took possession of therivers, and spoiled the fisheries with seines, turned their cattle in todevour the standing corn of the Abenaquis, and committed otherdepredations, which, although complained of, were neither inquired intonor redressed.

Then came reprisals; and first the savages retaliated by killing thecattle of their enemies. Then followed those fearful and bloodycampaigns, which,[Pg 220] under the name of Church's Indian Wars, disgrace theearly annals of New England. Night surprises, butcheries that sparedneither age nor sex, prisoners taken and sold abroad into slavery, afterthe glut of revenge was satiated, these to return and bring with them aninextinguishable hatred against the English, and desire of revenge. Anona conspiracy and the surprisal of Dover, accompanied with all theappalling features of barbaric warfare—Major Waldron being tied down bythe Indians in his own arm-chair, and each one of them drawing a sharpknife across his breast, says with the stroke, "Thus I cross out myaccount;" these, and other atrocities, on either side, constitute theprincipal records of a Christian people, who professed to be onlypilgrims and sojourners in a strange land—the victims of persecution intheir own.

Daring all this dark and bloody period, no name is more conspicuous inthe annals than that of the Chief of the Abenaquis. Like a frightfulogre, he hovers in the background, deadly and ubiquitous—the terror ofthe colonies. It was he who had stirred up the Indians to do the work.Then come reports of a massacre in some town on the frontier, and withit is coupled a whisper of "Castine!" a fort has been surprised, he isthere! Some of Church's men have fallen in an[Pg 221] ambuscade; the baron hasplanned it, and furnished the arms and ammunition by which the deed wasconsummated! Superstition invests him with imaginary powers; fanaticismexclaims, 'tis he who had taught the savages to believe that we are thepeople who crucified the Saviour.

But in spite of all these stories, the wonderful Bernese is notcaptured, nor indeed seen by any, except that sometimes an Englishprisoner escaping from the enemy, comes to tell of his clemency andtenderness; he has bound up the wounds of these, he has saved the livesof those. At last a small settlement of French and Indians is attackedby Church's men at Penobscot, every person there being either killed ortaken prisoner; among the latter a daughter of the great baron, with herchildren, from whom they learn that her unhappy father, ruined andbroken-hearted, had returned to France, the victim of persecutors, who,under the name of saints, exhibited a cruelty and rapacity that wouldhave disgraced the reputation of a Philip or an Alva!

"It is a matter of surprise to the historical student," said the littleman, "that with a people like yours, so conspicuous in many rareexamples of erudition, that the history of Acadia has not merited acloser attention, throwing as it does so[Pg 222] strong a reflective light uponyour own. Such a task doubtless does not present many inviting features,especially to those who would preserve, at any sacrifice of truth, theearlier pages of discovery in America, pure, spotless, and unsullied.But I think this dark, tragic background would set off all the brighterthe characters of those really good men who flourished in that period,of whom there were no doubt many, although now obscured by the dull,dead moonshine of indiscriminate forefathers' flattery. I know very wellthat in some regards we might copy the example of a few of the firstplanters of New England, but for the rest I believe with Adam Clark,that for the sake of humanity, it were better that such ages shouldnever return."

"We talk much," says he, "of ancient manners, theirsimplicity andingenuousness, and say thatthe former days were better than these.But who says this who is a judge of the times? In those days ofcelebrated simplicity, there were not somany crimes as at present, Igrant; but what they wanted innumber, they made up indegree;deceit,cruelty,rapine,murder, andwrong of almost everykind, then flourished.We arerefined in our vices, they weregross andbarbarous in theirs. They had neither so manyways norso manymeans of sinning; but thesum of their moral turpi[Pg 223]tude wasgreater than ours. We have a sort ofdecency and goodbreeding,which lay a certain restraint on our passions; they were boorish andbeastly, and their bad passions ever in full play. Civilization preventsbarbarity and atrocity; mental cultivation induces decency ofmanners—those primitive times were generally without these. Who thatknows them would wish such ages to return?"[A][Pg 224]

CHAPTER XIII.

Truro—On the Road to Halifax—Drive to the Left—A Member of theForeign Legion—Irish Wit at Government Expense—The first Battle of theLegion—Ten Pounds Reward—Sir John Gaspard's Revenge—The ShubenacadieLakes—Dartmouth Ferry, and the Hotel Waverley.

Pleasant Truro! At last we regain the territories of civility andcivilization! Here is the honest little English inn, with its cheerfuldining-room, its clean spread, its abundant dishes, its glass of ripeale, its pleased alacrity of service. After our long ride from WestRiver, we enjoy the best inn's best room, the ease, the comfort, and thefair aspect of one of the prettiest towns in the province. Truro issituated on the head waters of the Basin of Minas, or Cobequid Bay, asit is denominated on the map, between the Shubenacadie and Salmonrivers. Here we are within fifty miles of the idyllic land, the pastoralmeadows of Grand-Pré! But, alas! there is yet a long ride before us; thepath from Truro to Grand-Pré being in the shape of an acute angle, ofwhich Halifax is the[Pg 225] apex. As yet there is no direct road from place toplace, but by the shores of the Basin of Minas. Let us look, however, atpleasant Truro.

One of the striking features of this part of the country is thepeculiarity of the rivers; these are full or empty, with every flux andreflux of the tide; for instance, when we crossed the Salmon, we sawonly a high, broad, muddy ditch, drained to the very bottom. This isowing to the ocean tides, which, sweeping up the Bay of Fundy, pour intothe Basin of Minas, and fill all its tributary streams; then, withprodigal reaction, sweeping forth again, leave only the vacant channelsof the rivers—if they may be called by that name. This peculiar featureof hydrography is of course local—limited to this section of theprovince—indeed if it be not to this corner of the world. The countrysurrounding the village is well cultivated, diversified with rollinghill and dale, and although I had not the opportunity of seeing much ofit, yet the mere description of its natural scenery was sufficientlytempting. Here, too, I saw something that reminded me of home—a clumpof cedar-trees! These of course were exotics, brought, not withoutexpense, from the States, planted in the courtyard of a littlearistocratic cottage, and protected in winter by warm over-coats ofwheat straw.[Pg 226] So we go! Here they grub up larches and spruces to plantcedars.

The mail coach was soon at the door of our inn, and after taking leaveof my fellow-traveller with the big hat, I engaged a seat on thestage-box beside Jeangros, a French Canadian, or Canuck—one of the bestwhips on the line. Jeangros is not a great portly fellow, as his namewould seem to indicate, but a spare, small man—nevertheless with an airof great courage and command. Jeangros touched up the leaders, themail-coach rattled through the street of the town, and off we trottedfrom Truro into the pleasant road that leads to Halifax.

One thing I observed in the province especially worthy of imitation—theold English practice of turning to theleft in driving, instead of totheright, as we do. Let me exhibit the merits of the respectivesystems by a brief diagram. By the English system they drive thus:

The arrows represent the drivers, as well as the directions of thevehicles; of course when two[Pg 227] vehicles, coming in opposite directions,pass each other on the road, each driver is nearest the point ofcontact, and can see readily, and provide against accidents. Nowcontrast our system with the former:

It would be a good thing if our present senseless laws were reversed inthis matter, and a few lives saved, and a few broken limbs prevented.

When I took leave of my native country for a short sojourn in thisprovince, the great question then before the public was the invasion ofinternational law, by the British minister and a whole solar system ofBritish consuls. I had the pleasure of being a fellow exile on theCanada with Mr. Crampton, Mr. Barclay, and Mr. ——, Her BritishMajesty's representatives, and of course felt no little interest to knowthe fate of theForeign Legion.[Pg 228]

Before I left Halifax, I learned some particulars of that famous flockof jail birds. All that we knew, at home, was that a number of recruitsfor the Crimea had been picked up in the streets and alleys of Columbia,and carried, at an enormous expense, to Halifax, there to be enrolled.And also, that as a mere cover to this infraction of the law ofNeutrality, the men were engaged as laborers, to work upon the publicimprovements of Nova Scotia. The sequel of that enterprise remained tobe told. A majority of these recruits were Irishmen—some of them notwanting in the mother wit of the race. So when they were gathered in thegreat province building at Halifax, and Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, inchapeau, feather and sword, came down to review his levies, with greatspirit and military pomp, "Well, my men," said he, "you are here toenlist, eh, and serve Her Majesty?" To which the spokesman of theForeign Legion, fully understanding the beauty of his position, replied,with a sly twinkle of the eye, "We didn't engage to 'list at all, atall, but to wurruk on the railroad." Upon which Sir John Gaspard, seeingthat Her Majesty had been imposed upon, politely told the legion to goto——Dante's Inferno.

Now whether the place to which the Foreign Legion was consigned by SirJohn Gaspard, pos[Pg 229]sessed even less attractions than Halifax, or fromwhatever reason soever, it chanced that the jolly boys, raked from ouralleys and jails, never stirred a foot out of the province; and whilethe peace of the whole world was endangered by their abduction, as thatof Greece and Troy had been by the rape of Helen, they were quietlyenlisting in less warlike expeditions—in fact, engaging themselves towork upon that great railroad, of which mention has been madeheretofore.

Now we have seen something of the clannish propensities of the people ofthe colonies, and the contractors knew what sort of material they had todeal with. And, inasmuch as there was a pretty large group offive-shilling Highlandmen, grading, levelling, and filling in one end ofa section of the road, the gang of Irishmen was placed at the oppositeend, as far from them as possible, which no doubt would have preservedpeaceful relations between the two, but for the fact, that as the workprogressed the hostile forces naturally approached each other. It wastowards the close of a summer evening, that the ground was broken by thegentlemen of the shamrock, within sight of the shanties decorated withthe honorable order of the thistle. A lovely evening in the month ofJune! Not with spumy cannon and prickly bayo[Pg 230]nets, but with peacefulspade and mattock, advanced the sons of St. Patrick towards the childrenof a sister isle. Then did Roderick Dhu step forth from his shanty, andinquire, in choice Gaelic, if a person named Brian Borheime was in theranks of the approaching forces. Then then did Brian Borheime advance,spade in hand, and with a single spat of his implement level Roderick,as though he had been a piece of turf. Then was Brian flattened out bythe spade of Vich Ian Vohr; and Vich Ian Vohr, by the spade of CaptainRock. Then fell Captain Rock by the spade of Rob Roy; and Rob Roy smeltthe earth under the spade of Handy Andy. In a word, the fight becamegeneral—the bagpipe blew to arms—Celt joined Celt, there was the tugof war; but the sun set upon the lowered standard of the thistle, andvictory proclaimed Shamrock the conqueror. Several of the natives wereleft for dead upon the field of battle, the triumphant Irish ran away,to a man, to avoid the consequences, and I blush to say it, as I do torecord any act of heartless ingratitude, handbills were speedily postedup by the order of government, offering a reward of ten pounds apiecefor the capture of certain members of the Foreign Legion, who had beenthe ringleaders in the riot, which handbill was not only signed by thatseducer[Pg 231] of soldiers, Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, but also ornamentedwith the horn of the unicorn and the claws of the British lion.

But there is a Nemesis even in Nova Scotia, for this riot producedeffects, unwonted and unlooked for. One of the prominent leaders in theNova Scotia Parliament, a gentleman distinguished both as an orator andas a poet—the Hon. Joseph Howe, who had signalized himself as anadvocate of the right of Her Majesty to recruit for the Crimea in thestreets of Columbia, and was ready to pit the British Lion against theAmerican Eagle in support of that right, fell by the very legion he hadbeen so zealous to create. The Hon. Joseph Howe, M. P., by the supportof the Irish population, could always command apopular majority andkeep his seat in the house, so long as he maintained his loyalty to thisvotive class of citizens. But, unfortunately, Hon. Joseph Howe, inalluding to the riot, took the Scotch side of the broil. This wassufficient. At the election following he was a defeated candidate, andpolitely advised to retire to private life. Thus was the Hon. J. H."hoist by his own petard," the first man to fall by this expensivemilitary company.

An adventure upon the Shubenacadie brought one of these heroes intoprominent relief. After[Pg 232] we had parted from pleasant Truro, at everynook and corner of the road, there seemed to be a passenger waiting forthe Halifax coach. So that the top of the vehicle was soon filled withdusty fellow-travellers, and Jeangros was getting to be a littleimpatient. Just as we turned into the densest part of the forest, wherethe evening sun was most obscured by the close foliage, we saw two men,one decorated with a pair of handcuffs, and the other armed with a braceof pistols. The latter hailed the coach.

"Why didn't you say so, then?" replied Jeangros, full of the dignity ofhis position as driver of H. B. M. Mail-coach, before whose tin horneverything must get out of the way.[Pg 233]

There was a doubt which was the drunkenest, the officer or the prisoner.We found out afterwards that the officer had conciliated his captivewith drink, partly to keep him friendly in case of an attempted rescue,and partly to get him in such a state that running away would beimpracticable. And, indeed, there would have been a great race if theprisoner had attempted to escape. The prisoner too drunk to run—theofficer too drunk to pursue.

The pair had scarcely crawled up among the luggage upon the stage-top,before there was an outcry from the passengers on the box infront—"Uncock your pistols! uncock your pistols!" for the officer haddropped his fire-arms, cocked and capped, upon the top of our coach,with the muzzles pointed towards us. And indeed I may affirm here, thatI never saw metallic cylinders with more menacing aspect, than thosewhich lay quietly behind us, ready to explode—unconscious instrumentsas they were—and carry any of the party into the next world upon theslightest lurch of the stage-coach.

But the officer, in the mellifluous dialect of his mother country,replied that "He'd be —— if he would. Me prishner," said he, "meprishner[Pg 234] might escape; or, the divil knows but there might be a rescuecome to him, for there's a good many of the same hereabouts."

