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diff --git a/6112-h/6112-h.htm b/6112-h/6112-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..419eba5 --- /dev/null +++ b/6112-h/6112-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21942 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Nature and Human Nature, by Thomas Chandler Haliburton</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Nature and Human Nature, by Thomas Chandler Haliburton</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Nature and Human Nature</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Thomas Chandler Haliburton</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 10, 2002 [eBook #6112]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 14, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Don Lainson</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE ***</div> + +<h1>Nature and Human Nature</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Thomas Chandler Haliburton</h2> + +<h3>1855</h3> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"> +Hominem, pagina nostra sapit.—MART +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Eye nature’s walks, shoot folly as it flies,<br/> +And catch the manners living as they rise.—POPE +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C01">CHAPTER I. A SURPRISE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C02">CHAPTER II. CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C03">CHAPTER III. A WOMAN’S HEART</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C04">CHAPTER IV. A CRITTER WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES AND BUT ONE VICE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C05">CHAPTER V. A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C06">CHAPTER VI. THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C07">CHAPTER VII. FIDDLING AND DANCING, AND SERVING THE DEVIL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C08">CHAPTER VIII. STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C09">CHAPTER IX. THE PLURAL OF MOOSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C10">CHAPTER X. A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C11">CHAPTER XI. A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C12">CHAPTER XII. THE BETROTHAL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C13">CHAPTER XIII. A FOGGY NIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C14">CHAPTER XIV. FEMALE COLLEGES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C15">CHAPTER XV. GIPSEYING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C16">CHAPTER XVI. THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C17">CHAPTER XVII. LOST AT SEA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C18">CHAPTER XVIII. HOLDING UP THE MIRROR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C19">CHAPTER XIX. THE BUNDLE OF STICKS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C20">CHAPTER XX. TOWN AND COUNTRY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C21">CHAPTER XXI. THE HONEYMOON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C22">CHAPTER XXII. A DISH OF CLAMS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C23">CHAPTER XXIII. THE DEVIL’S HOLE; OR, FISH AND FLESH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C24">CHAPTER XXIV. THE CUCUMBER LAKE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#C25">CHAPTER XXV. THE RECALL</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C01">CHAPTER I.</a><br/> +A SURPRISE.</h2> + +<p> +Thinks I to myself, as I overheard a person inquire of the servant at the door, +in an unmistakeable voice and tone, “Is the Squire to hum?” that +can be no one else than my old friend Sam Slick the Clockmaker. But it could +admit of no doubt when he proceeded, “If he is, tell him <i>I</i> am +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who shall I say, Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger paused a moment, and then said, “It’s such an +everlastin’ long name, I don’t think you can carry it all to wunst, +and I don’t want it broke in two. Tell him it’s a gentleman that +calculates to hold a protracted meeten here to-night. Come, don’t stand +starin’ there on the track, you might get run over. Don’t you hear +the eng<i>ine</i> coming? Shunt off now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my old friend,” said I, advancing, and shaking him by the +hand, “how are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“As hearty as a buck,” he replied, “though I can’t jist +jump quite so high now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you,” I said, “the moment I heard your voice, and if +I had not recognised that, I should have known your talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s because I am a Yankee, Sir,” he said, “no two +of us look alike, or talk alike; but being free and enlightened citizens, we +jist talk as we please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my good friend, you always please when you talk, and that is more +than can be said of most men.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so will you,” he replied, “if you use soft sawder that +way. Oh, dear me! it seems but the other day that you laughed so at my theory +of soft sawder and human natur’, don’t it? They were pleasant days, +warn’t they? I often think of them, and think of them with pleasure too. +As I was passing Halifax harbour, on my way hum in the ‘Black +Hawk,’ the wind fortunately came ahead, and thinks I to myself, I will +put in there, and pull foot<sup>1</sup> for Windsor and see the Squire, give +him my Journal, and spend an hour or two with him once more. So here I am, at +least what is left of me, and dreadful glad I am to see you too; but as it is +about your dinner hour I will go and titivate up a bit, and then we will have a +dish of chat for desert, and cigars, to remind us of by-gones, as we stroll +through your shady walks here.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> The Americans are not entitled to the credit or ridicule, +whichever people may be disposed to bestow upon them, for the extraordinary +phrases with which their conversation is occasionally embellished. Some of them +have good classical authority. That of “pull-foot” may be traced to +Euripides.<br/> +“ἀναίρων ἐκ +δώματων ποδὰ” +</p> + +<p> +My old friend had worn well; he was still a wiry athletic man, and his step as +elastic and springy as ever. The constant exercise he had been in the habit of +taking had preserved his health and condition, and these in their turn had +enabled him to maintain his cheerfulness and humour. The lines in his face were +somewhat deeper, and a few straggling grey hairs were the only traces of the +hand of time. His manner was much improved by his intercourse with the great +world; but his phraseology, in which he appeared to take both pride and +pleasure, was much the same as when I first knew him. So little indeed was he +changed, that I could scarcely believe so many years had elapsed since we made +our first tour together. +</p> + +<p> +It was the most unexpected and agreeable visit. He enlivened the conversation +at dinner with anecdotes that were often too much for the gravity of my +servant, who once or twice left the room to avoid explosive outbreaks of +laughter. Among others, he told me the following whimsical story. +</p> + +<p> +“When the ‘Black Hawk’ was at Causeau, we happened to have a +queer original sort of man, a Nova Scotia doctor, on board, who joined our +party at Ship Harbour, for the purpose of taking a cruise with us. Not having +anything above particular to do, we left the vessel and took passage in a +coaster for Prince Edward’s Island, as my commission required me to spend +a day or two there, and inquire about the fisheries. Well, although I +don’t trade now, I spekelate sometimes when I see a right smart chance, +and especially if there is fun in the transaction. So, sais I, ‘Doctor, I +will play possum<sup>1</sup> with these folks, and take a rise out of them, +that will astonish their weak narves, <i>I</i> know, while I put several +hundred dollars in my pocket at the same time.’ So I advertised that I +would give four pounds ten shillings for the largest Hackmetack knee in the +island, four pounds for the second, three pounds ten shillings for the third, +and three pounds for the fourth biggest one. I suppose, Squire, you know what a +ship’s knee is, don’t you? It is a crooked piece of timber, exactly +the shape of a man’s leg when kneeling. It forms two sides of a square, +and makes a grand fastening for the side and deck beams of a vessel. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> The opossum, when chased by dogs, will often pretend to be dead, +and thus deceives his pursuers. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What in the world do you want of only four of those knees?’ +said the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nothing,’ said I, ‘but to raise a laugh on these +critters, and make them pay real handsome for the joke.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, every bushwhacker and forest ranger in the island thought he knew +where to find four enormous ones, and that he would go and get them, and say +nothing to nobody, and all that morning fixed for the delivery they kept coming +into the shipping place with them. People couldn’t think what under the +light of the living sun was going on, for it seemed as if every team in the +province was at work, and all the countrymen were running mad on junipers. +Perhaps no livin’ soul ever see such a beautiful collection of +ship-timber afore, and I am sure never will again in a crow’s age. The +way these ‘old oysters’ (a nick-name I gave the islanders, on +account of their everlastin’ beds of this shell-fish) opened their mugs +and gaped was a caution to dying calves. +</p> + +<p> +“At the time appointed, there were eight hundred sticks on the ground, +the very best in the colony. Well, I went very gravely round and selected the +four largest, and paid for them cash down on the nail, according to contract. +The goneys seed their fix, but didn’t know how they got into it. They +didn’t think hard of me, for I advertised for four sticks only, and I +gave a very high price for them; but they did think a little mean of +themselves, that’s a fact, for each man had but four pieces, and they +were too ridiculous large for the thunderin’ small vessels built on the +island. They scratched their heads in a way that was harrowing, even in a +stubble field. +</p> + +<p> +“‘My gracious,’ sais I, ‘hackmetacks, it seems to me, +is as thick in this country as blackberries in the Fall, after the robins have +left to go to sleep for the winter. Who on earth would have thought there was +so many here? Oh, children of Israel! What a lot there is, ain’t there? +Why, the father of this island couldn’t hold them all.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Father of this island,’ sais they, ‘who is he?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘ain’t this Prince +Edward’s?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, yes,’ sais they, looking still more puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘in the middle of Halifax harbour is +King George’s Island, and that must be the father of this.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well if they could see any wit in that speech, it is more than I could, +to save my soul alive; but it is the easiest thing in the world to set a crowd +off a tee-heeing. They can’t help it, for it is electrical. Go to the +circus now, and you will hear a stupid joke of the clown; well, you are +determined you won’t laugh, but somehow you can’t help it no how +you can fix it, although you are mad with yourself for doing so, and you just +roar out and are as big a fool as all the rest. +</p> + +<p> +“Well it made them laugh, and that was enough for me. +</p> + +<p> +“Sais I, ‘the wust of it is, gentle<i>men</i>, they are all so +shocking large, and there is no small ones among them; they can’t be +divided into lots, still, as you seem to be disappointed, I will make you an +offer for them, cash down, all hard gold.’ So I gave them a bid at a very +low figure, say half nothing, ‘and,’ sais I, ‘I advise you +not to take it, they are worth much more, if a man only knows what to do with +them. Some of your traders, I make no manner of doubt, will give you twice as +much if you will only take your pay in goods, at four times their value, and +perhaps they mightent like your selling them to a stranger, for they are all +responsible government-men, and act accordin’ ‘to the well +understood wishes of the people.’ I shall sail in two hours, and you can +let me know; but mind, I can only buy all or none, for I shall have to hire a +vessel to carry them. After all,’ sais I, ‘perhaps we had better +not trade, for,’ taking out a handful of sovereigns from my pocket, and +jingling them, ‘there is no two ways about it; these little fellows are +easier to carry by a long chalk than them great lummokin’ hackmetacks. +Good bye, gentle<i>men</i>.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one of the critters, who was as awkward as a wrong boot, soon +calls out, ‘woh,’ to me, so I turns and sais ‘well, +“old hoss,” what do you want?’ At which they laughed louder +than before. +</p> + +<p> +“Sais he, ‘we have concluded to take your offer.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘there is no back out in me, here is +your money, the knees is mine.’ So I shipped them, and had the +satisfaction to oblige them, and put two hundred and fifty pounds in my pocket. +There are three things, Squire, I like in a spekelation:—<i>First.</i> A +fair shake; <i>Second.</i> A fair profit; and <i>Third,</i> a fair share of +fun.” +</p> + +<p> +In the course of the afternoon, he said, “Squire, I have brought you my +Journal, for I thought when I was a startin’ off, as there were some +things I should like to point out to my old friend, it would be as well to +deliver it myself and mention them, for what in natur’ is the good of +letter writing? In business there is nothing like a good face to face talk. +Now, Squire, I am really what I assume to be—I am, in fact, Sam Slick the +Clockmaker, and nobody else. It is of no consequence however to the world +whether this is really my name or an assumed one. If it is the first, it is a +matter of some importance to take care of it and defend it; if it is a +fictitious one, it is equally so to preserve my incognito. I may not choose to +give my card, and may not desire to be known. A satirist, like an Irishman, +finds it convenient sometimes to shoot from behind a shelter. Like him, too, he +may occasionally miss his shot, and firing with intent to do bodily harm is +almost as badly punished as if death had ensued. And besides, an anonymous book +has a mystery about it. Moreover, what more right has a man to say to you, +‘Stand and deliver your name,’ than to say, ‘Stand and fork +out your purse’—I can’t see the difference for the life of +me. Hesitation betrays guilt. If a person inquires if you are to home, the +servant is directed to say No, if you don’t want to be seen, and choose +to be among the missing. Well, if a feller asks if I am <i>the Mr</i> Slick, I +have just as good a right to say, ‘Ask about and find out.’ +</p> + +<p> +“People sometimes, I actilly believe, take you for me. If they do, all I +have to say is they are fools not to know better, for we neither act alike, +talk alike, nor look alike, though perhaps we may think alike on some subjects. +You was bred and born here in Nova Scotia, and not in Connecticut, and if they +ask you where I was raised, tell them I warn’t raised at all, but was +found one fine morning pinned across a clothes line, after a heavy washing to +hum. It is easy to distinguish an editor from the author, if a reader has half +an eye, and if he hain’t got that, it’s no use to offer him +spectacles, that’s a fact. Now, by trade I am a clockmaker, and by birth +I have the honour to be a Yankee. I use the word honour, Squire, a purpose, +because I know what I am talking about, which I am sorry to say is not quite so +common a thing in the world as people suppose. The English call all us +Americans, Yankees, because they don’t know what they are talking about, +and are not aware that it is only the inhabitants of New England who can boast +of that appellation.<sup>1</sup> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Brother Jonathan is the general term for all. It originated thus. +When General Washington, after being appointed commander of the army of the +Revolutionary War, came to Massachusetts to organize it, and make preparations +for the defence of the country, he found a great want of ammunition and other +means necessary to meet the powerful foe he had to contend with, and great +difficulty to obtain them. If attacked in such condition, the cause at once +might be hopeless. On one occasion at that anxious period, a consultation of +the officers and others was had, when it seemed no way could be devised to make +such preparations as was necessary. His Excellency Jonathan Trumbull, the +elder, was then Governor of the State of Connecticut, on whose judgment and aid +the General placed the greatest reliance, and remarked, “We must consult +‘Brother Jonathan’ on the subject. The General did so, and the +Governor was successful in supplying many of the wants of the army. When +difficulties arose, and the army was spread over the country, it became a +by-word, “We must consult Brother Jonathan.” The term Yankee is +still applied to a portion, but “Brother Jonathan” has now become a +designation of the whole country, as John Bull is for +England.—BARTLETT’S AMERICANISMS. +</p> + +<p> +“The southerners, who are both as proud and as sarcy as the British, call +us Eastern folk Yankees as a term of reproach, because having no slaves, we are +obliged to be our own niggers and do our own work, which is’nt considered +very genteel, and as we are intelligent, enterprising, and skilful, and +therefore too often creditors of our more luxurious countrymen, they do not +like us the better for that, and not being Puritans themselves, are apt to +style us scornfully, those ‘d—d Yankees.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Now all this comes of their not knowing what they are talking about. +Even the New Englanders themselves, cute as they be, often use the word +foolishly; for, Squire, would you believe it, none of them, though they answer +to and acknowledge the appellation of Yankee with pride, can tell you its +origin. I repeat, therefore, I have the honour to be a Yankee. I don’t +mean to say that word is ‘all same,’ as the Indians say, as +perfection; far from it, for we have some peculiarities common to us all. +Cracking and boasting is one of these. Now braggin’ comes as natural to +me as scratchin’ to a Scotchman. I am as fond of rubbing myself agin the +statue of George the Third, as he is of se-sawing his shoulders on the +mile-stones of the Duke of Argyle. Each in their way were great benefactors, +the one by teaching the Yankees to respect themselves, and the other by putting +his countrymen in an upright posture of happiness. So I can join hands with the +North Briton, and bless them both. +</p> + +<p> +“With this national and nateral infirmity therefore, is it to be wondered +at if, as my ‘Sayings and Doings’ have become more popular than you +or I ever expected, that I should crack and boast of them? I think not. If I +have a claim, my role is to go ahead with it. Now don’t leave out my +braggin’, Squire, because you are afraid people will think it is you +speaking, and not me, or because you think it is bad taste as you call it. I +know what I am at, and don’t go it—blind. My Journal contains much +for my own countrymen as well as the English, for we expect every American +abroad to sustain the reputation in himself of our great nation. +</p> + +<p> +“Now our Minister to Victoria’s Court, when he made his brag speech +to the great agricultural dinner at Gloucester last year, didn’t intend +that for the British, but for us. So in Congress no man in either house can +speak or read an oration more than an hour long, but he can send the whole +lockrum, <i>includin’ what he didn’t say,</i> to the papers. One +has to brag before foreign assemblies, the other before a Congress, but both +have an eye to the feelings of the Americans at large, and their own +constituents in particular. Now that is a trick others know as well as we do. +The Irish member from Kil<i>many,</i> and him from Kil<i>more</i>, when he +brags there never was a murder in either, don’t expect the English to +believe it, for he is availed they know better, but the brag pleases the +patriots to home, on account of its impudence. +</p> + +<p> +“So the little man, Lord Bunkum, when he opens Oxford to Jew and Gentile, +and offers to make Rothschild Chancellor instead of Lord Derby, and tells them +old dons, the heads of colleges, as polite as a stage-driver, that he does it +out of pure regard to them, and only to improve the University, don’t +expect them to believe it; for he gives them a sly wink when he says so, as +much as to say, how are you off for Hebrew, my old septuagenarians? Droll boy +is Rothey, for though he comes from the land of <i>Ham,</i> he don’t eat +<i>pork.</i> But it pleases the sarcumsised Jew, and the unsarcumsised tag-rag +and bobtail that are to be admitted, and who verily do believe (for their bump +of conceit is largely developed) that they can improve the Colleges by granting +educational excursion tickets. +</p> + +<p> +“So Paddy O’Shonnosey the member for Blarney, when he votes for +smashing in the porter’s lodges of that Protestant institution, and talks +of Toleration and Equal Rights, and calls the Duke of Tuscany a broth of a boy, +and a light to illumine heretical darkness, don’t talk this nonsense to +please the outs or ins, for he don’t care a snap of his finger for either +of them, nor because he thinks it right, for it’s plain he don’t, +seeing that he would fight till he’d run away before Maynooth should be +sarved arter that fashion; but he does it, because he knows it will please him, +or them, that sent him there. +</p> + +<p> +“There are two kinds of boastin’, Squire, act<i>ive</i> and +pass<i>ive</i>. The former belongs exclusively to my countrymen, and the latter +to the British. A Yankee openly asserts and loudly proclaims his superiority. +John Bull feels and looks it. He don’t give utterance to this conviction. +He takes it for granted all the world knows and admits it, and he is so +thoroughly persuaded of it himself, that, to use his own favourite phrase, he +don’t care a fig if folks don’t admit it. His vanity, therefore, +has a sublimity in it. He thinks, as the Italians say, ‘that when nature +formed him, she broke the mould.’ There never was, never can, and never +will be, another like him. His boastin’, therefore, is passive. He shows +it and acts it; but he don’t proclaim it. He condescends and is gracious, +patronizes and talks down to you. Let my boastin’ alone therefore, +Squire, if you please. You know what it means, what bottom it has, and whether +the plaster sticks on the right spot or not. +</p> + +<p> +“So there is the first division of my subject. Now for the second. But +don’t go off at half-cock, narvous like. I am not like the black preacher +that had forty-eleven divisions. I have only a few more remarks to make. Well, +I have observed that in editin’ my last Journal, you struck out some +scores I made under certain passages and maxims, because you thought they were +not needed, or looked vain. I know it looks consaited as well as you do, but I +know their use also. I have my own views of things. Let them also be as I have +made them. They warn’t put there for nothin’. I have a case in pint +that runs on all fours with it, as brother Josiah the lawyer used to say, and +if there was anythin’ wantin’ to prove that lawyers were not strait +up and down in their dealings, that expression would show it. +</p> + +<p> +“I was to court wunst to Slickville, when he was addressin’ of the +jury. The main points of his argument he went over and over again, till I got +so tired I took up my hat and walked out. Sais I to him, arter court was +prorogued and members gone home, +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sy,’ sais I, ‘why on airth did you repeat them +arguments so often? It was everlastin’ yarny.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ sais he, and he gave his head a jupe, and pressed his +lips close, like a lemon-squeezer, the way lawyers always do when they want to +look wise, ‘<i>when I can’t drive a nail with one blow, I hammer +away till I do git it in.</i> Some folks’ heads is as hard as +hackmetacks—you have to bore a hole in it first to put the nail in, to +keep it from bendin’, and then it is as touch as a bargain if you can +send it home and clinch it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Now maxims and saws are the sumtotalisation of a thing. Folks +won’t always add up the columns to see if they are footed right, but show +’em the amount and result, and <i>that</i> they are able to remember and +carry away with them. No—no, put them Italics in, as I have always done. +They show there is truth at the bottom. I like it, for it’s what I call +sense on the short-cards—do you take? Recollect always, you are not Sam +Slick, and I am not you. The greatest compliment a Britisher would think he +could pay you, would be to say, ‘I should have taken you for an +Englishman.’ Now the greatest compliment he can pay me is to take me for +a Connecticut Clockmaker, who hoed his way up to the Embassy to London, and +preserved so much of his nationality, after being so long among foreigners. Let +the Italics be—you ain’t answerable for them, nor my boastin’ +neither. When you write a book of your own, leave out both if you like, but as +you only edit my Journal, if you leave them out, just go one step further, and +leave out Sam Slick also. +</p> + +<p> +“There is another thing, Squire, upon which I must make a remark, if you +will bear with me. In my last work you made me speak purer English than you +found in my Journal, and altered my phraseology, or rather my dialect. Now, my +dear Nippent—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nippent!” said I, “what is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“The most endearing word in the Indian language for friend,” he +said, “only it’s more comprehensive, including ally, +foster-brother, life-preserver, shaft-horse, and everything that has a human +tie in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Slick,” I said, “how skilled you are in soft sawder! You +laid that trap for me on purpose, so that I might ask the question, to enable +you to throw the lavender to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dod drot that word soft sawder,” said he, “I wish I had +never invented it. I can’t say a civil thing to anybody now, but he looks +arch, as if he had found a mare’s nest, and says, ‘Ah, Slick! none +of your soft sawder now.’ But, my dear nippent, by that means you destroy +my individuality. I cease to be the genuine itinerant Yankee Clockmaker, and +merge into a very bad imitation. You know I am a natural character, and always +was, and act and talk naturally, and as far as I can judge, the little +alteration my sojourn in London with the American embassy has made in my +pronunciation and provincialism, is by no means an improvement to my Journal. +The moment you take away my native dialect, I become the representative of +another class, and cease to be your old friend ‘Sam Slick, the +Clockmaker.’ Bear with me this once, Squire, and don’t tear your +shirt, I beseech you, for in all probability it will be the last time it will +be in your power to subject me to the ordeal of criticism, and I should like, I +confess, to remain true to myself and to Nature to the last. +</p> + +<p> +“On the other hand, Squire, you will find passages in this Journal that +have neither Yankee words nor Yankee brag in them. Now pray don’t go as +you did in the last, and alter them by insarten here and there what you call +‘Americanisms,’ so as to make it more in character and uniform; +that is going to t’other extreme, for I can write as pure English, if I +can’t speak it, as anybody can.<sup>1</sup> My education warn’t a +college one, like my brothers, Eldad’s and Josiah’s, the doctor and +lawyer; but it was not neglected for all that. Dear old Minister was a scholar, +every inch of him, and took great pains with me in my themes, letters, and +composition. ‘Sam,’ he used to say, ‘there are four things +needed to write well: first, master the language grammatically; second, master +your subject; third, write naturally; fourth, let your heart as well as your +hand guide the pen.’ It ain’t out of keeping therefore for me to +express myself decently in composition if I choose. It warn’t out of +character, with Franklin, and he was a poor printer boy, nor Washington, and he +was only a land-surveyor, and they growed to be ‘some punkins’ too. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> The reader will perceive from a perusal of this Journal, that Mr +Slick, who is always so ready to detect absurdity in others, has in this +instance exhibited a species of vanity by no means uncommon in this world. He +prides himself more on composition, to which he has but small pretensions, than +on those things for which the public is willing enough to give him full credit. +Had he however received a classical education, it may well be doubted whether +he would have been as useful or successful a man as President of Yale College, +as he has been as an itinerant practical Clockmaker. +</p> + +<p> +“An American clockmaker ain’t like a European one. He may not be as +good a workman as t’other one, but he can do somethin’ else besides +makin’ wheels and pulleys. One always looks forward to rise in the world, +the other to attain excellence in his line. I am, as I have expressed it in +some part of this Journal, not ashamed of having been a tradesman—I glory +in it; but I should indeed have been ashamed if, with the instruction I +received from dear old Minister, I had always remained one. No, don’t +alter my Journal. I am just what I am, and nothing more or less. You +can’t measure me by English standards; you must take an American one, and +that will give you my length, breadth, height, and weight to a hair. If silly +people take you for me, and put my braggin’ on your shoulders, why jist +say, ‘You might be mistakened for a worse fellow than he is, that’s +all.’ Yes, yes, let my talk remain ‘down-east +talk,’<sup>1</sup> and my writin’ remain clear of cant terms when +you find it so. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> It must not be inferred from this expression that Mr Slick’s +talk is all “pure down-east dialect.” The intermixture of Americans +is now so great, in consequence of their steamers and railroads, that there is +but little pure provincialism left. They have borrowed from each other in +different sections most liberally, and not only has the vocabulary of the south +and west contributed its phraseology to New England, but there is recently an +affectation in consequence of the Mexican war, to naturalise Spanish words, +some of which Mr Slick, who delights in this sort of thing, has introduced into +this Journal.—ED. +</p> + +<p> +“I like Yankee words—I learned them when young. Father and mother +used them, and so did all the old folks to Slickville. There is both fun, +sense, and expression in ’em too, and that is more than there is in +Taffy’s, Pat’s, or Sawney’s brogue either. The one enriches +and enlarges the vocabulary, the other is nothing but broken English, and so +confoundedly broken too, you can’t put the pieces together sometimes. +Again, my writing, when I freeze down solid to it, is just as much in character +as the other. Recollect this—Every woman in our country who has a son +knows that he may, and thinks that he will, become President of the United +States, and that thought and that chance make that boy superior to any of his +class in Europe. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, Squire,” said he, “I believe there has been enough +said about myself and my Journal. Sposen we drink success to the ‘human +nature,’ or ‘men and things,’ or whatever other name you +select for this Journal, and then we will talk of something else.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will drink that toast,” I said, “with all my heart, and +now let me ask you how you have succeeded in your mission about the +fisheries?” +</p> + +<p> +“First rate,” he replied; “we have them now, and no +mistake!” +</p> + +<p> +“By the treaty?” I inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, “I have discovered the dodge, and we shall +avail of it at once. By a recent local law foreigners can hold real estate in +this province now. And by a recent Act of Parliament our vessels can obtain +British registers. Between these two privileges, a man don’t deserve to +be called an American who can’t carry on the fisheries in spite of all +the cruisers, revenue officers, and prohibitary laws under the sun. It is a +peaceable and quiet way of getting possession, and far better than fighting for +them, while it comports more with the dignity of our great and enlightened +nation.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think,” I said, “of the Elgin treaty as a +bargain?” +</p> + +<p> +After some hesitation, he looked up and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t complain,” said he. “As usual we have got +hold of the right eend of the rope, and got a vast deal more than we expected. +The truth is, the English are so fond of trade, and so afraid of war, if we +will only give them cotton, and flour at a fair price, and take their +manufactures in return, we can bully them into anythin’ almost. It is a +positive fact, there were fifty deserters from the British army taken off of +the wreck of the ‘San Francisco,’ and carried to England. John Bull +pretended to wink at it, hired a steamer, and sent them all out again to us. +Lord! how our folks roared when they heard it; and as for the President, he +laughed like a hyena over a dead nigger. Law sakes alive man! Make a question +between our nation and England about fifty desarters, and if the ministers of +the day only dared to talk of fighting, the members of all the manufactoren +towns in England, the cottonocracy of Great Britain, would desert too! +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nateral, as an American, I should be satisfied with the +treaty; but I’ll tell you what I <i>am</i> sorry for. I am grieved we +asked, or your Governor-General granted, a right to us to land on these shores +and make our fish. Lord Elgin ought to have known that every foot of the +sea-coast of Nova Scotia has been granted, and is now private property. +</p> + +<p> +“To concede a privilege to land, with a proviso to respect the rights of +the owner, is nonsense. This comes of not sending a man to negociate who is +chosen by the people, not for his rank, but for his ability and knowledge. The +fact is, I take blame to myself about it, for I was pumped who would do best +and be most acceptable to us Americans. I was afeared they would send a +Billingsgate contractor, who is a plaguy sight more posted up about fisheries +than any member of parliament, or a clever colonist (not a party man), and they +know more than both the others put together; and I dreaded if they sent either, +there would be a <i>quid pro quo,</i> as Josiah says, to be given, afore we got +the fisheries, if we ever got them, at all. ‘So,’ sais I, out of a +bit of fun, for I can’t help taken a rise out of folks no how I can fix +it, ‘send us a lord. We are mighty fond of noblemen to Washington, and +toady them first-rate. It will please such a man as Pierce to show him so much +respect as to send a peer to him. He will get whatever he asks.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they fell into the trap beautiful. They sent us one, and we rowed +him up to the very head waters of Salt River in no time.<sup>1</sup> But I am +sorry we asked the privilege to land and cure fish. I didn’t think any +created critter would have granted that. Yes, I foresee trouble arising out of +this. Suppose ‘Cayenne Pepper,’ as we call the captain that +commanded the ‘Cayenne’ at Grey Town, was to come to a port in Nova +Scotia, and pepper it for insultin’ our flag by apprehenden trespassers +(though how a constable is to arrest a crew of twenty men unless, Irishman +like, he surrounds them, is a mystery to me). What would be done in that case? +Neither you nor I can tell, Squire. But depend upon it, there is a tempestical +time comin’, and it is as well to be on the safe side of the fence when +there is a chance of kicking going on. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> To row up Salt River is a common phrase, used generally to denote +political defeat. The distance to which a party is rowed up Salt River depends +entirely upon the magnitude of the majority against him. If the defeat is +overwhelming, the unsuccessful party is said “to be rowed up to the very +head waters of Salt River.” The phrase has its origin in the fact that +there is a small stream of that name in Kentucky, the passage of which is made +difficult and laborious, as well by its tortuous course as by numerous shallows +and bars. The real application of the phrase is to the unhappy wight who +propels the boat, but politically, in slang usage, it means the man rowed up, +the passenger—I. INMAN. +</p> + +<p> +“The bombardment of Grey Town was the greatest and bravest exploit of +modern times. We silenced their guns at the first broadside, and shut them up +so sudden that envious folks like the British now swear they had none, while we +lost only one man in the engagement, but he was drunk and fell overboard. What +is the cannonade of Sebastopool to that? Why it sinks into +insignificance.” +</p> + +<p> +He had hardly ceased speaking, when the wheels of a carriage were heard rapidly +approaching the door. Taking out his watch, and observing the hour, he said: +“Squire, it is now eleven o’clock. I must be a movin’. Good +bye! I am off to Halifax. I am goin’ to make a night flight of it. The +wind is fair, and I must sail by daylight to-morrow morning. Farewell!” +</p> + +<p> +He then shook hands most cordially with me, and said: “Squire, unless you +feel inclined at some future day to make the tour of the States with me, or +somethin’ turns up I am not availed of, I am afraid you have seen the +last Journal of your old friend ‘Sam Slick.’” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C02">CHAPTER II.</a><br/> +CLIPPERS AND STEAMERS.</h2> + +<p> +Whoever has taken the trouble to read the “Wise Saws” of Mr Slick, +will be prepared to resume the thread of his narrative without explanation, if +indeed these unconnected selections deserve the appellation. But as this work +may fall into the hands of many people who never saw its predecessor, it may be +necessary to premise that our old friend Sam, having received a commission from +the President of the United States, to visit the coast of Nova Scotia, and +report to him fully on the state of the fisheries, their extent and value, the +manner in which they were prosecuted, and the best mode of obtaining a +participation in them, he proceeded on his cruise in a trading vessel, called +the “Black Hawk,” whereof Timothy Cutler was master, and Mr Eldad +Nickerson the pilot. The two preceding volumes contained his adventures at sea, +and in the harbours of the province, to the westward of Halifax. The present +work is devoted to his remarks on “nature and human nature.” +</p> + +<p> +While amusing himself fishing within three miles of the coast, off La Haive, in +contravention of the treaty, he narrowly escaped capture by the British cruiser +“Spitfire,” commanded by Captain Stoker. By a skilful manoeuvre, he +decoyed the man-of-war, in the eagerness of the chase, on to a sand-bar, when +he dexterously slipt through a narrow passage between two islands, and keeping +one of them in a line between the “Black Hawk” and her pursuer, so +as to be out of the reach of her guns, he steered for the eastern shore of Nova +Scotia, and was soon out of sight of the islands behind which his enemy lay +embedded in the sand; from this point the narrative is resumed in Mr +Slick’s own words.<sup>1</sup> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> His remarks on the fisheries I have wholly omitted, for they have +now lost their interest. His observations on “nature and human +nature” are alone retained, as they may be said to have a universal +application.—ED. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess,” said I, “Captain, the ‘Spitfire’ will +have to put into Halifax to report herself and be surveyed, so we may pursue +our course in peace. But this ‘Black Hawk’ is a doll, ain’t +she? don’t she skim over the water like a sea gull? The truth is, Cutler, +when you ain’t in a hurry, and want to enjoy yourself at sea, as I always +do, for I am a grand sailor, give me a clipper. She is so light and buoyant, +and the motion so elastic, it actilly exilerates your spirits. There is +something like life in her gait, and you have her in hand like a horse, and you +feel as if you were her master, and directed her movements. I ain’t sure +you don’t seem as if you were part of her yourself. Then there is room to +show skill and seamanship, and if you don’t in reality go as quick as a +steamer, you seem to go faster, if there is no visible object to measure your +speed by, and that is something, for the white foam on the leeward side rushes +by you in rips, raps, and rainbows like Canadian rapids. +</p> + +<p> +“Then if she is an atrysilly<sup>1</sup> like this, and she is doing her +prettiest, and actilly laughs again, she is so pleased, why you are satisfied, +for you don’t make the breeze, you take it as you find it, like all other +good gifts of Providence, and say, ‘ain’t she going like wink, how +she forges ahead, don’t she?’ Your attention is kept alive, too, +watchin’ the wind, and trimmin’ sail to it accordingly, and the +jolly ‘Oh, heave oh,’ of the sailors is music one loves to listen +to, and if you wish to take a stretch for it in your cloak on deck, on the +sunny or shady side of the companion-way, the breeze whistles a nice soft +lullaby for you, and you are off in the land of Nod in no time.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> The Atricilla, or laughing sea-gull. Its note resembles a coarse +laugh. Hence its name. It is very common in the Bahamas. +</p> + +<p> +“Dreaming of Sophy Collingwood,” sais the Captain, “and the +witch of Eskisooney, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dreamin’ of bright eyes and smilin’ faces, or +anythin’ else that’s near and dear, for to my idea, the heart gives +the subject for the head to think upon. In a fair wind and a charmin’ day +like this, I never coiled up on the deck for a nap in my life, that I +had’nt pleasant dreams. You feel as if you were at peace with all the +world in general, and yourself in partikeler, and that it is very polite of +folks to stay to home ashore, and let you and your friends enjoy yourselves +without treadin’ on your toes, and wakin’ of you up if asleep, or a +jostlin’ of you in your turn on the quarter-deck, or over-hearin’ +of your conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“And ain’t you always ready for your meals, and don’t you +walk into them in rael right down earnest? Oh, nothing ever tastes so good to +me as it does at sea. The appetite, like a sharp knife, makes the meat seem +tender, and the sea air is a great friend of digestion, and always keeps +company with it. Then you don’t care to sit and drink after dinner as you +do at an hotel of an idle day, for you want to go on deck, light your cigar, +take a sweep round the horizon with your glass to see if there is any sail in +sight, glance at the sky to ascertain if the breeze is likely to hold, and then +bring yourself to anchor on a seat, and have a dish of chat for a dessert with +the captain, if he is a man of books like you, Cutler, or a man of reefs, +rocks, and sandbars, fish, cordwood, and smugglin’, or collisions, +wracks, and salvage, like the pilot. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if you have a decent sample or two of passengers on board, you can +discuss men and things, and women and nothings, law, physick, and divinity, or +that endless, tangled ball of yarn, politicks, or you can swap anecdotes, and +make your fortune in the trade. And by the same trail of thought we must give +one or two of these Blue-Noses now and then a cast on board with us to draw +them out. “Well, if you want to read, you can go and turn in and take a +book, and solitudinise to it, and there is no one to disturb you. I actilly +learned French in a voyage to Calcutta, and German on my way home. I got enough +for common use. It warn’t all pure gold; but it was kind of small change, +and answered every purpose of trade or travel. Oh, it’s no use a +talkin’; where time ain’t the main object, there’s +nothin’ like a sailin’ vessel to a man who ain’t sea-sick, +and such fellows ought to be cloriformed, put to bed, and left there till the +voyage is over. They have no business to go to sea, if they are such fools as +not to know how to enjoy themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“Then sailors are characters; they are men of the world, there is great +self-reliance in them. They have to fight their way in life through many trials +and difficulties, and their trust is in God and their own strong arm. They are +so much in their own element, they seem as if they were born on the sea, +cradled on its billows, and, like Mother Carey’s chickens, delighted in +its storms and mountain waves. They walk, talk, and dress differently from +landsmen. They straddle as they pace the deck, so as to brace the body and keep +their trowsers up at the same time; their gait is loose, and their dress loose, +and their limbs loose; indeed, they are rather too fond <i>of slack.</i> They +climb like monkeys, and depend more on their paws than their legs. They tumble +up, but never down. They count, not by fingers, it is tedious, but by hands; +they put a part for the whole, and call themselves hands, for they are paid for +the use of them, and not their heads. +</p> + +<p> +“Though they are two-handed they are not close-fisted fellows. They +despise science, but are fond of practical knowledge. When the sun is over the +foreyard, they know the time of day as well as the captain, and call for their +grog, and when they lay back their heads, and turn up the bottom of the mug to +the sky, they call it in derision taking an observation. But though they have +many characteristics in common, there is an individuality in each that +distinguishes him from the rest. He stands out in bold relief—I by +myself, I. He feels and appreciates his importance. He knows no plural. The +word ‘our’ belongs to landsmen; ‘my’ is the +sailor’s phrase—my ship, my captain, my messmate, my watch on deck, +‘my eyes!’ ‘you lubber, don’t you know that’s +<i>me?’</i> I like to listen to their yarns and their jokes, and to hear +them sing their simple ditties. The odd mixture of manliness and +childishness—of boldness and superstitious fears; of preposterous claims +for wages and thoughtless extravagance; of obedience and discontent—all +goes to make the queer compound called ‘Jack.’ How often have I +laughed over the fun of the forecastle in these small fore and aft packets of +ourn! and I think I would back that place for wit against any bar-room in New +York or New Orleans, and I believe they take the rag off of all creation. +</p> + +<p> +“But the cook is my favourite. He is a scientific man, and so skilful in +compounds, he generally goes by the name of doctor. I like the daily +consultation with him about dinner: not that I am an epicure; but at sea, as +the business of life is eating, it is as well to be master of one’s +calling. Indeed, it appears to be a law of nature, that those who have mouths +should understand what to put in them. It gratifies the doctor to confer with +him, and who does it not please to be considered a man of importance? He is +therefore a member of the Privy Council, and a more useful member he is too +than many Right Honourables I know of—who have more acres than ideas. The +Board assembles after breakfast, and a new dish is a great item in the budget. +It keeps people in good humour the rest of the day, and affords topics for the +table. To eat to support existence is only fit for criminals. Bread and water +will do that; but to support and gratify nature at the same time is a noble +effort of art, and well deserves the thanks of mankind. The cook too enlivens +the consultation by telling marvellous stories about strange dishes he has +seen. He has eaten serpents with the Siamese, monkeys in the West Indies, +crocodiles and sloths in South America, and cats, rats, and dogs with the +Chinese; and of course, as nobody can contradict him, says they are delicious. +Like a salmon, you must give him the line, even if it wearies you, before you +bag him; but when you do bring him to land his dishes are savoury. They have a +relish that is peculiar to the sea, for <i>where there is no garden, vegetables +are always most prized.</i> The glorious onion is duly valued, for as there is +no mistress to be kissed, who will dare to object to its aroma? +</p> + +<p> +“Then I like a Sunday at sea in a vessel like this, and a day like this, +when the men are all clean and tidy, and the bell rings for prayers, and all +hands are assembled aft to listen to the captain as he reads the Church +Service. It seems like a family scene. It reminds me of dear old Minister and +days gone by, when he used to call us round him, and repeated to us the promise +‘that when two or three were gathered together in God’s name, he +would grant their request.’ The only difference is, sailors are more +attentive and devout than landsmen. They seem more conscious that they are in +the Divine presence. They have little to look upon but the heavens above and +the boundless ocean around them. Both seem made on purpose for +<i>them—</i>the sun to guide them by day, and the stars by night, the sea +to bear them on its bosom, and the breeze to waft them on their course. They +feel how powerless they are of themselves; how frail their bark; how dependent +they are on the goodness and mercy of their Creator, and that it is He alone +who can rule the tempest and control the stormy deep. Their impressions are +few, but they are strong. It is the world that hardens the heart, and the ocean +seems apart from it. +</p> + +<p> +“They are noble fellows, sailors, and I love them; but, Cutler, how are +they used, especially where they ought to be treated best, on board of +men-of-war? The moment a ship arrives in port, the anchor cast and the sails +furled—what dees the captain do? the popular captain too, the idol of the +men; he who is so kind and so fond of them? Why, he calls them aft, and says, +‘Here, my lads, here is lots of cash for you, now be off ashore and enjoy +yourselves.’ And they give three cheers for their noble +commander—their good-hearted officer—the sailor’s +friend—the jolly old blue jacket,—and they bundle into the boats, +and on to the beach, like school-boys. And where do they go? Well, we +won’t follow them, for I never was in them places where they <i>do</i> +go, and so I can’t describe them, and one thing I must say, I never yet +found any place answer the picture drawn of it. But if half only of the +accounts are true that I have heerd of them, they must be the devil’s own +seminaries of vice—that’s a fact. Every mite and morsel as bad as +the barrack scenes that we read of lately. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, at the end of a week back come the sailors. They have had a +glorious lark and enjoyed themselves beyond anything in the world, for they are +pale, sick, sleepy, tired out, cleaned out, and kicked out, with black eyes, +broken heads, swelled cheeks, minus a few teeth, half their clothes, and all +their money. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What,’ says the captain, ‘what’s the matter +with you, Tom Marlin, that you limp so like a lame duck?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nothing, your honour,’ says Tom, twitching his forelock, +and making a scrape with his hind leg, ‘nothing, your honour, but a +scratch from a bagganet.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What! a fight with the soldiers, eh? The cowardly rascals to use +their side arms!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘We cleared the house of them, Sir, in no time.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That’s right. Now go below, my lads, and turn in and get a +good sleep. I like to see my <i>lambs</i> enjoy themselves. It does my heart +good.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And yet, Cutler, that man is said to be a father to his crew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Slick,” said Cutler, “what a pity it is you wouldn’t +always talk that way!” Now if there is any created thing that makes me +mad, it is to have a feller look admiren at me, when I utter a piece of plain +common sense like that, and turn up the whites of his eyes like a duck in +thunder, as much as to say, what a pity it is you weren’t broughten up a +preacher. It ryles me considerable, I tell you. +</p> + +<p> +“Cutler,” said I, “did you ever see a colt in a pasture, how +he would race and chase round the field, head, ears, and tail up, and stop +short, snort as if he had seen the ghost of a bridle, and off again hot +foot?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “I have, but you are not a colt, nor a boy +either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, did you ever see a horse when unharnessed from a little, light +waggon, and turned out to grass, do nearly the same identical thing, and kick +up his heels like mad, as much as to say, I am a free nigger now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I have,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop,” said I, a touchin’ of him on his arm; “what in +the world is that?” and I pointed over the taffrail to the weather-bow. +</p> + +<p> +“Porpoises,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“What are they a doin’ of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sportin’ of themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “and do you place man below the beasts of +the field and the fishes of the sea? What in natur’ was humour given to +us for but for our divarsion? What sort of a world would this be if every +fellow spoke sermons and talked homilies, and what in that case would parsons +do? I leave you to cypher that out, and then prove it by algebra; but +I’ll tell you what they wouldn’t do, I’ll be hanged if +they’d strike for higher wages, for fear they should not get any at +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knock under,” said he; “you may take my hat; now go on and +finish the comparison between Clippers and Steamers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “as I was a sayin’, Captain, give me a +craft like this, that spreads its wings like a bird, and looks as if it was +born, not made, a whole-sail breeze, and a seaman every inch of him like you on +the deck, who looks you in the face, in a way as if he’d like to say, +only bragging ain’t genteel, Ain’t she a clipper now, and +ain’t I the man to handle her? Now this ain’t the case in a +steamer. They ain’t vessels, they are more like floating factories; you +see the steam machines and the enormous fires, and the clouds of smoke, but you +don’t visit the rooms where the looms are, that’s all. They plough +through the sea dead and heavy, like a subsoiler with its eight-horse team; +there is no life in ’em; they can’t dance on the waters as if they +rejoiced in their course, but divide the waves as a rock does in a river; they +seem to move more in defiance of the sea than as if they were in an element of +their own. +</p> + +<p> +“They puff and blow like boasters braggin’ that they extract from +the ocean the means to make it help to subdue itself. It is a war in the +elements, fire and water contendin’ for victory. They are black, dingy, +forbiddin’ looking sea monsters. It is no wonder the superstitious +Spaniard, when he first saw one, said: ‘A vessel that goes against the +tide, and against the wind, and without sails, goes against God,’ or that +the simple negro thought it was a sea-devil. They are very well for carrying +freight, because they are beasts of burden, but not for carrying travellers, +unless they are mere birds of passage like our Yankee tourists, who want to +have it to say I was <i>‘thar.’</i> I hate them. The decks are +dirty; your skin and clothes are dirty; and your lungs become foul; smoke +pervades everythin’, and now and then the condensation gives you a shower +of sooty water by way of variety, that scalds your face and dyes your coat into +a sort of pepper-and-salt colour. +</p> + +<p> +“You miss the sailors, too. There are none on board—you miss the +nice light, tight-built, lathy, wiry, active, neat, jolly crew. In their place +you have nasty, dirty, horrid stokers; some hoisting hot cinders and throwing +them overboard (not with the merry countenances of niggers, or the cheerful +sway-away-my-boys expression of the Jack Tar, but with sour, +cameronean-lookin’ faces, that seem as if they were dreadfully +disappointed they were not persecuted any longer—had no churches and +altars to desecrate, and no bishops to anoint with the oil of hill-side +maledictions as of old), while others are emerging from the fiery furnaces +beneath for fresh air, and wipe a hot dirty face with a still dirtier shirt +sleeve, and in return for the nauseous exudation, lay on a fresh coat of +blacking; tall, gaunt wretches, who pant for breath as they snuff the fresh +breeze, like porpouses, and then dive again into the lower regions. They are +neither seamen nor landsmen, good whips nor decent shots, their hair is not +woolly enough for niggers, and their faces are too black for white men. They +ain’t amphibious animals, like marines and otters. They are Salamanders. +But that’s a long word, and now they call them stokers for shortness. +</p> + +<p> +“Then steamers carry a mob, and I detest mobs, especially such ones as +they delight in—greasy Jews, hairy Germans, Mulatto-looking Italians, +squalling children, that run between your legs and throw you down, or wipe the +butter off their bread on your clothes; Englishmen that will grumble, and +Irishmen that will fight; priests that won’t talk, and preachers that +will harangue; women that will be carried about, because they won’t lie +still and be quiet; silk men, cotten men, bonnet men, iron men, trinket men, +and every sort of shopmen, who severally know nothing in the world but silk, +cotten, bonnets, iron, trinkets, and so on, and can’t talk of +anythin’ else; fellows who walk up and down the deck, four or five +abreast when there are four or five of the same craft on board, and prevent any +one else from promenadin’ by sweepin’ the whole space, while every +lurch the ship gives, one of them tumbles atop of you, or treads on your toes, +and then, instead of apoligisin’, turns round and abuses you like a +pick-pocket for stickin’ your feet out and trippin’ people up. +Thinkin’ is out of the question, and as for readin’, you might as +well read your fortune in the stars. +</p> + +<p> +“Just as you begin, that lovely-lookin’, rosy-cheeked, wicked-eyed +gall, that came on board so full of health and spirits, but now looks like a +faded striped ribbon, white, yeller, pink, and brown—dappled all over her +face, but her nose, which has a red spot on it—lifts up a pair of +lack-lustre peepers that look glazed like the round dull ground-glass lights +let into the deck, suddenly wakes up squeamish, and says, ‘Please, Sir, +help me down; I feel so ill.’ Well, you take her up in your arms, and for +the first time in your life hold her head from you, for fear she will reward +you in a way that ain’t no matter, and she feels as soft as dough, and it +seems as if your fingers left dents in her putty-like arms, and you carry her +to the head of the stairs, and call out for the stewardess, and a waiter +answers, ‘Stewardess is tight, Sir.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I am glad of it, she is just the person I want. I wish all the +other passengers were tight also.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Lord, Sir, that ain’t it—she is mops and +brooms.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mops and brooms, I suppose she is, she must have plenty use for +them, I reckon, to keep all snug and tidy down there.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Good gracious, Sir, don’t you understand, she is half seas +over.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘True, so we all are, the captain said so to-day at twelve +o’clock, I wish we were over altogether. Send her up.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, no, Sir, she is more than half shaved.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘The devil! does she shave? I don’t believe she is a woman +at all. I see how it is, you have been putting one of the sailors into +petticoats.’ And the idea makes even the invalid gall laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, no, Sir, she is tipsy.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then why the plague couldn’t you say so at once. I guess +you kinder pride yourself in your slang. Help me to assist this lady down to +her friends.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when you return on deck, lo and behold, your seat is occupied, and +you must go and stand by the rail till one is vacant, when another gall that +ain’t ill, but inconveniently well, she is so full of chat, says, +‘Look, look, Sir, dear me, what is that, Sir? a porpoise. Why you +don’t, did you ever! well, I never see a porpoise afore in all my born +days! are they good to eat, Sir?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Excellent food for whales, Miss.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well I never! do they swallow them right down?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I guess they do, tank, shank, and flank, at one gulp.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why how in the world do they ever get—’ but she +don’t finish the sentence, for the silk man, cotten man, iron man, or +trinket man, which ever is nearest, says, ‘There is a ship on the +lee-bow.’ He says that because it sounds sailor-like, but it happens to +be the weather-bow, and you have seen her an hour before. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Can you make her out?’ sais he; that’s another sea +tarm he has picked up; he will talk like a horse-marine at last. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ sais you, ‘she is a Quang-Tonger.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘A Quang-Tonger?’ sais the gall, and before the old coon has +disgested that hard word, she asks, ‘what in natur is that?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, Miss, Quang-Tong is a province of China, and Canton is the +capital; all the vessels at Canton are called Quang-Tongers, but strangers call +them Chinese Junks. Now, Miss, you have seen two new things to-day, a +bottle-nosed porpoise and—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Was that a bottle-nosed porpoise, Sir? why you don’t say +so! why, how you talk, why do they call them bottle-noses?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Because, Miss, they make what is called velvet corks out of their +snouts. They are reckoned the best corks in the world. And then, you have seen +a Chinese Junk?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘A Chinese Junk,’ sais the astonished trinket man. +‘Well I vow! a Chinese Junk, do tell!’ and one gall calls Jeremiah +Dodge, and the other her father and her sister, Mary Anne Matilda Jane, to come +and see the Chinese Junk, and all the passengers rush to the other side, and +say, ‘whare, whare,’ and the two discoverers say, ‘there, +there;’ and you walk across the deck and take one of the evacuated seats +you have been longin’ for; and as you pass you give a wink to the officer +of the watch, who puts his tongue in his cheek as a token of approbation, and +you begin to read again, as you fancy, in peace. +</p> + +<p> +“But there is no peace in a steamer, it is nothin’ but a large +calaboose,<sup>1</sup> chock full of prisoners. As soon as you have found your +place in the book, and taken a fresh departure, the bonnet man sais, +‘Please, Sir, a seat for a lady,’ and you have to get up and give +it to his wife’s lady’s-maid. His wife ain’t a lady, but +having a lady’s-maid shows she intends to set up for one when she gets to +home. To be a lady, she must lay in a lot of airs, and to brush her own hair +and garter her own stockins is vulgar; if it was known in First Avenue, Spruce +Street, in Bonnetville, it would ruin her as a woman of fashion for ever. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Calaboose is a Southern name for jail. +</p> + +<p> +“Now bonnet man wouldn’t ask you to get up and give your place to +his wife’s hired help, only he knows you are a Yankee, and we Yankees, I +must say, are regularly fooled with women and preachers; just as much as that +walking advertisement of a milliner is with her lady’s-maid. All over +America in rail carriages, stage coaches, river steamers, and public places, of +all sorts, every critter that wears a white choker, and looks like a minister, +has the best seat given him. He expects it, as a matter of course, and as every +female is a lady, every woman has a right to ask you to quit, without notice, +for her accommodation. Now it’s all very well and very proper to be +respectful to preachers; and to be polite and courteous to women, and more +especially those that are unprotected; but there is a limit, tother side of +which lies absurdity. +</p> + +<p> +“Now if you had seen as much of the world as I have, and many other +travelled Yankees, when bonnet man asked you to give up your seat to the maid, +you would have pretended not to understand English, and not to know what he +wanted, but would have answered him in French and offered him the book, and +said certainly you would give it to him with pleasure, and when he said he +didn’t speak French, but what he desired was your place for the lady, you +would have addressed her in German, and offered her the book, and when they +looked at each other, and laughed at their blunder, in thus taking you for a +Yankee, perhaps the man next to you would have offered his seat, and then when +old bonnet man walked off to look at the Chinese Junk, you would have entered +into conversation with the lady’s-maid, and told her it was a rise you +took out of the old fellow to get her along-side of you, and she would enjoy +the joke, and you would have found her a thousand times more handsome and more +conversational and agreeable than her mistress. +</p> + +<p> +“But this wouldn’t last long, for the sick gall would be carried up +on deck agin, woman like, though ill, very restless, and chock full of +curiosity to see the Chinese Junk also; so you are caught by your own bam, and +have to move again once more. The bell comes in aid, and summons you to dinner. +Ah, the scene in the Tower of Babel is rehearsed; what a confusion of tongues! +what a clatter of knives and forks and dishes! the waiter that goes and +won’t come back; and he who sees, pities but can’t help you; and he +who is so near <i>sighted,</i> he can’t <i>hear;</i> and he who is +intercepted, and made prisoner on his way. +</p> + +<p> +“What a profusion of viands—but how little to eat! this is cold; +that under-done; this is tough; that you never eat; while all smell oily; oh, +the only dish you did fancy, you can’t touch, for that horrid German has +put his hand into it. But it is all told in one short sentence; two hundred and +fifty passengers supply two hundred and fifty reasons themselves, why I should +prefer a sailing vessel with a small party to a crowded steamer. If you want to +see them in perfection go where I have been it on board the California boats, +and Mississippi river crafts. The French, Austrian, and Italian boats are as +bad. The two great Ocean lines, American and English, are as good as anything +bad can be, but the others are all abominable. They are small worlds +over-crowded, and while these small worlds exist, the evil will remain; for +alas, their passengers go backward and forward, they don’t +emigrate—they migrate; they go for the winter and return for the spring, +or go in the spring and return in the fall. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Commodore, there is old Sorrow ringing his merry bell for us to go +to dinner. I have an idea we shall have ample room; a good appetite, and time +enough to eat and enjoy it: come, Sir, let us, like true Americans, never +refuse to go where duty calls us.” +</p> + +<p> +After dinner, Cutler reverted to the conversation we had had before we went +below, though I don’t know that I should call it conversation, either; +for I believe I did, as usual, most of the talking myself. +</p> + +<p> +“I agree with you,” said he, “in your comparative estimate of +a sailing vessel and a steamer, I like the former the best myself. It is more +agreeable for the reasons you have stated to a passenger, but it is still more +agreeable to the officer in command of her on another account. In a sailing +vessel, all your work is on deck, everything is before you, and everybody under +your command. One glance of a seaman’s eye is sufficient to detect if +anything is amiss, and no one man is indispensable to you. In a steamer the +work is all below, the machinery is out of your sight, complicated, and one +part dependent on another. If it gets out of order you are brought up with a +round turn, all standing, and often in a critical situation too. You +can’t repair damage easily; sometimes, can’t repair at all. +</p> + +<p> +“Whereas carrying away a sail, a spar, a topmast, or anything of that +kind, impedes but don’t stop you, and if it is anything very serious +there are a thousand ways of making a temporary rig that will answer till you +make a port. But what I like best is, when my ship is in the daldrums, I am +equal to the emergency; there is no engineer to bother you by saying this +can’t be done, or that won’t do, and to stand jawing and arguing +instead of obeying and doing. Clippers of the right lines, size, and build, +well found, manned, and commanded, will make nearly as good work, in ordinary +times, as steamers. Perhaps it is prejudice though, for I believe we sailors +are proverbial for that. But, Slick, recollect it ain’t all fair weather +sailing like this at sea. There are times when death stares you wildly in the +face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “as if he would like to know you the next +time he came for you, so as not to apprehend the wrong one. He often leaves the +rascal and seizes the honest man; my opinion is, he don’t see very +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a droll fellow you are,” said he; “it appears to me as +if you couldn’t be serious for five minutes at a time. I can tell you, if +you were on a rocky lee-shore, with the wind and waves urging you on, and you +barely holding your own, perhaps losing ground every tack, you wouldn’t +talk quite so glibly of death. Was you ever in a real heavy gale of +wind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Warn’t I,” said I; “the fust time I returned from +England it blew great guns all the voyage, one gale after another, and the last +always wuss than the one before. It carried away our sails as fast as we bent +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s nothing unusual,” said Cutler; “there are worse +things than that at sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you,” sais I, “what it did; and if +that ain’t an uncommon thing, then my name ain’t Sam Slick. It blew +all the hair off my dog, except a little tuft atween his ears. It did, upon my +soul. I hope I may never leave—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t swear to it, Slick,” said he, “that’s a +good fellow. It’s impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Attestin’ to it will make <i>your</i> hair stand on eend too, I +suppose,” said I; “but it’s as true as preachin’ for +all that. What will you bet it didn’t happen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, man, nonsense,” said he, “I tell you the thing is +impossible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said I, “that’s because you have been lucky, and +never saw a riprorious hurricane in all your life. I’ll tell you how it +was. I bought a blood-hound from a man in Regent’s Park, just afore I +sailed, and the brute got sea-sick, and then took the mange, and between that +and death starin’ him in the face, his hair all came off, and in course +it blew away. Is that impossible?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said he, “you have the most comical way with +you of any man I ever see. I am sure it ain’t in your nature to speak of +death in that careless manner, you only talked that way to draw me out. I know +you did. It’s not a subject however to treat lightly, and if you are not +inclined to be serious just now, tell us a story.” +</p> + +<p> +“Serious,” sais I, “I am disposed to be; but not +sanctimonious, and you know that. But here goes for a story, which has a nice +little moral in it too. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Once on a time, when pigs were swine, and turkeys chewed tobacco, +and little birds built their nests in old men’s beards.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh!” said he, turning off huffy like, as if I was a goin’ +to bluff him off. “I wonder whether supper is ready?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cutler,” sais I, “come back, that’s a good fellow, and +I’ll tell you the story. It’s a short one, and will just fill up +the space between this and tea-time. It is in illustration of what you was a +sayin’, that it ain’t always fair weather sailing in this world. +There was a jack-tar once to England who had been absent on a whaling voyage +for nearly three years, and he had hardly landed when he was ordered off to sea +again, before he had time to go home and see his friends. He was a +lamentin’ this to a shipmate of his, a serious-minded man, like you. +</p> + +<p> +“Sais he, ‘Bill, it breaketh my heart to have to leave agin arter +this fashion. I havn’t seen Polly now goin’ on three years, nor the +little un either.’ And he actilly piped his eye. +</p> + +<p> +“‘It seemeth hard, Tom,’ said Bill, tryin’ to comfort +him; ‘it seemeth hard; but I’m an older man nor you be, Tom, the +matter of several years;’ and he gave his trowsers a twitch (you know +they don’t wear galluses, though a gallus holds them up sometimes), +shifted his quid, gave his nor’wester a pull over his forehead, and +looked solemncholly, ‘and my experience, Tom, is, that <i>this life +ain’t all beer and skittles.’</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Cutler, there is a great deal of philosophy in that maxim: a preacher +couldn’t say as much in a sermon an hour long, as there is in that little +story with that little moral reflection at the eend of it. +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>This life ain’t all leer and skittles.</i>’ Many a +time since I heard that anecdote—and I heard it in Kew Gardens, of all +places in the world—when I am disappointed sadly, I say that saw over, +and console myself with it. I can’t expect to go thro’ the world, +Cutler, as I have done: stormy days, long and dark nights, are before me. As I +grow old I shan’t be so full of animal spirits as I have been. In the +natur of things I must have my share of aches, and pains, and disappointment, +as well as others; and when they come, nothing will better help me to bear them +than that little simple reflection of the sailor, which appeals so directly to +the heart. Sam, <i>this life ain’t all beer and skittles, that’s a +fact.”</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C03">CHAPTER III.</a><br/> +A WOMAN’S HEART.</h2> + +<p> +As we approached the eastern coast, “Eldad,” sais I, to the pilot, +“is there any harbour about here where our folks can do a little bit of +trade, and where I can see something of ‘Fishermen at home?’” +</p> + +<p> +“We must be careful now how we proceed, for if the ‘Spitfire’ +floats at the flood, Captain Stoker will try perhaps to overhaul us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t we want to wood and water, and ain’t there some +repairs wanting,” sais I, and I gave him a wink. “If so we can put +into port; but I don’t think we will attempt to fish again within the +treaty limits, for it’s dangerous work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sais he, touching his nose with the point of his finger, +“all these things are needed, and when they are going on, the mate and I +can attend to the business of the owners.” He then looked cautiously +round to see that the captain was not within hearing. +</p> + +<p> +“Warn’t it the ‘Black Hawk’ that was chased?” +said he. “I think that was our name then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, to be sure it was,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais he, “this is the ‘Sary Ann’ of New +Bedford now,” and proceeding aft he turned a screw, and I could hear a +board shift in the stern. “Do you mind that?” said he: “well, +you can’t see it where you stand just now at present; but the ‘Sary +Ann’ shows her name there now, and we have a set of papers to correspond. +I guess the Britisher can’t seize her, because the ‘Black +Hawk’ broke the treaty; can he?” And he gave a knowing jupe of his +head, as much as to say, ain’t that grand? +</p> + +<p> +“Now our new captain is a strait-laced sort of man, you see; but the +cantin’ fellow of a master you had on board before, warn’t above a +dodge of this kind. If it comes to the scratch, you must take the command +again, for Cutler won’t have art nor part in this game; and we may be +reformed out afore we know where we are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “there is no occasion, I guess; put us +somewhere a little out of sight, and we won’t break the treaty no more. I +reckon the ‘Spitfire,’ after all, would just as soon be in port as +looking after us. It’s small potatoes for a man-of-war to be hunting poor +game, like us little fore and afters.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you like,” he said, “but we are prepared, you see, for +the mate and men understand the whole thing. It ain’t the first time they +have escaped by changing their sign-board.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said I, “a ship ain’t like a dog that can +only answer to one name; and ‘Sary Ann’ is as good as the +‘Black Hawk,’ every mite and morsel. There is a good deal of fun in +altering sign-boards. I recollect wunst, when I was a boy, there was a firm to +Slickville who had this sign over their shop: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +‘Gallop and More,<br/> +Taylors.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one Saturday-night brother Josiah and I got a paintbrush, and +altered it in this way: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +‘Gallop and 8 More<br/> +Taylors<br/> +Make a man.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, what a commotion it made. Next day was Sunday; and as the folks +were going to church, they stood and laughed and roared like anything. It made +a terrible hulla-bulloo. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ said Minister to me, ‘what in natur is all that +ondecent noise about so near the church-door.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I told him. It was most too much for him, but he bit in his breath, and +tried to look grave; but I see a twinkle in his eye, and the corner of his +mouth twitch, the way your eyelid does sometimes when a nerve gets a dancing +involuntarily. +</p> + +<p> +“‘A very foolish joke, Sam,’ he said; ‘it may get you +into trouble.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, Minister,’ said I, ‘I hope you don’t think +that—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ said he, ‘I don’t think at all, I know it +was you, for it’s just like you. But it’s a foolish joke, for, Sam: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“‘Honour and worth from no condition rise—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Exactly,’ sais I. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +“‘Stitch well your part, there all the honour lies.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam, Sam,’ said he, ‘you are a bad boy,’ and he +put on a serious face, and went in and got his gown ready for service. +</p> + +<p> +“The ‘Sary Ann’ for the ‘Black Hawk,’” sais +I to myself, “well that ain’t bad either; but there are more chests +of tea and kegs of brandy, and such like, taken right by the custom-house door +at Halifax in loads of hay and straw, than comes by water, just because it is +the onlikeliest way in the world any man would do it. But it is only some of +the Bay of Fundy boys that are up to that dodge. Smugglers in general +haven’t the courage to do that. Dear me!” sais I to myself, +“when was there ever a law that couldn’t be evaded; a tax that +couldn’t be shuffled off like an old slipper; a prohibition that a +smuggler couldn’t row right straight through, or a treaty that +hadn’t more holes in it than a dozen supplemental ones could patch up? +<i>It’s a high fence that can’t be scaled, and a strong one that +can’t be broke down. When there are accomplices in the house, it is +easier to get the door unlocked than to force it. Receivers make smugglers. +Where there are not informers, penalties are dead letters.