It struck me that no person upon the top of the stage-coach was soparticularly interested in this dispute as the member of the ForeignLegion, who was on his way either to the gallows or a perpetual prison.I observed that he nervously twitched at his handcuffs, perhaps—as Ithought—to prepare for escape in case of an explosion; or else to beready for the rescue; or else to take advantage of his captor, the tallpoliceman—jump from the stage, and run for dear life and liberty. Neverwas I more mistaken. True to his race, and to tradition, Pat was onlystriving to free himself from the leather shackles, in order to fightany man who was an enemy to his friend the policeman, and the pistols,that were cocked to shoot himself. But had not poor Paddy made suchblunders in all times? The hubbub increased, a terrific contest wasimpending; the travellers below poked their heads out of the windows;there was every prospect of a catastrophe of some kind, when suddenlyJeangros rose to his feet, and said, in a voice clear and sharp throughthe tumult as an electric flash through a storm, "Uncock those pistols,or I will throw you from the top of the coach!"[Pg 235]

There was a pause instantly, and we heard the sharp click of the cocks,as they were lowered in obedience to the little stage-driver. It had awonderful power of command, that voice—soft and clear, but brief,decisive, authoritative.

It is quite interesting to ride fellow-passenger with a person who hasplayed a part in the national drama, but more villainous face I neversaw. Mr. Crampton, with whom I sailed on the Canada, had a much moreamiable expression; indeed I think we should all be obliged to him forridding us of at least a portion of his fellow-countrymen.

But now we ride by the Shubenacadie lakes, a chain—a bracelet—bindingthe province from the Basin of Minas to the seaboard. The eye nevertires of this lovely feature of Acadia. Lake above lake—the division,the isthmus between, not wider than the breadth of your India shawl, mylady! I must declare that, all in all, the scenery of the province issurpassingly beautiful. As you ride by these sparkling waters, throughthe flowery, bowery, woods, you feel as if you like to pitch tenthere—at least for the summer.

And now we approach a rustic inn by the roadside, rich in shrubberybefore it, and green moss from ridge-pole to low drooping eaves, wherewe[Pg 236] change horses. And as we rest here upon the wooden inn-porch,dismounted from our high perch on the stage-coach, we see right above usagainst the clear evening sky, Her Majesty'sci-devant partisan, nowprisoner—by merit raised to that bad eminence. The officer hands him aglass of brandy, to keep up his spirits. The prisoner takes it, and,lifting the glass high in air, shouts out with the exultation of afiend:

Once more upon the stage to Dartmouth, where we deposit our preciousfellow-travellers, and then to the ferry, and look you! across theharbor, the twinkling lights of dear old mouldy Halifax. And now we arecrossing Chebucto, and the cab carries us again to our former quartersin the Hotel Waverley.[Pg 237]

CHAPTER XIV.

Halifax again—Hotel Waverley—"Gone the Old Familiar Faces"—The Storyof Marie de la Tour.

Again in old quarters! It is strange how we become attached to a place,be it what it may, if we only have known it before. The same old room weoccupied years ago, however comfortless then, has a familiar air ofwelcome now. There is surely some little trace of self, some unseenspider-thread of attachment clinging to the walls, the old chair, theforlorn wash-stand, and the knobby four-poster, that holds the hardestof beds, the most consumptive of pillows, and a bolster as round, aswhite, and as hard, as a cathedral mass-candle. Heigho, Hotel Waverley!Here am I again; but where are the familiar faces? Where the bravesoldier of Inkerman and Balaklava? Where the jolly old Captain of thenative rifles? Where the Colonel, with his little meerschaum pipe he wasso intent upon coloring? Where the party of salmon-fishermen, theSolomons of piscatology? Where the passengers by the "Canada?"[Pg 238] Andwhere is Picton? Gone, like last year's birds!

I like this bed-room of mine at the Waverley, with its blue and whitestriped curtain at the window, through which the gas-lights of Halifaxstreets appear in lucid spots, as I wait for Henry, with the candles.Now I am no longer alone. I shut my chamber door, as it were, upon oneworld, only that I may enjoy another. So I trim the candles, and spreadout the writing materials, and at once the characters of two centuriesago awake, and their life to me is as the life of to-day.

There is nothing more captivating in literature, than the narrative ofsome heroic deed of woman. Very few such are recorded; how many mightbe, if the actors themselves had not shunned notoriety, and "uncommendeddied," rather than encounter the ordeal of public praise? Of such thepoet has written:

Of such, many have lived and died, to live again only in fiction;whereas their own true histories would have been greater than theinventions of authors. We read of heroes laden with the "glit[Pg 239]teringspoils of empire," but the heroic deeds of woman are oftentimes, all inall, as great, without the glitter; without the pomp and pageantry oftriumphal processions; without the pealing trumpet of renown. Boadicea,chained to the car of Suetonius, is the too common memorial of heroicwomanity.

The story I relate is but a transcript, a mere episode in the sadhistory of Acadia: yet the record will be pleasing to those who estimatethe merits of brave women. This, then, is the legend of

In the year 1621, Sir William Alexander, afterwards Earl of Sterling,[B]a romantic poet, and favorite of King James I., was presented by thatmonarch with a patent to all the land known as Acadia, in the Americas.Royalty in those days made out its parchment deeds for a province,without taking the trouble to search the record office, to see if therewere any prior liens upon the territory. The good old rule obtainedthus—

It is due to Sir William Alexander to say that he gave the province theproud name which at present it enjoys, of Nova Scotia, or New Scotland,a title much more appropriate than that of "Acadia,"[C] which to usmeans nothing.

At this time the French Colony was slowly recovering from the effects ofthe Argall expedition, that eight years before had laid waste its fairpossessions. Among a number of emigrants from the Loire and the Seine,two gentlemen of birth and education, La Tour by name, father and son,set out to seek their fortunes in the New World. It must be rememberedthat in the original patent of Acadia, given by Henry IV. to De Monts,freedom of religious opinion was one of the conditions of the grant, andtherefore the fact, that both the La Tours were Huguenots, did notprevent them holding commissions under the French crown, the fatherhaving in charge a small fleet of transports then ready to sail from theharbor of Brest; the son,[Pg 241] being the commander of a fort and garrison atCape Sable, upon the western end of Acadia.

Affairs being in this condition, it chanced that the English and Frenchships set sail for the same port, at about the same time; and it sohappened that Sir William Alexander's fleet running afoul of the elderLa Tour's in a fog, not only captured that gallant chieftain but alsohis transports, munitions of war, stores, artillery, etc. etc., andsailed back with the prizes to England. I beg you to observe, my dearreader, that occurrences of this kind were common enough at this periodeven in times of peace, and not considered piracy either, the ocean waslooked upon as a mighty chessboard, and the game was won by those whocould command the greatest number of pieces.

Claude de la Tour, not as a prisoner of war, but as an enforced guest ofSir William, was carried to London; and there robbed of his goods, buttreated like a gentleman; introduced at Court, although deprived of hispurse and liberty, and in a word, found himself surrounded with the mosthostile and hospitable conditions possible in life. It is not surprisingthen that with true French philosophy he should have made the best ofit; gained the good will of the queen, played off a littlebadinagewith the ladies of the court, and forgetting the late Lady[Pg 242] de la Tour,asleep in the old graveyard in the city of Rochelle, essayed to wear hiswidower weeds with that union of grace and sentiment for which hiscountrymen are so celebrated. The consequence was one of her majesty'smaids of honor fell in love with him; the queen encouraged the match;the king had just instituted the new order of Knights Baronet, of NovaScotia; La Tour, now in the way of good fortune, was the first to behonored with the novel title, and at the same time placed thematrimonial ring upon the finger of the love-sick maid of honor. IndeedCharles Etienne de la Tour, commandant of the little fort at Cape Sable,had scarcely lost a father, before he had gained a step-mother.

That the French widower should have been so captivated by these marks ofroyal favor as to lose his discretion, in the fullness of his gratitude;and, that after receiving a grant of land from his patron, as a furtherincentive, he should volunteer to assist in bringing Acadia under theBritish Crown, and as a primary step, undertake to reduce the Fort atCape Sable; I say, that when I state this, nobody will be surprised,except a chosen few, who cherish some old-fashioned notions, in thesedays more romantic than real. "Two ships of war being placed under hiscommand," he set sail, with[Pg 243] his guns and a Step-mother, to attack theFort at Cape Sable. The latter was but poorly garrisoned; but then itcontained a Daughter-in-law! Under such circumstances, it was plain tobe seen that the contest would be continued to the last ounce of powder.

Opening the trenches before the French fort, and parading his Scotchtroops in the eyes of his son, the elder La Tour attempted to capturethe garrison by argument. In vain he "boasted of the reception he hadmet with in England, of his interest at court, and the honor ofknighthood which had been conferred upon him." In vain he represented"the advantages that would result from submission," the benefits ofBritish patronage; and paraded before the eyes of the young commanderthe parchment grant, the seal, the royal autograph, and the glitteringtitle of Knight Baronet, which had inspired his perfidy. His son,shocked and indignant, declined the proffered honors and emoluments thatwere only to be gained by an act of treason; and intimated his intention"to defend the Fort with his life, sooner than deliver it up to theenemies of his country." The father used the most earnest entreaties,the most touching and parental arguments. Charles Etienne was proofagainst these. The Baronet alluded to the large force[Pg 244] under hiscommand, and deplored the necessity of making an assault, in case hispropositions were rejected. Charles Etienne only doubled his sentinels,and stood more firmly intrenched upon his honor. Then the elder La Tourordered an assault. For two days the storm continued; sometimes theMother-in-law led the Scotch soldiers to the breach, but the Frenchsoldiers, under the Daughter-in-law, drove them back with such bitterfury, that of the assailants it was hard to say which numbered most, theliving or the dead. At last, La Tour the elder abandoned the siege; and"ashamed to appear in England, afraid to appear in France," accepted thehumiliating alternative of requesting an asylum from his son. Permissionto reside in the neighborhood was granted by Charles Etienne. The Scotchtroops were reëmbarked for England; and the younger and the elder Mrs.de la Tour smiled at each other grimly from the plain and from theparapet. Further than this there was no intercourse between thefamilies. Whenever Marie de la Tour sent the baby to grandmother, itwent with a troop of cavalry and a flag of truce; and whenever Lady dela Tour left her card at the gate, the drums beat, and the guard turnedout with fixed bayonets.

Such discipline had prepared Marie de la Tour[Pg 245] for the heroic part whichafterwards raised her to the historical position she occupies in thechronicles of Acadia. I have had occasion to speak of freedom of opinionexisting in this Province—but for the invasion of English and Scotchfilibusters, this absolute liberty of faith would have produced thehappiest fruits in the new colonies. But unfortunately in a weak andnewly-settled country, union in all things is an indispensable conditionof existence. This very liberty of opinion, in a great measuredisintegrated the early French settlements, and separated a people whichotherwise might have encountered successfully its rapacious enemies.

At this time the French Governor of Acadia, Razillia, died. CharlesEtienne la Tour as a subordinate officer, had full command of theeastern part of the province, as the Chevalier d'Aulney de Charnisé, hadof the western portion, extending as far as the Penobscot. As for theSterling patent, Sir William, finding it of little value, had sold it tothe elder La Tour, but the defeated adventurer of Cape Sable by thetreaty of St. Germains in 1632, was stripped of his new possessions byKing Charles I., who conveyed the whole of the territory again to LouisXIII. of France. Thus it will be seen, that two claimants only were inpossession of Acadia; namely, the younger La Tour and[Pg 246] D'Aulney. Theelder La Tour now retires from the scene, goes to England with his wife,and is heard of no more.

Between the rival commanders in Acadia, there were certain points ofresemblance—both were youthful, both were brave, enterprising andambitious, both the happy husbands of proud and beautiful wives.Otherwise La Tour was a Huguenot and D'Aulney a Catholic—thus it willbe seen that the latter had the most favor at the French court, whilethe former could more securely count upon the friendship of the Englishof Massachusetts Bay—no inconsiderable allies as affairs then stood.Under such circumstances, it is not to be wondered at that there was aconstant feud between the two young officers, and their young wives. Thechronicles of the Pilgrims, the records of Bradford, Winthrop, Mather,and Hutchinson, are full of the exploits of these pugnacious heroes. Atone time La Tour appears in person at Boston, to beat up recruits, asmore than two hundred years after, another power attempted to raise aforeign legion, and, although the pilgrim fathers do not officiallysanction the proceeding, yet they connive at it, and quote Scripture towarrant them. Close upon this follows a protest of D'Aulney, and with itthe exhibition of a warrant from the French[Pg 247] king for the arrest of LaTour. Upon this there is a meeting of the council and a treaty,offensive and defensive, made with D'Aulney.

Meanwhile, Marie de la Tour arrived at Boston from England, where shehad been on a visit to her mother-in-law. The captain of the vessel uponwhich she had reëmbarked for the new world, having carried her to thiscity instead of to the river St. John, according to the letter of thecharter, was promptly served with a summons by that lady to appearbefore the magistrates to show cause why he did it; and the consequencewas, madame recovered damages to the amount of two thousand pounds inthe Marine Court of the Modern Athens. With this sum in her pocket, shechartered a vessel for the river St. John, and arrived at a small fortbelonging to her husband, on its banks, just in time to defend itagainst D'Aulney, who had rallied his forces for an attack upon it,during the absence of Charles Etienne.

Marie de la Tour at this time was one of the most beautiful women in thenew world. She was not less than twenty, nor more than thirty years ofage; her features had a charm beyond the limits of the regular; her eyeswere expressive; her mouth intellectual; her complexion brown and clear,could pale or flush with emotions either tender or[Pg 248] indignant. Beforesuch a commandress D'Aulney de Charnisé set down his forces in the year1644.

The garrison was small—the brave Charles Etienne absent in a distantpart of the province. But the unconquerable spirit of the womanprevailed over these disadvantages. At the first attack by D'Aulney, theguns of the fort were directed with such consummate skill that everyshot told. The besieger, with twenty killed and thirteen wounded, wasonly too happy to warp his frigate out of the leach of this lovelylady's artillery, and retire to Penobscot to refit for furtheroperations. Again D'Aulney sailed up the St. John, with the intention oftaking the place by assault. By land as by water, his forces wererepulsed with great slaughter. A host of Catholic soldiers fell before ahandful of Protestant guns, which was not surprising, as the cannon werewell pointed, and loaded with grape and canister. For three days theFrench officer carried on the attack, and then again retreated. On thefourth day a Swiss hireling deserted to the enemy and betrayed theweakness of the garrison. D'Aulney, now confident of success, determinedto take the fort by storm; but as he mounted the wall, the lovely LaTour, at the head of her little garrison, met the besiegers with suchdetermined bravery, that again they were repulsed. That evening[Pg 249]D'Aulney hung the traitorous Swiss, and proposed honorable terms, if thebrave commandress would surrender. To these terms Marie assented, in thevain hope of saving the lives of the brave men who had survived; theremnants of her little garrison. But the perfidious D'Aulney, who, fromthe vigorous defence of the fort, had supposed the number of soldiers tohave been greater, instead of feeling that admiration which brave menalways experience when acts of valor are presented by an enemy, losthimself in an abyss of chagrin, to find he had been thrice defeated by agarrison so contemptible in numbers, and led by afemale. To hiseternal infamy let it be recorded, that pretending to have been deceivedby the terms of capitulation, D'Aulney hanged the brave survivors of thegarrison, and even had the baseness and cruelty to parade Madame de laTour herself on the same scaffold, with the ignominious cord around herneck, as a reprieved criminal.

To quote the words of the chronicler: "The violent and unusual exertionswhich Madame la Tour had made, the dreadful fate of her household andfollowers, and the total wreck of his fortune, had such an effect thatshe died soon after this event."

So perished the beautiful, the brave, the faithful,[Pg 250] the unfortunate!Shall I add that her besieger, D'Aulney, died soon after, leaving abereaved but blooming widow? That Charles Etienne la Tour, to preventfurther difficulties in the province, laid siege to that sad andsympathizing lady, not with flag and drum, shot and shell, but with themore effectual artillery of love? That Madame D'Aulney finallysurrendered, and that Charles Etienne was wont to say to her, after thewedding: "Beloved,your husband andmy wife have had their pitchedbattle, but letus live in peace for the rest of our days, my dear."

Quaint, old, mouldy Halifax seems more attractive after re-writing thisportion of its early history. The defence of that little fort, with itsslender garrison, by Madame la Tour, against the perfidious Charnisé,brings to mind other instances of female heroism, peculiar to the Frenchpeople. It recalls the achievements of Joan of Arc, and CharlotteCorday. Not less, than these, in the scale of intrepid valor, are thoseof Marie de la Tour.[Pg 251]

CHAPTER XV.

Bedford Basin—Legend of the two French Admirals—An Invitation to theQueen—Visit to the Prince's Lodge—A Touch of Old England—The Ruins.

The harbor of Chebucto, after stretching inland far enough to make acommodious and beautiful site for the great city of Halifax, true to thefine artistic taste peculiar to all bodies of water in the province,penetrates still further in the landscape, and broadens out into asuperb land-locked lake, called Bedford Basin. The entrance to thisbasin is very narrow, and it has no other outlet. Oral traditionmaintains that about a century ago a certain French fleet, lying in theharbor, surprised by the approach of a superior body of Englishmen-of-war in the offing, weighed anchor and sailed up through thisnarrow estuary into the basin itself, deceived by seeing so much waterthere, and believing it to be but a twin harbor through which they couldescape again to the open sea. And further, that the French Admiralfinding himself caught in this net with no chance of escape, drew hissword, and placing the[Pg 252] hilt upon the deck of his vessel, fell upon thepoint of the weapon, and so died.

This tradition is based partly upon fact; its epoch is one of the mostinteresting in the history of this province, and probably the turningpoint in the affairs of the whole northern continent. The suicide was anofficer high in rank, the Duke d'Anville, who in 1746, after the firstcapture of Louisburgh, sailed from Brest with the most formidable fleetthat had ever crossed the Atlantic, to re-take this famous fortress;then to re-take Annapolis, next to destroy Boston, and finally tovisit the West Indies. But his squadron being dispersed by tempestuousweather, he arrived in Chebucto harbor with but a few ships, and notfinding any of the rest of his fleet there, was so affected by this andother disasters on the voyage, that he destroyed himself. So says theLondon Chronicle of August 24th, 1758, from which I take this account.The French say he died of apoplexy, the English by poison. At allevents, he was buried in a little island in the harbor, after a defeatby the elements of as great an armament as that of the Spanish Armada.Some idea of the disasters of this voyage may be formed from one fact,that from the time of the sailing of the expedition from Brest until itsarrival at Chebucto,[Pg 253] no less than 1,270 men died on the way from theplague. Many of the ships arriving after this sad occurrence,Vice-Admiral Destournelle endeavored to fulfill the object of themission, and even with his crippled forces essay to restore the glory ofFrance in the western hemisphere. But he being overruled by a council ofwar, plucked out his sword, and followed his commander, the Duked'Anville. What might have come of it, had either admiral again plantedthefleur de lis upon the bastions of Louisburgh?

But to return to the to-day of to-day. Bedford Basin is now rapidlygrowing in importance. The great Nova Scotia railway skirts the marginof its storied waters, and already suburban villas for HaligonianSparrowgrasses, are being erected upon its banks.

I was much amused one morning, upon opening one of the Halifax papers,to find in its columns a most warm and hearty invitation from the editorto her majesty, Queen Victoria, soliciting her to visit the province,which, according to the editorial phraseology, would be, no doubt, asinteresting as it was endeared to her, as the former residence of hergracious father, the Duke of Kent.

In the year 1798, just twenty years before her present majesty was born,the young Prince[Pg 254] Edward was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the forcesin British North America. Loyalty, then as now, was rampant in NovaScotia, and upon the arrival of his Royal Highness, among other marks ofcompliment, an adjacent island, that at present rejoices in a governorand parliament of its own, was re-christened with the name it now bears,namely—Prince Edward's Island. But I am afraid Prince Edward was a sadreprobate in those days—at least, such is the record of tradition.

The article in the newspaper reminded me that somewhere upon BedfordBasin were the remains of the "Prince's Lodge;" so one afternoon,accompanied by a dear old friend, I paid this royal bower by Bendemeer'sstream, a visit. Rattling through the unpaved streets of Halifax in aone horse vehicle, called, for obvious reasons, a "jumper," we were soonon the high-road towards the basin. Water of the intensestblue—hill-slopes, now cultivated, and anon patched with evergreens thatlook as black as squares upon a chess board, between the open, brokengrounds—a fine road—a summer sky—an atmosphere spicy with whiffs ofresinous odors, and no fog,—these are the features of our ride. Yonderis a red building, reflected in the water like the prison of Chillon,where some of our citizens were imprisoned during the war of[Pg 255] 1812—shipcaptives doubtless! And here is the customary little English inn, wherewe stop our steed to let him cool, while the stout landlord, girt with aclean white apron, brings out to his thirsty travellers a brace offoaming, creamy glasses of "right h'English h'ale." Then remounting thejumper, we skirt the edge of the basin again, until a stately dome risesup before us on the road, which, as we approach, we see is supported bycolumns, and based upon a gentle promontory overhanging the water. Thisis the "Music House," where the Prince's band were wont to play in days"lang syne." Here we stop, and leaving our jumper in charge of a farmer,stroll over the grounds.

That peculiar arrangement of lofty trees, sweeping lawns, and gracefulmanagement of water, which forms the prevailing feature of Englishlandscape gardening, was at once apparent. Although there were no trimwalks, green hedges, or beds of flowers; although the whole place wasruined and neglected, yet the magic touch of art was not less visible tothe practised eye. The art that concealed art, seemed to lend a charm tothe sweet seclusion, without intruding upon or disturbing the intentionsof nature.

Proceeding up the gentle slope that led from the gate, a number ofcolumbines and rose-bushes[Pg 256] scattered in wild profusion, indicated whereonce had been the Prince's garden. These, although now in bloom andteeming with flowers, have a vagrant, neglected air, like beauties thathad ran astray, never to be reclaimed. A little further we come upon theruins of a spacious mansion, and beyond these the remains of thelibrary, with its tumbled-down bricks and timbers, choking up the streamthat wound through the vice-regal domains: and here the bowling-green,yet fresh with verdure; here the fishing pavilion, leaning over anartificial lake, with an artificial island in the midst; and here arewillows, and deciduous trees, planted by the Prince; and otherrose-bushes and columbines scattered in wild profusion. I could not butadmire the elegance and grace, which, even now, were so apparent, amidthe ruins of the lodge, nor could I help recalling those earlier days,when the red-coats clustered around the gates, and the grounds weresparkling with lamps at night; when the band from the music-house wokethe echoes with the clash of martial instruments, and the young Prince,with his gay gallants, and his powdered, patched, and painted Jezebels,held his brilliant court, with banner, music, and flotilla; with thearray of soldiery, and the pageantry of ships-of-war, on Bedford Basin.[Pg 257]

I stood by the ruins of a little stone bridge, which had once spannedthe sparkling brook, and led to the Prince's library; I saw, far andnear, the flaunting flowers of the now abandoned garden, and the distantcolumns of the silent music house, and I felt sad amid the desolation,although I knew not why. For wherefore should any one feel sad to seethe temples of dissipation laid in the dust? For my own part, I am apoor casuist, but nevertheless, I do not think my conscience will sufferfrom this feeling. There is a touch of humanity in it, and always somegerm of sympathy will bourgeon and bloom around the once populous abodesof men, whether they were tenanted by the pure or by the impure.[Pg 258]

CHAPTER XVI.

The Last Night—Farewell Hotel Waverley—Friends Old and New—Whatfollowed the Marriage of La Tour le Borgne—Invasion of Col. Church.

Faint nebulous spots in the air, little red disks in a halo of fog,acquaint us that there are gas-lights this night in the streets ofHalifax. Something new, I take it, this illumination? Carbonatedhydrogen is a novelty as yet in Chebucto. But in this soft and pleasantatmosphere, I cannot but feel some regret at leaving my old quarters inthe Hotel Waverley. If I feel how much there is to welcome me elsewhere,yet I do not forsake this queer old city—these strange, dingy,weather-beaten streets, without reluctance; and chiefly I feel that nowI must separate from some old friends, and from some new ones too, whomI can ill spare. And if any of these should ever read this little book,I trust they will not think the less of me because of it. If the salientfeatures of the province have sometimes appeared to me, a stranger, atrifle[Pg 259] distorted, it may be that my own stand-point is defective. Andso farewell! To-morrow I shall draw nearer homeward, by Windsor and theshores of the Gasperau, by Grand-Pré and the Basin of Minas. Candles,Henry! and books!

The marriage of La Tour to the widow of his deceased rival, for a timeenabled that brave young adventurer to remain in quiet possession of theterritory. But to the Catholic Court of France, a suspected although notan avowed Protestant, in commission, was an object of distrust. Nomatter what might have been his former services, indeed, his defence ofCape Sable had saved the French possessions from the encroachments ofthe Sterling patent, yet he was heretic to the true faith, and thereforedefenceless in an important point against the attacks of an enemy. Sucha one was La Tour le Borgne, who professed to be a creditor of D'Aulney,and pressing his suit with all the ardor of bigotry and rapacity, easilysucceeded in "obtaining a decree by which he was authorized to enterupon the possessions of hisdeceased debtor!" But the adherents ofCharles Etienne did not readily yield to the new adventurer. They hadtasted the sweets of religious liberty, and were not disposed to comewithin the arbitrary yoke without a struggle. Disregarding the "decree,"they stood[Pg 260] out manfully against the forces of Le Borgne. Again wereCatholic French and Protestant French cannon pointed against each otherin unhappy Acadia. But fort after fort fell beneath the new claimant'ssuperior artillery, until La Tour le Borgne himself was met by acounter-force of bigotry, before which his own was as chaff to thefanning-mill. The man of England, Oliver Cromwell, had his little claim,too, in Acadia. Against his forces both the French commanders made butineffectual resistance. Acadia for the third time fell into the hands ofthe English.