</i> The people here +like to see us, for it is their interest, and we are safe as long as they are +friendly. I don’t want to smuggle, for I scorn such a pettifogin’ +business, as Josiah would call it; but I must and will see how the thing works, +so as to report it to the President.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Eldad,” sais I, “I leave all this to you. I want to +avoid a scrape if I can, so put us in a place of safety, and be careful how you +proceed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” said he. “Now, Mr Slick, look yonder,” +pointing towards the shore. “What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“A large ship under full sail,” said I, “but it is curious +she has got the wind off shore, and just dead on end to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure,” said he, “it is a ship, for if we get foul of +her, we shall be sunk in a moment, and every soul on board perish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a cruiser?” sais I; “because if it is, steer boldly +for her, and I will go on board of her and show my commission as an officer of +our everlastin’ nation. Captain,” said I, “what is that +stranger?” +</p> + +<p> +He paused for a moment, shaded his eyes with his hand, and examined her. +“A large square-rigged vessel,” he said, “under a heavy press +of canvas,” and resumed his walk on the deck. +</p> + +<p> +After a while the pilot said: “Look again, Mr Slick, can you make her out +now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais I, “she is only a brigantine; but ask the +skipper.” +</p> + +<p> +He took his glass and scrutinized her closely, and as he replaced it in the +binnacle said: “We are going to have southerly weather I think; she +loomed very large when I first saw her, and I took her for a ship; but now she +seems to be an hermaphrodite. It’s of no consequence to us however what +she is, and we shall soon near her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beyond that vessel,” said the pilot, “there is a splendid +harbour, and as there has been a head wind for some time, I have no doubt there +are many coasters in there, from the masters of whom you can obtain much useful +information on the object of your visit, while we can drive a profitable trade +among them and the folks ashore. How beautifully these harbours are +situated,” he continued, “for carrying on the fisheries, and Nova +Scotian though I be, I must say, I do think in any other part of the world +there would be large towns here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so too, Eldad,” sais I, “but British legislation is +at the bottom of all your misfortunes, after all, and though you are as lazy as +sloths, and as idle as that fellow old Blowhard saw, who lay down on the grass +all day to watch the vessels passing, and observe the motion of the crows, the +English, by breaking up your monopoly of inter-colonial and West India trade +and throwing it open to us, not only without an equivalent, but in the face of +our prohibitory duties, are the cause of all your poverty and stagnation. They +are rich and able to act like fools if they like in their own affairs, but it +was a cruel thing to sacrifice you, as they have done, and deprive you of the +only natural carrying trade and markets you had. The more I think of it the +less I blame you. It is a wicked mockery to lock men up, and then taunt them +with want of enterprise, and tell them they are idle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look at that vessel again, Sir,” said Eldad; “she +don’t make much headway, does she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I took the glass again and examined her minutely, and I never was +so stumpt in my life. +</p> + +<p> +“Pilot,” said I, “is that the same vessel?” +</p> + +<p> +“The identical,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“I vow to man,” sais I, “as I am a livin’ sinner, that +is neither a ship, nor a brigantine, nor a hermaphrodite, but a topsail +schooner, that’s a fact. What in natur’ is the meanin’ of all +this? Perhaps the captain knows,” so I called him again. +</p> + +<p> +“Cutler, that vessel is transmografied again,” sais I; “look +at her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh,” said he, “that’s not the same vessel at all. +The two first we saw are behind that island. That one is nothing but a coaster. +You can’t take me in, Slick. You are always full of your fun, and taking +a rise out of some one or another, and I shall be glad when we land, you will +then have some one else to practise on.” +</p> + +<p> +In a short time the schooner vanished, and its place was supplied by a +remarkable white cliff, which from the extraordinary optical delusion it +occasions gives its name to the noble port which is now called Ship Harbour. I +have since mentioned this subject to a number of mariners, and have never yet +heard of a person who was not deceived in a similar manner. As we passed +through the narrows, we entered a spacious and magnificent basin, so completely +land-locked that a fleet of vessels of the largest size may lay there unmoved +by any wind. There is no haven in America to be compared with it. +</p> + +<p> +“You are now safe,” said the pilot; “it is only twelve +leagues from Halifax, and nobody would think of looking for you here. The fact +is, <i>the nearer you hide the safer you be.</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I; “what you seek you can’t find, but +when you ain’t looking for a thing, you are sure to stumble on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you ever want to run goods, Sir,” said he, “the closer +you go to the port the better. Smugglers ain’t all up to this, so they +seldom approach the lion’s den, but go farther and fare worse. Now we may +learn lessons from dumb animals. They know we reason on probabilities, and +therefore always do what is improbable. “We <i>think</i> them to be +fools, but they <i>know</i> that we are. The fox sees we always look for him +about his hole, and therefore he carries on his trade as far from it, and as +near the poultry yard, as possible. If a dog kills sheep, and them +Newfoundlanders are most uncommon fond of mutton, I must say, he never attacks +his neighbour’s flock, for he knows he would be suspected and had up for +it, but sets off at night, and makes a foray like the old Scotch on the distant +borders. +</p> + +<p> +“He washes himself, for marks of blood is a bad sign, and returns afore +day, and wags his tail, and runs round his master, and looks up into his face +as innocent as you please, as much as to say, ‘Squire, here I have been +watchin’ of your property all this live-long night, it’s dreadful +lonely work, I do assure you, and oh, how glad I am to see the shine of your +face this morning.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And the old boss pats his head, fairly took in, and says, +‘That’s a good dog, what a faithful honest fellow you be, you are +worth your weight in gold.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the next time he goes off on a spree in the same quarter, what +does he see but a border dog strung up by the neck, who has been seized and +condemned as many an innocent fellow has been before him on circumstantial +evidence, and he laughs and says to himself, ‘What fools humans be, they +don’t know half as much as we dogs do.’ So he thinks it would be as +well to shift his ground, where folks ain’t on the watch for +sheep-stealers, and he makes a dash into a flock still farther off. +</p> + +<p> +“Them Newfoundlanders would puzzle the London detective police, I believe +they are the most knowin’ coons in all creation, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they are,” sais I, “that’s a fact, and they have +all the same passions and feelings we have, only they are more grateful than +man is, and you can by kindness lay one of them under an obligation he will +never forget as long as he lives, whereas an obligation scares a man, for he +snorts and stares at you like a horse at an engine, and is e’en most sure +to up heels and let you have it, like mad. The only thing about dogs is, they +can’t bear rivals, they like to have all attention paid to themselves +exclusively. I will tell you a story I had from a British colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“He was stationed in Nova Scotia, with his regiment, when I was a venden +of clocks there. I met him to Windsor, at the Wilcox Inn. He was mightily taken +with my old horse Clay, and offered me a most an everlastin’ long price +for him; he said if I would sell him, he wouldn’t stand for money, for he +never see such an animal in all his born days, and so on. But old Clay was +above all price, his ditto was never made yet, and I don’t think ever +will be. I had no notion to sell him, and I told him so, but seein’ he +was dreadful disappointed, for a rich Englishman actually thinks money will do +anything and get anything, I told him if ever I parted with him he should have +him on condition he would keep him as long as he lived, and so on. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it pacified him a bit, and to turn the conversation, sais I, +‘Colonel,’ sais I, ‘what a most an almighty everlastin’ +super superior Newfoundler that is,’ a pointin’ to his dog; +‘creation,’ sais I, ‘if I had a regiment of such fellows, I +believe I wouldn’t be afraid of the devil. My,’ sais I, ‘what +a dog! would you part with him? I’de give anything for him.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I said that a purpose to show him I had as good a right to keep my horse +as he had his long-haired gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ sais he, with a sort of half smile at my ignorance in +pokin’ such a question at him (for a Britisher abroad thinks he has +privileges no one else has), ‘no, I don’t want to part with him. I +want to take him to England with me. See, he has all the marks of the true +breed: look at his beautiful broad forehead, what an intellectual one it is, +ain’t it? then see his delicate mouse-like ears, just large enough to +cover the orifice, and that’s all.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Orifice,’ said I, for I hate fine words for common use, +they are like go-to-meeting’ clothes on week days, onconvenient, and look +too all fired jam up. Sais I, ‘what’s that when it’s fried. I +don’t know that word?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, ear-hole,’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh,’ sais I, simple like, ‘I take now.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He smiled and went on. ‘Look at the black roof of his +mouth,’ said he, ‘and do you see the dew claw, that is a great +mark? Then feel that tail, that is his rudder to steer by when swimming. +It’s different from the tail of other dogs, the strength of that joint is +surprising. But his chest, Sir, his chest, see how that is formed on purpose +for diving. It is shaped internally like a seal’s. And then, observe the +spread of that webbed foot, and the power of them paddles. There are two kinds +of them, the short and the long haired, but I think those shaggy ones are the +handsomest. They are very difficult to be got now of the pure breed. I sent to +the Bay of Bulls for this one. To have them in health you must make them stay +out of doors in all weather, and keep them cool, and above all not feed them +too high. Salt fish seems the best food for them, they are so fond of it. +Singular that, ain’t it? but a dog is natural, Sir, and a man +ain’t. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now, you never saw a codfish at the table of a Newfoundland +merchant in your life. He thinks it smells too much of the shop. In fact, in my +opinion the dog is the only gentleman there. The only one, now that the Indian +is extinct, who has breeding and blood in that land of oil, blubber, and +icebergs.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, I wish one of them had been there to have heard him, +wouldn’t he a harpooned him? that’s all. He made a considerable of +a long yarn of it, and as it was a text he had often enlarged on, I thought he +never would have ended, but like other preachers, when he got heated, spit on +the slate, rub it all out, and cypher it over again. Thinks I to myself, +I’ll play you a bit, my boy. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Exactly,’ sais I, ‘there is the same difference in +dogs and horses as there is in men. Some are noble by nature, and some vulgar; +each is known by his breed.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘True,’ said he, ‘very true,’ and he stood up a +little straighter as if it did him good to hear a republican say that, for his +father was an Earl. ‘A very just remark,’ said he, and he eyed me +all over, as if he was rather surprised at my penetration. +</p> + +<p> +“‘But the worst of it,’ sais I, ‘is that a high bred +dog or horse and a high bred man are only good for one thing. A pointer will +point—a blood horse run—a setter will set—a bull dog +fight—and a Newfoundlander will swim; but what else are they good for? +Now a duke is a duke, and the devil a thing else. All you expect of him is to +act and look like one (and I could point out some that don’t even do +that). If he writes a book, and I believe a Scotch one, by the help of his +tutor, did once, or makes a speech, you say, Come now, that is very well for a +duke, and so on. Well, a marquis ain’t quite so high bred, and he is a +little better, and so on, downwards; when you get to an earl, why, he may be +good for more things than one. I ain’t quite sure a cross ain’t +desirable, and in that way that you couldn’t improve the intelligence of +both horses, noblemen, and dogs—don’t you think so, Sir?’ +sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘It is natural for you,’ said he, not liking the smack of +democracy that I threw in for fun, and looking uneasy. ‘So,’ sais +he (by way of turning the conversation), ‘the sagacity of dogs is very +wonderful. I will tell you an anecdote of this one that has surprised everybody +to whom I have related it. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Last summer my duties led me to George’s Island. I take it +for granted you know it. It is a small island situated in the centre of the +harbour of Halifax, has a powerful battery on it, and barracks for the +accommodation of troops. There was a company of my regiment stationed there at +the time. I took this dog and a small terrier, called Tilt, in the boat with +me. The latter was a very active little fellow that the General had given me a +few weeks before. He was such an amusing creature, that he soon became a +universal favourite, and was suffered to come into the house (a privilege which +was never granted to this gentleman, who paid no regard to the appearance of +his coat, which was often wet and dirty), and who was therefore excluded. +</p> + +<p> +“‘The consequence was, Thunder was jealous, and would not associate +with him, and if ever he took any liberty, he turned on him and punished him +severely. This however he never presumed to do in my presence, as he knew I +would not suffer it, and therefore, when they both accompanied me in my walks, +the big dog contented himself with treating the other with perfect indifference +and contempt. Upon this occasion, Thunder lay down in the boat and composed +himself to sleep, while the little fellow, who was full of life and animation, +and appeared as if he did not know what it was to close his eyes, sat up, +looked over the gunwale, and seemed to enjoy the thing uncommonly. He watched +the motions of the men, as if he understood what was required of them, and was +anxious they should acquit themselves properly.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘He knew,’ said I, ‘it was what sailors call the +<i>dog watch.’</i> +</p> + +<p> +“‘Very <i>good,’</i> said he, but looking all the time as if +he thought the interruption very <i>bad.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“‘After having made my inspection, I returned to the boat, for the +purpose of recrossing to the town, when I missed the terrier. Thunder was close +at my heels, and when I whistled for the other, wagged his tail and looked up +in my face, as if he would say, Never mind that foolish dog, I am here, and +that is enough, or is there anything you want me to do? +</p> + +<p> +“‘After calling in vain, I went back to the barracks, and inquired +of the men for Tilt, but no one appeared to have seen him or noticed his +motions. +</p> + +<p> +“‘After perambulating the little island in vain, I happened to ask +the sentry if he knew where he was. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, Sir,’ said he, ‘he is buried in the +beach.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Buried in the beach,’ said I, with great anger, ‘who +dared to kill him? Tell me, Sir, immediately.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That large dog did it, Sir. He enticed him down to the shore by +playing with him, pretending to crouch and then run after him; and then +retreating and coaxing him to chase him; and when he got him near the beach, he +throttled him in an instant, and then scratched a hole in the shingle and +buried him, covering him up with the gravel. After that he went into the water, +and with his paws washed his head and face, shook himself, and went up to the +barracks. You will find the terrier, just down there, Sir.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘And sure enough there was the poor little fellow, quite dead, and +yet warm. +</p> + +<p> +“‘In the mean time Thunder, who had watched our proceedings from a +distance, as soon as he saw the body exhumed, felt as if there was a +court-martial holding over himself, plunged into the harbour and swam across to +the town, and hid himself for several days, until he thought the affair had +blown over; and then approached me anxiously and cautiously, lest he should be +apprehended and condemned. As I was unwilling to lose both my dogs, I was +obliged to overlook it, and take him back to my confidence. A strange story, +ain’t it, Mr Slick.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, it is,’ sais I, ‘but dogs do certainly beat all +natur, that’s a fact.’ +</p> + +<p> +“But to get back to the ‘Black Hawk:’ as soon as we anchored, +I proposed to Cutler that we should go ashore and visit the +‘natives.’ While he was engaged giving his orders to the mate, I +took the opportunity of inquiring of the pilot about the inhabitants. This is +always a necessary precaution. If you require light-houses, buoys, and sailing +directions to enter a port, you want similar guides when you land. The +navigation there is difficult also, and it’s a great thing to know who +you are going to meet, what sort of stuff they are made of, and which way to +steer, so as to avoid hidden shoals and sand-bars, for every little community +is as full of them as their harbour. It don’t do, you know, to talk tory +in the house of a radical, to name a bishop to a puritan, to let out agin +smugglin’ to a man who does a little bit of business that way himself; +or, as the French say, ‘to talk of a rope in a house where the squatter +has been hanged.’ If you want to please a guest, you must have some of +his favourite dishes at dinner for him; and if you want to talk agreeably to a +man, you must select topics he has a relish for. +</p> + +<p> +“So,” sais I, “where had we better go, Pilot, when we +land?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see that are white one-story house there?” said he. +“That is a place, though not an inn, where the owner, if he is at home, +will receive the likes of you very hospitably. He is a capital fellow in his +way, but as hot as pepper. His name is Peter McDonald, and he is considerable +well to do in the world. He is a Highlander; and when young went out to Canada +in the employment of the North-west Fur Company, where he spent many years, and +married, broomstick fashion, I suppose, a squaw. Alter her death he removed, +with his two half-caste daughters, to St John’s, New Brunswick; but his +girls I don’t think were very well received, on account of their colour, +and he came down here and settled at Ship Harbour, where some of his countrymen +are located. He is as proud as Lucifer, and so are his galls. Whether it is +that they have been slighted, and revenge it on all the rest of the world, I +don’t know; or whether it is Highland and Indian pride mixed, I +ain’t sartified; but they carry their heads high, and show a stiff upper +lip, I tell you. I don’t think you will get much talk out of them, for I +never could.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it don’t follow,” said I, “by no manner of +means, Eldad, because they wouldn’t chat to you, that they wouldn’t +open their little mugs to me. First and foremost recollect, Mr Nickerson, you +are a married man, and it’s no use for a gall to talk it into you; and +then, in the next place, you see you know a plaguey sight more about the shape, +make, and build of a craft like this than you do about the figure-head, waist, +and trim of a gall. You are a seaman, and I am a landsman; you know how to bait +your hooks for fish, and I know the sort of tackle women will jump at. See if I +don’t set their clappers a going, like those of a saw-mill. Do they speak +English?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “and they talk Gaelic and French also; the +first two they learned from their father, and the other in Canada.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they pretty?” +</p> + +<p> +“The eldest is beautiful,” said he; “and there is something +in her manner you can’t help thinking she is a lady. You never saw such a +beautiful figure as she is in your life.” +</p> + +<p> +Thinks I to myself, “that’s all you know about it, old boy.” +But I didn’t say so, for I was thinking of Sophy at the time. +</p> + +<p> +We then pushed off, and steered for Peter McDonald’s, Indian Peter, as +the pilot said the fishermen called him. As we approached the house he came out +to meet us. He was a short, strong-built, athletic man, and his step was as +springy as a boy’s. He had a jolly, open, manly face, but a quick, +restless eye, and the general expression of his countenance indicated at once +good nature and irascibility of temper. +</p> + +<p> +“Coot tay, shentlemen,” he said, “she is glad to see you; +come, walk into her own house.” He recognised and received Eldad kindly, +who mentioned our names and introduced us, and he welcomed us cordially. As +soon as we were seated, according to the custom of the north-west traders, he +insisted upon our taking something to drink, and calling to his daughter Jessie +in Gaelic, he desired her to bring whiskey and brandy. As I knew this was a +request that on such an occasion could not be declined without offence, I +accepted his offer with thanks, and no little praise of the virtues of whiskey; +the principal recommendation of which, I said, “was that there was not a +headache in a hogshead of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“She believes so herself,” he said, “it is petter ash all de +rum, prandy, shin, and other Yanke pyson in the States; ta Yankies are cheatin +smugglin rascals.” +</p> + +<p> +The entrance of Jessie fortunately gave a turn to this complimentary remark; +when she set down the tray, I rose and extended my hand to her, and said in +Gaelic, “<i>Cair mur tha thu mo gradh</i> (how do you do, my dear), +<i>tha mi’n dochas gam biel thu slan</i> (I hope you are quite +well).” +</p> + +<p> +The girl was amazed, but no less pleased. How sweet to the ear are the accents +of the paternal language, or the mother tongue as we call it, for it is women +who teach us to talk. It is a bond of union! Whoever speaks it, when we are in +a land of strangers, is regarded as a relative. I shall never forget when I was +in the bazaar at Calcutta, how my heart leaped at hearing the voice of a +Connecticut man as he was addressing a native trader. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell you what, stranger,” said he, “I feel as mad as a meat +axe, and I hope I may be darned to all darnation, if I wouldn’t chaw up +your ugly mummyised corpse, hair, hide, and hoof, this blessed minute, as quick +as I would mother’s dough-nuts, if I warn’t afraid you’d +pyson me with your atimy, I’ll be dod drotted if I wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Oh, how them homespun words, coarse as they were, cheered my drooping spirits, +and the real Connecticut nasal twang with which they were uttered sounded like +music to my ears; how it brought up home and far-off friends to my mind, and +how it sent up a tear of mingled joy and sadness to my eye. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was delighted. He slapped me on the back with a hearty good will, in a +way nearly to deprive me of my breath, welcomed me anew, and invited us all to +stay with him while the vessel remained there. Jessie replied in Gaelic, but so +rapidly I could only follow her with great difficulty, for I had but a +smattering of it, though I understood it better than I could speak it, having +acquired it in a very singular manner, as I will tell you by and by. Offering +her a chair, she took it and sat down after some hesitation, as if it was not +her usual habit to associate with her father’s visitors, and we were soon +on very sociable terms. I asked the name of the trading post in the north-west +where they had resided, and delighted her by informing her I had once been +there myself on business of John Jacob Astor’s New York Fur Company, and +staid with the Governor, who was the friend and patron of her father’s. +This was sufficient to establish us at once on something like the footing of +old friends. When she withdrew, Peter followed her out, probably to give some +directions for our evening meal. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said the pilot, “if you don’t beat all! I +never could get a word out of that girl, and you have loosened her tongue in +rale right down earnest, that’s a fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eldad,” sais I, “there is two sorts of pilotage, one that +enables you to steer through life, and another that carries you safely along a +coast, and there is this difference between them: This universal globe is all +alike in a general way, and the knowledge that is sufficient for one country +will do for all the rest of it, with some slight variations. Now you may be a +very good pilot on this coast, but your knowledge is no use to you on the +shores of England. A land pilot is a fool if he makes shipwreck wherever he is, +but the best of coast pilots when he gets on a strange shore is as helpless as +a child. Now a woman is a woman all over the world, whether she speaks Gaelic, +French, Indian, or Chinese; there are various entrances to her heart, and if +you have experience, you have got a compass which will enable you to steer +through one or the other of them, into the inner harbour of it. Now, Minister +used to say that Eve in Hebrew meant talk, for providence gave her the power of +chattyfication on purpose to take charge of that department. Clack then you see +is natural to them; <i>talk therefore to them as they like, and they will soon +like to talk to you.</i> If a woman was to put a Bramah lock on her heart, a +skilful man would find his way into it if he wanted to, I know. That +contrivance is set to a particular word; find the letters that compose it, and +it opens at once. The moment I heard the Gaelic, I knew I had discovered the +cypher—I tried it and succeeded. <i>Tell you what, Pilot, love and skill +laugh at locks, for them that can’t be opened can be picked. The +mechanism of the human heart, when you thoroughly understand it, is, like all +the other works of nature, very beautiful, very wonderful, but very simple. +When it does not work well, the fault is not in the machinery, but in the +management.”</i> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C04">CHAPTER IV.</a><br/> +A CRITTER WITH A THOUSAND VIRTUES AND BUT ONE VICE.</h2> + +<p> +Soon after McDonald had returned and resumed his seat, a tall thin man, dressed +in a coarse suit of homespun, entered the room, and addressing our host +familiarly as Squire Peter, deposited in the corner a fishing-rod, and +proceeded to disencumber himself of a large salmon basket apparently well +filled, and also two wallets, one of which seemed to contain his clothes, and +the other, from the dull heavy sound it emitted as he threw it on the floor, +some tools. He was about forty years of age. His head, which was singularly +well formed, was covered with a luxuriant mass of bushy black curls. His eyes +were large, deep set, and intelligent, his forehead expansive and projecting, +and his eyebrows heavy and shaggy. When addressing Peter he raised them up in a +peculiar manner, nearly to the centre of his forehead, and when he ceased they +suddenly dropped and partially concealed his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible not to be attracted by a face that had two such remarkable +expressions; one of animation, amiability, and intelligence; and the other of +total abstraction. He bent forward, even after he relieved himself of his load, +and his attitude and gait suggested the idea of an American land-surveyor, who +had been accustomed to carry heavy weights in the forest. Without condescending +to notice the party, further than bestowing on us a cursory glance to ascertain +whether he knew any of us, he drew up to the chimney corner, and placing the +soles of his boots perpendicularly to the fire (which soon indicated by the +vapour arising from them that he had been wading in water), he asked in a +listless manner and without waiting for replies, some unconnected questions of +the landlord: as, “Any news, Peter? how does the world use you? how are +the young ladies? how is fish this season? macarel plenty? any wrecks this +year, Peter, eh? any vessels sinking and dead men floating; silks, satins, +ribbons, and gold watches waiting to be picked up? Glorious coast this! the +harvest extends over the whole year.” And then he drew his hand over his +face as if to suppress emotion, and immediately relapsed into silence and +stared moodily into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +Peter seemed to understand that no answer was required, and therefore made +none, but asked him where he had come from? +</p> + +<p> +“Where did he come from?” said the stranger, who evidently applied +the question to a fish in his basket, and not to himself, “originally +from the lake, Peter, where it was spawned, and whither it annually returns. +You ought to understand that, Mac, for you have a head on your shoulders, and +that is more than half the poor wretches that float ashore here from the deep +have. It’s a hard life, my friend, going to sea, and hard shores sailors +knock against sometimes, and still harder hearts they often find there. A stone +in the end of a stocking is a sling for a giant, and soon puts an end to their +sufferings; a punishment for wearing gold watches, a penalty for pride. Jolly +tars eh? oh yes, very jolly! it’s a jolly sight, ain’t it, to see +two hundred half-naked, mangled, and disfigured bodies on the beach, as I did +the other day?” and he gave a shudder at the thought that seemed to shake +the very chair he sat on. “It’s lucky their friends don’t see +them, and know their sad fate. They were lost at sea! that is enough for +mothers and wives to hear. The cry for help, when there is none to save, the +shriek of despair, when no hope is left, the half-uttered prayer, the last +groan, and the last struggle of death, are all hushed in the storm, and weeping +friends know not what they lament.” +</p> + +<p> +After a short pause, he continued: +</p> + +<p> +“That sight has most crazed me. What was it you asked? Oh, I have it! you +asked where he came from? From the lake, Peter, where he was spawned, and where +he returned you see, to die. You were spawned on the shores of one of the bays +of the Highlands of Scotland. Wouldn’t you like to return and lay your +bones there, eh? From earth you came, to earth you shall return. Wouldn’t +you like to go back and breathe the air of childhood once more before you die? +Love of home, Peter, is strong; it is an instinct of nature; but, alas! the +world is a Scotchman’s home—anywhere that he can make money. +Don’t the mountains with their misty summits appear before you sometimes +in your sleep? Don’t you dream of their dark shadows and sunny spots, +their heathy slopes and deep deep glens? Do you see the deer grazing there, and +hear the bees hum merrily as they return laden with honey, or the grouse rise +startled, and whirr away to hide itself in its distant covert? Do the dead ever +rise from their graves and inhabit again the little cottage that looks out on +the stormy sea? Do you become a child once more, and hear your mother’s +voice, as she sings the little simple air that lulls you to sleep, or watch +with aching eyes for the returning boat that brings your father, with the +shadows of evening, to his humble home? And what is the language of your +dreams? not English, French, or Indian, Peter, for they have been learned for +trade or for travel, but Gaelic, for that was the language of love. Had you +left home early, Mac, and forgotten its words or its sounds, had all trace of +it vanished from your memory as if it had never been, still would you have +heard it, and known it, and talked it in your dreams. Peter, it is the voice of +nature, and that is the voice of God!” +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll tell her what she treams of sometimes,” said +McDonald, “she treams of ta mountain dew—ta clear water of +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will be bound you do,” said the doctor, “and I do if you +don’t, so, Peter, my boy, give me a glass; it will cheer my heart, for I +have been too much alone lately, and have seen such horrid sights, I feel +dull.” +</p> + +<p> +While Peter (who was a good deal affected with this reference to his native +land) was proceeding to comply with his request, he relapsed into his former +state of abstraction, and when the liquor was presented to him, appeared +altogether to have forgotten that he had asked for it. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Toctor,” said the host, touching him on the shoulder, +“come, take a drop of this, it will cheer you up; you seem a peg too low +to-day. It’s the genuine thing, it is some the Governor, Sir Colin +Campbell, gave me.” +</p> + +<p> +“None the better for that, Peter, none the better for that, for the rich +give out of their abundance, the poor from their last cup and their last loaf; +one is the gift of station, the other the gift of the heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed then, she is mistakened, man. It was the gift of as true-hearted +a Highlander as ever lived. I went to see him lately, about a grant of land. He +was engaged writing at the time, and an officher was standing by him for +orders, and sais he to me, ‘My good friend, could you call to-morrow? for +I am very busy to-day, as you see.’ Well, I answered him in Gaelic that +the wind was fair, and I was anxious to go home, but if he would be at leisure +next week I would return again. Oh, I wish you had seen him, Doctor, when he +heard his native tongue. He threw down his pen, jumped up like a boy, and took +me by the hand, and shook it with all his might. ‘Oh,’ said he, +‘I haven’t heard that for years; the sound of it does my heart +good. You must come again and see me after the steamer has left for England. +What can I do for you? So I told him in a few words I wanted a grant of two +hundred acres of land adjoining this place. And he took a minute of my name, +and of Skip Harbour, and the number of my lot, and wrote underneath an order +for the grant. ‘Take that to the Surveyor-General,’ said he, +‘and the next time you come to Halifax the grant will be ready for +you.’ Then he rang the bell, and when the servant came, he ordered him to +fill a hamper of whiskey and take it down to my vessel.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Did you get the grant?” said the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed she did,” said Peter, “and when she came to read it, +it was for five instead of two hundred acres.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said the other. “Come, I like that. Fill me another +glass and I will drink his health.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well done, old boy!” said I to myself, “you know how to +carry your sentimentality to market anyhow. Doctor, doctor! So you are a +doctor,” sais I to myself, “are you? Well, there is something else +in you than dough pills, and salts, and senna, at any rate, and that is more +than most of your craft have, at all events. I’ll draw you out presently, +for I never saw a man with that vein of melancholy in him, that didn’t +like fun, providin’ his sadness warn’t the effect of disease. So +here’s at you; I’ll make the fun start or break a trace, I +know.” +</p> + +<p> +Cutler and I had been talking horse when he came in; a sort of talk I rather +like myself, for I consait I know a considerable some about it, and ain’t +above getting a wrinkle from others when I can. “Well,” sais I, +“Capting, we was a talking about horses when the doctor came in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Captain,” said the doctor, turning round to Cutler, +“Captain, excuse me, Sir, how did you reach the shore?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the boat,” said Cutler. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the other with animation, “was all the crew +saved?” +</p> + +<p> +“We were in no danger whatever, Sir; my vessel is at anchor in the +harbour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” replied the doctor, “that’s fortunate, very +fortunate;” and turned again to the fire, with an air, as I thought, of +disappointment, as if he had expected a tale of horror to excite him. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, Mr Slick,” said the captain, “let us hear your +story about <i>the horse that had a thousand virtues and only one +vice.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of my name, the stranger gave a sudden start and gazed steadily at +me, his eyebrows raised in the extraordinary manner that I have described, +something like the festoon of a curtain, and a smile playing on his face as if +expecting a joke and ready to enter into it, and enjoy it. All this I observed +out of the corner of my eye, without appearing to regard him or notice his +scrutiny. +</p> + +<p> +Sais I, “when I had my tea-store in Boston, I owned the fastest trotting +horse in the United States; he was a sneezer, I tell you. I called him +Mandarin—a very appropriate name, you see, for my business. It was very +important for me to attract attention. Indeed, you must do it, you know, in our +great cities, or you are run right over, and crushed by engines of more power. +Whose horse is that? Mr Slick’s the great tea-merchant. That’s the +great Mandarin, the fastest beast in all creation—refused five thousand +dollars for him, and so on. Every wrapper I had for my tea had a print of him +on it. It was action and reaction, you see. Well, this horse had a very serious +fault that diminished his value in my eyes down to a hundred dollars, as far as +use and comfort went. Nothing in the world could ever induce him to cross a +bridge. He had fallen through one when he was a colt, and got so all-fired +frightened he never forgot it afterwards. He would stop, rear, run back, +plunge, and finally kick if you punished him too hard, and smash your waggon to +pieces, but cross he never would. Nobody knew this but me, and of course I +warn’t such a fool as to blow upon my own beast. At last I grew tired of +him and determined to sell him; but as I am a man that always adheres to the +truth in my horse trades, the difficulty was, how to sell him and not lose by +him. Well, I had to go to Charleston, South Carolina, on business, and I took +the chance to get rid of Mr Mandarin, and advertised him for sale. I worded the +notice this way: +</p> + +<p> +“‘A gentleman, being desirous of quitting Boston on urgent business +for a time, will dispose of a first-rate horse, that he is obliged to leave +behind him. None need apply but those willing to give a long price. The animal +may be seen at Deacon Seth’s livery stables.