Now in the history of the world there is nothing more patent than this:that persecution in the name of religion, is only a ring of calamities,which ends sooner or later where it began. And this portion of itshistory can be cited as an example. Charles Etienne de la Tour,alienated by the unjust treatment of his countrymen, decided to acceptthe protection of his national enemy. As the heir of Sir Claude de laTour, he laid claim to the Sterling grants (which it will be rememberedhad been ceded to his father by Sir William Alexander after theunsuccessful attack upon Cape Sable,) and in conjunction with twoEnglish Puritans obtained a new patent for Acadia from the Protector,under the great seal, with the title of Sir Charles La Tour.[Pg 261] Then SirThomas Temple (one of the partners in the Cromwell patent) purchased theinterest of Charles Etienne in Acadia. Then came the restoration, andagain Acadia was restored to France by Charles II. in 1668. But SirThomas having embarked all his fortune in the enterprise, was notdisposed to submit to the arbitrary disposal of his property by thistreaty; and therefore endeavored to evade its articles by making adistinction between such parts of the province as were supposed toconstitute Acadia proper, and the other portions of the territorycomprehended under the title of Nova Scotia. "This distinction beingdeemed frivolous," Sir Thomas was ordered to obey the letter of thetreaty, and accordingly thewhole of Nova Scotia was delivered up tothe Chevalier de Grande Fontaine. During twenty years succeeding thisevent, Acadia enjoyed comparative repose, subject only to occasionalvisits of filibusters. At the expiration of that time, a more seriousinvasion was meditated. Under the command of Sir William Phipps, anative of New England, three ships, with transports and soldiers,appeared before Port Royal, and demanded an unconditional surrender.Although the fort was poorly garrisoned, this was refused by Manivel,the French governor, but finally terms of capitulation were agreed upon:these were, that[Pg 262] the French troops should be allowed to retain theirarms and baggage, and be carried to Quebec; that the inhabitants shouldbe maintained in the peaceable possession of their property, and in theexercise of their religion; and that the honor of the women should beobserved. Sir William agreed to the conditions, but declined signing thearticles, pompously intimating that the "word of a general was a bettersecurity than any document whatever." The French governor, deceived bythis specious parade of language, took the New England filibuster at hisword, and formally surrendered the keys of the fortress, according tothe verbal contract. Again was poor Acadia the victim of her perfidiousenemy. Sir William, disregarding the terms of the capitulation, and the"word of a general," violated the articles he had pledged his honor tomaintain, disarmed and imprisoned the soldiers, sacked the churches, andgave the place up to all the ruthless cruelties and violences of ageneral pillage. Not only this, the too credulous Governor, Manivel, washimself imprisoned, plundered of money and clothes, and carried off onboard the conqueror's frigate, with many of his unfortunate companions,to view the further spoliations of his countrymen. Many a peacefulAcadian village expired in flames during that coasting expedition, andto add to the miseries[Pg 263] of the defenceless Acadians, twopiraticalvessels followed in the wake of the pious Sir William, and set fire tothe houses, slaughtered the cattle, hanged the inhabitants, anddeliberately burned up one whole family, whom they had shut in adwelling-house for that purpose.

Soon after this, Sir William was rewarded with the governorship of NewEngland, as Argall had been with that of Virginia, nearly a centurybefore.

Now let it be remembered that in these expeditions, very little, if any,attempt was made by the invaders to colonize or reside on the lands theywere so ready to lay waste and destroy. The mind of the species"Puritan," by rigid discipline hardened against all frivolousamusements, and insensible to the charms of the drama, and the splendorsof the mimic spectacle, with its hollow shows of buckram, tinsel, andpasteboard, seems to have been peculiarly fitted to enjoy these moresubstantial enterprises, which, owing to the defenceless condition ofthe French province, must have appeared to the rigid Dudleys andEndicotts merely as a series of light and elegant pastimes.

Scarcely had Sir William Phipps returned to Boston, when the ChevalierVillabon came from France with troops and implements of war. On hisarrival, he found the British flag flying at Port[Pg 264] Royal, unsupported byan English garrison. It was immediately lowered from the flag-staff, thewhite flag of Louis substituted, and once more Acadia was under thedominion of her parental government.

Villabon, in a series of petty skirmishes, soon recovered the rest ofthe territory, which was only occupied at a few points by feeble NewEngland garrisons, and, in conjunction with a force of Abenaqui Indians,laid siege to the fort at Pemaquid, on the Penobscot, and captured it.In this affair, as we have seen, the famous Baron Castine was engaged.

The capture of the fort at Pemaquid, led to a train of reprisals,conspicuous in which was an actor in the theatre of events whoheretofore had not appeared upon the Acadian stage. This was Col.Church, a celebrated bushwhacker and Indian-fighter, of memorableaccount in the King Philip war.

In order to estimate truly the condition of the respective parties, wemust remember the severe iron and gunpowder nature of the Puritan of NewEngland, his prejudices, his dyspepsia; his high-peaked hat and ruff;his troublesome conscience and catarrh; his natural antipathies toPapists and Indians, from having been scalped by one, and[Pg 265] roasted byboth; his English insolence; and his religious bias, at once tyrannicand territorial.

Then, on the other, we must call to view the simple Acadian peasant,Papist or Protestant, just as it happened; ignorant of the great eventsof the world; a mere offshoot of rural Normandy; without a thought ofother possessions than those he might reclaim from the sea by his dykes;credulous, pure-minded, patient of injuries; that like the swallow inthe spring, thrice built the nest, and when again it was destroyed,

Against such people, the expedition of Col. Church, fresh from theslaughter of Pequod wars, bent its merciless energies. Regardless of thefacts that the people were non-resistants; that the expeditions of theFrench had been only feeble retaliations of great injuries; and alwaysby levies from the mother country, and not from the colonists; thatVillabon, at the capture of Pemaquid, had generously saved the lives ofthe soldiers in the garrison from the fury of the Mic-Macs, who had justgrounds of retribution for the massacres which had marked[Pg 266] the formerinroads of these ruthless invaders; the wrath of the Pilgrim Fathersfell upon the unfortunate Acadians as though they had been a nation ofSepoys.[D]

One of the severest cruelties practised upon these inoffensive people,was that of requiring them to betray their friends, the Indians, underthe heaviest penalties. In Acadia, the red and the white man were asbrothers; no treachery, no broken faith, no[Pg 267] over-reaching policy hadsevered the slightest fibre of good fellowship on either side. But theAbenaqui race was a warlike people. At the first invasion, under Argall,the red man had seen with surprise a mere handful of white men disputingfor a territory to which neither could offer a claim; so vast as to makeeither occupation or control by the adventurers ridiculous; andtherefore, with good-natured zeal, he had hastened to put an end to thequarrel, as though the white people had only been fractious but notirreconcilable kinsmen. But as the power of New England advanced moreand more in Acadia, the first generous desire of the red man had mergedinto suspicion, and finally hatred of the peaked hat and ruff ofPlymouth. In all his dealings with the Acadians, the Indian had foundonly unimpeachable faith and honor; but with the colonist ofMassachusetts, there had been nothing but over-reaching and treachery:intercourse with the first had not led to a scratch, or a single drop ofblood; while on the other hand a bounty of "one hundred pounds wasoffered for each male of their tribe if over twelve years of age, ifscalped; one hundred and five pounds if taken prisoner; fifty pounds foreachwoman and child scalped, and fifty pounds when brought in alive."

The Abenaqui tribes therefore, first, to avenge[Pg 268] the injuries of theirunresisting friends, the Acadians, and after to avenge their own, wagedwar upon the invaders with all the severities of an aggrieved andbarbarous people. And, as I have said before, the severest crueltyinflicted upon the Acadian colonist, was to oblige him to betray hisbest friend and protector, the painted heathen, with whom he struckhands and plighted faith. To the honor of these colonists, be it said,that although they saw their long years' labor of dykes broken down, thesea sweeping over their farms, the fire rolling about their homesteads,their cattle and sheep destroyed, their effects plundered, and wantonand nameless outrages committed by the English and Yankee soldiery, yetin no instance did they purchase indemnity from these, by betraying asingle Indian.[Pg 269]

CHAPTER XVII.

A few more Threads of History—Acadia again lost—The Oath ofAllegiance—Settlement of Halifax—The brave Three Hundred—Massacre atNorridgewoack—Le Père Ralle.

During the invasion of Col. Church, the inhabitants of Grand-Pré wereexposed to such treatment as may be conceived of. The smoke from theborders of the five rivers, overlooked by Blomidon, rose in the stillyair, and again the sea rolled past the broken dykes, which for nearly acentury had kept out its desolating waters between the Cape and theGasperau. Driven to despair, a few of the younger Acadians took up armsto defend their hearthstones, but the great body of the people submittedwithout resistance. A brief stand was made at Port Royal, but this lastoutpost finally capitulated. By the terms of the articles agreed upon,the inhabitants were to have the privilege of remaining upon theirestates for two years, upon taking an oath of allegiance to remainfaithful to her majesty, Queen Anne, during that period. Upon thatconsideration, those who livedwithin[Pg 270] cannon-shot of the fort, wereto be protected in their rights and properties. This was but a piece offinesse on the part of the invaders, an entering wedge, as it were, ofa novel kind of tyranny, namely, that inasmuch as those withincannon-shot had taken the oath of allegiance, those without the reach ofartillery, at Port Royal, also, were bound to do the same. And a strongdetachment of New England troops, under Captain Pigeon, was sent upon anexpedition to enforce the arbitrary oath. But Captain Pigeon, in thepursuit of his duty, fell in with an enemy of a less gentle nature thanthe Acadians. A body of Abenaqui came down upon him and his men, andsmote them hip and thigh, even as the three hundred warriors of Israelsmote the Midianites in the valley of Moreh. Then was there temporaryrelief in the land until the year 1713, when by a treaty Acadia wasformally surrendered to England. The weight of the oath of allegiancenow fell heavily upon the innocent colonists. We can scarcely appreciatethe abhorrence of a people, so conscientious as this, to take an oath offidelity to a race that had only been known to them by its rapacity. Butpartly by persuasion, partly by menace, a majority of the Acadians tookthe oath, which was as follows:

"Je promets et jure sincèrement, en foi de Chré[Pg 271]tien, que je seraientièrement fidèle et obéirai vraiment sa Majesté le roi George, que jereconnaias pour le Souverain seigneur de l'Acadie, ou Nouvelle Ecosse,ainsi Dieu me soit en aide."

Under the shadow of the protection derived from their acceptance of thisoath, the Acadians reposed a few years. It did not oblige them to beararms against their countrymen, nor did it compromise their religiousindependence of faith. Again the dykes were built to resist theencroachments of the sea; again village after village arose—at themouth of the Gasperau, on the shores of the Canard, beside the Strait ofFrontenac, at Le Have, and Rossignol, at Port Royal and Pisiquid. Duringall these years no attempt had been made by the captors of thisprovince, to colonize the places baptized with the waters of Puritanprogress. Lunenburgh was settled with King William's Dutchmen; the wallsof Louisburgh were rising in one of the harbors of a neighboring island;but in no instance had the filibusters projected acolony on the soilwhich had been wrested from its rightful owners. The only result of alltheir bloody visitations upon a non-resisting people, had been to makedefenceless Acadia a neutral province. From this time until the close ofthe drama, in all the wars between the Georges and the Louises, in bothhemi[Pg 272]spheres, the people of Acadia went by the name of "The NeutralFrench."

Meantime the walls of Louisburgh were rising on the island of CapeBreton, which, with Canada, still remained under the sovereign rule ofthe French. The Acadians were invited to remove within the protection ofthis formidable fortress, but they preferred remaining intrenched behindtheir dykes, firmly believing that the only invader they had now todread was the sea, inasmuch as they had accepted the oath of fidelity,in which, and in their inoffensive pursuits, they imagined themselvessecure from farther molestation. Some of their Indian neighbors,however, accepted the invitation of the Cape Breton French, and removedthither. These simple savages, notwithstanding the changes in thegovernment, still regarded the Acadians as friends, and the English asenemies. They could not comprehend the nature of a treaty by which theirown lands were ceded to a hostile force; a treaty in which they wereneither consulted nor considered.[E] They had their own injuries toremember, which in no wise had been balanced in the compact of thestrangers. The rulers in[Pg 273] New France (so says the chronicler) "affectedto consider the Indians as an independent people." At Canseau, at CapeSable, at Annapolis, and Passamaquoddy, English forts, fishing stations,and vessels were attacked and destroyed by the savages with all thecircumstances that make up the hideous features of barbaric reprisal.Unhappy Acadia came in for her share of condemnation. Although herinnocent people had no part in these transactions, yet her missionarieshad converted the Abenaqui to faith in the symbol of the crucifixion,and it was currently reported and credited in New England, that they hadtaught the savages to believe also the English were the people who hadcrucified our Saviour. To complicate matters again, the Chevalier de St.George (of whom there is no recollection except that he was anonymous,both as a prince, and as a man) sent his son, the fifth remove instupidity, of the most stupid line of monarchs (not even excepting theGeorges) that ever wore crowns, to stir up an insurrection among themost obtuse race of people that ever wore, or went without, breeches. Awar between France and England followed the descent of the Pretender. Awar naturally followed in the Colonies.

Again the ring of fire and slaughter met and ended in a treaty; thetreaty of Aix la Chapelle,[Pg 274] by which Cape Breton was ceded to France,and Nova Scotia, or Acadia, to England. Up to this time no attempt atcolonizing the fertile valleys of Acadia, by its captors, had beenattempted. At last, under large and favorable grants from the Crown, acolony was established by the Hon. Edward Cornwallis, at a place nowknown as Halifax. No sooner was Halifax settled, than sundry tribes ofred men made predatory visits to the borders of the new colony.Reprisals followed reprisals, and it is not easy to say on which sidelay the largest amount of savage fury. At the same time, the Acadiansremained true to the spirit and letter of the oath they had taken. "Theyhad relapsed," says the chronicler, "into a sort of sullen neutrality."This was considered just cause of offence. The oath which had satisfiedGovernor Phipps, did not satisfy George II. A new oath of allegiance wastendered, by which the Acadians were required to become loyal subjectsof the English Crown, to bear arms against their countrymen, and theIndians to whom the poor colonists were bound by so many ties ofobligation and affection. The consciences of these simple peoplerevolted at a requisition "so repugnant to the feelings of humannature." Three hundred of the younger and braver Acadians took up armsagainst their oppressors.[Pg 275] This overt act was just what was desired bythe wily Puritans. Acadia, with its twenty thousand inhabitants, wasplaced under the ban of having violated the oath of neutrality in thepersons of the three hundred. In vain the great body of the peopleprotested that this act was contrary to their wishes, their peacefulhabits, and beyond their control. At the fort of Beau Séjour, the bravethree hundred made a gallant stand, but were defeated. Would there hadbeen a Leonidas among them! Would that the whole of their kinsmen haderected forts instead of dykes, and dropped the plough-handles to pressthe edge of the sabre against the grindstone! Sad indeed is the fate ofthat people who make any terms with such an enemy, except such as may begranted at the bayonet's point. Sad indeed is the condition of thatpeople who are wrapt in security when Persecution steals in upon them,hiding its bloody hands under the garments of sanctity.

Among the many incidents of these cruel wars, the fate of a Jesuitpriest may stand as a type of the rest. Le Père Ralle had been amissionary for forty years among the various tribes of the Abenaqui."His literary attainments were of a high order;" his knowledge of modernlanguages respectable; "his Latin," according to Haliburton,[Pg 276] "was pure,classical and elegant;" and he was master of several of the Abenaquidialects; indeed, a manuscript dictionary of the Abenaqui languages, inhis handwriting, is still preserved in the library of the HarvardUniversity. Of one of these tribes—the Norridgewoacks—Father Ralle wasthe pastor. Its little village was on the banks of the Kennebeck; theroof of its tiny chapel rose above the pointed wigwams of the savages;and a huge cross, the emblem of peace, lifted itself above all, theconspicuous feature of the settlement in the distance. By the tribe overwhich he had exercised his gentle rule for so many years, Le Père Rallewas regarded with superstitious reverence and affection.

It does not appear that these people had been accused of any overt acts;but, nevertheless, the village was marked out for destruction. Twohundred and eight Massachusetts men were dispatched upon this errand.The settlement was surprised at night, and a terrible scene of slaughterensued. Ralle came forth from his chapel to save, if possible, the livesof his miserable parishioners. "As soon as he was seen," says thechronicler,[F] "he was saluted with a great shout and a shower ofbullets, and fell, together with seven Indians, who had rushed out oftheir tents to defend him with their bodies; and[Pg 277] when the pursuitceased, the Indians who had fled, returned to weep over their belovedmissionary, and found him dead at the foot of the cross, his bodyperforated with balls, his head scalped, his skull broken with blows ofhatchets, his mouth and eyes filled with mud, the bones of his legsbroken, and his limbs dreadfully mangled. After having bathed hisremains with their tears, they buried him on the site of the chapel,that had been hewn down with its crucifix, with whatever else remainedof the emblems of idolatry." Such was the merciless character of theinvasion of Acadia; such the looming phantom of the greater crime whichwas so speedily to spread ruin over her fair valleys, and scatterforever her pastoral people.

The tranquillity of entire subjugation followed these events in theprovince. The New Englander built his menacing forts along the rivers,and pressed into his service the labors of the neutral French. "Therequisitions which were made of them were not calculated to conciliateaffection," says the chronicler; the poor Acadian peasant was informed,if he did not supply the garrison fuel, his own house would be used forthat purpose, and that neglect to furnish timber for the repairs of afort, would be followed by drum-head courts martial, and "militaryexecution."[Pg 278]

To all these exactions, these unhappy people patiently submitted. But invain. The very existence of the subjugated race had become irksome totheir oppressors. A cruelty yet more intolerable to which the history ofthe world affords no parallel, remained to be perpetrated.[Pg 279]

CHAPTER XVIII.

On the road to Windsor—The great Nova Scotia Railway—A FellowPassenger—Cape Sable Shipwrecks—Seals—Ponies—Windsor—Sam Slick—Alively Example.

A dewy, spring-like morning is all I remembered of my farewell toHalifax. A very sweet and odorous air as I rode towards the railwaystation in the funereal cab; a morning without fog, a sparklingfreshness that twinkled in the leaves and crisped the waters.

So I take leave of thee, quaint old city of Chebucto. The words of afamiliar ditty, the memory of the unfortunate Miss Bailey, rises upon meas the morning bugle sounds—

While the psychological features of the case[Pg 280] were puzzling his brainand keeping him wide awake—

Even such a sprite, so dead in look, so woe-begone, drew Priam's curtainin the dead of night to tell him half his Troy was burned; but thisvisit was for a different purpose, as we find by the words which thegallant Lothario addressed to his victim:

There is no end to these legends; the whole province is full of them.The Province Building is stuffed with rich historical manuscripts, thatonly wait for the antiquarian explorer.[G]

[Pg 281]But now we approach the station of the great Nova Scotia Railway, nineand three-quarter miles in length, that skirts the margin of Bed[Pg 282]fordBasin, and ends at the head of that blue sheet of water in the villageof Sackville. It is amusing to see the gravity and importance of theconductor, in uniform frock-coat and with crown and V. R. buttons, as hepaces up and down[Pg 283] the platform before starting; and the quiet dignityof the sixpenny ticket-office; and the busy air of the freight-master,checking off boxes and bundles for the distant terminus—so distant thatit can barely be distinguished by the naked eye. But it was a pleasantride, that by the Basin! Not less pleasant because of the company of anold friend, who, with wife and children, went with me to the end of theiron road. Arrived there, we parted, with many a hearty hand-shake, andthence by stage to Windsor, on the river Avon, forty-five miles or sowest of Halifax.

My fellow-passenger on the stage-top was a pony! Yes, a real pony! notbigger, however, than a good sized pointer dog, although his head was ofmost preposterous horse-like length. This equine Tom Thumb, was one ofthe mustangs, or wild horses of Sable Island, some little account ofwhich here may not be uninteresting. But first let me say, in order notto tax the credulity of my reader too much, that pony did not standupright upon the roof of the coach, as may have been surmised, but wasvery cleverly laid upon his side, with his four legs strapped in theform of a saw-buck, precisely as butchers tie the legs of calves or ofsheep together, for transportation in carts to the shambles, only pony'sfetters were not so cruel—indeed he seemed[Pg 284] to be quite at hisease—like the member of the foreign legion on the road to Dartmouth.

Now then, pony's birth-place is one of the most interesting upon ourcoast. Do you remember it, my transatlantic traveller? The little yellowspot that greets you so far out at sea, and bids you welcome to thewestern hemisphere? I hope you have seen it in fine weather; many agoodly ship has left her bones upon that yellow island in lessauspicious seasons. The first of these misadventurers was Sir HumphreyGilbert, who was lost in a storm close by; the memorable words withwhich he hailed his consort are now familiar to every reader: "Heaven,"said he, "is as near by sea as by land," and so bade the world farewellin the tempest. Legends of wrecks of buccaneers, of spectres, multiplyas we penetrate into the mysterious history of the yellow island. Andits present aspect is sufficiently tempting to the adventurous, forwhom—

The following description, from a lecture delivered in Halifax, by Dr.J. Bernard Gilpin, will commend itself to our modern Robinson Crusoes:[Pg 285]

"Should any one be visiting the island now, he might see, about tenmiles' distance, looking seaward, half a dozen low, dark hummocks on thehorizon. As he approaches, they gradually resolve themselves into hillsfringed by breakers, and by and by the white sea beach with itscontinued surf—the sand-hills, part naked, part waving in grass of thedeepest green, unfold themselves—a house and a barn dot the westernextremity—here and there along the wild beach lie the ribs of unluckytraders half-buried in the shifting sand. By this time a red ensign iswaving at its peak, and from a tall flag-staff and crow's nest erectedupon the highest hill midway of the island, an answering flag is wavingto the wind. Before the anchor is let go, and the cutter is rounding toin five fathoms of water, men and horses begin to dot the beach, alife-boat is drawn rapidly on a boat-cart to the beach, manned, andfairly breasting the breakers upon the bar. It may have been three longwinter months that this boat's crew have had no tidings of the world, orthey may have three hundred emigrants and wrecked crews, waiting to becarried off. The hurried greetings over, news told and newspapers andletters given, the visitor prepares to return with them to the island.Should it be evening, he will see the cutter already under weigh[Pg 286] andstanding seaward; but, should it be fine weather, plenty of day, andwind right off the shore, even then she lies to the wind anchor apeak,and mainsail hoisted, ready to run at a moment's notice, so sudden arethe shifts of wind, and so hard to claw off from those treacherousshores. But the life-boat is now entering the perpetual fringe ofsurf—a few seals tumble and play in the broken waters, and the strangerdraws his breath hard, as the crew bend to their oars, the helmsmanstanding high in the pointed stern, with loud command and powerful armkeeping her true, the great boat goes riding on the back of a huge wave,and is carried high up on the beach in a mass of struggling water. Tospring from their seats into the water, and hold hard the boat, now onthe point of being swept back by the receding wave, is the work of aninstant. Another moment they are left high and dry on the beach,another, and the returning wave and a vigorous run of the crew has borneher out of all harm's way.

"Such is the ceremony of landing at Sable Island nine or ten months outof the year: though there are at times some sweet halcyon days when alad might land in a flat. Dry-shod the visitor picks his way between thethoroughly drenched crew, picks up a huge scallop or two, admires the[Pg 287]tumbling play of the round-headed seals, and plods his way through thedeep sand of an opening between the hills, or gulch (so called) to thehead-quarters establishment. And here, for the last fifty years, a kindwelcome has awaited all, be they voluntary idlers or sea-wrecked men.Screened by the sand-hills, here is a well-stocked barn and barnyard,filled with its ordinary inhabitants, sleek milch cows and heady bulls,lazy swine, a horse grazing at a tether, with geese and ducks and fowlsaround. Two or three large stores and boat-houses, quarters for the men,the Superintendent's house, blacksmith shop, sailors' home forsea-wrecked men, and oil-house, stand around an irregular square, andsurmounted by the tall flag-staff and crow's nest on the neighboringhill. So abrupt the contrast, so snug the scene, if the roar of theocean were out of his ears, one might fancy himself twenty miles inland.

"Nearly the first thing the visitor does is to mount the flag-staff, andclimbing into the crow's nest, scan the scene. The ocean bounds himeverywhere. Spread east and west, he views the narrow island in form ofa bow, as if the great Atlantic waves had bent it around, nowhere muchabove a mile wide, twenty-six miles long, including[Pg 288] the dry bars, andholding a shallow late thirteen miles long in its centre.

"There it all lies spread like a map at his feet—grassy hill and sandyvalley fading away into the distance. On the foreground the outpost mengalloping their rough ponies into head-quarters, recalled by the flagflying above his head; the West-end house of refuge, with bread andmatches, firewood and kettle, and directions to find water, andhead-quarters with flag-staff on the adjoining hill. Every sandy peak orgrassy knoll with a dead man's name or old ship's tradition—Baker'sHill, Trott's Cove, Scotchman's Head, French Gardens—traditionary spotwhere the poor convicts expiated their social crimes—the littleburial-ground nestling in the long grass of a high hill, and consecratedto the repose of many a sea-tossed limb; and two or three miles down theshallow lake, the South-side house and barn, and staff and boats lyingon the lake beside the door. Nine miles further down, by the help of aglass, he may view the flag-staff at the foot of the lake, and fivemiles further the East-end look-out, with its staff and watch-house.Herds of wild ponies dot the hills, and black duck and sheldrakes areheading their young broods on the mirror-like ponds. Seals[Pg 289] innumerableare basking on the warm sands, or piled like ledges of rock along theshores. The Glascow's bow, the Maskonemet's stern, the East Boston'shulk, and the grinning ribs of the well-fastened Guide are spotting thesands, each with its tale of last adventure, hardships passed, and toilendured. The whole picture is set in a silver-frosted frame of rollingsurf and sea-ribbed sand."

"Mounted upon his hardy pony, the solitary patrol starts upon his lonelyway. He rides up the centre valleys, ever and anon mounting a grassyhill to look seaward, reaches the West-end bar, speculates uponperchance a broken spar, an empty bottle, or a cask of beef strugglingin the land-wash—now fords the shallow lake, looking well for hisland-range, to escape the hole where Baker was drowned; and coming onthe breeding-ground of the countless birds, his pony's hoof with areckless smash goes crunching through a dozen eggs or callow young. Hefairly puts his pony to her mettle to escape the cloud of angry birdswhich, arising in countless numbers, dent his weather-beaten tarpaulinwith their sharp bills, and snap[Pg 290] his pony's ears, and confuse him withtheir sharp, shrill cries. Ten minutes more, and he is holding hard tocount the seals. There they lie, old ocean flocks, resting theirwave-tossed limbs—great ocean bulls, and cows, and calves. He marksthem all. The wary old male turns his broad moustached nostrils to thetainted gale of man and horse sweeping down upon them, and the wholeherd are simultaneously lumbering a retreat. And now he goes, plying hislittle short whip, charging the whole herd to cut off their retreat forthe pleasure and fun of galloping in and over and amongst fifty greatbodies, rolling and tumbling and tossing, and splashing the surf intheir awkward endeavors to escape."

And now to return to our pony, who seems to sympathize with hisfellow-traveller, for every instant he raises his head as if he wouldpeep into his note-book. Let me quote this of him and of his brethren:

"When the present breed of wild ponies was introduced, there is norecord. In an old print, seemingly a hundred years old, they aredepicted as being lassoed by men in cocked hats and antique habiliments.At present, three or four hundred are[Pg 291] their utmost numbers, and it iscurious to observe how in their figures and habits they approach thewild races of Mexico or the Ukraine. They are divided into herds organgs, each having a separate pasture, and each presided over by an oldmale, conspicuous by the length of his mane, rolling in tangled massesover eye and ear down to his fore arm. Half his time seems taken up intossing it from his eyes as he collects his out-lying mares and foals onthe approach of strangers, and keeping them well up in a pack boldlyfaces the enemy whilst they retreat at a gallop. If pressed, however,he, too, retreats on their rear. He brooks no undivided allegiance, andmany a fierce battle is waged by the contending chieftains for the honorof the herd. In form they resemble the wild horses of all lands: thelarge head, thick, shaggy neck of the male, low withers, paddling gait,and sloping quarters, have all their counterparts in the mustang and thehorse of the Ukraine. There seems a remarkable tendency in these horsesto assume the Isabella colors, the light chestnuts, and even thepiebalds or paint horses of the Indian prairies or the Mexican Savannah.The annual drive or herding, usually resulting in the whole island beingswept from end to end, and a kicking, snorting, half-terrified massdriven into a large[Pg 292] pound, from which two or three dozen are selected,lassoed, and exported to town, affords fine sport, wild riding, andplenty of falls."