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it was soon known that Mandarin was for sale, and several persons +came to know the lowest figure. ‘Four thousand dollars,’ said I, +‘and if I didn’t want to leave Boston in a hurry, six would be the +price.’ +</p> + +<p> +“At last young Mr Parker, the banker’s son from Bethany, called and +said he wouldn’t stand for the price, seeing that a hundred dollars was +no more than a cord of wood in his pocket (good gracious, how the doctor +laughed at that phrase!), but would like to inquire a little about the critter, +confidential like. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I will answer any questions you ask,’ I said, candidly. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Is he sound?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sound as a new hackmetack trenail. Drive it all day, and you +can’t broom it one mite or morsel.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Good in harness?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Excellent.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Can he do his mile in two fifteen?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘He has done it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now between man and man,’ sais he, ‘what is your +reason for selling the horse, Slick? for you are not so soft as to be tempted +by price out of a first chop article like that.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, candidly,’ sais I, ‘for I am like a cow’s +tail, straight up and down in my dealing, and ambition the clean +thing.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Straight up and down!” said the doctor aloud to himself; +‘straight up and down like a cow’s tail.’ Oh Jupiter! what a +simile! and yet it ain’t bad, for one end is sure to be in the dirt. A +man may be the straight thing, that is right up and down, like a cow’s +tail, but hang me if he can be the clean thing anyhow he can fix it.” And +he stretched out his feet to their full length, put his hands in his trowsers +pocket, held down his head, and clucked like a hen that is calling her +chickens. I vow I could hardly help bustin’ out a larfin myself, for it +warn’t a slow remark of hisn, and showed fun; in fact, I was sure at +first he was a droll boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as I was a sayin’, sais I to Mr Parker, ‘Candidly, +now, my only reason for partin’ with that are horse is, that I want to go +away in a hurry out of Boston clear down to Charleston, South Carolina, and as +I can’t take him with me, I prefer to sell him.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais he, ‘the beast is mine, and here is a +cheque for your money.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘Parker, take care of him, for you +have got a fust-rate critter. He is all sorts of a horse, and one that is all I +have told you, and more too, and no mistake.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Every man that buys a new horse, in a general way, is in a great hurry +to try him. There is sumthin’ very takin’ in a new thing. A new +watch, a new coat, no, I reckon it’s best to except a new spic and span +coat (for it’s too glossy, and it don’t set easy, till it’s +worn awhile, and perhaps I might say a new saddle, for it looks as if you +warn’t used to ridin’, except when you went to Meetin’ of a +Sabbaday, and kept it covered all the week, as a gall does her bonnet, to save +it from the flies); but a new waggon, a new sleigh, a new house, and above all +a new wife, has great attractions. Still you get tired of them all in a short +while; you soon guess the hour instead of pullin’ out the watch for +everlastin’. The waggon loses its novelty, and so does the sleigh, and +the house is surpassed next month by a larger and finer one, and as you +can’t carry it about to show folks, you soon find it is too expensive to +invite them to come and admire it. But the wife; oh, Lord! In a general way, +there ain’t more difference between a grub and a butterfly, than between +a sweetheart and wife. Yet the grub and the butterfly is the same thing, only, +differently rigged out, and so is the sweetheart and wife. Both critters crawl +about the house, and ain’t very attractive to look at, and both turn out +so fine and so painted when they go abroad, you don’t scarcely know them +agin. Both, too, when they get out of doors, seem to have no other airthly +object but to show themselves. They don’t go straight there and back +again, as if there was an end in view, but they first flaunt to the right, and +then to the left, and then everywhere in general, and yet nowhere in +particular. To be seen and admired is the object of both. They are all finery, +and that is so in their way they can neither sit, walk, nor stand conveniently +in it. They are never happy, but when on the wing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord!” said the doctor to himself, who seemed to think aloud; +“I wonder if that is a picture or a caricature?” +</p> + +<p> +Thinks I, “old boy, you are sold. I said that a purpose to find you out, +for I am too fond of feminine gender to make fun of them. You are a single man. +If you was married, I guess you wouldn’t ask that are question.” +</p> + +<p> +But I went on. “Now a horse is different, you never get tired of a good +one. He don’t fizzle out<sup>1</sup> like the rest. You like him better +and better every day. He seems a part of yourself; he is your better half, your +‘<i>hal</i>ter <i>he</i>go’ as I heard a cockney once call his +fancy gall. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Fizzle out. To prove a failure. +</p> + +<p> +“This bein’ the case, as I was a sayin’, as soon as a man +gits a new one, he wants to try him. So Parker puts Mandarin into harness, and +drives away like wink for Salem, but when he came to the bridge, the old coon +stopt, put forward his ears, snorted, champed his bit, and stamped his fore +feet. First Parker coaxed him, but that did no good, and then he gave him the +whip, and he reared straight up on eend, and nearly fell over into his waggon. +A man that was crossing over at the time took him by the head to lead him, when +he suddenly wheeled half round, threw him in the mud, and dragged him in the +gutter, as he backed up agin the side walk all standin’. Parker then laid +on the whip, hot and heavy; he gave him a most righteous lickin’. +Mandarin returned blow for blow, until he kicked the waggon all to flinders. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I must say that for his new owner, he was a plucky fellow, as well +as Mandarin, and warn’t agoin’ to cave in that way. So he takes him +back to the livery stables, and puts him into another carriage, and off he +starts agin, and thinkin’ that the horse had seen or smelt sumthen at +that bridge to scare him, he tries another, when the same scene was acted over +again, only he was throwed out, and had his clothes nearly tore off. Well, that +afternoon, up comes Parker to me, choking with rage. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Slick,’ said he, ‘that is the greatest devil of a +horse I ever see. He has dashed two carriages all to shivereens, and nearly +tuckard the innerds out of me and another man. I don’t think you have +acted honestly by me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Parker,’ said I, ‘don’t you use words that you +don’t know the meanin’ of, and for goodness gracious sake +don’t come to me to teach you manners, I beseech you, for I am a rough +schoolmaster, I tell <i>you.</i> I answered every question you asked me, +candidly, fair and square, and above board.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Didn’t you know,’ said he, ‘that no living man +could git that horse across a bridge, let him do his darndest?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I did,’ said I, ‘know it to my cost, for he nearly +killed me in a fight we had at the Salem Pike.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How could you then tell me, Sir, your sole reason for parting +with him was, that you wanted to leave Boston and go to Charleston?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Because, Sir,’ I replied, ‘it was the literal truth. +Boston, you know as well as I do, is almost an island, and go which way you +will, you must cross a bridge to get out of it. I said I wanted to quit the +city, and was compelled to leave my horse behind. How could I ever quit the +place with that tormented beast? And warn’t I compelled to leave him when +Old Scratch himself couldn’t make him obey orders? If I had a waited to +leave town till he would cross a bridge, I should have had to have waited till +doomsday.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He scratched his head and looked foolish. ‘What a devil of a +sell,’ said he. ‘That will be a standing joke agin me as long as I +live.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I don’t see that,’ said I, ‘if you had been +deceived, you might have called it a sell, but you bought him with your eyes +and ears open, and a full knowledge of the truth. And, after all, where will +you go to better yourself? for the most that can be said is, you have got <i>a +critter with a thousand virtues and but one vice.</i>’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, get out!’ said he, ‘and let me alone.’ And +he walked off, and looked as sheepish as you please.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh dear!” said the doctor; “oh dear.” And he +placed his hands on his ribs, and walked round the room in a bent position, +like a man affected with colic, and laughed as if he was hysterical, saying, +“Oh dear! Oh, Mr Slick, that’s a capital story. Oh, you would make +a new man of me soon, I am sure you would, if I was any time with you. I +haven’t laughed before that way for many a long day. Oh, it does me good. +There is nothing like fun, is there? I haven’t any myself, but I do like +it in others. Oh, we need it. We need all the counterweights we can muster to +balance the sad relations of life. <i>God has made sunny spots in the heart; +why should we exclude the light from them?”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Stick a pin in that, Doctor,” says I, “for it’s worth +rememberin’ as a wise saw.” +</p> + +<p> +He then took up his wallet, and retired to his room to change his clothes, +saying to himself, in an under-tone: “Stick a pin in it. What a queer +phrase; and yet it’s expressive, too. It’s the way I preserve my +insects.” +</p> + +<p> +The foregoing conversation had scarcely terminated, when Peter’s +daughters commenced their preparations for the evening meal. And I confess I +was never more surprised than at the appearance of the older one, Jessie. In +form and beauty she far exceeded the pilot’s high encomiums. She was +taller than American women generally are; but she was so admirably proportioned +and well developed, you were not aware of her height, till you saw her standing +near her sister. Her motions were all quiet, natural, and graceful, and there +was an air about her, that nothing but the native ease of a child of the +forest, or highbred elegance of fashionable life, can ever impart. She had the +delicate hands and small feet peculiar to Indian women. Her hair was of the +darkest and deepest jet, but not so coarse as that of the aborigines; whilst +her large black eyes were oval in shape, liquid, shaded by long lashes, and +over-arched by delicately-pencilled brows. Her neck was long, but full, and her +shoulders would have been the envy of a London ball-room. She was a perfect +model of a woman. +</p> + +<p> +It is true she had had the advantage, when young, of being the companion of the +children of the Governor of the Fort, and had been petted, partially educated, +and patronised by his wife. But neither he nor his lady could have imparted +what it is probable neither possessed, much polish of manner or refinement of +mind. We hear of nature’s noblemen, but that means rather manly, +generous, brave fellows, than polished men. There are however splendid +specimens of men, and beautiful looking women, among the aborigines. Extremes +meet; and it is certain that the ease and grace of highly civilised life do not +surpass those of untutored nature, that neither concedes nor claims a +superiority to others. She was altogether of a different stamp from her sister, +who was a common-looking person, and resembled the ordinary females to be found +in savage life. Stout, strong, and rather stolid, accustomed to drudge and to +obey, rather than to be petted and rule; to receive and not to give orders, and +to submit from habit and choice. One seemed far above, and the other as much +below, the station of their father. Jessie, though reserved, would converse if +addressed; the other shunned conversation as much as possible. +</p> + +<p> +Both father and daughters seemed mutually attached to each other, and their +conversation was carried on with equal facility in Indian, French, Gaelic, and +English, although Peter spoke the last somewhat indifferently. In the evening a +young man, of the name of Fraser, with his two sisters, children of a Highland +neighbour, came in to visit the McDonalds, and Peter producing his violin, we +danced jigs and reels, in a manner and with a spirit not often seen but in +Ireland or Scotland. The doctor, unable to withstand the general excitement, +joined in the dances with as much animation as any of us, and seemed to enjoy +himself amazingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mr Slick,” said he, patting me on the shoulder, “this is +the true philosophy of life. But how is it with your disposition for fun, into +which you enter with all your heart, that you have such a store of ‘wise +saws.’ How in the world did you ever acquire them? for your time seems to +have been spent more in the active pursuits of life than in meditation. Excuse +me, I neither undervalue your talent nor power of observation, but the union +does not seem quite natural, it is so much out of the usual course of +things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “Doctor, you have been enough in the woods to +know that a rock, accidentally falling from a bank into a brook, or a drift-log +catching cross-ways of the stream, will often change its whole course, and give +it a different direction; haven’t you? Don’t you know that the +smallest and most trivial event often contains colouring matter enough in it to +change the whole complexion of our life? For instance, one Saturday, not long +before I left school, and when I was a considerable junk of a boy, father gave +me leave to go and spend the day with Eb Snell, the son of our neighbour old +Colonel Jephunny Snell. We amused ourselves catching trout in the mill-pond, +and shooting king-fishers, about the hardest bird there is to kill in all +creation, and between one and the other sport, you may depend we enjoyed +ourselves first-rate. Towards evenin’ I heard a most an awful yell, and +looked round, and there was Eb shoutin’ and screamin’ at the tip +eend of his voice, and a jumpin’ up and down, as if he had been bit by a +rattlesnake. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What in natur is the matter of you, Eb?’ sais I. +‘What are you a makin’ such an everlastin’ touss +about?’ But the more I asked, the more he wouldn’t answer. At last, +I thought I saw a splash in the water, as if somebody was making a desperate +splurging there, and I pulled for it, and raced to where he was in no time, and +sure enough there was his little brother, Zeb, just a sinkin’ out of +sight. So I makes a spring in after him in no time, caught him by the hair of +his head, just as he was vamosing, and swam ashore with him. The bull-rushes +and long water-grass was considerable thick there, and once or twice I thought +in my soul I should have to let go my hold of the child, and leave him to save +my own life, my feet got so tangled in it; but I stuck to it like a good +fellow, and worked my passage out with the youngster. +</p> + +<p> +“Just then, down came the women folk and all the family of the Snells, +and the old woman made right at me, as cross as a bear that has cubs, she +looked like a perfect fury. +</p> + +<p> +“‘You good-for-nothin’ young scallowag,’ said she, +‘is that the way you take care of that poor dear little boy, to let him +fall into the pond, and get half drowned?’ +</p> + +<p> +“And she up and boxed my ears right and left, till sparks came out of my +eyes like a blacksmith’s chimney, and my hat, which was all soft with +water, got the crown knocked in in the scuffle, and was as flat as a pancake. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What’s all this,’ sais Colonel Jephunny, who came +runnin’ out of the mill. ‘Eb,’ sais he, ‘what’s +all this?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the critter was so frightened he couldn’t do nothin’, +but jump up and down, nor say a word, but ‘Sam, Sam!’ +</p> + +<p> +“So the old man seizes a stick, and catchin’ one of my hands in +his, turned to, and gave me a most an awful hidin’. He cut me into +ribbons a’most. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ll teach you,’ he said, ‘you villain, to +throw a child into the water arter that fashin.’ And he turned to, and at +it agin, as hard as he could lay on. I believe in my soul he would have nearly +killed me, if it hadn’t a been for a great big nigger wench he had, +called Rose. My! what a slashin’ large woman, that was; half horse, half +alligator, with a cross of the mammoth in her. She wore a man’s hat and +jacket, and her petticoat had stuff enough in it to make the mainsail of a +boat. Her foot was as long and as flat as a snow shoe, and her hands looked as +shapeless and as hard as two large sponges froze solid. Her neck was as thick +as a bull’s, and her scalp was large and woolly enough for a door-mat. +She was as strong as a moose, and as ugly too; and her great-white pointed +teeth was a caution to a shark. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Hullo,’ sais she, ‘here’s the devil to pay, and +no pitch hot. Are you a goin’ to kill that boy, massa?’ and she +seized hold of me and took me away from him, and caught me up in her arms as +easy as if I was a doll. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Here’s a pretty hurrahs nest,’ sais she, ‘let +me see one of you dare to lay hands on this brave pickininny. He is more of a +man than the whole bilin’ of you put together. My poor child,’ said +she, ‘they have used you scandalous, ridiculous,’ and she held down +her nasty oily shiny face and kissed me, till she nearly smothered me. Oh, +Doctor, I shall never forget that scene the longest day I ever live. She might +a been Rose by name, but she warn’t one by nature, I tell <i>you.</i> +When niggers get their dander raised, and their ebenezer fairly up, they +ain’t otter of roses, that’s a fact; whatever Mrs Stowe may say. +Oh, I kicked and yelled and coughed like anything. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Poor dear boy,’ she said, ‘Rosy ain’t a +goin’ to hurt her own brave child,’ not she, and she kissed me +again and again, till I thought I should have fainted. She actually took away +my breath. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Come,’ said she, and she set me down on my feet. +‘Come to the house, till I put some dry clothes on you, and I’ll +make some lasses candy for you with my own hands!’ But as soon as I +touched land, I streaked off for home, as hard as I could lay legs to the +ground; but the perfume of old Rose set me a sneezing so, I fairly blew up the +dust in the road as I went, as if a bull had been pawin of it, and left a great +wet streak behind me as if a watering-pot had passed that way. Who should I +meet when I returned, but mother a standin at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, Sam,’ said she, ‘what under the sun is the +matter? What a spot of work? Where in the world have you been?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘In the mill pond,’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘In the mill pond,’ said she, slowly; ‘and ruinated +that beautiful new coat I made out of your father’s old one, and turned +so nicely for you. You are more trouble to me than all the rest of the boys put +together. Go right off to your room this blessed instant minite, and go to bed +and say your prayers, and render thanks for savin’ your clothes, if you +did lose your life.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I wish I had lost my life,’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Wish you had lost your life?’ said she. ‘Why you +miserable, onsarcumsised, onjustified, graceless boy. Why do you wish you had +lost your life?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Phew, phew,’ said I, ‘was you ever kissed by a +nigger? because if you was, I guess you wouldn’t have asked that are +question,’ and I sneezed so hard I actually blew down the wire cage, the +door of it flew open, and the cat made a spring like wink and killed the canary +bird. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam, Sam,’ said she (‘skat, skat, you nasty devil, +you—you have got the knary, I do declare.) Sam! Sam! to think I should +have lived to hear you ask your mother if she had ever been kissed by a +nigger!’ and she began to boohoo right out. ‘I do believe in my +soul you are drunk, Sam,’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I shouldn’t wonder if I was,’ said I, ‘for I +have drunk enough to-day to serve a cow and a calf for a week.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Go right off to bed; my poor dear bird,’ said she. +‘And when your father comes in I will send him to your cage. You shall be +punished for this.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I don’t care,’ sais I, for I was desperate and +didn’t mind what happened, ‘who you send, providin’ you +don’t send black Rose, the nigger wench, to me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in about an hour or so I heard father come to the foot of the +stairs and call out ‘Sam.’ I didn’t answer at first, but went +and threw the winder open ready for a jump. +</p> + +<p> +“Thinks I, ‘Sam, you are in great luck to-day. 1st. You got nearly +drowned, savin’ that little brat Zeb Snell. 2nd. You lost a bran new hat, +and spoilt your go-to-meetin’ clothes. 3rd. Mrs Snell boxed your ears +till your eyes shot stars, like rockets. 4th. You got an all-fired licking from +old Colonel Jephunny, till he made a mulatto of you, and you was half black and +half white. 5th. You got kissed and pysoned by that great big emancipated +she-nigger wench. 6th. You have killed your mother’s canary bird, and she +has jawed you till she went into hysterics. 7th. Here’s the old man a +goin’ to give you another walloping and all for nothin. I’ll cut +and run, and dot drot me if I don’t, for it’s tarnation all +over.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ sais father again, a raisin’ of his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Father,’ sais I, ‘I beg your pardon, I am very sorry +for what I have done, and I think I have been punished enough. If you will +promise to let me off this time, I will take my oath I will never save another +person from drowning again, the longest day I ever live.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Come down,’ said he, ‘when I tell you, I am +goin’ to reward you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Thank you,’ sais I, ‘I have been rewarded already +more than I deserve.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to make a long story short, we concluded a treaty of peace, and +down I went, and there was Colonel Snell, who said he had drove over to beg my +pardon for the wrong he had done to me, and said he, ‘Sam, come to me at +ten o’clock on Monday, and I will put you in a way to make your fortune, +as a recompense for saving my child’s life.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I kept the appointment, tho’ I was awful skared about old +Rose kissin of me again; and sais he, ‘Sam, I want to show you my +establishment for making wooden clocks. One o’ them can be manufactured +for two dollars, scale of prices then. Come to me for three months, and I will +teach you the trade, only you musn’t carry it on in Connecticut to +undermine me.’ I did so, and thus accidentally I became a clockmaker. +</p> + +<p> +“To sell my wares I came to Nova Scotia. By a similar accident I met the +Squire in this province, and made his acquaintance. I wrote a journal of our +tour, and for want of a title he put my name to it, and called it ‘Sam +Slick, the Clockmaker.’ That book introduced me to General Jackson, and +he appointed me attaché to our embassy to England, and that again led to +Mr Polk making me Commissioner of the Fisheries, which, in its turn, was the +means of my having the honour of your acquaintance,” and I made him a +scrape of my hind leg. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” sais I, “all this came from the accident of my +havin’ saved a child’s life one day. I owe my ‘wise +saws’ to a similar accident. My old master and friend, that you have read +of in my books, Mr Hopewell, was chock full of them. He used to call them +wisdom boiled down to an essence, concretes, and I don’t know what all. +He had a book full of English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, and above all, +Bible ones. Well, he used to make me learn them by heart for lessons, till I +was fairly sick and tired to death of ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Minister,’ sais I, one day, ‘what under the sun is +the use of them old, musty, fusty proverbs. A boy might as well wear his +father’s boots, and ride in his long stirrups, as talk in maxims, it +would only set other boys a laughin’ at him.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ sais he, ‘you don’t understand them now, +and you don’t understand your Latin grammar, tho’ you can say them +both off by heart. But you will see the value of one when you come to know the +world, and the other, when you come to know the language. The latter will make +you a good scholar, and the former a wise man.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Minister was right, Doctor. As I came to read the book of life, I soon +began to understand, appreciate, and apply my proverbs. <i>Maxims are +deductions ready drawn,</i> and better expressed than I could do them, to save +my soul alive. Now I have larned to make them myself. I have acquired the +habit, as my brother the lawyer sais, ‘of extracting the principle from +cases.’ Do you take? I am not the accident of an accident; for I believe +the bans of marriage were always duly published in our family; but I am the +accident of an incident.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a great moral in that too, Mr Slick,” he said. “How +important is conduct, when the merest trifle may carry in its train the misery +or happiness of your future life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stick a pin in that also. Doctor,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +Here Cutler and the pilot cut short our conversation by going on board. But +Peter wouldn’t hear of my leaving his house, and I accordingly spent the +night there, not a little amused with my new acquaintances. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C05">CHAPTER V.</a><br/> +A NEW WAY TO LEARN GAELIC.</h2> + +<p> +After the captain and the pilot had retired, sais I, “Miss Jessie, sposin +we young folks—(ah me, it is time to get a new word, I guess, for that +one has been used so long, it’s e’en amost worn out +now)—sposin we young folks leave the doctor and your father to finish +their huntin’ stories, and let us go to the other room, and have a dish +of chat about things in general, and sweethearts in particular.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, we live too much alone here,” said she, “to know +anything of such matters, but we will go if you will promise to tell us one of +your funny stories. They say you have written a whole book full of them; how I +should like to see it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you, Miss?” said I, “well, then, you shall have one, +for I have a copy on board I believe, and I shall be only too proud if you will +read it to remember me by. But my best stories ain’t in my books. Somehow +or another, when I want them they won’t come, and at other times when I +get a goin talkin, I can string them together like onions, one after the other, +till the twine is out. I have a heap of them, but they are all mixed and +confused like in my mind, and it seems as if I never could find the one I need. +Do you work in worsted, Miss?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, a little,” sais she. “It is only town-bred girls, who +have nothing to attend to but their dress and to go to balls, that have leisure +to amuse themselves that way; but I can work a little, though I could never do +anything fit to be seen or examined.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, and I paused, and she looked as +if she didn’t over half like my taking her at her word that way. “I +shouldn’t wonder,” said I, “for I am sure your eyes would +fade the colour out of the worsted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr Slick,” said she, drawing herself up a bit, “what +nonsense you <i>do</i> talk, what a quiz you be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fact,” sais I, “Miss, I assure you, never try it again, you +will be sure to spoil it. But as I was a sayin, Miss, when you see a thread of +a particular colour, you know whether you have any more like it or not, so when +a man tells me a story, I know whether I have one of the same kind to match it +or not, and if so, I know where to lay my hand on it; but I must have a clue to +my yarns.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire, there is something very curious about memory, I don’t think there +is such a thing as total forgetfulness. I used once to think there was, but I +don’t now. It used to seem to me that things rusted out, but now it +appears as if they were only misplaced, or overlaid, or stowed away like where +you can’t find them; but depend on it, when once there, they remain for +ever. How often you are asked, “Don’t you recollect this or +that?” and you answer, “No, I never heard, or saw it, or read +it,” as the case may be. And when the time, and place, and circumstances +are told you, you say, “Stop a bit, I do now mind something about it, +warn’t it so and so, or this way, or that way,” and finally up it +comes, all fresh to your recollection. Well, until you get the clue given you, +or the key note is struck, you are ready to take your oath you never heard of +it afore. Memory has many cells: Some of them ain’t used much, and dust +and cobwebs get about them, and you can’t tell where the hinge is, or +can’t easily discarn the secret spring; but open it once, and whatever is +stowed away there is as safe and sound as ever. I have a good many capital +stories poked away in them cubby-holes, that I can’t just lay my hand on +when I want to; but now and then, when looking for something else, I stumble +upon them by accident. Tell you what, as for forgettin’ a thing +tee-totally, I don’t believe there is sich a thing in natur. But to get +back to my story. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss,” sais I, “I can’t just at this present moment +call to mind a story to please you. Some of them are about hosses, or clocks, +or rises taken out of folks, or dreams, or courtships, or ghosts, or what not; +but few of them will answer, for they are either too short or too long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” says Catherine Fraser, “tell us a courtship; I dare say +you will make great fun of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” says Jessie, “tell us a ghost story. Oh! I delight +in them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Janet, “tell us about a dream. I know one myself +which came out as correct as provin’ a sum.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, Miss Janet,” said I; “do you tell me that +story, please, and it’s hard if I can’t find one that will please +you in return for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do, dear,” said Jessie; “tell Mr Slick that story, for +it’s a true one, and I should like to hear what he thinks of it, or how +he can account for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Janet, “you must excuse me, Mr Slick, for any +mistakes I make, for I don’t speak very good English, and I can hardly +tell a story all through in that language. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a brother that lives up one of the branches of the Buctouche +River in New Brunswick. He bought a tract of land there four or five years ago, +on which there was a house and barn, and about a hundred acres of cleared land. +He made extensive improvements on it, and went to a great expense in clearing +up the stumps, and buying stock and farming implements, and what not. One +season, between plantin’ and harvest, he run short of money for his +common daily use, and to pay some little debts he owed, and he was very dull +about it. He said he knew he could come here and borrow it from father, but he +didn’t like to be away from home so long, and hardly knew how the family +was to get on or to pay the wages till his return, so it was agreed that I was +to go the next Monday in a vessel bound for Halifax and bring him what he +wanted. +</p> + +<p> +“At that time, he had a field back in the woods he was cultivating. +Between that and the front on the river, was a poor sand flat covered with +spruce, birch, and poplar, and not worth the expense of bringing to for the +plough. The road to the back field ran through this wood land. He was very +low-spirited about his situation, for he said if he was to borrow the money of +a merchant, he would require a mortgage on his place, and perhaps sell it +before he knew where he was. Well, that night he woke up his wife, and said to +her— +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mary,’ said he, ‘I have had a very curious dream just +now. I dreamed that as I was going out to the back lot with the oxcart, I found +a large sum of money all in dollars in the road there.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ says Mary, ‘I wish it was true, John, but it +is too good news for us. The worriment we have had about money lately has set +you a dreaming. Janet sails on Monday, she will soon be back, and then it will +all be right; so go to sleep again, dear.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in the morning, when he and his wife got up, he never spoke or +thought any more about the dream, but as soon as breakfast was over, he and his +man yoked up the oxen, put them to the cart, and lifted the harrow into it, and +started for the field. The servant drove the team, and John walked behind with +his head down, a turning over in his mind whether he couldn’t sell +something off the farm to keep matters a-goin’ till I should return, when +all at once, as they were passing through the wood, he observed that there was +a line of silver dollars turned up by one of the wheels of the cart, and +continued for the space of sixty feet and then ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“The moment he saw the money he thought of his dream, and he was so +overjoyed that he was on the point of calling out to the man to stop, but he +thought it was more prudent as they were alone in the woods to say nothing +about it. So he walked on, and joined the driver, and kept him in talk for +awhile. And then, as if he had suddenly thought of something, said, +‘Jube, do you proceed to the field and go to work till I come. I shall +have to go to the house for a short time.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as soon as he got out of sight of the cart, off he ran home as +hard as he could lay legs to it, only stopping to take up a handful of the +coins to make sure they were real. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mary, Mary,’ sais he, ‘the dream has come true; I +have found the money—see here is some of it; there is no mistake;’ +and he threw a few pieces down on the hearth and rung them. ‘They are +genuine Spanish crowns. Do you and Janet bring the market-basket, while I go +for a couple of hoes, and let us gather it all up.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sure enough, when we came to the place he mentioned, there was the +wheel-track full of dollars. He and I hoed each side of the rut, which seemed +to be in a sort of yellow powder, like the dust of rotten wood, and got out all +we could find. We afterwards tried under the opposite wheel, and behind and +before the rut, but could find no more, and when we got home we counted it, and +found we had eighty-two pounds, five shillings. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, this is a God-send, Mary, ain’t it?’ said +brother; and she threw her arms round his neck, and cried for joy as she kissed +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which way,” said I, “show me, Miss, how she did it, only you +may laugh instead of cry if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not being a wife,” said she, with great quietness, “I cannot +show you myself, but you may imagine it, it will do just as well, or dream it, +and that will do better. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, John was a scrupulous man, and he was determined to restore the +money, if he could find an owner for it; but he could hear of no one who had +lost any, nor any tradition in that place that any one ever had done so since +the first settlement of the country. All that he could discover was, that about +forty years before, an old Frenchman had lived somewhere thereabouts alone, in +the midst of the woods. Who he was, or what became of him, nobody knew; all he +could hear was, that a party of lumbermen had, some years afterwards, found his +house amidst a second growth of young wood that wholly concealed it, and that +it contained his furniture, cooking utensils, and trunks, as he had left them. +Some supposed he had been devoured by bears or wolves; others, that he had been +lost in the woods; and some, that he had died by his own hands. +</p> + +<p> +“On hearing this, John went to examine his habitation, or the remains of +it, and he found that about four acres around it were covered with the second +growth, as it is called, which was plainly to be distinguished from the forest, +as the trees were not only not so large or so old as the neighbouring ones, +but, as is always the case, were of a different description of wood altogether. +On a careful inspection of the spot where he found the money, it appeared that +the wheel had passed lengthways along an enormous old decayed pine, in the +hollow of which he supposed the money must have been hid; and when the tree +fell, the dollars had rolled along its centre fifty feet or more, and remained +there until the wood was rotten, and had crumbled into dust. +</p> + +<p> +“There, Sir, there is my story: it is a true one, I assure you, for I was +present at the time. What do you think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “if he had never heard a rumour, nor had any +reason to suppose that the money had been hid there, why it was a singular +thing, and looks very much like a—” +</p> + +<p> +“Like a what?” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Like a supply that one couldn’t count upon a second time, +that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a dream that was fulfilled though,” she said; +“and that don’t often happen, does it?”<sup>1</sup> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> The names of the persons and river are alone changed in this +extraordinary story. The actors are still living, and are persons of undoubted +veracity and respectability. +</p> + +<p> +“Unless,” sais I, “a young lady was to dream now that she was +a going to be married to a certain person, and that does often come true. Do +you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense,” said she. “Come, do tell us your story now, +you know you promised me you would if I related mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Miss Jessie; “come now, Mr Slick, that’s a +good man, do?” +</p> + +<p> +Sais I, “Miss, I will give you my book instead, and that will tell you a +hundred of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but when will you give it to me?” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow,” said I, “as soon as I go on board. But mind, +there is one condition.” And I said in Gaelic: “<i>Feumieth thu pog +thoir dhomh eur a shon</i> (you must give me a kiss for it).” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said she, lookin’ not over pleased, I consaited; but +perhaps it was because the other girls laughed liked anything, as if it was a +capital joke, “that’s not fair, you said you would give it, and now +you want to sell it. If that’s the case I will pay the money for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, fie,” sais I, “Miss Jessie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I want to know!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed; what I meant was to give you that book to remember me by +when I am far away from here, and I wanted you to give me a little token, <i>O +do bhilean boidheach</i> (from your pretty lips), that I should remember the +longest day I live.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean that you would go away, laugh, and forget right off. No, that +won’t do, but if you must have a token I will look up some little +keepsake to exchange for it. Oh, dear, what a horrid idea,” she said, +quite scorney like, “to trade for a kiss; it’s the way father buys +his fish, he gives salt for them, or flour, or some such barter, oh, Mr Slick, +I don’t think much of you. But for goodness gracious sake how did you +learn Gaelic?” +</p> + +<p> +“From lips, dear,” said I, “and that’s the reason I +shall never forget it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said she, “but how on earth did you ever pick it +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t pick it up, Miss,” said I, “I kissed it up, +and as you want a story I might as well tell you that as any other.” +</p> + +<p> +“It depends upon what sort of a story it is,” said she, colouring. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said the Campbell girls, who didn’t appear quite +so skittish as she was, “do tell us, no doubt you will make a funny one +out of it. Come, begin.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire, you are older than I be, and I suppose you will think all this sort of +thing is clear sheer nonsense, but depend upon it a kiss is a great mystery. +There is many a thing we know that we can’t explain, still we are sure it +is a fact for all that. Why should there be a sort of magic in shaking hands, +which seems only a mere form, and sometimes a painful one too, for some folks +wring your fingers off amost, and make you fairly dance with pain, they hurt +you so. It don’t give much pleasure at any time. What the magic of it is +we can’t tell, but so it is for all that. It seems only a custom like +bowing and nothing else, still there is more in it than meets the eye. But a +kiss fairly electrifies you, it warms your blood and sets your heart a +beatin’ like a brass drum, and makes your eyes twinkle like stars in a +frosty night. It tante a thing ever to be forgot. No language can express it, +no letters will give the sound. Then what in natur is equal to the flavour of +it? What an aroma it has! How spiritual it is! It ain’t gross, for you +can’t feed on it; it don’t cloy, for the palate ain’t +required to test its taste. It is neither visible, nor tangible, nor portable, +nor transferable. It is not a substance, nor a liquid, nor a vapour. It has +neither colour nor form. Imagination can’t conceive it. It can’t be +imitated or forged. It is confined to no clime or country, but is ubiquitous. +It is disembodied when completed, but is instantly reproduced, and so is +immortal. It is as old as the creation, and yet is as young and fresh as ever. +It preëxisted, still exists, and always will exist. It pervades all natur. +The breeze as it passes kisses the rose, and the pendant vine stoops down and +hides with its tendrils its blushes, as it kisses the limpid stream that waits +in an eddy to meet it, and raises its tiny waves, like anxious lips to receive +it. Depend upon it Eve learned it in Paradise, and was taught its beauties, +virtues, and varieties by an angel, there is something so transcendent in it. +</p> + +<p> +How it is adapted to all circumstances! There is the kiss of welcome and of +parting, the long-lingering, loving present one, the stolen or the mutual one, +the kiss of love, of joy, and of sorrow, the seal of promise, and the receipt +of fulfilment. Is it strange therefore that a woman is invincible whose armoury +consists of kisses, smiles, sighs, and tears? Is it any wonder that poor old +Adam was first tempted, and then ruined? It is very easy for preachers to get +up with long faces and tell us he ought to have been more of a man. My opinion +is, if he had been less of a man, it would have been better for him. But I am +not agoin’ to preach; so I will get back to my story; but, Squire, I +shall always maintain to my dying day, that kissing is a sublime mystery. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “ladies, I was broughten up to home, on my +father’s farm, and my edecation, what little I had of it, I got from the +Minister of Slickville, Mr Joshua Hopewell, who was a friend of my +father’s, and was one of the best men I believe that ever lived. He was +all kindness and all gentleness, and was at the same time one of the most +learned men in the United States. He took a great fancy to me, and spared no +pains with my schooling, and I owe everything I have in the world to his +instruction. I didn’t mix much with other boys, and, from living mostly +with people older than myself, acquired an old-fashioned way that I have never +been able to shake off yet; all the boys called me ‘Old Slick.’ In +course, I didn’t learn much of life that way. All I knew about the world +beyond our house and hisin, was from books, and from hearing him talk, and he +convarsed better than any book I ever set eyes on. Well, in course I grew up +unsophisticated like, and I think I may say I was as innocent a young man as +ever you see.” +</p> + +<p> +Oh, how they all laughed at that! “You ever innocent!” said they. +“Come, that’s good; we like that; it’s capital! Sam Slick an +innocent boy! Well, that must have been before you were weaned, or talked in +joining hand, at any rate. How simple we are, ain’t we?” and they +laughed themselves into a hooping-cough amost. +</p> + +<p> +“Fact, Miss Janet,” said I, “I assure you” (for she +seemed the most tickled at the idea of any of them) “I was, indeed. I +won’t go for to pretend to say some of it didn’t rub off when it +became dry, when I was fishing in the world on my own hook; but, at the time I +am speaking of, when I was twenty-one next grass, I was so guileless, I +couldn’t see no harm in anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I should think,” said she; “it’s so like +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, at that time there was a fever, a most horrid typhus fever, broke +out in Slickville, brought there by some shipwrecked emigrants. There was a +Highland family settled in the town the year afore, consisting of old Mr Duncan +Chisholm, his wife, and daughter Flora. The old people were carried off by the +disease, and Flora was left without friends or means, and the worst of it was, +she could hardly speak a word of intelligible English. Well, Minister took +great pity on her, and spoke to father about taking her into his house, as +sister Sally was just married, and the old lady left without any companion; and +they agreed to take her as one of them, and she was in return to help mother +all she could. So, next day, she came, and took up her quarters with us. Oh my, +Miss Janet, what a beautiful girl she was! She was as tall as you are, Jessie, +and had the same delicate little feet and hands.” +</p> + +<p> +I threw that in on purpose, for women, in a general way, don’t like to +hear others spoken of too extravagant, particularly if you praise them for +anything they hain’t got; but if you praise them for anything they pride +themselves on, they are satisfied, because it shows you estimate them also at +the right valy, too. It took, for she pushed her foot out a little, and rocked +it up and down slowly, as if she was rather proud of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Her hair was a rich auburn, not red (I don’t like that at all, for +it is like a lucifer-match, apt to go off into a flame spontinaciously +sometimes), but a golden colour, and lots of it too, just about as much as she +could cleverly manage; eyes like diamonds; complexion, red and white roses; and +teeth, not quite so regular as yours, Miss, but as white as them; and +lips—lick!—they reminded one of a curl of rich rose-leaves, when +the bud first begins to swell and spread out with a sort of peachy bloom on +them, ripe, rich, and chock full of kisses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the poor ignorant boy!” said Janet, “you didn’t +know nothing, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I didn’t,” sais I, “I was as innocent as a +child; but nobody is so ignorant as not to know a splendiferous gall when he +sees her,” and I made a motion of my head to her, as much, as to say, +“Put that cap on, for it just fits you.” +</p> + +<p> +“My sakes, what a neck she had! not too long and thin, for that looks +goosey; nor too short and thick, for that gives a clumsy appearance to the +figure; but betwixt and between, and perfection always lies there, just midway +between extremes. But her bust—oh! the like never was seen in Slickville, +for the ladies there, in a gineral way, have no—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said Jessie, a little snappish, for praisin’ +one gall to another ain’t the shortest way to win their regard, “go +on with your story of Gaelic.” +</p> + +<p> +“And her waist, Jessie, was the most beautiful thing, next to +your’n, I ever see. It was as round as an apple, and anything that is +round, you know, is larger than it looks, and I wondered how much it would +measure. I never see such an innocent girl as she was. Brought up to home, and +in the country, like me, she knew no more about the ways of the world than I +did. She was a mere child, as I was; she was only nineteen years old, and +neither of us knew anything of society rules. One day I asked her to let me +measure her waist with my arm, and I did, and then she measured mine with +her’n, and we had a great dispute which was the largest, and we tried +several times before we ascertained there was only an inch difference between +us. I never was so glad in my life as when she came to stay with us; she was so +good-natured, and so cheerful, and so innocent, it was quite charming. +</p> + +<p> +“Father took a wonderful shindy to her, for even old men can’t help +liking beauty. But, somehow, I don’t think mother did; and it appears to +me now, in looking back upon it, that she was afraid I should like her too +much. I consaited she watched us out of the corner of her glasses, and had her +ears open to hear what we said; but p’raps it was only my vanity, for I +don’t know nothin’ about the working of a woman’s heart even +now. I am only a bachelor yet, and how in the world should I know anything more +about any lady than what I knew about poor Flora? In the ways of women I am +still as innocent as a child; I do believe that they could persuade me that the +moon is nothin’ but an eight-day clock with an illuminated face. I +ain’t vain, I assure you, and never brag of what I don’t know, and +I must say, I don’t even pretend to understand them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I never!” said Jessie. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said Janet. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever, now!” said Catherine. “Oh dear, how soft you +are, ain’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Always was, ladies,” said I, “and am still as soft as dough. +Father was very kind to her, but he was old and impatient, and a little hard of +hearing, and he couldn’t half the time understand her. One day she came +in with a message from neighbour Dearborne, and sais she, +</p> + +<p> +“‘Father—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Colonel, if you please, dear,’ said mother, ‘he is +not your father;’ and the old lady seemed as if she didn’t half +fancy any body calling him that but her own children. Whether that is natural +or not, Miss Jessie,” said I, “I don’t know, for how can I +tell what women thinks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course not,” said Janet, “you are not waywise, and so +artless; you don’t know, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I; “but I thought mother spoke kinder cross +to her, and it confused the gall. +</p> + +<p> +“Says Flora, ‘Colonel Slick, Mr Dearborne +says—says—’ Well, she couldn’t get the rest out; she +couldn’t find the English. ‘Mr Dearborne says—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, what the devil does he say?’ said father, +stampin’ his foot, out of all patience with her. +</p> + +<p> +“It frightened Flora, and off she went out of the room crying like +anything. +</p> + +<p> +“‘That girl talks worse and worse,’ said mother. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I won’t say that,’ says father, a little +mollified, ‘for she can’t talk at all, so there is no worse about +it. I am sorry though I scared her. I wish somebody would teach her +English.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I will,’ sais I, ‘father, and she shall teach me +Gaelic in return.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Indeed you shan’t,’ sais mother; ‘you have got +something better to do than larning her; and as for Gaelic I can’t bear +it. It’s a horrid outlandish language, and of no earthly use whatever +under the blessed sun. It’s worse than Indian.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Do, Sam,’ said father; ‘it’s an act of +kindness, and she is an orphan, and besides, Gaelic may be of great use to you +in life. I like Gaelic myself; we had some brave Jacobite Highland soldiers in +our army in the war that did great service, but unfortunately nobody could +understand them. And as for orphans, when I think how many fatherless children +we made for the British—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You might have been better employed,’ said mother, but he +didn’t hear her, and went right on. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I have a kindly feelin’ towards them. She is a beautiful +girl that.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘If it warn’t for her carrotty hair and freckled +face,’ said mother, looking at me, ‘she wouldn’t be so awful +ugly after all, would she?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, Sam,’ sais father, ‘teach her English for +heaven’s sake; but mind, she must give you lessons in Gaelic. Languages +is a great thing.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s great nonsense,’ said mother, raisin’ her +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s my orders,’ said father, holding up his head and +standing erect. ‘It’s my orders, marm, and they must be +obeyed;’ and he walked out of the room as stiff as a ramrod, and as grand +as a Turk. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ sais mother, when we was alone, ‘let the gall +be; the less she talks the more she’ll work. Do you understand, my +dear?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That’s just my idea, mother,’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then you won’t do no such nonsense, will you, Sammy?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh no!’ sais I, ‘I’ll just go through the form +now and then to please father, but that’s all. Who the plague wants +Gaelic? If all the Highlands of Scotland were put into a heap, and then +multiplied by three, they wouldn’t be half as big as the White Mountains, +would they, marm? They are just nothin’ on the map, and high hills, like +high folks, are plaguy apt to have barren heads.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ said she, a pattin’ of me on the cheek, +‘you have twice as much sense as your father has after all. You take +after me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I was so simple, I didn’t know what to do. So I said yes to mother +and yes to father; for I knew I must honour and obey my parents, so I thought I +would please both. I made up my mind I wouldn’t get books to learn Gaelic +or teach English, but do it by talking, and that I wouldn’t mind father +seein’ me, but I’d keep a bright look out for the old lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh dear! how innocent that was, warn’t it?” said they. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it was,” said I; “I didn’t know no better then, +and I don’t now; and what’s more, I think I would do the same agin, +if it was to do over once more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt you would,” said Janet. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I took every opportunity when mother was not by to learn words. I +would touch her hand and say, ‘What is that?’ And she would say, +<i>‘LÃ uch,’</i> and her arm, her head, and her cheek, and she would +tell me the names; and her eyes, her nose, and her chin, and so on; and then I +would touch her lips, and say, ‘What’s them?’ And she’d +say. ‘<i>Bhileau?’</i> And then I’d kiss her, and say, +‘What’s that?’ And she’d say. <i>‘Pog.’</i> +But she was so artless, and so was I; we didn’t know that’s not +usual unless people are courtin; for we hadn’t seen anything of the world +then. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I used to go over that lesson every time I got a chance, and soon +got it all by heart but that word <i>Pog</i> (kiss), which I never could +remember. She said I was very stupid, and I must say it over and over again +till I recollected it. Well, it was astonishing how quick she picked up +English, and what progress I made in Gaelic; and if it hadn’t been for +mother, who hated the language like pyson, I do believe I should soon have +mastered it so as to speak it as well as you do. But she took every opportunity +she could to keep us apart, and whenever I went into the room where Flora was +spinning, or ironing, she would either follow and take a chair, and sit me out, +or send me away of an errand, or tell me to go and talk to father, who was all +alone in the parlour, and seemed kinder dull. I never saw a person take such a +dislike to the language as she did; and she didn’t seem to like poor +Flora either, for no other reason as I could see under the light of the +livin’ sun, but because she spoke it; for it was impossible not to love +her—she was so beautiful, so artless, and so interesting, and so +innocent. But so it was. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor thing! I pitied her. The old people couldn’t make out half +she said, and mother wouldn’t allow me, who was the only person she could +talk to, to have any conversation with her if she could help it. It is a bad +thing to distrust young people, it makes them artful at last; and I really +believe it had that effect on me to a certain extent. The unfortunate girl +often had to set up late ironing, or something or another. And if you will +believe it now, mother never would let me sit up with her to keep her company +and talk to her; but before she went to bed herself, always saw me off to my +own room. Well, it’s easy to make people go to bed, but it ain’t +just quite so easy to make them stay there. So when I used to hear the old lady +get fairly into hers, for my room was next to father’s, though we went by +different stairs to them, I used to go down in my stocking feet, and keep her +company; for I pitied her from my heart. And then we would sit in the corner of +the fire-place and talk Gaelic half the night. And you can’t think how +pleasant it was. You laugh, Miss Janet, but it really was delightful; they were +the happiest hours I almost ever spent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she said, “of course they +were.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you think so, Miss,” said I, “p’raps you would +finish the lessons with me this evening, if you have nothing particular to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Sir,” she said, laughing like anything. “I can +speak English sufficient for my purpose, and I agree with your mother, Gaelic +in this country is of no sort of use whatever; at least I am so artless and +unsophisticated as to think so. But go on, Sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, mother two or three times came as near as possible catching me, +for she was awful afraid of lights and fires, she said, and couldn’t +sleep sound if the coals weren’t covered up with ashes, the hearth swept, +and the broom put into a tub of water, and she used to get up and pop into the +room very sudden; and though she warn’t very light of foot, we used to be +too busy repeating words to keep watch as we ought.” +</p> + +<p> +“What an artless couple,” said Janet; “well I never! how you +can have the face to pretend so, I don’t know! Well, you do beat +all!’ +</p> + +<p> +“A suspicious parent,” sais I, “Miss, as I said before, makes +an artful child. I never knew what guile was before that. Well, one night; oh +dear, it makes my heart ache to think of it, it was the last we ever spent +together. Flora was starching muslins, mother had seen me off to my room, and +then went to hers, when down I crept in my stockin feet as usual, puts a chair +into the chimney corner, and we sat down and repeated our lessons. When we came +to the word <i>Pog</i> (kiss), I always used to forget it; and it’s very +odd, for it’s the most beautiful one in the language. We soon lost all +caution, and it sounded so loud and sharp it started mother; and before we knew +where we were, we heard her enter the parlour which was next to us. In an +instant I was off and behind the entry door, and Flora was up and at work. Just +then the old lady came in as softly as possible, and stood and surveyed the +room all round. I could see her through the crack of the door, she actually +seemed disappointed at not finding me there. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What noise was that I heard, Flora?’ she said, +speakin’ as mild as if she was actilly afraid to wake the cat up. +</p> + +<p> +“Flora lifted the centre of the muslin she was starching with one hand, +and makin’ a hollow under it in the palm of the other, she held it close +up to the old woman’s face, and clapped it; and it made the very +identical sound of the smack she had heard, and the dear child repeated it in +quick succession several times. The old lady jumped back the matter of a foot +or more, she posi<i>tively</i> looked skared, as if the old gentleman would +think somebody was a kissin’ of her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh dear, I thought I should have teeheed right out. She seemed utterly +confounded, and Flora looked, as she was, the dear critter, so artless and +innocent! It dumbfoundered her completely. Still she warn’t quite +satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What’s this chair doing so far in the chimbley +corner?’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“How glad I was there warn’t two there. The fact is, we never used +but one, we was quite young, and it was always big enough for us both. +</p> + +<p> +“Flora talked Gaelic as fast as hail, slipt off her shoes, sat down on +it, put her feet to the fire, folded her arms across her bosom, laid her head +back and looked so sweet and so winnin’ into mother’s face, and +said, ‘<i>cha n’eil Beurl’</i> (I have no English), and then +proceeded in Gaelic— +</p> + +<p> +“‘If you hadn’t sat in that place yourself, when you was +young, I guess you wouldn’t be so awful scared at it, you old goose +you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I never saw her look so lovely. Mother was not quite persuaded +she was wrong after all. She looked all round agin, as if she was sure I was +there, and then came towards the door where I was, so I sloped up-stairs like a +shadow on the wall, and into bed in no time; but she followed up and came close +to me, and holdin the candle in my face, said: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam, are you asleep?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I didn’t answer. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ said she, ‘why don’t you speak?’ +and she shook me. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Hullo,’ sais I, pretendin’ to wake up, +‘what’s the matter! have I overslept myself? is it time to get +up?’ and I put out my arm to rub my eyes, and lo and behold I exposed my +coat sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, Sam,’ said she, ‘you couldn’t oversleep +yourself, for you haven’t slept at all, you ain’t even +ondressed.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ain’t I,’ said I, ‘are you sure?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why look here,’ said she, throwin’ down the clothes +and pullin’ my coat over my head till she nearly strangled me. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I shouldn’t wonder if I hadn’t stripped,’ +sais I. ‘When a feller is so peskilly sleepy as I be, I suppose he is +glad to turn in any way.’ +</p> + +<p> +“She never spoke another word, but I saw a storm was brewin, and I heard +her mutter to herself, ‘Creation! what a spot of work! I’ll have no +teaching of ‘mother tongue’ here.’ Next morning she sent me +to Boston of an errand, and when I returned, two days after, Flora was gone to +live with sister Sally. I have never forgiven myself for that folly; but really +it all came of our being so artless and so innocent. There was no craft in +either of us. She forgot to remove the chair from the chimbley corner, poor +simple-minded thing, and I forgot to keep my coat sleeve covered. Yes, yes, it +all came of our being too innocent; but that’s the way, ladies, I learned +Gaelic.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C06">CHAPTER VI.</a><br/> +THE WOUNDS OF THE HEART.</h2> + +<p> +When I took leave of the family I returned to the room where I had left Peter +and the doctor, but they had both retired. And as my chamber adjoined it, I sat +by the fire, lighted a cigar, and fell into one of my rambling meditations. +</p> + +<p> +Here, said I to myself, is another phase of life. Peter is at once a +Highlander, a Canadian, a trapper, a backwoodsman, and a coaster. His daughters +are half Scotch and half Indian, and have many of the peculiarities of both +races. There is even between these sisters a wide difference in intellect, +appearance, and innate refinement. The doctor has apparently abandoned his +profession for the study of nature, and quit the busy haunts of men for the +solitude of the forest. He seems to think and act differently from any one else +in the country. Here too we have had Cutler, who is a scholar and a skilful +navigator, filling the berth of a master of a fishing craft. He began life with +nothing but good principles and good spirits, and is now about entering on a +career, which in a few years will lead to a great fortune. He is as much out of +place where he is, as a salmon would be in a horse pond. And here am I, Squire, +your humble servant, Sam Slick the Clockmaker, not an eccentric man, I hope, +for I detest them, they are either mad, or wish to be thought so, because +madness they suppose to be an evidence of genius; but a specimen of a class not +uncommon in the States, though no other country in the world but +Yankeedoodledum produces it. +</p> + +<p> +This is a combination these colonies often exhibit, and what a fool a man must +be when character is written in such large print, if he can’t read it +even as he travels on horseback. +</p> + +<p> +Of all the party assembled here to-night, the Scotch lasses alone, who came in +during the evening, are what you call everyday galls. They are strong, hearty, +intelligent, and good-natured, full of fun and industry, can milk, churn, make +butter and cheese, card, spin, and weave, and will make capital wives for +farmers of their own station in life. As such, they are favourable +representatives of their class, and to my mind, far, far above those that look +down upon them, who ape, but can’t copy, and have the folly, because they +sail in the wake of larger craft, to suppose they can be mistaken for anything +else than tenders. Putting three masts into a coaster may make her an object of +ridicule, but can never give her the appearance of a ship. They know this in +England, they have got to learn it yet in the Provinces. +</p> + +<p> +Well, this miscellaneous collection of people affords a wide field for +speculation. Jessie is a remarkable woman, I must ask the doctor about her +history. I see there is a depth of feeling about her, a simplicity of +character, a singular sensitiveness, and a shade of melancholy. Is it +constitutional, or does it arise from her peculiar position? I wonder how she +reasons, and what she thinks, and how she would talk, if she would say what she +thinks. Has she ability to build up a theory of her own, or does she, like half +the women in the world, only think of a thing as it occurs? Does she live in +instances or in generalities, I’ll draw her out and see. Every order, +where there are orders, and every class (and no place is without them where +women are), have a way of judging in common with their order or class. What is +her station I wonder in her own opinion? What are her expectations? What are +her notions of wedlock? All girls regard marriage as an enviable lot, or a +necessary evil. If they tell us they don’t, it’s because the right +man hante come. And therefore I never mind what they say on this subject. I +have no doubt they mean it; but they don’t know what they are a talking +about. +</p> + +<p> +You, Squire, may go into a ball-room, where there are two hundred women. One +hundred and ninety-nine of them you will pass with as much indifference as one +hundred and ninety-nine pullets; but the two hundredth irresistibly draws you +to her. There are one hundred handsomer, and ninety-nine cleverer ones present; +but she alone has the magnet that attracts you. Now, what is that magnet? Is it +her manner that charms? is it her voice that strikes on one of those thousand +and one chords of your nervous system, and makes it vibrate, as sound does +hollow glass? Or do her eyes affect your gizzard, so that you have no time to +chew the cud of reflection, and no opportunity for your head to judge how you +can digest the notions they have put into it? Or is it animal magnetism, or +what the plague is it? +</p> + +<p> +You are strangely affected; nobody else in the room is, and everybody wonders +at you. But so it is. It’s an even chance if you don’t perpetrate +matrimony. Well, that’s a thing that sharpens the eyesight, and will +remove a cateract quicker than an oculist can, to save his soul alive. It +metamorphoses an angel into a woman, and it’s plaguey lucky if the +process don’t go on and change her into something else. +</p> + +<p> +After I got so far in my meditations, I lit another cigar, and took out my +watch to look at the time. “My eyes,” sais I, “if it tante +past one o’clock at night. Howsomever, it ain’t often I get a +chance to be alone, and I will finish this here weed, at any rate.” Arter +which I turned in. The following morning I did not rise as early as usual, for +it’s a great secret for a man never to be in the way, especially in a +house like Peter’s, where his daughters had, in course, a good deal to +see to themselves. So I thought I’d turn over and take another snoose; +and do you know, Squire, that is always a dreamy one, and if your mind +ain’t worried, or your digestion askew, it’s more nor probable you +will have pleasant ones. +</p> + +<p> +When I went into the keeping-room, I found Jessie and her sister there, the +table set, and everything prepared for me. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Slick,” said the elder one, “your breakfast is +ready.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where is your father?” said I, “and Doctor Ovey?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, they have gone to the next harbour, Sir, to see a man who is very +ill there. The doctor left a message for you, he said he wanted to see you +again very much, and hoped to find you here on his return, which will be about +four o’clock in the afternoon. He desired me to say, if you sailed before +he got back, he hoped you would leave word what port he would find you in, as +he would follow you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said I, “we shall not go before to-morrow, at the +earliest, so he will be in very good time. But who in the world is Doctor Ovey? +He is the most singular man I ever met. He is very eccentric; ain’t +he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know who he is,” she replied. “Father agrees +with you. He says he talks sometimes as if he was daft, but that, I believe, is +only because he is so learned. He has a house a way back in the forest, where +he lives occasionally; but the greater part of the year he wanders about the +woods, and camps out like—” +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated a moment, and then brought out the reluctant word: “an +Indian. He knows the name of every plant and flower in the country, and their +uses; and the nature of every root, or bark, or leaf that ever was; and then he +knows all the ores, and coal mines, and everything of that kind. He is a great +hand for stuffing birds and animals, and has some of every kind there is in the +province. As for butterflies, beetles, and those sort of things, he will chase +them like a child all day. His house is a regular—. I don’t +recollect the word in English; in Gaelic it is ‘<i>tigh +neonachais.</i>’” +</p> + +<p> +“Museum?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s it,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t have much practice,” I said, “if he goes +racing and chasing over the country that way, like a run-away engine.” +</p> + +<p> +“He don’t want it, Sir,” she replied, “he is very well +off. He says he is one of the richest men in the country, for he don’t +spend half his income, and that any man who does that is wealthy. He says he +ain’t a doctor. Whether he is or not, I don’t know; but he makes +wonderful cures. Nothing in the world makes him so angry as when anybody sends +for him that can afford a doctor, for he don’t take pay. Now, this +morning he stormed, and raved, and stamped, and foamed at the mouth, as if he +was mad; he fairly swore, a thing I never heard him do before; and he seized +the hammer that he chips off stones with, and threatened the man so who come +for him, that he stood with the door in his hand, while he begged him to go. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Sir,’ said he, ‘the Squire will die if you +don’t go.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Let him die, then,’ he replied, ‘and be hanged. What +is it to me? It serves him right. Why didn’t he send for Doctor Smith, +and pay him? Does he think I am a going to rob that man of his living? Be off, +Sir, off with you. Tell him I can’t come, and won’t come, and do +you go for a magistrate to make his will.’ +</p> + +<p> +“As soon as the man quitted the house, his fit left him. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,” said he, ‘Peter, I suppose we musn’t let +the man perish after all; but I wish he hadn’t sent for me, especially +just now, for I want to have a long talk with Mr Slick.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And he and father set off immediately through the woods.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we beat up his quarters,” said I, “Jessie. I should +like to see his house and collection, amazingly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said she, “so should I, above all things; but I +wouldn’t ask him for the world. He’ll do it for you, I know he +will; for he says you are a man after his own heart. You study nature so; and I +don’t know what all, he said of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” sais I, “old trapper as he is, see if I +don’t catch him. I know how to bait the trap; so he will walk right into +it. And then, if he has anything to eat there, I’ll show him how to cook +it woodsman fashion. I’ll teach him how to dress a salmon; roast, boil, +or bake. How to make a bee-hunter’s mess; a new way to do his potatoes +camp fashion; and how to dispense with kitchen-ranges, cabouses, or +cooking-stoves. If I could only knock over some wild-ducks at the lake here, +I’d show him a simple way of preparing them, that would make his mouth +water, I know. Truth is, a man that lives in the country ought to know a little +of everything a’most, and he can’t be comfortable if he +don’t. But dear me, I must be a movin.” +</p> + +<p> +So I made her a bow, and she made me one of her best courtseys. And I held out +my hand to her, but she didn’t take it, though I see a smile +playin’ over her face. The fact is, it is just as well she didn’t, +for I intended to draw her—. Well, it ain’t no matter what I +intended to do; and therefore it ain’t no use to confess what I +didn’t realise. +</p> + +<p> +“Truth is,” said I, lingering a bit, not to look disappointed, +“a farmer ought to know what to raise, how to live, and where to save. If +two things are equally good, and one costs money, and the other only a little +trouble, the choice ain’t difficult, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Slick,” sais she, “are you a farmer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was bred and born on a farm, dear,” sais I, “and on one, +too, where nothin’ was ever wasted, and no time ever lost; where there +was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. Where peace and +plenty reigned; and where there was a shot in the locker for the minister, and +another for the poor, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say that you considered them <i>game,</i> did +you?” said she, looking archly. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” sais I. “But now you are making <i>game</i> of +me, Miss; that’s not a bad hit of yours though; and a shot for the bank, +at the eend of the year. I know all about farm things, from raisin’ +Indian corn down to managing a pea-hen; the most difficult thing to regulate +next to a wife, I ever see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you live on a farm now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, when I am to home,” sais I, “I have returned again to +the old occupation and the old place; for, after all, what’s bred in the +bone, you know, is hard to get out of the flesh, and home is home, however +homely. The stones, and the trees, and the brooks, and the hills look like old +friends—don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think so,” she said; “but I have never returned to +my home or my people, and never shall.” And the tears rose in her eyes, +and she got up and walked to the window, and said, with her back towards me, as +if she was looking at the weather: “The doctor has a fine day for his +journey; I hope he will return soon. I think you will like him.” +</p> + +<p> +And then she came back and took her seat, as composed as if I had never +awakened those sad thoughts. Poor thing! I knew what was passing in her mind, +as well as if those eloquent tears had not touched my heart. Somehow or +another, it appears to me, like a stumblin’ horse, I am always a-striking +my foot agin some stone, or stump, or root, that any fellow might see with half +an eye. She forced a smile, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you married, Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Married,” sais I, “to be sure I am; I married Flora.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must think me as innocent as she was, to believe that,” she +said, and laughed at the idea. “How many children have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Seven,” sais I: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Richard R., and Ira C.,<br/> +Betsey Anne, and Jessie B.,<br/> +Sary D., Eugeen—E,<br/> +And Iren—ee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard a great deal of you, Mr Slick,” she said, “but +you are the queerest man I ever see. You talk so serious, and yet you are so +full of fun.