And now pony we must part. Windsor approaches! Yonder among theembowering trees is the residence of Judge Halliburton, the author of"Sam Slick." How I admire him for his hearty hostility to republicaninstitutions! It is natural, straightforward, shrewd, and, no doubt,sincere. At the same time, it affords an example of how much thecolonist or satellite form of government tends to limit the scope of themind, which under happier skies and in a wider intelligence might haveshone to advantage.[Pg 293]

CHAPTER XIX.

Windsor-upon-Avon—Ride to the Gasperau—The Basin ofMinas—Blomidon—This is the Acadian Land—Basil, the Blacksmith—AYankee Settlement—Useless Reflections.

Windsor lies upon the river Avon. It is not the Avon which runs byStratford's storied banks, but still it is the Avon. There is somethingin a name. Witness it, O river of the Blue Noses!

I cannot recall a prettier village than this. If you doubt my word, comeand see it. Yonder we discern a portion of the Basin of Minas; around usare the rich meadows of Nova Scotia. Intellect has here placed acrowning college upon a hill; opulence has surrounded it withpicturesque villas. A ride into the country, a visit to a bachelor'slodge, studded with horns of moose and cariboo, with woodland scenes andLandseer's pictures, and then—over the bridge, and over the Avon,towards Grand-Pré and the Gasperau! I suppose, by this time, my dearreader, you are tired of sketches of lake scenery, mountain scenery,pines and spruces, strawberry blossoms, and other natural features of[Pg 294]the province? For my part, I rode through a strawberry-bed three hundredmiles long—from Sydney to Halifax—diversified by just such patches ofscenery, and was not tired of it. But it is a different matter when youcome to put it on paper. So I forbear.

Up hill we go, soon to approach the tragic theatre. A crack of the whip,a stretch of the leaders, and now, suddenly, the whole valley comes inview! Before us are the great waters of Minas; yonder Blomidon burstsupon the sight; and below, curving like a scimitar around the edge ofthe Basin, and against the distant cliffs that shut out the stormy Bayof Fundy, is the Acadian land—the idyllic meadows of Grand-Pré lie atour feet.

The Abbé Reynal's account of the colony, as it appeared one hundredyears ago, I take from the pages of Haliburton:

"Hunting and fishing, which had formerly been the delight of the colony,and might have still supplied it with subsistence, had no furtherattraction for a simple and quiet people, and gave way to agriculture,which had been established in the marshes and low lands, by repellingwith dykes the sea and rivers which covered these plains. These groundsyielded fifty for one at first, and afterwards[Pg 295] fifteen or twenty forone at least; wheat and oats succeeded best in them, but they likewiseproduced rye, barley and maize. There were also potatoes in greatplenty, the use of which was become common. At the same time theseimmense meadows were covered with numerous flocks. They computed as manyas sixty thousand head of horned cattle; and most families had severalhorses, though the tillage was carried on by oxen. Their habitations,which were constructed of wood, were extremely convenient, and furnishedas neatly as substantial farmer's houses in Europe. They reared a greatdeal of poultry of all kinds, which made a variety in their food, atonce wholesome and plentiful. Their ordinary drink was beer and cider,to which they sometimes added rum. Their usual clothing was in generalthe produce of their own flax, or the fleeces of their own sheep; withthese they made common linens and coarse cloths. If any of them had adesire for articles of greater luxury, they procured them from Annapolisor Louisburg, and gave in exchange corn, cattle or furs. The neutralFrench had nothing else to give their neighbors, and made still fewerexchanges among themselves; because each separate family was able, andhad been accustomed to provide for its own wants. They therefore knewnothing of paper currency,[Pg 296] which was so common throughout the rest ofNorth America. Even the small quantity of gold and silver which had beenintroduced into the colony, did not inspire that activity in whichconsists its real value. Their manners were of course extremely simple.There was seldom a cause, either civil or criminal, of importance enoughto be carried before the Court of Judication, established at Annapolis.Whatever little differences arose from time to time among them, wereamicably adjusted by their elders. All their public acts were drawn bytheir pastors, who had likewise the keeping of their wills; for which,and their religious services, the inhabitants paid a twenty-seventh partof their harvest, which was always sufficient to afford more means thanthere were objects of generosity.

"Real misery was wholly unknown, and benevolence anticipated the demandsof poverty.[I] Every misfortune was relieved, as it were, before itcould be felt, without ostentation on the one hand, and without meannesson the other. It was, in short, a society of brethren; every individualof which was[Pg 297] equally ready to give, and to receive, what he thought thecommon right of mankind. So perfect a harmony naturally prevented allthose connections of gallantry which are so often fatal to the peace offamilies. This evil was prevented by early marriages, for no one passedhis youth in a state of celibacy. As soon as a young man arrived to theproper age, the community built him a house, broke up the lands aboutit, and supplied him with all the necessaries of life for a twelvemonth.There he received the partner whom he had chosen, and who brought himher portion in flocks. This new family grew and prospered like theothers. In 1755, all together made a population of eighteen thousandsouls. Such is the picture of these people, as drawn by the Abbé Reynal.By many, it is thought to represent a state of social happiness totallyinconsistent with the frailties and passions of human nature, and thatit is worthy rather of the poet than the historian. In describing ascene of rural felicity like this, it is not improbable that hisnarrative has partaken of the warmth of feeling for which he wasremarkable; but it comes much nearer the truth than is generallyimagined. Tradition is fresh and positive in the various parts of theUnited States where they were located respecting their guileless,peaceable, and scrupulous cha[Pg 298]racter; and the descendants of those,whose long cherished and endearing local attachment induced them toreturn to the land of their nativity, still deserve the name of a mild,frugal, and pious people."

As we rest here upon the summit of the Gasperau Mountain, and look downon yonder valley, we can readily imagine such a people. A pastoralpeople, rich in meadow-lands, secured by laborious dykes, and secludedfrom the struggling outside world. But we miss the thatch-roof cottages,by hundreds, which should be the prominent feature in the picture, thevast herds of cattle, the belfries of scattered village chapels, themurmur of evening fields,

I sank back in the stage as it rolled down the mountain-road, and fairlycovered my eyes with my hands, as I repeated Webster's boast: "ThankGod! I too am an American." "But," said I, recovering, "thank God, Ibelong to a State that has[Pg 299] never bragged much of its great moralantecedents!" and in that reflection I felt comforted, and the load onmy back a little lightened.

A few weeping willows, the never-failing relics of an Acadiansettlement, yet remain on the roadside; these, with the dykes and GreatPrairie itself, are the only memorials of a once happy people. The sunwas just sinking behind the Gasperau mountain as we entered the ancientvillage. There was a smithy beside the stage-house, and we could see thedusky glow of the forge within, and the swart mechanic

But it was not Basil the Blacksmith, nor one of his descendants, thatheld the horse-hoof. The face of the smith was of the genuine NewEngland type, and just such faces as I saw everywhere in the village. Inthe shifting panorama of the itinerary I suddenly found myself in ahundred-year-old colony of genuine Yankees, the real true blues ofConnecticut, quilted in amidst the blue noses of Nova Scotia.

But of the poor Acadians not one remains now in the ancient village. Itis a solemn comment upon their peaceful and unrevengeful natures, that[Pg 300]two hundred settlers from Hew England remained unmolested upon theirlands, and that the descendants of those New England settlers now occupythem. A solemn comment upon our history, and the touching epitaph of anexterminated race.

Much as we may admire the various bays and lakes, the inlets,promontories, and straits, the mountains and woodlands of thisrarely-visited corner of creation—and, compared with it, we can boastof no coast scenery so beautiful—the valley of Grand-Pré transcends allthe rest in the Province. Only our valley of Wyoming, as an inlandpicture, may match it, both in beauty and tradition. One has had itsGertrude, the other its Evangeline. But Campbell never saw Wyoming, norhas Longfellow yet visited the shores of the Basin of Minas. And I mayventure to say, neither poet has touched the key-note of divine angerwhich either story might have awakened.

But let us be thankful for those simple and beautiful idyls. After all,it is a question whether the greatest and noblest impulses of man arenot awakened rather by the sympathy we feel for the oppressed, than bythe hatred engendered by the acts of the oppressor?

I wish I could shake off these useless reflections of a bygone period.But who can help it?[Pg 301]

CHAPTER XX.

The Valley of Acadia—A Morning Ride to the Dykes—An unexpectedWild-duck Chase—High Tides—The Gasperau—Sunset—The Lamp ofHistory—Conclusion.

The eastern sun glittered on roof and window-pane next morning. Neathouses in the midst of trim gardens, rise tier above tier on thehill-slopes that overlook the prairie lands. A green expanse, severalmiles in width, extends to the edge of the dykes, and in the distance,upon its verge, here and there a farmhouse looms up in the warm haze ofa summer morning. On the left hand the meadows roll away until they aremerged in the bases of the cliffs that, stretching forth over the bluewater of the Basin, end abruptly at Cape Blomidon. These cliffs areprecise counterparts of our own Palisades, on the Hudson. Then to theright, again, the vision follows the hazy coast-line until it melts inthe indistinct outline of wave and vapor, back of which rises theGasperau mountain, that protects the valley on the east withcorresponding barriers of rock and forest. Within this hemicycle lie thewaters[Pg 303] of Minas, bounded on the north by the horizon-line, the cloudsand the sky.

Once happy Acadia nestled in this valley. Does it not seem incrediblethat even Puritan tyranny could have looked with hard and pitiless eyesupon such a scene, and invade with rapine, sword and fire, the peace andserenity of a land so fair?

A morning ride across the Grand-Pré convinced me that the naturalopulence of the valley had not been exaggerated. These once desolate andbitter marshes, reclaimed from the sea by the patient labor of theFrench peasant, are about three miles broad by twenty miles long. Theprairie grass, even at this time of year, is knee-deep, and, as I wasinformed, yields, without cultivation, from two to four tons to theacre. The fertility of the valley in other respects is equally great.The dyke lands are intersected by a network of white causeways, raisedabove the level of the meadows. We passed over these to the outer edgeof the dykes. "These lands," said my young companion, "are filled inthis season with immense flocks of all kinds of feathered game." And Isoon had reason to be convinced of the truth of it, for just then westarted up what seemed to be a wounded wild-duck, upon which out leapedmy companion from the wagon and gave chase. A bunch of tall grass, uponthe[Pg 304] edge of a little pool, lay between him and the game; he brushedhastily through this, and out of it poured a little feathered colony. Asthese young ones were not yet able to fly, they were sooncaptured—seven little black ducks safely nestled together under theseat of the wagon, and poor Niobe trailed her broken wing within atempting distance in vain.

We were soon upon the dykes themselves, which are raised upon the edgeof the meadows, and are quite insignificant in height, albeit of greatextent otherwise. But from the bottom of the dykes to the edge of yondersparkling water, there is a bare beach, full three miles in extent. Whatdoes this mean? What are these dykes for, if the enemy is so far off?The answer to this query discloses a remarkable phenomenon. The tide inthis part of the world rises sixty or seventy feet every twelve hours.At present the beach is bare; the five rivers of the valley—theGasperau, the Cornwallis, the Canard, the Habitant, the Perot—areempty. Betimes the tide will roll in in one broad unretreating wave,surging and shouldering its way over the expanse, filling all therivers, and dashing against the protecting barriers under our feet; butbefore sunset the rivers will be emptied again, the bridges willuselessly hang in the air over the deserted channels, the beach willyawn wide and bare where[Pg 305] a ship of the line might have anchored.Sometimes a stranger schooner from New England, secure in a safedistance from shore, drops down in six or seven fathom. Then, suddenly,the ebb sweeps off from the intruder, and leaves his two-master keeledover, with useless anchor and cable exposed, "to point a moral and adorna tale." Sometimes a party will take boat for a row upon the placidbosom of this bay; but woe unto them if they consult not the almanac! Amistake may leave them high and dry on the beach, miles from the dykes,and as the tide comes in with abore, a sudden influx, wave abovewave, the risk is imminent.

I passed two days in this happy valley, sometimes riding across to thedykes, sometimes visiting the neighboring villages, sometimes wanderingon foot over the hills to the upper waters of the rivers. And theGasperau in particular is an attractive little mountain sylph, as itcomes skipping down the rocks, breaking here and there out in a broadcascade, or rippling and singing in the heart of the grand old forest. Ithink my friend Kensett might set his pallet here, and pitch a brieftent by Minas and the Gasperau to advantage. For my own part, I wouldthat I had my trout-pole and a fly!

But now the sun sinks behind the cliffs of Blow-me-down. To-morrow Imust take the[Pg 306] steamer for home, "sweet home!" What shall I say inconclusion? Shall I stop here and writefinis, or once more trim thelamp of history? I feel as it were the whole wrongs of the FrenchProvince concentrated here, as in the last drop of its life blood, notender dream of pastoral description, no clever veil of elaborate verse,can conceal the hideous features of this remorseless act, this wantonand useless deed of New England cruelty. Do not mistake me, my reader.Do not think that I am prejudiced against New England. But I hatetyranny—under whatever disguise, or in whatever shape—in anindividual, or in a nation—in a state, or in a congregation of states;so do you; and of course you will agree with me, that so long as themaxim obtains, "that the object justifies the means," certain effectsmust follow, and this maxim was the guiding star of our forefathers whenthey marched into the French province.

The peculiar situation of the Acadians, embarrassed the colonists ofMassachusetts. The Frenchneutrals, had taken the oath of fidelity,but they refused to take the oath of allegiance which compelled them tobear arms against their countrymen, and the Indians, who from first tolast had been their constant and devoted friends. The long course ofpersecution, for a century and a half,[Pg 307] had struck but one spark ofresistance from this people—the stand of the three hundred youngwarriors at Fort Séjour. Upon this act followed the retaliation of thePilgrim Fathers. They determined to remove and disperse the Acadiansamong the British colonies. To carry out this edict, Colonel Winslow,with five transports and a sufficient force of New England troops, wasdispatched to the Basin of Minas. At a consultation, held betweenColonel Winslow and Captain Murray, it was agreed that a proclamationshould be issued at the different settlements, requiring the attendanceof the people at the respective posts on the same day; whichproclamation would be so ambiguous in its nature, that the object forwhich they were to assemble could not be discerned, and so peremptory inits terms, as to insure implicit obedience. This instrument having beendrafted and approved, was distributed according to the original plan.That which was addressed to the people inhabiting the country nowcomprised within the limit of King's County, was as follows:

"'To the inhabitants of the District of Grand-Pré, Minas, River Canard,etc.; as well ancient, as young men and lads:

"'Whereas, his Excellency the Governor has[Pg 308] instructed us of his lateresolution, respecting the matter proposed to the inhabitants, and hasordered us to communicate the same in person, his Excellency, beingdesirous that each of them should be fully satisfied of his Majesty'sintentions, which he has also ordered us to communicate to you, such asthey have been given to him: We therefore order and strictly enjoin, bythese presents, all of the inhabitants, as well of the above-namedDistrict, as of all the other Districts, both old men and young men, aswell as all the lads of ten years of age, to attend at the church atGrand-Pré, on Friday the fifth instant, at three of the clock in theafternoon, that we may impart to them what we are ordered to communicateto them; declaring that no excuse will be admitted on any pretencewhatever, on pain of forfeiting goods and chattels, in default of realestate.—Given at Grand-Pré, second September, 1755, and twenty-ninthyear of his Majesty's reign.

"In obedience to this summons, four hundred and eighteen able-bodied menassembled. These being shut into the church (for that too had become anarsenal), Colonel Winslow placed himself with his officers, in thecentre, and addressed them thus:[Pg 309]

"'Gentlemen: I have received from his Excellency, Governor Lawrence, theKing's commission, which I have in my hand; and by his orders you areconvened together, to manifest to you his Majesty's final resolution tothe French inhabitants of this his province of Nova Scotia; who, foralmost half a century, have had more indulgence granted them than any ofhis subjects in any part of his dominions; what use you have made of ityou yourselves best know. The part of duty I am now upon, thoughnecessary, is very disagreeable to my natural make and temper, as I knowit must be grievous to you, who are of the same species; but it is notmy business to animadvert, but to obey such orders as I receive, andtherefore, without hesitation, shall deliver you his Majesty's ordersand instructions, namely, that your lands and tenements, cattle of allkinds and live stock of all sorts, are forfeited to the Crown; with allother your effects, saving your money and household goods, and youyourselves to be removed from this his province.

"'Thus it is peremptorily his Majesty's orders, that the whole Frenchinhabitants of these Districts be removed; and I am, through hisMajesty's goodness, directed to allow you liberty to carry off yourmoney and household goods, as many as you[Pg 310] can without discommoding thevessels you go in. I shall do everything in my power that all thosegoods be secured to you, and that you are not molested in carrying themoff; also that whole families shall go in the same vessel, and make thisremove, which I am sensible must give you a great deal of trouble, aseasy as his Majesty's service will admit: and hope that, in whateverpart of the world you may fall, you may be faithful subjects, apeaceable and happy people. I must also inform you that it is hisMajesty's pleasure that you remain in security under the inspection anddirection of the troops I have the honor to command.'

"The poor people, unconscious of any crime, and full of concern forhaving incurred his Majesty's displeasure, petitioned Colonel Winslowfor leave to visit their families, and entreated him to detain a partonly of the prisoners as hostages; urging with tears and prayers theirintention to fulfill their promise of returning after taking leave oftheir kindred and consoling them in their distresses and misfortunes.The answer of Colonel Winslow to this petition was to grant leave ofabsence to twenty only, for a single day. This sentence they bore withfortitude and resignation, but when the hour of embarkation arrived, inwhich they were[Pg 311] to part with their friends and relatives without a hopeof ever seeing them again, and to be dispersed among strangers, whoselanguage, customs, and religion, were opposed to their own, the weaknessof human nature prevailed, and they were overpowered with the sense oftheir miseries. The young men were first ordered to go on board of oneof the vessels. This they instantly and peremptorily refused to do,declaring that they would not leave their parents; but expressed awillingness to comply with the order, provided they were permitted toembark with their families. The request was rejected, and the troopswere ordered to fix bayonets and advance toward the prisoners, a motionwhich had the effect of producing obedience on the part of the youngmen, who forthwith commenced their march. The road from the chapel tothe shore—just one mile in length—was crowded with women and children;who, on their knees, greeted them as they passed, with their tears andtheir blessings; while the prisoners advanced with slow and reluctantsteps, weeping, praying, and singing hymns. This detachment was followedby the seniors, who passed through the same scene of sorrow anddistress. In this manner was the whole male part of the population ofthe District of Minas put on board the five transports stationed in theriver Gasperau."[Pg 312]

Now, my dear lady; you who have followed the fortunes of Evangeline, inLongfellow's beautiful poem, and haply wept over her weary pilgrimage,pray give a thought to the rest of the 18,000 sent into a similar exile!And you, my dear friend, who have listened to the oracles of Plymouthpulpits, take a Sabbath afternoon, and calmly consider how far you mayventure to place your faith upon it, whether you can subscribe to theidolatrous worship of that boulder stone, and say—

or whether you measure any other act between this present time and thepast eighteen hundred years, except by the eternal principles ofRighteousness and Truth?

Gentle reader, as we sit in this little inn-room, and see the raggededge of the moon shimmering over the meadows of Grand-Pré, do we notfeel a touch of the sin that soiled her garments a hundred years ago?Had we not better abstain from blowing our Puritan trumpets so loudly,and wreathe with crape our banners for a season? Let us rather date frommore recent achievements. Let us take a fresh start in history and bragof nothing that antedates Bunker Hill. Here everybody has a hand to[Pg 313]applaud. But for the age that preceded it, the least said about it thebetter! There, out lamp! and good night! to-morrow "Home, sweet Home!"But I love this province!

APPENDIX.

Peccavi! I hope the reader will forgive me for my luckless descriptionof the procession to lay the corner stone of the Halifax Lunatic Asylum,in Chapter I. No person can trifle or jest with theobject of so noblea charity. But the procession itself was pretty much as I have describedit; indeed, pretty much like all the civic processions I have everwitnessed in any country. The following account of the results of thatgood work may interest the reader:

"A visit to theLunatic Asylum building, on the eastern side of theharbor, furnishes some notes of interest. The walk from the ferry hasvery pleasing features of village, farming and woodland character. Thebuilding stands on a rising ground, which commands a noble view of thewestern bank of the harbor opposite; northward, of the Narrows andBasin; and southward, of the islands, headlands and ocean. The medicalsuperintendent of the institution is actively engaged carrying out planstoward the completion of the building, and gives very courteousfacilities to visitors. The part of the Asylum which now appears of suchrespectable dimensions is just one-third part of the intended building.It is expected to accommodate ninety patients; the completed building,two hundred and fifty. The private and public rooms, cooking,[Pg 318] serving,heating and other apartments appear to be very judiciously arranged,with an eye to good order, cheerfulness and thorough efficiency. Thebuilding is well drained, defective mason-work has been remedied, andall appears steadily advancing towards the consummation of wishes longentertained by its philanthropic projectors. The building is to belighted with gas manufactured on the premises; all the apartments are tobe heated by steam; and the water required for various purposes of theestablishment, after being conveyed from the lakes, is to be raised tothe loft immediately under the roof, and there held in tanks, ready fordemand. The roofing we understand to be a model for lightness ofmaterial and firmness of construction. The heating apparatus occupiesthe underground floor. It consists of numerous coils of metal tubes, towhich the steam is conveyed from an out-building, which contains thefurnace and other apparatus. From the hot-air apartment the warm air isconveyed, by means of flues, to the various rooms of the building, eachflue being under the immediate control of the officers of theinstitution. Ventilation is obtained by flues communicating with thespace just below the roof; and the impure air is expected to pass offthrough openings in the cupola which rises above the roof ridges. By theheating apparatus the danger and trouble consequent on numerous firesare avoided, at about the same expense which the common mode wouldcause. Very judicious arrangements for drainage, laying off the grounds,etc., appear to have been adopted, and are in progress. The building isto be approached by a gracefully curved carriage road. The grounds areto be surrounded by a hawthorn fence, immediately within which will be ashaded, thoroughly drained path for walking. The slopes of the hill infront are[Pg 319] in course of levelling, and will soon present a scene of lawnand grain field; while a southwest area is laid off as an extensivegarden and nursery of trees and shrubs. This important appendage to suchan institution is charmingly situated, as regards scenery; and, with itsterraces, plantation, vegetable and flower departments, etc., will soonbe a very admirable place of resort for purposes of sanitary toil, orretirement and rest. We rejoice that, altogether, the establishmentpromises to be a very decided proof of provincial advance, and a creditto the country. After all the difficulties, delays and doubts that haveoccurred, this is a very gratifying result. The building is expected tobe ready for reception of patients sometime in September, or the earlypart of October."—Halifax Morning Sun,June 14, 1858.

Halifax.—The following letter of a correspondent of theNew YorkTimes may interest the reader. It is a very fair account of the aspectof the chief city of this Province:

"The Lieutenant-Governor, Sir J. Gaspard le Marchant, is said to be asevere disciplinarian. He served in the wars of the Peninsula, and isnow being rewarded for his distinguished services as Governor of thisProvince. He reviews the troops twice a week upon the Common, and isvery strict. The evolutions of the rank and file are the most perfectexhibitions of the kind I have ever witnessed. During one of thesereviews I took occasion to remark to a citizen that they werealmostequal to the Seventh Regiment of New York. The bystanders laughedincredulously. The bands are as per[Pg 320]fect in movement as the troops. Thewhole affair passes off literally like clock-work, a pendulum being keptin sight of the reviewing officers, by which to measure the music of thebands, and step of the soldiers. Each review concludes with apresentation of the royal standard—the identical colors which werefirst unfurled upon the Redan by this regiment at the fall ofSebastopol. The ceremony is impressive, an almost superstitiousreverence being paid to the triumphant bunting. The review ended, theband remains for a half hour to play for the entertainment of thecitizens, who generally attend in large numbers.

"There are among the officers and soldiers of the 62d and 63d manybearing upon their left breasts the Victoria medal, and otherdecorations bestowed for distinguished bravery at Sebastopol. The mosteminent of these is Colonel Ingall, who has both breasts covered withthese testimonials of bravery. They are not, however, confined to theofficers, but many of the rank and file are favored in like manner.

"The military as a whole are popular among the citizens, and many of theofficers, and not a few of the privates since their return from theCrimea, have stormed other Malakoffs, when the victory has been assignal, if the risks have not been as great, carrying off, as trophies,some of the finest girls in the place.

"Upon entering this harbor from the sea the principal objects ofinterest to a stranger are the fortifications which line its two sides,the first three or four being round castles pierced for two tiers ofguns, and having temporary wooden roofs thrown over them to protect theworks; they are situated upon prominent points and islands commandingboth entrances. The first principal fort is that situated at the[Pg 321]junction of the 'northwest arm' with the harbor. This is a granitestructure of some pretensions, and during the past season was, with thehigh, level lands which surround it, made the head-quarters orcamping-ground for the troops. Tents here covered all the hill-side,presenting a very picturesque appearance; camp life was adopted in allits details, and the most thorough drilling was gone through with,including the digging of trenches, throwing up earth-works, etc. Thefortifications upon George's Island, just below the town, are beingextended and strengthened, and when completed, will be the principaldefence of the harbor. The Citadel or Fort George, occupies the high,round hill which rises directly back of the town, to about three hundredfeet above the tide, and perfectly commands the town and adjacentharbor. There is said to be room enough within its walls for all theinhabitants of the town, to which they could retreat in case of a siege.From a personal inspection, however, I judge they would have to packthem pretty closely. The works cover an area of about six acres, therebeing a double line of forts, composed of massive granite, andpresenting every variety of angle. A ditch twenty-five feet deep andsixty feet wide surrounds it on all sides, with a single entrance orbridgeway, on the east aide, which could be removed in an hour. Tworavelins, which have been lately completed within the walls, are elegantspecimens of masonry. The whole hill is being rounded off, and a line ofearth-works are to be constructed at its base at every salient angle.The parapet is now covered at wide intervals, with 32-pounders, mountedupon iron carriages. Extensive changes and improvements are beingadopted, and when the present plans are complete, this fort, it is said,will mount over 400 guns. The cast-iron[Pg 322] swivel carriages are condemnedas being too liable to injury from cannon-shots, and are all to bereplaced by others made of teak-wood.