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s because I don’t pretend to nothin’, +dear;” sais I, “I am just a nateral man. There is a time for all +things, and a way to do ’em too. If I have to freeze down solid to a +thing, why then, ice is the word. If there is a thaw, then fun and +snow-ballin’ is the ticket. I listen to a preacher, and try to be the +better for his argufying, if he has any sense, and will let me; and I listen to +the violin, and dance to it, if it’s in tune, and played right. I like my +pastime, and one day in seven is all the Lord asks. Evangelical people say he +wants the other six. Let them state day and date and book and page for that, +for I won’t take their word for it. So I won’t dance of a Sunday; +but show me a pretty gall, and give me good music, and see if I don’t +dance any other day. I am not a droll man, dear, but I say what I think, and do +what I please, as long as I know I ain’t saying or doing wrong. And if +that ain’t poetry, it’s truth, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you knew the doctor,” said she; “I don’t +understand these things, but you are the only man I ever met that talked like +him, only he hante the fun you have; but he enjoys fun beyond everything. I +must say I rather like him, though he is odd, and I am sure you would, for you +could comprehend many things he sais that I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“It strikes me,” sais I to myself, for I thought, puttin’ +this and that together; “her rather likin’ him, and her desire to +see his house, and her tryin’ to flatter me that I talked like him; that +perhaps, like her young Gaelic friend’s brother who dreamed of the silver +dollars, she might have had a dream of him.” +</p> + +<p> +So, sais I, “I have an idea, Jessie, that there is a subject, if he +talked to you upon, you could understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense,” said she, rising and laughing, “now do you go +on board and get me your book; and I will go and see about dinner for the +Doc—for my father and you.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, I held out my hand, and said, +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Miss Jessie. Recollect, when I bring you the book that you +must pay the forfeit.” +</p> + +<p> +She dropt my hand in a minute, stood up as straight as a tragedy actress, and +held her head as high as the Queen of Sheby. She gave me a look I shan’t +very easily forget, it was so full of scorn and pride. +</p> + +<p> +“And <i>you</i> too, Sir,” said she, “I didn’t expect +<i>this</i> of <i>you</i>,” and then left the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” sais I, “who’s half-cracked now; you or the +doctor? it appears to me it’s six of one and half-a-dozen of the +other;” and I took my hat, and walked down to the beach and hailed a +boat. +</p> + +<p> +About four I returned to the house, and brought with me, as I promised, the +“Clockmaker.” When I entered the room, I found Jessie there, who +received me with her usual ease and composure. She was trimming a work-bag, the +sides of which were made of the inner bark of the birch-tree, and beautifully +worked with porcupine quills and moose hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “that is the most delicate thing I ever saw +in all my born days. Creation, how that would be prized in Boston! How on earth +did you learn to do that?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said she, with an effort that evidently cost her a struggle, +“my people make and barter them at the Fort at the north-west for things +of more use. Indians have no money.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the first time I had heard so distinct an avowal of her American origin, +and as I saw it brought the colour to her face, I thought I had discovered a +clue to her natural pride, or, more properly, her sense of the injustice of the +world, which is too apt to look down upon this mixed race with open or +ill-concealed contempt. The scurvey opens old sores, and makes them bleed +afresh, and an unfeeling fellow does the same. Whatever else I may be, I am not +that man, thank fortune. Indeed, I am rather a dab at dressin’ bodily +ones, and I won’t turn my back in that line, with some simples I know of, +on any doctor that ever trod in shoe-leather, with all his compounds, phials, +and stipties. +</p> + +<p> +In a gineral way, they know just as much about their business as a donkey does +of music, and yet both of them practise all day. They don’t make no +improvements. They are like the birds of the air, and the beasts of the forest. +Swallows build their nests year after year and generation after generation in +the identical same fashion, and moose winter after winter, and century after +century, always follow in each other’s tracks. They consider it safer, it +ain’t so laborious, and the crust of the snow don’t hurt their +shins. If a critter is such a fool as to strike out a new path for himself, the +rest of the herd pass, and leave him to worry on, and he soon hears the dogs in +pursuit, and is run down and done for. Medical men act in the same manner. +</p> + +<p> +Brother Eldad, the doctor, used to say to me when riggin’ him on the +subject: +</p> + +<p> +“Sam, you are the most conceited critter I ever knew. You have picked up +a few herbs and roots, that have some virtue in them, but not strength enough +for us to give a place to in the pharmacopia of medicine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pharmacopia?” sais I, “why, what in natur is that? What the +plague does it mean? Is it bunkum?” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better not talk on the subject,” said he, “if you +don’t know the tarms.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might as well tell me,” sais I, “that I had better not +speak English if I can’t talk gibberish. But,” sais I, +“without joking, now, when you take the husk off that, and crack the nut, +what do you call the kernel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais he, “it’s a dispensary; a book +containin’ rules for compoundin’ medicines.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, it’s a receipt-book, and nothin’ else, arter all. +Why the plague can’t you call it so at once, instead of usin’ a +word that would break the jaw of a German?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sam,” he replied, “the poet says with great truth, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘A little learning is a dangerous thing;<br/> +Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear, dear,” said I, “there is another strange sail hove in +sight, as I am alive. What flag does ‘Pierian’ sail under?” +</p> + +<p> +“The magpies,” said he, with the air of a man that’s a +goin’ to hit you hard. “It is a spring called Pierus after a +gentleman of that name, whose daughters, that were as conceited as you be, were +changed into magpies by the Muses, for challenging them out to sing. All +pratin’ fellows like you, who go about runnin’ down doctors, ought +to be sarved in the same way.” +</p> + +<p> +“A critter will never be run down,” said I, “who will just +take the trouble to get out of the way, that’s a fact. Why on airth +couldn’t the poet have said Magpian Spring, then all the world would +understand him. No, the lines would have had more sense if they had run this +way: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘A little physic is a dangerous thing;<br/> +Drink deep, or drink not of the doctor’s spring.’” +</p> + +<p> +Well, it made him awful mad. Sais he, “You talk of treating wounds as all +unskilful men do, who apply balsams and trash of that kind, that half the time +turns the wound into an ulcer; and then when it is too late the doctor is sent +for, and sometimes to get rid of the sore, he has to amputate the limb. Now, +what does your receipt book say?” +</p> + +<p> +“It sais,” sais I, “that natur alone makes the cure, and all +you got to do, is to stand by and aid her in her efforts.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very well,” sais he, “if nature would only +tell you what to do, but nature leaves you, like a Yankee quack as you are, to +guess.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “I am a Yankee, and I ain’t above +ownin’ to it, and so are you, but you seem ashamed of your broughtens up, +and I must say I don’t think you are any great credit to them. Natur, +though you don’t know it, because you are all for art, does tell you what +to do, in a voice so clear you can’t help hearing it, and in language so +plain you can’t help understandin’ it. For it don’t use +chain-shot words like ‘pharmacopia’ and ‘Pierian,’ and +so on, that is neither Greek nor Latin, nor good English, nor vulgar tongue. +And more than that, it shows you what to do. And the woods, and the springs, +and the soil is full of its medicines and potions. Book doctrin’ is like +book farmin’, a beautiful thing in theory, but ruination in +practice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said he, with a toss of his head, “this is very good +stump oratory, and if you ever run agin a doctor at an election, I +shouldn’t wonder if you won it, for most people will join you in +pullin’ down your superiors.” +</p> + +<p> +That word superiors grigged me; thinks I, “My boy, I’ll just take +that expression, roll it up into a ball, and shy it back at you, in a way that +will make you sing out ‘Pen and ink,’ I know. Well,” sais I, +quite mild (I am always mild when I am mad, a keen razor is always smooth), +“have you any other thing to say about natur?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sais he, “do you know what healin’ by the +<i>first intention is,</i> for that is a nateral operation? Answer me that, +will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the second intention, don’t you?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied, “I mean what I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Eldad,” sais I, “my brother, I will answer both. First +about the election, and then about the process of healin’, and after that +we won’t argue no more, for you get so hot always, I am afraid you will +hurt my feelins. First,” sais I, “I have no idea of runnin’ +agin a doctor either at an election or elsewhere, so make yourself quite easy +on that score, for if I did, as he is my superior, I should be sure to get the +worst of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How,” said he, “Sam?” lookin’ quite pleased, +seein’ me kinder knock under that way. +</p> + +<p> +“Why dod drot it,” sais I, “Eldad, if I was such a born fool +as to run agin a doctor, his clothes would fill mine so chock full of +asafoetida and brimstone, I’d smell strong enough to pysen a poll-cat. +Phew! the very idea makes me sick; don’t come any nearer, or I shall +faint. Oh, no, I shall give my superiors a wide berth, depend upon it. +Then,” sais I, “secondly, as to healin’ by the first +intention, I have heard of it, but never saw it practised yet. A doctor’s +first intention is to make money, and the second is to heal the wound. You have +been kind enough to treat me to a bit of poetry, now I won’t be in your +debt, so I will just give you two lines in return. Arter you went to +Philadelphia to study, Minister used to make me learn poetry twice a week. All +his books had pencil marks in the margin agin all the tid bits, and I had to +learn more or less of these at a time according to their length; among others I +remember two verses that just suit you and me. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence,<br/> +Learning thy talent is, but mine is SENSE.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Sam,” said he, and he coloured up, and looked choked with rage, +“Sam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dad,” sais I, and it stopped him in a minute. It was the last +syllable of his name, and when we was boys, I always called him Dad, and as he +was older than me, I sometimes called him Daddy on that account. It touched +him, I see it did. Sais I, “Dad, give me your daddle, fun is fun, and we +may carry our fun too far,” and we shook hands. “Daddy,” sais +I, “since I became an author, and honorary corresponding member of the +Slangwhanger Society, your occupation and mine ain’t much unlike, is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Dad,” sais I, “you cut up the dead, and I cut up the +livin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais he, “I give less pain, at any rate, and besides, +I do more good, for I make the patient leave a legacy to posterity, by +furnishing instruction in his own body.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t need to wait for dissection for the bequest,” said +I, “for many a fellow after amputation has said to you, +‘<i>a-leg-I-see</i>.’ But why is sawing off a leg an +<i>unprofitable</i> thing? Do you give it up? Because it’s always +<i>bootless</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said he, “why is an author the laziest man in the +world? Do you give that up? Because he is most of his time in sheets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that is better than being two sheets in the wind,” I +replied. “But why is he the greatest coward in creation in hot weather? +Because he is afraid somebody will quilt him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, oh,” said he, “that is an awful bad one. Oh, oh, that is +like lead, it sinks to the bottom, boots, spurs, and all. Oh, come, that will +do, you may take my hat. What a droll fellow you be. You are the old sixpence, +and nothin’ will ever change you. I never see a feller have such spirits +in my life; do you know what pain is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” sais I, “Dad,” and I put on a very sad look, +“Daddy,” sais I, “my heart is most broke, though I +don’t say anythin’ about it. There is no one I can confide in, and +I can’t sleep at all. I was thinkin’ of consultin’ you, for I +know I can trust you, and I am sure your kind and affectionate heart will feel +for me, and that your sound, excellent judgment will advise me what is best to +be done under the peculiar circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sam,” said he, “my good fellow, you do me no more than +justice,” and he took my hand very kindly, and sat down beside me. +“Sam, I am very sorry for you. Confide in me; I will be as secret as the +grave. Have you consulted dear old Minister?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said I, “Minister is a mere child.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, true, my brother,” said he, “he is a good worthy man, +but a mere child, as you say. Is it an affair of the heart, Sam?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” sais I, “I wish it was, for I don’t think I +shall ever die of a broken heart for any one, it don’t pay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a pecuniary affair?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, if it was it might be borne, an artful dodge, a good +spekelation, or a regular burst would soon cure that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope it ain’t an affair of law,” said he, lookin’ +frightened to death, as if I had done something dreadful bad. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I wish it was, for a misnomer, an alibi, a nonjoinder, a demurrer, a +nonsuit, a freemason or a know-nothin’ sign to a juror, a temperance +wink, or an orange nod to a partisan judge, or some cussed quirk or quibble or +another, would carry me through it. No, it ain’t that.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais I, a bustin’ out a larfin, “I am most dead +sometimes with the jumpin’ toothache.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said he, “I never was sold so before, I vow; I +cave in, I holler, and will stand treat.” +</p> + +<p> +That’s the way we ended our controversy about wounds. +</p> + +<p> +But he may say what he likes. I consider myself rather a dab at healing bodily +ones. As to those of the heart, I haven’t had the experience, for I am +not a father confessor to galls, and of course ain’t consulted. But it +appears to me clergymen don’t know much about the right way to treat +them. The heart is a great word. In itself it’s nothin’ but a thing +that swells and contracts, and keeps the blood a movin; a sort of central +post-office that communicates with all the great lines and has way stations to +all remote parts. Like that, there is no sleep in it day or night. Love, hope, +fear, despair, disappointment, ambition, pride, supplication, craft, cant, +fraud, piety, speculation, secrets, tenderness, bitterness, duty, disobedience, +truth, falsehood, gratitude, humbug, and all sorts of such things, pass through +it or wait till called for; they “are <i>thar</i>.” All these are +dispersed by railways, expresses, fast and slow coaches, and carriers. By a +figure of speech all these things are sumtotalized, and if put on paper, the +depository is called the post-office, and the place where they are conceived +and hatched and matured, the heart. +</p> + +<p> +Well, neither the one nor the other has any feeling. They are merely the +edifices respectively designed for these operations. The thing and its contents +are in one case called the heart; but the contents only of the other are called +the mail. Literally therefore the heart is a muscle, or some such an affair, +and nothing more; but figuratively it is a general term that includes, +expresses, and stands for all these things together. We talk of it therefore as +a living, animated, responsible being that thinks for itself, and acts through +its agents. It is either our spiritual part, or something spiritual within us. +Subordinate or independent of us—guiding or obeying us—influencing +or influenced by us. We speak of it, and others treat it, as separate, for they +and we say our heart. We give it, a colour and a character; it may be a black +heart or a base heart; it may be a brave or a cowardly one; it may be a sound +or a weak heart also, and a true or a false one; generous or ungrateful; kind +or malignant, and so on. +</p> + +<p> +It strikes me natur would have been a more suitable word; but poets got hold of +it, and they bedevil everything they touch. Instead of speaking of a +critter’s heart therefore, it would to my mind have been far better to +have spoke of the natur of the animal, for I go the whole hog for human natur. +But I suppose nobody would understand me if I did, and would say I had no heart +to say so. I’ll take it therefore, as I find it—a thing having a +body or substance that can be hurt, and a spirit that can be grieved. +</p> + +<p> +Well, as such, I don’t somehow think ministers in a general way know how +to treat it. The heart, in its common acceptation, is very sensitive and must +be handled gently; if grief is there, it must be soothed and consoled, and hope +called in to open views of better things. If disappointment has left a sting, +the right way is to show a sufferer it might have been wuss, or that if his +wishes had been fulfilled, they might have led to something more disastrous. If +pride has been wounded, the patient must be humoured by agreeing with him, in +the first instance, that he has been shamefully used (for that admits his right +to feel hurt, which is a great thing); and then he may be convinced he ought to +be ashamed to acknowledge it, for he is superior to his enemy, and in reality +so far above him it would only gratify him to think he was of consequence +enough to be hated. If he has met with a severe pecuniary loss in business, he +ought to be told it’s the fortune of trade; how lucky he is he +ain’t ruined, he can afford and must expect losses occasionally. If he +frets over it, it will hurt his mercantile credit, and after all, he will never +miss it, except in a figure in the bottom of his balance-sheet, and besides, +riches ain’t happiness, and how little a man can get out of them at best; +and a minister ought to be able to have a good story to tell him, with some +point in it, for there is a great deal of sound philosophy in a good anecdote. +</p> + +<p> +He might say, for instance: “Did you ever hear of John Jacob +Astor?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, never.” +</p> + +<p> +“What not of John Jacob Astor, the richest man in all the unevarsal +United States of America? The man that owns all the brown and white bears, +silver-gray and jet-black foxes, sables, otters, stone martins, ground +squirrels, and every created critter that has a fur jacket, away up about the +North Pole, and lets them wear them, for furs don’t keep well, moths are +death on ’em, and too many at a time glut the market; so he lets them run +till he wants them, and then sends and skins them alive in spring when it +ain’t too cold, and waits till it grows again?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, never,” sais the man with the loss. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you had been stript stark naked and turned loose that way, you +might have complained. Oh! you are a lucky man, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais old Minus, “how in the world does he own all +them animals?” +</p> + +<p> +“If he don’t,” sais preacher, “perhaps you can tell me +who does; and if nobody else does, I think his claim won’t be disputed in +no court under heaven. Don’t you know him? Go and see him. He will make +your fortune as he has done for many others. He is the richest man you ever +heard of. He owns the Astor House Hotel to New York, which is bigger than some +whole towns on the Nova Scotia coast.” And he could say that with great +truth, for I know a town that’s on the chart, that has only a +court-house, a groggery, a jail, a blacksmith’s shop, and the wreck of a +Quebec vessel on the beach. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, a man went to him lately, and sais he: ‘Are you the great +John Jacob?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I am John Jacob,’ said he, ‘but I ain’t great. +The sun is so almighty hot here in New York, no man is large; he is roasted +down like a race-horse.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I don’t mean that,’ said the poor man, bowin’ +and beggin’ pardon. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh,’ sais he, ‘you mean great-grandfather,’ +laughing. ‘No, I hante come that yet; but Astoria Ann Oregon, my +grand-daughter, says I am to be about the fore part of next June.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the man see he was getting rigged, so he came to the pint at once. +Sais he, ‘Do you want a clerk?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I guess I do,’ said he. ‘Are you a good +accountant?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Have been accountant-book-keeper and agent for twenty-five +years,’ sais stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, John Jacob see the critter wouldn’t suit him, but he thought +he would carry out the joke. Sais he, ‘How would you like to take charge +of my almighty everlastin’ property?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Delighted!’ says the goney. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ said Mr Astor, ‘I am tired to death looking +after it; if you will relieve me and do my work, I’ll give you what I get +out of it myself.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Done!’ said the man, takin’ off his hat, and +bowin’ down to the ground. ‘I am under a great obligation to you; +depend upon it you will get a good account of it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I have no doubt of it,’ said John Jacob. ‘Do your +part faithfully’ (‘Never fear me,’ said the clerk) ‘and +honestly, and I will fulfil mine. All I get out of it myself is my board and +clothing, and you shall have the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my friend,” the preacher might say, “how much wisdom +there is in John Jacob Astor’s remark. What more has the Queen of +England, or the richest peer in the land, out of all their riches than their +board and clothing. ‘So don’t repine, my friend. Cheer up! I will +come and fast on canvas-back duck with you to-morrow, for it’s Friday; +and whatever lives on aquatic food is fishy—a duck is twice-laid fish. A +few glasses of champaine at dinner, and a cool bottle or two of claret after, +will set you all right again in a jiffy.” +</p> + +<p> +If a man’s wife races off and leaves him, which ain’t the highest +compliment he can receive, he should visit him; but it’s most prudent not +to introduce the subject himself. If broken-heart talks of it, minister +shouldn’t make light of it, for wounded pride is mighty tender, but say +it’s a dreadful thing to leave so good, so kind, so indulgent, so +liberal, so confidin’ a man as you, if the case will bear it (in a +general way it’s a man’s own fault); and if it won’t bear it, +why then there really is a guilty man, on whom he can indulge himself, to +expend a few flowers of speech. And arter restin’ here awhile, he should +hint at the consolation that is always offered, “of the sea having better +fish than ever was pulled out of it,” and so on. +</p> + +<p> +Well, the whole catalogue offers similar topics, and if a man will, while +kindly, conscientiously, and strictly sticking to the truth, offer such +consolation as a good man may, taking care to remember that manner is +everything, and all these arguments are not only no good, but do harm if the +misfortunate critter is rubbed agin the grain; he will then prepare the +sufferer to receive the only true consolation he <i>has</i> to offer—the +consolation of religion. At least, that’s my idea. +</p> + +<p> +Now, instead of that, if he gets hold of a sinner, he first offends his +delicacy, and then scares him to death. He tells him to confess all the nasty +particulars of the how, the where, the when, and the who with. He can’t +do nothing till his curiosity is satisfied, general terms won’t do. He +must have all the dirty details. And then he talks to him of the devil, an +unpronouncible place, fire and brimstone, and endless punishment. And assures +him, if ever he hopes to be happy hereafter, he must be wretched for the rest +of his life; for the evangelical rule is, that a man is never forgiven up to +the last minute when it can’t be helped. Well, every man to his own +trade. Perhaps they are right and I am wrong. But my idea is you can coax, but +can’t bully folks. <i>You can win sinners, but you can’t force +them. The door of the heart must be opened softly, and to do that you must be +the hinge and the lock.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Well, to get back to my story, and I hardly know where I left off, I think the +poor gall was speakin’ of Indians in a way that indicated she felt +mortified at her descent, or that somehow or somehow else, there was a sore +spot there. Well, having my own thoughts about the wounds of the heart and so +on, as I have stated, I made up my mind I must get at the secret by degrees, +and see whether my theory of treatment was right or not. +</p> + +<p> +Sais I, “Miss, you say these sort of things are bartered at the +north-west for others of more use. There is one thing though I must remark, +<i>they</i> never were exchanged for anything half so beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you like it,” she said, “but look here;” and +she took out of her basket a pair of mocassins, the soles of which were of +moose leather, tanned and dressed like felt, and the upper part black velvet, +on which various patterns were worked with beads. I think I never saw anything +of the kind so exquisite, for those nick-nacks the Nova Scotia Indians make are +rough in material, coarse in workmanship, and ineligant in design. +</p> + +<p> +“Which do you prefer?” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “I ain’t hardly able to decide. The +bark work is more delicate and more tasteful; but it’s more European in +appearance. The other is more like our own country, and I ain’t sure that +it isn’t quite as handsome as the other. But I think I prize the +mocassins most. The name, the shape, and the ornaments all tell of the +prairie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” she said, “it shall be the mocassins, you must +have them, as the exchange for the book.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said I, taking out of my pocket the first and second +“Clockmakers,” I had no other of my books on board, and giving them +to her, “I am afraid, Miss, that I either said or did something to offend +you this morning. I assure you I did not mean to do so, and I am very sorry for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” she said, “it was me; but my temper has been +greatly tried since I came to this country. I was very wrong, for <i>you</i> +(and she laid a stress on that word as if I was an exception) have been very +kind to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “Miss, sometimes there are things that try us +and our feelings, that we don’t choose to talk about to strangers, and +sometimes people annoy us on these subjects. It wouldn’t be right of me +to pry into any one’s secrets, but this I <i>will</i> say, any person +that would vex you, let him be who he will, can be no man, he’d better +not do it while I am here, at any rate, or he’ll have to look for his +jacket very quick, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Slick,” she said, “I know I am half Indian, and some +folks want to make me feel it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you took me for one o’ them cattle,” said I, “but +if you knew what was passin’ in my mind, you wouldn’t a felt angry, +<i>I</i> know.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was it?” said she, “for I know <i>you</i> won’t +say anything to me you oughtn’t to. What was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “there is, between you and me, a young lady +here to the southern part of this province I have set my heart on, though +whether she is agoin’ to give me hern, or give me the mitten, I +ain’t quite sartified, but I rather kinder sorter guess the first, than +kinder sorter not so.” I just throwed that in that she mightn’t +misunderstand me. “Well, she is the most splendiferous gall I ever sot +eyes on since I was created; and,” sais I to myself, “now, here is +one of a different style of beauty, which on ’em is, take her all in all, +the handsomest?” +</p> + +<p> +Half Indian or half Gaelic, or whatever she was, she was a woman, and she +didn’t flare up this time, I tell you, but taking up the work-bag she +said: +</p> + +<p> +“Give this to her, as a present from me.” +</p> + +<p> +Thinks I, “My pretty brunette, if I don’t get the heart opened to +me, and give you a better opinion of yourself, and set you all straight with +mankind in general, and the doctor in particular, afore I leave Ship Harbour, +I’ll give over for ever undervalyin’ the skill of ministers, +that’s a fact. That will do for trial number one; by and by I’ll +make trial number two.” +</p> + +<p> +Taking up the “Clockmaker,” and looking at it, she said: “Is +this book all true, Mr Slick? Did you say and do all that’s set down +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “I wouldn’t just like to swear to every +word of it, but most of it is true, though some things are embellished a +little, and some are fancy sketches. But they are all true to nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear,” said she, “what a pity! how shall I ever be able +to tell what’s true and what ain’t? Do you think I shall be able to +understand it, who know so little, and have seen so little?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll comprehend every word of it,” sais I, “I wrote +it on purpose, so every person should do so. I have tried to stick to life as +close as I could, and there is nothin’ like natur, it goes home to the +heart of us all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do tell me, Mr Slick,” said she, “what natur is, for I +don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, now that’s a very simple question, ain’t it? and anyone that +reads this book when you publish it, will say, “Why, everybody knows what +natur is,” and any schoolboy can answer that question. But I’ll +take a bet of twenty dollars, not one in a hundred will define that tarm right +off the reel, without stopping. It fairly stumpt me, and I ain’t easily +brought to a hack about common things. I could a told her what natur was +circumbendibusly, and no mistake, though that takes time. But to define it +briefly and quickly, as Minister used to say, if it can be done at all, which I +don’t think it can, all I can say is, as galls say to conundrums, +“I can’t, so I give it up. What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it’s my own fault, for dear old Mr Hopewell used to say, +“Sam, your head ain’t like any one else’s. Most men’s +minds resembles what appears on the water when you throw a stone in it. There +is a centre, and circles form round it, each one a little larger than the +other, until the impelling power ceases to act. Now you set off on the outer +circle, and go round and round ever so often, until you arrive to the centre +where you ought to have started from at first; I never see the beat of +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s natur,” sais I, “Minister.” +</p> + +<p> +“Natur,” sais he, “what the plague has natur to do with +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais I, “can one man surround a flock of sheep?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what nonsense,” sais he; “of course he +can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s what this child can do,” sais I. “I make +a good sizeable ring-fence, open the bars, and put them in, for if it’s +too small, they turn and out agin like wink, and they will never so much as +look at it a second time. Well, when I get them there, I narrow and narrow the +circle, till it’s all solid wool and mutton, and I have every +mother’s son of them. It takes time, for I am all alone, and have no one +to help me; but they are thar’ at last. Now, suppose I went to the centre +of the field, and started off arter them, what would it end in? Why, I’de +run one down, and have him, and that’s the only one I could catch. But +while I was a chasin’ of him, all the rest would disperse like a +congregation arter church, and cut off like wink, each on his own way, as if he +was afraid the minister was a-goin’ to run after ’em, head +’em, and fetch ’em back and pen ’em up again.” +</p> + +<p> +He squirmed his face a little at that part about the congregation, I consaited, +but didn’t say nothin’, for he knew it was true. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, my reason,” sais I, “for goin’ round and round +is, I like to gather up all that’s in the circle, carry it with me, and +stack it in the centre.” +</p> + +<p> +Lord! what fun I have had pokin’ that are question of Jessie’s +sudden to fellows since then! Sais I to Brother Eldad once— +</p> + +<p> +“Dad, we often talk about natur; what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut,” sais he, “don’t ask me; every fool knows what +natur is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I; “that’s the reason I came to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +He just up with a book, and came plaguy near lettin’ me have it right +agin my head smash. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t do that,” sais I, “Daddy; I was only joking; but +what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Well, he paused a moment and looked puzzled, as a fellow does who is looking +for his spectacles, and can’t find them because he has shoved them up on +his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais he, spreadin’ out his arm, “it’s all +that you see, and the law that governs it.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, it warn’t a bad shot that, for a first trial, that’s a fact. +It hit the target, though it didn’t strike the ring. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said I, “then there is none of it at night, and things +can’t be nateral in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, he seed he had run off the track, so he braved it out. “I +didn’t say it was necessary to see them all the time,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” said I, “natur is what you see and what you +don’t see; but then feelin’ ain’t nateral at all. It strikes +me that if—” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t I say,” said he, “the laws that govern +them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, where are them laws writ?” +</p> + +<p> +“In that are receipt-book o’ yourn you’re so proud of,” +said he. “What do you call it, Mr Wiseacre?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, you admit,” sais I, “any fool <i>can’t</i> +answer that question?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps <i>you</i> can,” sais he. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh Dad!” sais I, “you picked up that shot and throwed it +back. When a feller does that it shows he is short of ammunition. But +I’ll tell you what my opinion is. There is no such a thing as +natur.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Why there is no such a thing as natur in reality; it is only a figure of +speech. The confounded poets got hold of the idea and parsonified it as they +have the word heart, and talk about the voice of natur and its sensations, and +its laws and its simplicities, and all that sort of thing. The noise water +makes in tumblin’ over stones in a brook, a splutterin’ like a +toothless old woman scoldin’ with a mouthful of hot tea in her lantern +cheek, is called the voice of natur speaking in the stream. And when the wind +blows and scatters about all the blossoms from your fruit trees, and you are a +ponderin’ over the mischief, a gall comes along-side of you with a book +of poetry in her hand and sais: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Hark! do you hear the voice of natur amid the trees? Isn’t +it sweet?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s so absurd you can’t help laughin’ and +saying, ‘No;’ but then I hear the voice of natur closer still, and +it says, ‘Ain’t she a sweet critter?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, a cultivated field, which is a work of art, dressed with +artificial manures, and tilled with artificial tools, perhaps by steam, is +called the smiling face of nature. Here nature is strong and there exhausted, +now animated and then asleep. At the poles, the features of nature are all +frozen, and as stiff as a poker, and in the West Indies burnt up to a cinder. +What a pack of stuff it is! It is just a pretty word like pharmacopia and +Pierian spring, and so forth. I hate poets, stock, lock, and barrel; the whole +seed, breed, and generation of them. If you see a she one, look at her +stockings; they are all wrinkled about her ancles, and her shoes are down to +heel, and her hair is as tangled as the mane of a two-year old colt. And if you +see a he one, you see a mooney sort of man, either very sad, or so wild-looking +you think he is half-mad; he eats and sleeps on earth, and that’s all. +The rest of the time he is sky-high, trying to find inspiration and sublimity, +like Byron, in gin and water. I like folks that have common-sense.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, to get back to my story. Said Jessie to me: “Mr Slick, what is +natur?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “Miss, it’s not very easy to explain it +so as to make it intelligible; but I will try. This world, and all that is in +it, is the work of God. When he made it, he gave it laws or properties that +govern it, and so to every living or inanimate thing; and these properties or +laws are called their nature. Nature therefore is sometimes used for God +himself, and sometimes for the world and its contents, and the secret laws of +action imposed upon them when created. There is one nature to men (for though +they don’t all look alike, the laws of their being are the same), and +another to horses, dogs, fish, and so on. Each class has its own nature. For +instance, it is natural for fish to inhabit water, birds the air, and so on. In +general, it therefore means the universal law that governs everything. Do you +understand it?” says I. +</p> + +<p> +“Not just now,” she said, “but I will when I have time to +think of it. Do you say there is one nature to all men?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the same nature to Indian as to white men—all the +same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which is the best nature?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indian and white, are they both equal?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every mite and morsel, every bit and grain. Everybody don’t think +so? That’s natural; every race thinks it is better than another, and +every man thinks he is superior to others; and so does every woman. They think +their children the best and handsomest. A bear thinks her nasty, dirty, +shapeless, tailless cubs the most beautiful things in all creation.