"There exists, evidently, some reluctance among the officers in commandto a close inspection of these works by foreigners. An instance in pointoccurred to-day. There were two young men, Americans, looking at thefort. They had obtained permission, which is given in writing by theQuartermaster-General, to inspect the Signal-Station, etc., but theywere observed with paper and pencil in hand, taking down particularmemoranda of the fortification, the size of guns, their number, thepositions of the ravelins and what not. As this was considered apalpable breach of courtesy, a sergeant tapped them on the shoulder andled them out of the gate, with a reprimand for what he called their wantof good manners. It is a long time since anything of the kind hasoccurred.

"This Citadel is the place from which all vessels are signalled to thetown. The signal stations are four in number; the first being at theCitadel, the second at 'York Redcut,' five miles down the harbor, thethird, 'Camperdown,' some ten miles further, and the fourth, with whichthis last signals, is the island of 'Sambro,' ten miles south of theentrance to the harbor. The system is carried on by means of a series ofblack balls, which are hoisted in different positions upon twoyard-arms, a long and a short one, placed one above the other on a tallflag-staff. The communication is very rapid, and is exempt fromliability to mistakes. A sentence transmitting an order of any kind fromone of the lower stations is sent and received in less than two minutes.The distance from 'Sambro,' the outer station, is about twenty miles[Pg 323]from the Citadel. Maryatt's code of marine signals is in use here. Thenew marine code, lately issued under the auspices of the London Board ofTrade, 'for all nations,' is pronounced by the operator as toocomplicated to become of any practical use, necessitating, as it would,the employment of a 'flag-lieutenant' on board every ship, who should donothing but the signalling, since not one captain in a hundred wouldever have the time or patience to acquaint himself with its mysteries.

"Some works of internal improvement are in progress, which will beimportant in promoting the prosperity and in developing the resources ofthis Province. A railroad across the Isthmus to Truro, with abranch-road to Windsor, will connect the interior towns with Halifax,and furnishmodern facilities for communication with the otherProvinces and with the States. Twenty-two miles of the road are alreadycompleted, and the remainder will be finished soon. A canal is also inprogress from the head of Halifax harbor (north side) in the directionof Truro, which is to connect a remarkable chain of lakes with theShubenacadie River, which empties into Minas' Basin at the head of theBay of Fundy. Great results are anticipated in favor of the farming andother interests along its route. The work is in an advanced stagetowards completion.

"There is, it is said, no portion of the American Continent soabundantly supplied with water communication as Nova Scotia. The wholeinterior is a continuous chain of lakes. The coast is rocky and mostunpromising, but the interior is said to contain some of the bestfarming land east of Illinois. Hon. Albert Pillsbury, the AmericanConsul, who is thoroughly conversant with the resources of the Province,declares it, in[Pg 324] his opinion, the richest portion of the AmericanContinent—richest in coal, minerals and agricultural resources. Mr.Pillsbury takes advantage of his well-deserved popularity in theProvince to tell the Blue Noses some home truths. On one occasion hetold them it was evident the Lord knew they were the laziest people onthe earth, and had, therefore, taken pity on them, and given them morefacilities for transacting their business than were possessed by anyother people under the sun.

"In the newspaper line Nova Scotia appears to be fully up to the spiritof the age. The following is a list of all kinds published in theProvince:

"Tri-Weeklies.—Morning Journal, Morning Chronicle, MorningAdvertiser, the Sun, and British Colonist.

"Religious (?).—Church Times, Episcopal; Presbyterian Witness,Presbyterian Church of Nova Scotia, etc.; Monthly Record, EstablishedChurch of Scotland or Kirk; Christian Messenger, Baptist; Catholic,Roman Catholic; Wesleyan, Methodist.

"Weeklies.—Yarmouth Herald, published at Yarmouth; Yarmouth Tribune(semi-weekly); Liverpool Transcript, Liverpool; Western News,Bridgetown; Avon Herald (semi-weekly), Windsor; Eastern Chronicle,Pictou; Antigonish Casket, Antigonish; Cape Breton News, Sidney, C. B.

"In telegraphs they are better supplied than any other portion of theworld of equal territory, and the same number of inhabitants. There arethirty-nine offices, and 1,300 miles of telegraphic wire in thisProvince.[Pg 325]

"The Reciprocity Treaty has largely increased the trade of Nova Scotia,but the means of intercommunication are still far behind the wants ofthe people. When it was proposed a year ago to place a steamer upon theline from Halifax to Boston, to carry freight and passengers, the ideawas scouted as chimerical, and certain to fail. The Eastern State, aPhiladelphia-built propeller of 330 tons, was purchased and commenced toply fortnightly; she has accommodations for fifty passengers, and twohundred tons of freight. She has seldom had less than fifty passengersupon any trip, and upon the last one from Halifax there were one hundredand sixty-three. The fare from Boston to Halifax is $10, meals included.She has also had a good supply of freight, and has cleared for herowners the last year over $2,500. Captain Killam, her commander, ishighly esteemed, for his sailorly and gentlemanly qualities. In theopinion of shrewd business men, a steamer would pay between this and NewYork direct. At present, Boston virtually controls the fish-market inpart by her intimate relations with the Provinces, and New York buyssecond-hand from them, when they might as well have their fish fromfirst hands.

"Government lands are to be purchased in any quantity at $1 per acre,and by an act of the Provincial Legislature, aliens are as free topurchase as native citizens or residents. Several American capitalistshave availed themselves of the opening, and invested largely in the'timber and farming lands of Nova Scotia, and an infusion of thiselement is all that is required to develop a prosperous future for thisProvince.'

"Tories.—The number of loyalists who arrived in Nova Scotia was verygreat. They constituted a large proportion of the original settlers inalmost every section of the colony. So termed because of their loyaltyto the sovereign, and unwillingness to remain in the revolted andindependent States, they found their way hither chiefly in the years1783-4. Sometimes termed refugees, because of their seeking refuge onBritish soil from those with whom they had contended in the greatRevolutionary struggle, the names are often interchanged, whilstsometimes they are joined together in the title of 'Loyalist Refugees.'No less than 20,000 arrived prior to the close of the year in which theIndependence of the United States was acknowledged. These chose spotssuited to their inclinations, if not always adapted to their wants, inthe counties of Digby, Annapolis, Guysboro', Shelburne, and Hants. Inthese five counties, for the most part, are resident the children of theloyalists, though, as hinted, they are to be met with in smallercompanies elsewhere.

"We cannot doubt that the purest motives and highest sense of dutyactuated very many, though not all, of this vast number, when theyturned their backs upon the houses and farms, the pursuits and business,the friends and relations of past years. To this may, in some measure,be attributed the marked loyalty of this province. Principles ofobedience to the laws, and allegiance to the crown, were instilled intothe minds of their children, who in their turn handed down thesentiments of their ancestors until the good leaven spread, and tendedto strengthen that loyalty which already existed in the hearts of thepeople. More than once has this trait been manifested by our countrymenin town and country. When the first blood of the rebellion in Canada wasshed in 1837, meet[Pg 327]ings were held in every village and settlement in theprovince, each proclaiming in fervent language the deepest attachment tothe sovereign and the government, while in Halifax the people determinedto support the wives and children of the absent troops. When two yearslater the inhabitants of the State of Maine prepared to invade NewBrunswick, the announcement was received with intense feelings of regardfor the honor of the British Crown. The House, which was then sitting,voted £100,000, and 8,000 men to aid the New Brunswickers in repellingthe invaders, and rising in a body gave three cheers for the queen, andthree for their loyal brethren of the sister province. Long may thefeeling continue to exist, and grow within our borders! long may weremain beneath the mild away of that gracious queen, whose virtues shedlustre on the crown she wears! long may every Nova Scotian's voiceexclaim, 'God save our noble Queen.'"—Nova Scotia and Nova Scotians,byRev. Geo. W. Hill, A.M.

"Negroes.—There are to be found in the colony some five thousandnegroes, whose ancestors came to the province in four distinct bodies,and at different times. The first class were originally slaves, whoaccompanied their masters from the older colonies; but as the opinionprevailed that the courts would not recognize a state of slavery, theywere liberated. On receiving their freedom they either remained in theemployment of their former owners, or obtaining a small piece of land inthe neighborhood, eked out a miserable existence, rarely improving theircondition, bodily or mental.

"There were, secondly, a number of free negroes, who arrived at theconclusion of the American Revolutionary war; but an immense number ofthese were removed at their own[Pg 328] request to Sierra Leone, beingdissatisfied with both the soil and climate.

"Shortly after the removal of these people, the insurgent negroes ofJamaica were transported to Nova Scotia; they were known by the name ofMaroons in the island, and still termed so, on their landing at Halifax.Their story is replete with interest: during their brief stay in NovaScotia they gave incredible trouble from their lawless and licentioushabits, in addition to costing the government no less a sum than tenthousand pounds a year. Their idleness and gross conduct at lastdetermined the government to send them, as the others, to Sierra Leone,which was accordingly done in the year 1803, after having resided atPreston for the space of four years.

"The last arrival of Africans in a body was at the conclusion of thesecond American War in 1815, when a large number were permitted to takerefuge on board the British squadron, blockading the Chesapeake andsouthern harbors, and were afterwards landed at Halifax. The blacks nowresident in Nova Scotia are descendants chiefly of the first and lastimportations—the greater part of the two intermediate having beenremoved. Even some of these last were transported by their own wish toTrinidad, while those who remained settled down at Preston and HammondsPlains, or wandered to Windsor and other places close at hand.

"But little changed in any respect—their persons and theirproperty—they have passed through much wretchedness during the lasthalf century. Their natural indolence and love of ease being ill suitedto our latitude, in which a long and severe winter demands unceasingdiligence, and more than ordinary prudence, in those who depend uponmanual labor[Pg 329] for their means of subsistence. Amongst them, however, areto be found a few who are prudent, diligent and prosperous. These areworthy of the more esteem, in proportion as they have met with greaterobstacles, and happily have surmounted them."—Ibid.

Eminent Men.—Besides many gentlemen of rare talents, distinguished inthe annals of the province, the following Nova Scotians have won a moreextended reputation: SirEdward Belcher, the famous Arctic navigator;Rear-AdmiralProvo Wallis, who captured our own vessel the Chesapeake,after the death of his superior, Captain Brooke. The words of Lawrence,"Don't give up the ship," record the memorable achievement of this navalofficer.Donald McKay, who after perfecting his education in New York asa ship-builder, removed to Boston, Massachusetts, and there has won forthat city distinguished honors;Thomas C. Haliburton, the author of "SamSlick," and a great number of other clever books;Samuel Cunard, thefather of the Cunard line! who does not know him? GeneralBeckwith, notless known in the annals of philanthropy;Gilbert Stuart Newton, artist;General Inglis, the defender of Lucknow, and General William FenwickWilliams, the hero of Kars. The mere mention of such names issufficient—their eulogy suggests itself.

Footnotes

[G] Since my visit this work has actually commenced. At theclose of the legislative session of 1857, the Hon. Joseph Howe moved,and the Hon. Attorney-General seconded, and the House, after some demur,resolved, that his Excellency be requested to appoint a commission forexamining and arranging the records of the Province. Dining the recessthe office was instituted, and Thomas B. Akins, Esq., a gentlemandistinguished for antiquarian taste and research, was appointedcommissioner. It was known that in the garrets or cellars of theProvince Building were heaps of manuscript records, of various kinds;but their exact nature and value were only surmised. Some of these hadvanished, it is said, by the agency of rats and mice; and moth and moldwere doing their work on other portions. To stay the waste, to ascertainwhat the heaps contained, and to arrange documents at all worthy ofpreservation, the commission was appointed. Mr. Akins has been for somemonths at the superintendence of the work, helped by a very industriousassistant, Mr. James Farquhar. Very pleasing results indeed have beenrealized. Several boxes of documents, arranged and labelled, have beenpacked, and fifteen or twenty volumes of interesting manuscripts havebeen prepared. Some of these are of great interest, relative to thehistory of the Province, and of British America generally, beingoriginal papers concerning the conquest and settling of the Provinces,and having reference to the Acadian French, the Indians, the taking ofLouisburgh, of Quebec, and other matters of historic importanceconnected with the suppression of French dominion in America. Weunderstand some of these documents prove, as many previously believed,that what appeared to be a stern necessity, and not wanton oppression ortyranny, caused the painful dispersion of the former French inhabitantsof the more poetic and pastoral parts of Acadia. If this be so, someexcellent sentiment and eloquent romance will have to be taken withconsiderable modification. A few of the most indignant bursts (?) inLongfellow's fine poem of "Evangeline" may be in this predicament; andmay have to be read, not exactly as so much gospel, but rather asrhetorical extremes, unsubstantial, but too elegant to be altogetherdiscarded. In volumes alluded to, of the record commission, thedispatches, and letters, and other documents of a former age, and in thehandwriting, or from the immediate dictation, of eminent personages,will present very attractive material for those who find deep interestin such venerable inquiries; who obtain from this kind of lore acharming renewal of the past, a clearing up of local history, and analmost face-to-face conference with persons whose names are landmarks ofnational annals. The commission not only examines and arranges, butforms copious characteristic "contents" of the volumes, and an index foreasy reference; it also keeps a journal of each day's proceedings. The"contents" tell the nature and topics of each document, and will thusfacilitate research, and prevent much injurious turning over of themanuscripts. The work, too long delayed, has been happily commenced. Itsneglect was felt to be a fault and a reproach, and serious loss wasknown to impend; but still it was put off, and spoken lightly of, andsneered at, and a very mistaken economy pretended, until lastlegislative session, when it was adopted by accident apparently, and isnow in successful operation. The next questions are, how will thearranged documents be preserved? who will have them in charge? will theybe allowed to be scattered about in the hands of privileged persons, tobe lost wholesale? or will they, as they should, be sacredly conserved,a store to which all shall have a common but well-guarded light ofaccess and research.—Halifax Sun,Dec. 9, 1857.

Transcribers' Notes

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