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed at that, but as suddenly relapsed into a fixed gloom. “If red +and white men are both equal, and have the same nature,” she said, +“what becomes of those who are neither red nor white, who have no +country, no nation, no tribe, scorned by each, and the tents and the houses of +both closed against them. Are they equal? what does nature say?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no difference,” I said; “in the eye of God they are +all alike.” +</p> + +<p> +“God may think and treat them so,” she replied, rising with much +emotion, “but man does not.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought it was as well to change the conversation, and leave her to ponder +over the idea of the races which seemed so new to her. “So,” sais +I, “I wonder the doctor hasn’t arrived; it’s past four. There +he is, Jessie; see, he is on the beach; he has returned by water. Come, put on +your bonnet and let you and I go and meet him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who, me!” she said, her face expressing both surprise and +pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure,” said I. “You are not afraid of me, Miss, I +hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“I warn’t sure I heard you right,” she said, and away she +went for her bonnet. +</p> + +<p> +Poor thing! it was evident her position was a very painful one to her, and that +her natural pride was deeply injured. Poor dear old Minister! if you was now +alive and could read this Journal, I know what you would say as well as +possible. “Sam,” you would say, “this is a fulfilment of +Scripture. <i>The sins of the fathers are visited on the children, the effects +of which are visible in the second and third generation</i>.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C07">CHAPTER VII.</a><br/> +FIDDLING AND DANCING, AND SERVING THE DEVIL.</h2> + +<p> +By the time we had reached the house, Cutler joined us, and we dined off of the +doctor’s salmon, which was prepared in a way that I had never seen +before; and as it was a touch above common, and smacked of the wigwam, I must +get the receipt. The only way for a man who travels and wants to get something +better than amusement out of it, is to notch down anything new, for every place +has something to teach you in that line. “<i>The silent pig is the best +feeder</i>,” but it remains a pig still, and hastens its death by growing +too fat. Now the talking traveller feeds his mind as well as his body, and soon +finds the less he pampers his appetite the clearer his head is and the better +his spirits. The great thing is to live and learn, and learn to live. +</p> + +<p> +Now I hate an epicure above all created things—worse than lawyers, +doctors, politicians, and selfish fellows of all kinds. In a giniral way he is +a miserable critter, for nothin’ is good enough for him or done right, +and his appetite gives itself as many airs, and requires as much waitin’ +on, as a crotchetty, fanciful, peevish old lady of fashion. If a man’s +sensibility is all in his palate he can’t in course have much in his +heart. Makin’ oneself miserable, fastin’ in sackcloth and ashes, +ain’t a bit more foolish than makin’ oneself wretched in the midst +of plenty, because the sea, the air, and the earth won’t give him the +dainties he wants, and Providence won’t send the cook to dress them. To +spend one’s life in eating, drinking, and sleeping, or like a bullock, in +ruminating on food, reduces a man to the level of an ox or an ass. The stomach +is the kitchen, and a very small one too, in a general way, and broiling, +simmering, stewing, baking, and steaming, is a goin’ on there night and +day. The atmosphere is none of the pleasantest neither, and if a man chooses to +withdraw into himself and live there, why I don’t see what earthly good +he is to society, unless he wants to wind up life by writin’ a +cookery-book. I hate them—that’s just the tarm, and I like tarms +that express what I mean. +</p> + +<p> +I shall never forget when I was up to Michelimackinic. A thunderin’ long +word, ain’t it? We call it Mackinic now for shortness. But perhaps you +wouldn’t understand it spelt that way, no more than I did when I was to +England that Brighton means Brighthelmeston, or Sissiter, Cirencester, for the +English take such liberties with words, they can’t afford to let others +do the same; so I give it to you both ways. Well, when I was there last, I +dined with a village doctor, the greatest epicure I think I ever see in all my +born days. He thought and talked of nothing else from morning till night but +eatin’. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, rubbin’ his hands, “this is +the tallest country in the world to live in. What a variety of food there is +here,—fish, flesh, and fowl,—wild, tame, and +mongeral,—fruits, vegetables, and spongy plants!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” sais I. I always do that when a fellow uses +strange words. “We call a man who drops in accidently on purpose to +dinner a sponging fellow, which means if you give him the liquid he will soak +it up dry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Spongy plants,” sais he, “means mushrooms and the +like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said I, “mushrooms are nateral to a new soil like this. +Upstarts we call them; they arise at night, and by next mornin’ their +house is up and its white roof on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said he, but not lookin’ pleased at havin’ +his oratory cut short that way. “Oh, Mr Slick!” said he, +“there is a poor man here who richly deserves a pension both from your +government and mine. He has done more to advance the culinary art than either +Ude or Soyer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who on earth now were they?” said I. I knew well enough who they +were, for when I was to England they used to brag greatly of Soyer at the +Reform Club. For fear folks would call their association house after their +politics, “<i>the cheap and dirty</i>” they built a very splash +affair, and to set an example to the state in their own establishment of +economy and reform in the public departments, hired Soyer, the best cook of the +age, at a salary that would have pensioned half-a-dozen of the poor worn-out +clerks in Downing Street. <i>Vulgarity is always showy.</i> It is a pretty +word, “Reformers.” The common herd of them I don’t mind much, +for rogues and fools always find employment for each other. But when I hear of +a great reformer like some of the big bugs to England, that have been grinning +through horse-collars of late years, like harlequins at fairs, for the +amusement and instruction of the public, I must say I do expect to see a +super-superior hypocrite. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, I know who those great artists Soyer and Ude were, but I thought I’d +draw him out. So I just asked who on earth they were, and he explained at great +length, and mentioned the wonderful discoveries they had made in their divine +art. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “why on earth don’t your friend the +Mackinic cook go to London or Paris, where he won’t want a pension, or +anything else, if he excels them great men?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bless you, Sir,” he replied, “he is merely a +voyageur.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh dear,” sais I, “I dare say then he can fry ham and eggs +and serve ’em up in ile, boil salt beef and pork, and twice lay cod-fish, +and perhaps boil potatoes nice and watery like cattle turnips. What discoveries +could such a rough-and-tumble fellow as that make?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the doctor, “I didn’t want to put myself +forward, for it ain’t pleasant to speak of oneself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t know that,” sais I, “I ain’t above +it, I assure you. If you have a horse to sell, put a thunderin’ long +price on him, and folks will think he must be the devil and all, and if you +want people to vally you right, appraise yourself at a high figure. +<i>Braggin’ saves advertising’.</i> I always do it; for as the Nova +Scotia magistrate said, who sued his debtor before himself, ‘What’s +the use of being a justice, if you can’t do yourself justice.’ But +what was you sayin’ about the voyageur?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Sir,” said he, “I made the discovery through his +instrumentality. He enabled me to do it by suffering the experiments to be made +on him. His name was Alexis St Martin; he was a Canadian, and about eighteen +years of age, of good constitution, robust, and healthy. He had been engaged in +the service of the American Fur Company as a voyageur, and was accidentally +wounded by the discharge of a musket, on the 9th of June, 1822. The charge, +consisting of powder and duck-shot, was received in his left side; he being at +a distance of not more than one yard from the muzzle of the gun. The contents +entered posteriorly, and in an oblique direction, forward and inward, literally +blowing off integuments and muscles, of the size of a man’s hand, +fracturing and carrying away the anterior half of the sixth rib, fracturing the +fifth, lacerating the lower portion of the left lobe of the lungs, the +diaphragm, and perforating the stomach.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” sais I, “how plain that is expressed! It is +as clear as mud, that! I do like doctors, for their talking and writing is +intelligible to the meanest capacity.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked pleased, and went ahead agin. +</p> + +<p> +“After trying all the means in my power for eight or ten months to close +the orifice, by exciting adhesive inflammation in the lips of the wound, +without the least appearance of success, I gave it up as impracticable, in any +other way than that of incising and bringing them together by sutures; an +operation to which the patient would not submit. By using the aperture which +providence had supplied us with to communicate with the stomach, I ascertained, +by attaching a small portion of food of different kinds to a string, and +inserting it through his side, the exact time each takes for digestion, such as +beef or pork, or mutton or fowl, or fish or vegetables, cooked in different +ways.<sup>1</sup> We all know how long it takes to dress them, but we did not +know how long a time they required for digestion. I will show you a comparative +table.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> The village doctor appears to have appropriated to himself the +credit due to another. The particulars of this remarkable case are to be found +in a work published in New York in 1833, entitled “Experiments and +observations on the gastric juices, and the physiology of digestion,” by +William Beaumont, M. D., Surgeon in the United States’ Army, and also in +the “Albion” newspaper of the same place for January 4, 1834. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” sais I, “but I am afraid I must be a moving. +“Fact is, my stomach was movin’ then, for it fairly made me sick. +Yes, I’d a plaguy sight sooner see a man embroidering, which is about as +contemptible an accomplishment as an idler can have, than to hear him +everlastingly smack his lips, and see him open his eyes and gloat like an +anaconda before he takes down a bullock, horns, hair, and hoof, tank, shank, +and flank, at one bolt, as if it was an opium pill to make him sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Well, all this long lockrum arose out of my saying I should like to have the +receipt by which Jessie’s sister had cooked the salmon for dinner; and I +intend to get it too, that’s a fact. As we concluded our meal, +“Doctor,” sais I, “we have been meditating mischief in your +absence. What do you say to our makin’ a party to visit the +‘<i>Bachelor beaver’s dam</i>,’ and see your museum, fixins, +betterments, and what not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said he, “I should like it above all things; +but—” +</p> + +<p> +“But what?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“But I am afraid, as you must stay all night, if you go, my poor wigwam +won’t accommodate so many with beds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! some of us will camp out,” sais I, “I am used to it, and +like it a plaguy sight better than hot rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just the thing,” said he. “Oh! Mr Slick, you are a man after +my own heart. The nature of all foresters is alike, <i>red</i> or white, +English or French, Yankee or Blue-nose.” +</p> + +<p> +Jessie looked up at the coïncidence of that expression with what I had +said yesterday. +</p> + +<p> +“Blue-nose,” said I, “Doctor,” to familiarize the +girl’s mind to the idea I had started of the mixed race being on a +footing of equality with the other two, “Blue-nose ought to be the best, +for he is half Yankee and half English; two of the greatest people on the face +of the airth!” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said he, “by right he ought to be, and it’s his +own fault he ain’t.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought it would be as well to drop the allusion there, so I said, +“That’s exactly what mother used to say when I did anything wrong: +‘Sam, ain’t you ashamed.’ ‘No, I ain’t,’ +said I. ‘Then you ought to be,’ she’d reply. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a fixed fact, then,” said I, “that we go +to-morrow to the Beaver dam?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “I shall be delighted. Jessie, you and your +sister will accompany us, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should be charmed,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you will be pleased with it,” he continued, “it will +just suit you; it’s so quiet and retired. But you must let Etienne take +the horse, and carry a letter to my sergeant and his commanding officer, Betty, +to give them notice of our visit, or he will go through the whole campaign in +Spain before he is done, and tell you how ill the commissariat-people were +used, in not having notice given to them to lay in stores. I never was honoured +with the presence of ladies there before, and he will tell you he is +broken-hearted at the accommodation. I don’t know what there is in the +house; but the rod and the gun will supply us, I think, and the French boy, +when he returns, will bring me word if anything is wanted from the +shore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie,” said I, “can’t you invite the two Highland +lassies and their brother that were here last night, and let us have a reel +this evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! yes,” she said, and going into the kitchen, the message was +despatched immediately. As soon as the guests arrived, Peter produced his +violin, and the doctor waking out of one of his brown studies, jumped up like a +boy, and taking one of the new-comers by the hand, commenced a most joyous and +rapid jig, the triumph of which seemed to consist in who should tire the other +out. The girl had youth and agility on her side; but the doctor was not devoid +of activity, and the great training which his constant exercise kept him in, +threw the balance in his favour; so when he ceased, and declared the other +victorious, it was evident that it was an act of grace, and not of necessity. +After that we all joined in an eight-handed reel, and eight merrier and happier +people I don’t think were ever before assembled at Ship Harbour. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of it the door opened, and a tall, thin, cadaverous-looking man +entered, and stood contemplating us in silence. He had a bilious-looking +countenance, which the strong light of the fire and candles, when thrown upon +it, rendered still more repulsive. He had a broad-brimmed hat on his head, +which he did not condescend to remove, and carried in one hand a leather +travelling-bag, as lean and as dark-complexioned as himself, and in the other a +bundle of temperance newspapers. Peter seeing that he did not speak or advance, +called out to him, with a face beaming with good humour, as he kept bobbing his +head, and keeping time with his foot (for his whole body was affected by his +own music). +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, friend, come in, she is welcome. Come in, she is playin’ +herself just now, but she will talk to you presently.” And then he +stamped his foot to give emphasis to the turn of the tune, as if he wanted to +astonish the stranger with his performance. +</p> + +<p> +The latter however not only seemed perfectly insensible to its charms, but +immoveable. Peter at last got up from his chair, and continued playing as he +advanced towards him; but he was so excited by what was going on among the +young people, that he couldn’t resist dancing himself, as he proceeded +down the room, and when he got to him, capered and fiddled at the same time. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said he, as he jumped about in front of him, “come +and join in;” and liftin’ the end of his bow suddenly, tipt off his +hat for him, and said, “Come, she will dance with you herself.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger deliberately laid down his travelling-bag and paper parcel, and +lifting up both hands said, “Satan, avaunt.” But Peter +misunderstood him, and thought he said, “Sartain, I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“She canna do tat,” he replied, “can’t she, then +she’ll teach you the step herself. This is the way,” and his feet +approached so near the solemncolly man that he retreated a step or two as if to +protect his shins. Everybody in the room was convulsed with laughter, for all +saw what the intruder was, and the singular mistake Peter was making. It broke +up the reel. The doctor put his hands to his sides, bent forward, and made the +most comical contortions of face. In this position he shuffled across the room, +and actually roared out with laughter. +</p> + +<p> +I shall never forget the scene; I have made a sketch of it, to illustrate this +for you. There was this demure sinner, standing bolt upright in front of the +door, his hat hanging on the handle, which had arrested it in its fall, and his +long black hair, as if partaking of his consternation, flowing wildly over his +cheeks; while Peter, utterly unconscious that no one was dancing, continued +playing and capering in front of him, as if he was ravin distracted, and the +doctor bent forward, pressing his sides with his hands, as if to prevent their +bursting, laughed as if he was in hysterics. It was the most comical thing I +ever saw. I couldn’t resist it no longer, so I joined the trio. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Doctor,” sais I, “a three-handed reel,” and +entering into the joke, he seized the stranger by one hand, and I by the other, +and before our silent friend knew where he was, he was in the middle of the +floor, and though he was not made to dance, he was pushed or flung into his +place, and turned and faced about as if he was taking his first lesson. At +last, as if by common consent, we all ceased laughing, from sheer exhaustion. +The stranger still kept his position in the centre of the floor, and when +silence was restored, raised his hands again in pious horror, and said, in a +deep, sepulchral voice: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Fiddling and dancing, and serving the devil.</i> Do you ever think of +your latter end?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thee had better think of thine, friend,” I whispered, assuming the +manner of a quaker for fun, “for Peter is a rough customer, and +won’t stand upon ceremony.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Amhic an aibhisteir</i> (son of the devil),” said Peter, +shaking his fist at him, “if she don’t like it, she had better go. +It’s her own house, and she will do what she likes in it. Faat does she +want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want the man called Samuel Slick,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Verily,” sais I, “friend, I am that man, and wilt thee tell +me who thee is that wantest me, and where thee livest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Men call me,” he said, “Jehu Judd, and when to home, I live +in Quaco in New Brunswick.” +</p> + +<p> +I was glad of that, because it warn’t possible the critter could know +anything of me, and I wanted to draw him out. +</p> + +<p> +“And what does thee want, friend?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I come to trade with you, to sell you fifty barrels of mackerel, and to +procure some nets for the fishery, and some manufactures, commonly called +<i>domestics.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Verily,” sais I, “thee hast an odd way of opening a trade, +methinks, friend Judd. Shaking quakers dance piously, as thee mayest have +heard, and dost thee think thy conduct seemly? What mayest thee be, +friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“A trader,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Art thee not a fisher of men, friend, as well as a fisher of +fish?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a Christian man,” he said, “of the sect called +‘<i>come-outers</i>,’<sup>1</sup> and have had experience, and when +I meet the brethren, sometimes I speak a word in season.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Come-outers. This name has been applied to a considerable number +of persons in various parts of the Northern States, principally in New England, +who have recently <i>come out</i> of the various religious denominations with +which they have been connected; hence the name. They have not themselves +assumed any distinctive organization. They have no creed, believing that every +one should be left free to hold such opinions on religious subjects as he +pleases, without being held accountable for the same to any human +authority—<i>Bartlett’s Americanisms.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Well, friend, thee has spoken thy words out of season tonight,” I +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Peradventure I was wrong,” he replied, “and if so, I repent +me of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of a certainty thee was, friend. Thee sayest thy name is Jehu; now he +was a hard rider, and it may be thee drivest a hard bargain, if so, go thy +ways, for thee cannot ‘make seed-corn off of me;’ if not, tarry +here till this company goeth, and then I will talk to thee touching the thing +called mackarel. Wilt thee sit by the fire till the quaker ceaseth his dancing, +and perhaps thee may learn what those words mean, ‘and the heart danceth +for joy,’ or it may be thee will return to thy vessel, and trade in the +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“No man knoweth,” he said, “what an hour may bring forth; I +will bide my time.” +</p> + +<p> +“The night is cold at this season,” said Peter, who considered that +the laws of hospitality required him to offer the best he had in his house to a +stranger, so he produced some spirits, as the most acceptable thing he +possessed, and requested him to help himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I care not if I do,” he said, “for my pledge extendeth not +so far as this,” and he poured himself out a tumbler of brandy and water, +that warn’t half-and-half, but almost the whole hog. Oh, gummy, what a +horn! it was strong enough almost to throw an ox over a five-bar gate. It made +his eyes twinkle, I tell you, and he sat down and began to look as if he +thought the galls pretty. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Peter,” said I, “strike up, the stranger will wait +awhile.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will she dance,” said he, “tam her.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said I, but I whispered to the doctor, “he will +<i>reel</i> soon,” at which he folded his arms across his breast and +performed his gyrations as before. Meanwhile Cutler and Frazer, and two of the +girls, commenced dancing jigs, and harmony was once more restored. While they +were thus occupied, I talked over the arrangements for our excursion on the +morrow with Jessie, and the doctor entered into a close examination of Jehu +Judd, as to the new asphalt mines in his province. He informed him of the +enormous petrified trunks of palm-trees that have been found while exploring +the coal-fields, and warmed into eloquence as he enumerated the mineral wealth +and great resources of that most beautiful colony. The doctor expressed himself +delighted with the information he had received, whereupon Jehu rose and asked +him in token of amity to pledge him in a glass of Peter’s excellent +cognac, and without waiting for a reply, filled a tumbler and swallowed it at +one gulp. +</p> + +<p> +My, what a pull that was. Thinks I to myself, “Friend, if that +don’t take the wrinkles out of the parchment case of your conscience, +then I don’t know nothin’, that’s all.” Oh dear, how +all America is overrun with such cattle as this; how few teach religion, or +practise it right. How hard it is to find the genuine article. Some folks keep +the people in ignorance, and make them believe the moon is made of green +cheese; others, with as much sense, fancy the world is. One has old saints, the +other invents new ones. One places miracles at a distance, t’other makes +them before their eyes, while both are up to mesmerism. One says there is no +marryin’ in Paradise, the other says, if that’s true, it’s +hard, and it is best to be a mormon and to have polygamy here. Then there is a +third party who says, neither of you speak sense, it is better to believe +nothin’ than to give yourself up to be crammed. Religion, Squire, +ain’t natur, because it is intended to improve corrupt natur, it’s +no use talkin’ therefore, it can’t be left to itself, otherwise it +degenerates into something little better than animal instinct. It must be +taught, and teaching must have authority as well as learning. There can be no +authority where there is no power to enforce, and there can be no learning +where there is no training. If there must be normal schools to qualify +schoolmasters, there must be Oxfords and Cambridges to qualify clergymen. At +least that’s my idea. Well, if there is a qualified man, he must be +supported while he is working. But if he has to please his earthly employer, +instead of obeying his heavenly Master, the better he is qualified the more +dangerous he is. If he relies on his congregation, the order of things is +turned upside down. He serves mammon, and not God. If he does his duty he must +tell unpleasant truths, and then he gets a walkin’ ticket. Who will hire +a servant, pay him for his time, find a house for him to live in, and provide +him in board, if he has a will of his own, and won’t please his employer +by doin’ what he is ordered to do? I don’t think you would, Squire, +and I know I wouldn’t. +</p> + +<p> +No, a fixed, settled church, like ourn, or yours, Squire, is the best. There is +safe anchorage ground in them, and you don’t go draggin’ your +flukes with every spurt of wind, or get wrecked if there is a gale that rages +round you. There is something strong to hold on to. There are good buoys, known +landmarks, and fixed light-houses, so that you know how to steer, and not +helter-skelter lights movin’ on the shore like will-o’-the whisps, +or wreckers’ false fires, that just lead you to destruction. The medium +between the two churches, for the clergy, would be the right thing. In yours +they are too independent of the people, with us a little too dependent. But we +are coming up to the notch by making moderate endowments, which will enable the +minister to do what is right, and not too large to make him lazy or careless. +Well then, in neither of them is a minister handed over to a faction to try. +Them that make the charges ain’t the judges, which is a Magna Charta for +him. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, I like our episcopal churches, they teach, persuade, guide, and paternally +govern, but they have no dungeons, no tortures, no fire and sword. They +ain’t afraid of the light, for, as minister used to say, “their +light shines afore men.” Just see what sort of a system it must be that +produces such a man as Jehu Judd. And yet Jehu finds it answer his purpose in +his class to be what he is. His religion is a cloak, and that is a grand thing +for a pick-pocket. It hides his hands, while they are fumblin’ about your +waistcoat and trousers, and then conceals the booty. You can’t make +tricks if your adversary sees your hands, you may as well give up the game. +</p> + +<p> +But to return to the evangelical trader. Before we recommenced dancing again, I +begged the two Gaelic girls, who were bouncing, buxom lasses, and as strong as +Shetland ponies, to coax or drag him up for a reel. Each took a hand of his and +tried to persuade him. Oh, weren’t they full of smiles, and didn’t +they look rosy and temptin’? They were sure, they said, so +good-lookin’ a man as he was, must have learned to dance, or how could he +have given it up? +</p> + +<p> +“For a single man like you,” said Catherine. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not a single man,” said Old Piety, “I am a widower, a +lonely man in the house of Israel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Catherine,” sais I, a givin’ her a wink, “take +care of theeself, or thy Musquodobit farm, with its hundred acres of intervale +meadow, and seventy head of horned cattle, is gone.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a very amatory look at her after that hint. +</p> + +<p> +“Verily she would be a <i>duck</i> in <i>Quaco,</i> friend Jehu,” +said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed would she, anywhere,” he said, looking sanctified Cupids at +her, as pious galls do who show you the place in your prayer-book at church. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, there is another way methinks she would be a duck,” said I, +“the maiden would soon turn up the whites of her eyes at dancin’ +like a <i>duck</i> in thunder, as the profane men say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, oh,” said the doctor, who stood behind me, “I shall die, +he’ll kill me. I can’t stand this, oh, how my sides ache.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I am afraid I shall always be a <i>wild duck</i>,” said +Catherine. +</p> + +<p> +“They are safer from the fowler,” said Jehu, “for they are +wary and watchful.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you are a widower,” she said, “you ought to dance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you think so?” said he; but his tongue was becoming thick, +though his eyes were getting brighter. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” she said, “a widower is an odd critter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Odd?” he replied, “in what way odd, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said the girl, “an ox of ourn lately lost his mate, +and my brother called him the odd ox, and not the single ox, and he is the most +frolicksome fellow you ever see. Now, as you have lost your mate, you are an +odd one, and if you are lookin’ for another to put its head into the +yoke, you ought to go frolickin’ everywhere too!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do single critters ever look for mates?” said he, slily. +</p> + +<p> +“Well done,” said I, “friend Jehu. The drake had the best of +the duck that time. Thee weren’t bred in Quaco for nothin’. Come, +rouse up, wake snakes, and walk chalks, as the thoughtless children of evil +say. I see thee is warmin’ to the subject.” +</p> + +<p> +“Men do allow,” said he, lookin’ at me with great +self-complacency, “that in speech I am <i>peeower</i>ful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Mary,” said I, addressin’ the other sister, “do +thee try thy persuasive powers, but take care of thy grandmother’s +legacy, the two thousand pounds thee hast in the Pictou Bank. It is easier for +that to go to Quaco than the farm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, never fear,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Providence,” he continued, “has been kind to these virgins. +They are surprising comely, and well endowed with understanding and +money,” and he smirked first at one and then at the other, as if he +thought either would do—the farm or the legacy. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” they both said, and as they gave a slight pull, up he +sprung to his feet. The temptation was too great for him: two pairs of bright +eyes, two pretty faces, and two hands in his filled with Highland +blood—and that ain’t cold—and two glasses of grog within, and +two fortunes without, were irresistible. +</p> + +<p> +So said he,” If I have offended, verily I will make amends; but dancing +is a dangerous thing, and a snare to the unwary. The hand and waist of a maiden +in the dance lead not to serious thoughts.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s because thee so seldom feels them,” I said. +“Edged tools never wound thee when thee is used to them, and the razor +that cutteth the child, passeth smoothly over the chin of a man. He who locketh +up his daughters, forgetteth there is a window and a ladder, and if gaiety is +shut out of the house, it is pitied and admitted when the master is absent or +asleep. When it is harboured by stealth and kept concealed, it loses its beauty +and innocence, and waxeth wicked. The crowd that leaveth a night-meeting is +less restrained than the throng that goeth to a lighted ball-room. Both are to +be avoided; one weareth a cloak that conceals too much, the other a thin +vestment that reveals more than is seemly. Of the two, it is better to court +observation than shun it. Dark thoughts lead to dark deeds.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is much reason in what you say,” he said; “I never had +it put to me in that light before. I have heard of the shakers, but never saw +one before you, nor was aware that they danced.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did thee never hear,” said I, “when thee was a boy, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Merrily dance the quaker’s wife,<br/> +And merrily dance the quaker?’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and so on?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, never,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Then verily, friend, I will show thee how a quaker can dance. They call +us shakers, from shaking our feet so spry. Which will thee choose—the +farm or the legacy?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary took his hand, and led him to his place, the music struck up, and Peter +gave us one of his quickest measures. Jehu now felt the combined influence of +music, women, brandy, and dancing, and snapped his fingers over his head, and +stamped his feet to mark the time, and hummed the tune in a voice that from its +power and clearness astonished us all. +</p> + +<p> +“Well done, old boy,” said I, for I thought I might drop the quaker +now, “well done, old boy,” and I slapped him on the back, “go +it while you are young, make up for lost time: now for the double shuffle. Dod +drot it, you are clear grit and no mistake. You are like a critter that boggles +in the collar at the first go off, and don’t like the start, but when you +do lay legs to it you certainly ain’t no slouch, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +The way he cut carlicues ain’t no matter. From humming he soon got to a +full cry, and from that to shouting. His antics overcame us all. The doctor +gave the first key-note. “Oh, oh, that man will be the death of +me,” and again rubbed himself round the wall, in convulsions of laughter. +Peter saw nothing absurd in all this, on the contrary, he was delighted with +the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“Oigh,” he said, “ta preacher is a goot feller after all, she +will tance with her hern ainsel;” and fiddling his way up to him again, +he danced a jig with Jehu, to the infinite amusement of us all. The familiarity +which Mr Judd exhibited with the steps and the dance, convinced me that he must +have often indulged in it before he became a Christian. At last he sat down, +not a little exhausted with the violent exertion, but the liquor made him +peeowerful thick-legged, and his track warn’t a bee line, I tell you. +After a while a song was proposed, and Mary entreated him to favour us with +one. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Miss,” said he, “pretty Miss,” and his mouth +resembled that of a cat contemplating a pan of milk that it cannot reach, +“lovely maiden, willingly would I comply, if Sall Mody (Psalmody) will +do, but I have forgotten my songs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try this,” said I, and his strong, clear voice rose above us all, +as he joined us in— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Yes, Lucy is a pretty girl,<br/> +Such lubly hands and feet,<br/> +When her toe is in the Market-house,<br/> +Her heel is in Main Street.<br/> +<br/> +“Oh take your time, Miss Lucy,<br/> +Miss Lucy, Lucy Long,<br/> +Rock de cradle, Lucy,<br/> +And listen to de song.” +</p> + +<p> +He complained of thirst and fatigue after this, and rising, said, “I am +<i>peeower</i>ful dry, by jinks,” and helped himself so liberally, that +he had scarcely resumed his seat before he was fast asleep, and so incapable of +sustaining himself in a sitting posture, that we removed him to the sofa, and +loosening his cravat, placed him in a situation where he could repose +comfortably. We then all stood round the evangelical +“<i>Come-outer</i>,” and sang in chorus: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“My old master, Twiddledum Don,<br/> +Went to bed with his trousers on,<br/> +One shoe off, and the other shoe on—<br/> +That’s the description of Twiddledum Don.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my old ‘Come-outer,’” said I, as I took my last +look at him for the night, “you have ‘come-out’ in your true +colours at last, but this comes of <i>‘fiddling and dancing, and serving +the devil</i>.’” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C08">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br/> +STITCHING A BUTTON-HOLE.</h2> + +<p> +After the family had retired to rest, the doctor and I lighted our cigars, and +discoursed of the events of the evening. +</p> + +<p> +“Such men as Jehu Judd,” he said, “do a monstrous deal of +mischief in the country. By making the profession of piety a cloak for their +knavery, they injure the cause of morality, and predispose men to ridicule the +very appearance of that which is so justly entitled to their respect, a sober, +righteous, and godly life. Men lose their abhorrence of fraud in their distrust +of the efficacy of religion. It is a duty we owe to society to expose and +punish such fellows.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, I will do <i>my</i> duty,” said I, laughing, “he +has fired into the wrong flock this time, I’ll teach him not to do it +again, or my name is not Sam Slick. I will make that goney a caution to +sinners, <i>I</i> know. He has often deceived others so that they didn’t +know him, I will now alter him so he shan’t know himself when he wakes +up.” +</p> + +<p> +Proceeding to my bed-room, which, as I said before, adjoined the parlour, I +brought out the box containin’ my sketchin’ fixins, and opening of +a secret drawer, showed him a small paper of bronze-coloured powder. +</p> + +<p> +“That,” said I,” is what the Indians at the Nor-west use to +disguise a white man, when he is in their train, not to deceive their enemies, +for you couldn’t take in a savage for any length of time, no how you +could fix it, but that his pale face might not alarm the scouts of their foes. +I was stained that way for a month when I was among them, for there was war +going on at the time.” +</p> + +<p> +Mixing a little of it with brandy I went to the sofa, where Mr Jehu Judd was +laid out, and with a camel’s hair brush ornamented his upper lip with two +enormous and ferocious moustachios, curling well upwards, across his cheeks to +his ears, and laid on the paint in a manner to resist the utmost efforts of +soap and water. Each eye was adorned with an enormous circle to represent the +effect of blows, and on his forehead was written in this indelible ink in large +print letters, like those on the starn-board of a vessel, the words “Jehu +of Quaco.” +</p> + +<p> +In the morning we made preparations for visiting the Bachelor Beaver. The +evangelical trader awoke amid the general bustle of the house, and sought me +out to talk over the sale of his mackarel. +</p> + +<p> +“Fa is tat,” said Peter, who first stared wildly at him, and then +put himself in a posture of defence. “Is she a deserter from the garishon +of Halifax?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am a man of peace,” said Jehu (who appeared to have forgotten +the aberrations of the last evening, and had resumed his usual +sanctimoniouslyfied manner). “Swear not, friend, it is an abomination, +and becometh not a Christian man.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was amazed, he could not trust his eyes, his ears, or his memory. +</p> + +<p> +“Toctor,” said he, “come here for heaven’s sake, is she +hern ainsel or ta tevil.” +</p> + +<p> +The moment the doctor saw him, his hands as usual involuntarily protected his +sides, and he burst out a laughing in his face, and then describing a circle on +the grass, fell down, and rolled over, saying, “Oh, oh, that man will be +the death of me.” The girls nearly went into hysterics, and Cutler, +though evidently not approving of the practical joke, as only fit for military +life, unable to contain himself, walked away. The French boy, Etienne, +frightened at his horrible expression of face, retreated backwards, crossed +himself most devoutly, and muttered an Ave Maria. +</p> + +<p> +“Friend Judd,” said I, for I was the only one who retained my +gravity, “thee ought not to wear a mask, it is a bad sign.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wear no mask, Mr Slick,” he said, “I use no disguises, and +it does not become a professing man like you to jeer and scoff because I +reprove the man Peter for his profaneness.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter stamped and raved like a madman, and had to resort to Gaelic to disburden +his mind of his effervescence. He threatened to shoot him; he knew him very +well, he said, for he had seen him before on the prairies. He was a Kentucky +villain, a forger, a tief, a Yankee spy sent to excite the Indians against the +English. He knew his false moustachios, he would swear to them in any court of +justice in the world. “Deil a bit is ta loon Jehu Judd,” he said, +“her name is prayin’ Joe, the horse-stealer.” +</p> + +<p> +For the truth of this charge he appealed to his daughters, who stood aghast at +the fearful resemblance his moustachios had given him to that noted borderer. +</p> + +<p> +“That man of Satan,” said Jehu, looking very uncomfortable, as he +saw Peter flourishing a short dirk, and the doctor holding him back and +remonstrating with him. “That man of Satan I never saw before yesterday, +when I entered his house, where there was <i>fiddling and dancing, and serving +the devil.</i> Truly my head became dizzy at the sight, my heart sunk within me +at beholding such wickedness, and I fell into a swoon, and was troubled with +dreams of the evil one all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he visited thee, friend,” I said, “in thy sleep, and +placed his mark upon thee—the mark of the beast, come and look at it in +the glass.” +</p> + +<p> +When he saw himself, he started back in great terror, and gave vent to a long, +low, guttural groan, like a man who is suffering intense agony. “What in +the world is all this?” he said. He again approached the glass and again +retreated with a look of unspeakable despair, groaning like a thousand sinners, +and swelled out about the head and throat like a startled blauzer-snake. After +which he put his hand to his lip and discovered there was no hair. He then took +courage and advanced once more, and examined it carefully, and rubbed it, but +it did not remove it. +</p> + +<p> +“He has burned it into the skin,” I said, “he hath made thee +the image of the horse-stealer, and who knoweth whom else thou resemblest. Thee +art a marked man verily. Thee said thee never used disguises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” he said, “never, Mr Slick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” I said, “thee hast worn three disguises. First, thee +wore the disguise of religion; secondly, thee were disguised in liquor; and +thirdly, thee art now disguised with what fighting men call the +moustachio.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, leaving off his cant, and really looking +like a different man, “dod drot it, it is a just punishment. I knock +under, I holler, I give in, have mercy on me. Can you rid me of this horrid +mark, for I can’t flunk out in the street in this rig.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can,” sais I, “but I will do it on one condition only, and +that is, that you give over canting that way, and coverin’ tricks with +long faces and things too serious to mention now, for that is doubly wicked. +Cheatin’ ain’t pretty at no time, though I wouldn’t be too +hard on a man for only gettin’ hold of the right eend of the rope in a +bargain. I have done it myself. Or puttin’ the leak into a consaited +critter sometimes for fun. But to cheat, and cant to help you a doin’ of +it, is horrid, that’s a fact. It’s the very devil. Will you +promise, if I take down that ornamental sign-board, that you will give up that +kind o’ business and set up a new shop?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” said he, “upon my soul—I’ll be +d—d if I don’t. That ain’t cant now, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now you never said a truer word,” said I, “you will be +d—d if you don’t, that’s a fact. But there is no use to run +to the other extreme, neither.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a preacher?” said he, and I thought he gave me a sly look +out of the corner of his eye, as much as to say, “how good we are, +ain’t we,” as sin said when the devil was rebukin’ of him. +The fact is, the fellow was a thunderin’ knave, but he was no fool, +further than being silly enough to be a knave. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” sais I, “I ain’t, I scorn a man dubbin’ +himself preacher, without the broughtens up to it, and a lawful warrant for +being one. And I scorn cant, it ain’t necessary to trade. If you want +that proved to you, wait till I return to-morrow, and if you get to winderd of +me in a bargain, I’ll give you leave to put the moustachios on me, +that’s a fact. My maxim is to buy as low and sell as high as I can, +provided the article will bear a large profit. If not, I take a moderate +advance, turn the penny quick, and at it again. I will compound something that +will take out your false hair, for I don’t think it will be easy to shave +it off. It all came of pretence. What in the world was the reason you +couldn’t walk quietly into the cantecoi, where people were enjoying +themselves, and either join them, or if you had scruples, keep them to yourself +and sit by. Nobody would have molested you. Nothing but cant led you to join +temperance societies. A man ought to be able to use, not abuse liquor, but the +moment you obligate yourself not to touch it, it kinder sets you a hankering +after it, and if you taste it after that, it upsets you, as it did last night. +<i>It ain’t easy to wean a calf that takes to suckin’ the second +time, that’s a fact.</i> Your pretence set folks agin you. They +didn’t half like the interruption for one thing, and then the way you +acted made them disrespect you. So you got a most an all-fired trick played on +you. And I must say it sarves you right. Now, sais I, go on board +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “oh now, that’s a good fellow, +don’t send me on board such a figure as this, I’d rather die fust, +I’d never hear the last of it. The men would make me the laughing-stock +of Quaco. Oh, I can’t go on board.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “go to bed then, and put a poultice on your +face, to soften the skin.” That warn’t necessary at all, but I said +it to punish him. “And when I come back, I will give you a wash, that +will make your face as white and as smooth as a baby’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “couldn’t you—” +but I turned away, and didn’t hear him out. +</p> + +<p> +By the time I had done with him, we were all ready to start for the Bachelor +Beaver. Peter borrowed an extra horse and waggon, and drove his youngest +daughter. Cutler drove Jessie in another, and the doctor and I walked. +</p> + +<p> +“We can travel as fast as they can,” he said, “for part of +the road is full of stumps, and very rough, and I like the arrangement, and +want to have a talk with you about all sorts of things.” +</p> + +<p> +After travelling about two miles, we struck off the main highway into a +wood-road, in which stones, hillocks, and roots of trees so impeded the +waggons, that we passed them, and took the lead. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you charged?” said the Doctor, “if not, I think we may +as well do so now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it would be advisable,” said I. “But where is your +gun?” +</p> + +<p> +“I generally am so well loaded,” he replied, “when I go to +the woods, I find it an encumbrance. In addition to my other traps, I find +forty weight of pemican as much as I can carry.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Pemican</i>,”<sup>1</sup> sais I, “what in natur is +that?” I knew as well as he did what it was, for a man that don’t +understand how to make that, don’t know the very abeselfa of wood-craft. +But I tell you what, Squire, unless you want to be hated, don’t let on +you know all that a feller can tell you. The more you <i>do</i> know, the more +folks are afeared to be able to tell you something new. It flatters their +vanity, and it’s a harmless piece of politeness, as well as good policy +to listen; for who the plague will attend to you if you won’t condescend +to hear them? <i>Conversation is a barter, in which one thing is swapped for +another, and you must abide by the laws of trade.</i> What you give costs you +nothing; and what you get may be worth nothing; so, if you don’t gain +much, you don’t lose, at all events. “So,” sais I, +“what in natur is pemican?” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> See Dunn’s “Oregon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais he, “it is formed by pounding the choice parts of +venison or other meat very small, dried over a slack fire, or by the frost, and +put into bags, made of the skin of the slain animal, into which a portion of +melted fat is poured. The whole being then strongly pressed, and sewed up in +bags, constitutes the best and most portable food known; and one which will +keep a great length of time. If a dainty man, like you, wishes to improve its +flavour, you may spice it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a grand thing that would be for soldiers during forced marches, +wouldn’t it. Well, Doctor,” sais I, “that’s a wrinkle, +ain’t it? But who ever heard of a colonial minister knowing anything of +colony habits?” +</p> + +<p> +“If we have a chance to kill a deer,” he said, “I will show +you how to make it,” and he looked as pleased to give me that information +as if he had invented it himself. “So I use this instead of a gun,” +he continued, producing a long, thick-barreled pistol, of capital workmanship, +and well mounted. “I prefer this, it answers every purpose: and is easy +to carry. There are no wolves here, and bears never attack you, unless +molested, so that the gun-barrel is not needed as a club; and if Bruin once +gets a taste of this, he is in no hurry to face it again. The great thing is to +know how to shoot, and where to hit. Now, it’s no use to fire at the head +of a bear, the proper place to aim for is the side, just back of the fore leg. +Are you a good shot?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said I, “I can’t brag, for I have seen them +that could beat me at that game; but, in a general way, I don’t calculate +to throw away my lead. It’s scarce in the woods. Suppose though we have a +trial. Do you see that blaze in the hemlock tree, there? try it.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, he up, and as quick as wink fired, and hit it directly in the centre. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “you scare me. To tell you the truth, I +didn’t expect to be taken up that way. And so sure as I boast of a thing, +I slip out of the little eend of the horn.” Well, I drew a bead fine on +it, and fired. +</p> + +<p> +“That mark is too small,” said he (thinking I had missed it), +“and hardly plain enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if I had gone a one side or the other,” +said I, as we walked up to it, “I intended to send your ball further in; +but I guess I have only turned it round. See, I have cut a little grain of the +bark off the right side of the circle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said he, “these balls are near enough to give a +critter the heart-ache, at any rate. You are a better shot than I am; and +that’s what I have never seen in this province. Strange, too, for you +don’t live in the woods as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the reason,” said I, “I shoot for practice, +you, when you require it. Use keeps your hand in, but it wouldn’t do it +for me; so I make up by practising whenever I can. When I go to the woods, +which ain’t as often now as I could wish, for they ain’t to be +found everywhere in our great country, I enjoy it with all my heart. I enter +into it as keen as a hound, and I don’t care to have the Clockmaker run +rigs on. A man’s life often depends on his shot, and he ought to be +afraid of nothin’. Some men, too, are as dangerous as wild beasts; but if +they know you can snuff a candle with a ball, hand runnin’, why, they are +apt to try their luck with some one else, that ain’t up to snuff, +that’s all. It’s a common feeling, that. +</p> + +<p> +“The best shot I ever knew, was a tailor at Albany. He used to be very +fond of brousin’ in the forest sometimes, and the young fellows was apt +to have a shy at Thimble. They talked of the <i>skirts</i> of the forest, the +<i>capes</i> of the Hudson, laughing in their <i>sleeve,</i> giving a fellow a +<i>bastin,</i> having a <i>stitch</i> in the side, <i>cuffing</i> a +fellow’s ears, taking a <i>tuck-in</i> at lunch, or calling mint-julip an +<i>inside lining,</i> and so on; and every time any o’ these words came +out, they all laughed like anything. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the critter, who was really a capital fellow, used to join in the +laugh himself, but still grinnin’ is no proof a man enjoys it; for a +hyena will laugh, if you give him a poke. So what does he do, but practise in +secret every morning and evening at pistol-shooting for an hour or two, until +he was a shade more than perfection itself. Well, one day he was out with a +party of them same coons, and they began to run the old rig on him as usual. +And he jumps up on eend, and in a joking kind o’ way, said: +‘Gentle<i>men</i>, can any of you <i>stitch a button-hole,</i> with the +button in it?’ Well, they all roared out at that like mad. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, Sir<i>ree</i>,’ sais they, ‘but come, show us +<i>Thimble,</i> will you? that’s a good fellow. Tom, fetch the +<i>goose</i> to press it when it’s done. Dick, <i>cabbage</i> a bit of +cloth for him to try it upon. Why, Tom, you are as <i>sharp as a +needle</i>.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais he, ‘I’ll show you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“So he went to a tree, and took out of his pocket a fip-penny bit, that +had a hole in the centre, and putting in it a small nail, which he had +provided, he fastened it to the tree. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now,’ said he, taking out a pair of pistols, and lots of +ammunition, from the bottom of his prog-basket, where he had hid them. +‘Now,’ said he, ‘gentle<i>men</i>, the way to stitch a +buttonhole, is to put balls all round that button, in a close ring, and never +disturb them; that’s what we tailors call workmanlike:’ and he +fired away, shot after shot, till he had done it. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now,’ said he,’ gentle<i>men</i>, that button has to +be fastened;’ and he fired, and drove the nail that it hung on into the +tree. ‘And now, gentle<i>men</i>,’ said he, ‘I have stood +your shots for many a long day, turn about is fair play. The first man that +cracks a joke at me, on account of my calling, must stand my shot, and +‘if I don’t stitch his button-hole for him, I am no tailor; +that’s all.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they all cheered him when he sat down, and they drank his health; +and the boss of the day said: ‘Well, Street (afore that he used to call +him Thimble), well, Street,’ said he, ‘you <i>are</i> a +<i>man</i>.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘There you are again,’ said Street, ‘that is a covered +joke at a tailor being only the ninth part of one. I pass it over this time, +but let’s have no more of it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, Sir<i>ree</i>, no,’ said boss, ‘on honour now, I +didn’t mean it. And I say, too, let there be no more of it.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bad story!” said the doctor. “A man ought to be able +to take his own part in the world; but my idea is we think too much of guns. Do +you know anything of archery?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little,” sais I, “at least folks say so; but then they +really give me credit for what I don’t deserve; they say I draw a +thunderin’ long bow sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! oh!” he said laughing, “posi<i>tive</i>ly, as the fellow +said to the tailor, you’ll give me a stitch in <i>my</i> side. Well, +that’s better than being ‘<i>sewed</i> up,’ as Jehu was last +night. But, seriously, do you ever use the bow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I have tried the South American bow, and it’s a powerful +weapon that; but it takes a man to draw it, I tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “it requires a strong arm; but the exercise +is good for the chest. It’s the one I generally use. The bow is a great +weapon, and the oldest in the world. I believe I have a tolerable collection of +them. The Indian bow was more or less excellent, according to the wood they +had; but they never could have been worth much here, for the country produces +no suitable material. The old English long-bow perhaps is a good one; but it is +not so powerful as the Turkish. That has immense power. They say it will carry +an arrow from four hundred and fifty to five hundred yards. Mine perhaps is not +a first-rate one, nor am I what I call a skilful archer; but I can reach beyond +three hundred yards—though that is an immense distance. The gun has +superseded them; but though superior in many respects, the other has some +qualities that are invaluable. In skirmishing, or in surprising outposts, what +an advantage it is to avoid the alarm and noise occasioned by firearms. All +troops engaged in this service in addition to the rifle ought to have the bow +and the quiver. What an advantage it would have been in the Caffre war, and how +serviceable now in the Crimea. They are light to carry and quickly discharged. +When we get to my house I will prove it to you. We will set up two targets, at +one hundred yards, say. You shall fire from one to the other, and then stand +aside, and before you can reload I will put three arrows into yours. I should +say four to a common soldier’s practice; but I give even you three to +one. If a man misses his first shot at me with a gun, he is victimized, for I +have three chances in return before he gets his second, and if I don’t +pink him with one or the other—why, I deserve to be hit. For the same +reason, what a glorious cavalry weapon it is, as the Parthians knew. What a +splendid thing for an ambush, where you are neither seen nor heard. I +don’t mean to say they are better than fire-arms; but, occasionally used +with them they would be irresistible. If I were a British officer in command I +would astonish the enemy.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would astonish the Horse-Guards, too, <i>I</i> know,” said I. +“It would ruin you for ever. They’d call you old ‘bows and +arrows,’ as they did the general that had no flints to his guns, when he +attacked Buonus Ayres; they’d have you up in ‘Punch;’ +they’d draw you as Cupid going to war; they’d nickname you a +<i>Bow</i>-street officer. Oh! they’d soon teach you what a <i>quiver</i> +was. They’d play the devil with you. They’d beat you at your own +game; you’d be stuck full of poisoned arrows. You could as easily +introduce the queue again, as the bow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt were won with the bow,” he +said, “and, as an auxiliary weapon, it is still as effective as ever. +However that is not a mere speculation. When I go out after cariboo, I always +carry mine, and seldom use my gun. It don’t alarm the herd; they +don’t know where the shaft comes from, and are as likely to look for it +in the lake or in the wild grass as anywhere else. Let us try them together. +But let us load with shot now. We shall come to the brook directly, and where +it spreads out into still water, and the flags grow, the wild fowl frequent; +for they are amazin’ fond of poke-lokeins, as the Indians call those +spots. We may get a brace or two perhaps to take home with us. Come, let us +push ahead, and go warily.” +</p> + +<p> +After awhile a sudden turn of the road disclosed to us a flock of blue-winged +ducks, and he whispered, “Do you fire to the right, and I will take the +left.” When the smoke from our simultaneous discharges cleared away, we +saw the flock rise, leaving five of their number as victims of their careless +watch. +</p> + +<p> +“That is just what I said,” he remarked, “the gun is superior +in many respects; but if we had our bows here, we would have had each two more +shots at them, while on the wing. As it is, we can’t reload till they are +out of reach. I only spoke of the how as subordinate and auxiliary; but never +as a substitute. Although I am not certain that, with our present manufacturing +skill, metallic bows could not now be made, equal in power, superior in +lightness, and more effective than any gun when the object to be aimed at is +not too minute, for in that particular the rifle will never be +equalled—certainly not surpassed.” +</p> + +<p> +The retriever soon brought us our birds, and we proceeded leisurely on our way, +and in a short time were overtaken by the waggons, when we advanced together +towards the house, which we reached in about an hour more. As soon as we came +in sight of it, the dogs gave notice of our approach, and a tall, straight, +priggish-looking man marched, for he did not hurry himself, bareheaded towards +the bars in the pole fence. He was soon afterwards followed by a little old +woman at a foot amble, or sort of broken trot, such as distinguishes a +Naraganset pacer. She had a hat in her hand, which she hastily put on the +man’s head. But, as she had to jump up to do it, she effected it with a +force that made it cover his eyes, and nearly extinguish his nose. It caused +the man to stop and adjust it, when he turned round to his flapper, and, by the +motion of his hand, and her retrogade movement, it appeared he did not receive +this delicate attention very graciously. Duty however was pressing him, and he +resumed his stately step towards the bars. +</p> + +<p> +She attacked him again in the rear, as a goose does an intruder, and now and +then picked something from his coat, which I supposed to be a vagrant thread, +or a piece of lint or straw, and then retreated a step or two to avoid closer +contact. He was compelled at last to turn again on his pursuer, and expostulate +with her in no gentle terms. I heard the words “mind your own +business,” or something of the kind, and the female voice more distinctly +(women always have the best of it), “You look as if you had slept in it. +You ain’t fit to appear before gentlemen.” Ladies she had been +unaccustomed of late to see, and therefore omitted altogether. “What +would Colonel Jones say if he saw you that way?” +</p> + +<p> +To which the impatient man replied: “Colonel Jones be hanged. He is not +my commanding officer, or you either—take that will you, old +ooman.” If the colonel was not there his master was, therefore pressing +forward he took down the bars, and removed them a one side, when he drew +himself bolt upright, near one of the posts, and placing his hand across his +forehead, remained in that position, without uttering a word, till the waggons +passed, and the doctor said, “Well, Jackson, how are you?” +“Hearty, Sir! I hope your Honour is well? Why, Buscar, is that you, dog; +how are you, my man?” and then he proceeded very expeditiously to replace +the poles. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you stopping for?” said the doctor to me, for the whole +party was waiting for us. +</p> + +<p> +“I was admirin’ of them bars,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, they are the commonest things in the country,” he replied. +“Did you never see them before?” Of course I had, a thousand times, +but I didn’t choose to answer. +</p> + +<p> +“What a most beautiful contrivance,” said I, “they are. +First, you can’t find them, if you don’t know beforehand where they +are, they look so like the rest of the fence. It tante one stranger in a +thousand could take them down, for if he begins at the top they get awfully +tangled, and if he pulls the wrong way, the harder he hauls the tighter they +get. Then he has to drag them all out of the way, so as to lead the horse +through, and leave him standin’ there till he puts them up agin, and as +like as not, the critter gets tired of waitin’, races off to the stable, +and breaks the waggon all to flinders. After all these advantages, they +don’t cost but a shilling or so more than a gate. Oh, it’s +grand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said the doctor, “I never thought of that +afore, but you are right after all,” and he laughed as good humouredly as +possible. “Jackson,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, your Honour.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must have a gate there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said the servant, touching his hat. But he honoured me +with a look, as much as to say, “Thank you for nothing, Sir. It’s a +pity you hadn’t served under Colonel Jones, for he would have taught you +to mind your own business double quick.” +</p> + +<p> +We then proceeded to the door, and the doctor welcomed the party to the +“Bachelor Beaver’s-dam,” as he called it. In the mean time, +the bustling little old woman returned, and expressed great delight at seeing +us. The place was so lonesome, she said, and it was so pleasant to see ladies +there, for they were the first who had ever visited the doctor, and it was so +kind of them to come so far, and she hoped they would often honour the place +with their presence, if they could put up with their accommodation, for she had +only heard from the doctor the night before; and she was so sorry she +couldn’t receive them as she could wish, and a whole volume more, and an +appendix longer than that, and an index to it, where the paging was so jumbled +you couldn’t find nothin’. +</p> + +<p> +Jackson joined in, and said he regretted his commissariat was so badly +supplied. That it was a poor country to forage in, and that there was nothing +but the common rations and stores for the detachment stationed there. But that +nothing should be wanting on his part, and so on. The housekeeper led the way +to the apartments destined for the girls. Peter assisted the boy to unharness +the horses, and the doctor showed Cutler and myself into the hall, where the +breakfast table was set for us. Seeing Jackson marching to the well, as if he +was on parade, I left the two together in conversation, and went out to talk to +him. “Sergeant,” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, your Honour,” said he, and he put down the pail, and raised +his hand to his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand you have seen a great deal of service in your time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Sir,” said he, looking well pleased, and as if his talking +tacks were all ready. I had hit the right subject. “I ave gone through a +deal of soldiering in my day, and been in many a ard fight, Sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see you have the marks on you,” I said. “That is a bad +scar on your face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sir,” said he, “saving your presence, I wish the devil +had the Frenchman that gave me that wound. I have some I am proud of having +received in the service of my king and country. I have three balls in me now, +which the doctors couldn’t extract, and nothin’ but death will +bring to the light of day again, if they can be said to be seen in the grave. +But that scar is the only disgraceful mark I ever received since I first joined +in 1808. +</p> + +<p> +“When we were laying siege to Badajoz, Sir, I was in the cavalry, and I +was sent with a message to a brigade that was posted some distance from us. +Well, Sir, as I was trotting along, I saw a French dragoon, well mounted, +leading a splendid spare orse, belonging to some French hofficer of rank, as +far as I could judge from his happearance and mountings. Instead of pursuing my +course, as I ought to have done, Sir, I thought I’de make a dash at the +rascal, and make prize of that are hanimal. So I drew my sword, raised myself +in my saddle (for I was considered a first-rate swordsman, as most Hinglishmen +hare who have been used to the single-stick), and made sure I ad him. Instead +of turning, he kept steadily on, and never as much as drew his sabre, so in +place of making a cut hat him, for I’de scorn to strike han hunarmed man, +my play was to cut is reins, and then if he wanted a scrimmage, to give him +one, and if not, to carry off that hare orse. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sir, he came on gallantly, I must say that, and kept his eye fixed +steadily on me, when just as I was going to make a cut at his reins, he +suddenly seized his eavy-mounted elmet, and threw it slap at my face, and +I’ll be anged if it didn’t stun me, and knock me right off the orse +flat on the ground, and then he galloped off as ard as he could go. When I got +up, I took his elmet under my harm, and proceeded on my route. I was ashamed to +tell the story straight, and I made the best tale I could of the scrimmage, and +showed the elmet in token that it was a pretty rough fight. But the doctor, +when he dressed the wound, swore it never was made with a sword, nor a bullet, +nor any instrument he knew hon, and that he didn’t think it was +occasioned by a fall, for it was neither insised, outsised, nor +contused—but a confusion of all three. He questioned me as close as a +witness. +</p> + +<p> +“‘But,’ sais I, ‘doctor, there is no telling what +himplements Frenchmen ave. They don’t fight like us, they don’t. It +was a runnin’ scrimmage, or <i>handicap</i> fight.’ Yes, Sir, if it +was hanywhere helse, where it wouldn’t show, it wouldn’t be so bad, +but there it is on the face, and there is no denyin’ of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Here the little woman made her appearance again, with the hat in her hand, and +said imploringly: +</p> + +<p> +“Tom, doee put your hat on, that’s a good soul. He don’t take +no care of himself, Sir,” she said, addressing herself to me. “He +has seen a deal of service in his day, and has three bullets in him now, and he +is as careless of hisself as if he didn’t mind whether I was left alone +in the oulin’ wilderness or not. Oh, Sir, if you heard the wild beastesis +here at night, it’s dreadful. It’s worse than the wolves in the +Pyreen, in Spain. And then, Sir, all I can do, I can’t get him to wear is +at, when he knows in is eart he had a stroke of the sun near Badajoz, which +knocked him off his orse, and see how it cut his face. He was so andsome +before, Sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Betty,” said the sergeant, “the doctor is calling you. Do go +into the ouse, and don’t bother the gentleman. Oh, Sir,” said he, +“I have had to tell a cap of lies about that are scar on my face, and +that’s ard, Sir, for a man who has a medal with five clasps; ain’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +Here the doctor came to tell me breakfast was ready. +</p> + +<p> +“I was admiring, Doctor,” said I, “this simple contrivance of +yours for raising water from the well. It is very ingenious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” he said, “but I assure you it is no invention of +mine. I have no turn that way. It is very common in the country.” +</p> + +<p> +I must describe this extraordinary looking affair, for though not unusual in +America, I have never seen it in England, although the happy thought doubtless +owes its origin to the inventive genius of its farmers. +</p> + +<p> +The well had a curb, as it is called, a square wooden box open at the top, to +prevent accident to the person drawing the water. A few paces from this was an +upright post about twelve feet high, having a crotch at the top. A long beam +lies across this, one end of which rests on the ground at a distance from the +post, and the other projects into the air with its point over the well. This +beam is secured in the middle of the crotch of the upright post by an iron +bolt, on which it moves, as on an axle. To the aerial end is attached a few +links of a chain, that hold a long pole to which the bucket is fastened, and +hangs over the well. The beam and its pendent apparatus resembles a fishing-rod +and its line protruding over a stream. When a person wishes to draw water, he +takes hold of the pole, and as he pulls it down, the bucket descends into the +well, and the heavy end of the beam rises into the air, and when the pail is +filled the weight of the butt end of the beam in its descent raises the bucket. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said I, “Doctor, just observe how beautiful this thing +is in operation. A woman (for they draw more nor half the water used in this +country) has to put out all her strength, dragging down the pole, with her +hands over her head (an attitude and exercise greatly recommended by doctors to +women), in order to get the bucket down into the well. If she is in too big a +hurry, the lever brings it up with a jerk that upsets it, and wets her all +over, which is very refreshing in hot weather, and if a child or a dog happens +to be under the heavy end of the beam, it smashes it to death, which after all +ain’t no great matter, for there are plenty left to them who have too +many and don’t care for ’em. And then if it ain’t well looked +after and the post gets rotten at the bottom, on a stormy day it’s apt to +fall and smash the roof of the house in, which is rather lucky, for most likely +it wanted shingling, and it is time it was done. Well, when the bucket swings +about in the wind, if a gall misses catching it, it is apt to hit her in the +mouth, which is a great matter, if she has the tooth-ache, for it will extract +corn-crackers a plaguey sight quicker than a dentist could to save his +soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said he, “I never thought of that before. I have no +turn for these things, I’ll have it removed, it is a most dangerous +thing, and I wouldn’t have an accident happen to the sergeant and dear +old Betty for the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless your Honour for that,” said Jackson. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Doctor,” said I, “joking apart, they are very +picturesque, ain’t they, how well they look in a sketch, eh! nice feature +in the foreground.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said he, patting me on the back, “there you have me +again, Slick. Oh, indeed they are, I can’t part with my old well-pole, +oh, no, not for the world: Jackson, have an eye to it, see that it is all safe +and strong and that no accident happens, but I don’t think we need take +it away. Come, Slick, come to breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +Thinks I to myself, as I proceeded to the hall, “there are two classes +only in this world. Those who have genius, and those who have common sense. +They are like tailors, one can cut a coat and do nothin’ else, for he is +an artist. The other can put the parts together, for he is a workman only. Now +the doctor is a man of talent and learning, an <i>uncommon</i> man, but he +don’t know <i>common</i> things at all. He can <i>cut out</i> a garment, +but he can’t <i>stitch a button-hole</i>.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C09">CHAPTER IX.</a><br/> +THE PLURAL OF MOOSE.</h2> + +<p> +The room in which we breakfasted was about eighteen feet square, having a large +old-fashioned fire-place opposite to the front door, which opened directly on +the lawn. The walls were fancifully ornamented with moose and deer horns, +fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, landing nets and baskets, bows and arrows of +every description, and Indian relics, such as stone hatchets, bowls, rude +mortars, images, war clubs, wampum, and implements not unlike broad swords made +of black birch, the edges of which were inlaid with the teeth of animals, or +the shells of fish, ground sharp. Besides these, were skulls of great size and +in good preservation, stone pipes, pouches, and so on; also some enormous teeth +and bones of an antediluvian animal, found in the Bras Dor lake in Cape Breton. +It was, take it altogether, the most complete collection of relics of this +interesting race, the Micmacs, and of natur’s products to be found in +this province. Some of the larger moose horns are ingeniously managed, so as to +form supports for polished slabs of hardwood for tables. The doctor informed me +that this department of his museum was under the sole direction of the +sergeant, who called it his armoury, and to whose experience in the arrangement +of arms he was indebted for the good effect they produced. The only objection +he said he had to it was, that classification had been sacrificed to +appearance, and things were very much intermixed; but his collection was too +small to make this a matter of any importance. +</p> + +<p> +Jackson, as soon as the doctor was similarly engaged in showing them to the +captain and the Miss McDonalds, for whom they seemed to have a peculiar +interest, mounted guard over me. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, Sir,” said he, “the moose horns are the only thing +of any size here, and that’s because the moose is half English, you know. +Everything is small in this country, and degenerates, Sir. The fox ain’t +near as big as an English one. Lord, Sir, the ounds would run down one o’ +these fellows in ten minutes. They haven’t got no strength. The rabbit +too is a mere nothink; he is more of a cat, and looks like one too, when he is +hanged in a snare. It’s so cold, nothin’ comes to a right size +here. The trees is mere shrubbery compared to our hoaxes. The pine is tall, but +then it has no sap. It’s all tar and turpentine, and that keeps the frost +out of its heart. The fish that live under the ice in the winter are all iley, +in a general way, like the whales, porpoises, dog-fish, and cod. The liver of +the cod is all ile, and women take to drinkin’ it now in cold weather to +keep their blood warm. Depend upon it, Sir, in two or three generations they +will shine in the sun like niggers. Porter would be better for ’em to +drink than ile, and far more pleasanter too, Sir, wouldn’t it? It would +fill ’em out. Saving your presence, Sir, you never see a girl here +with—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! the ladies will hear you,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I ax your Honour’s pardon; perhaps I am making too bold, but +it’s nateral for a man that has seed so much of the world as I have to +talk a bit, especially as my tongue is absent on furlough more nor half the +year, and then the old ‘ooman’s goes on duty, and never fear, Sir, +her’n don’t sleep at its post. She has seen too much sarvice for +that. It don’t indeed. It hails every one that passes the sentry-box, and +makes ’em advance and give the countersign. A man that has seed so much, +Sir, in course has a good deal to talk about. Now, Sir, I don’t want to +undervaly the orns at no rate, but Lord bless you, Sir, I have seen the orns of +a wild sheep, when I was in the Medeteranion, so large, I could hardly lift +them with one hand. They say young foxes sleep in them sometimes. Oh, Sir, if +they would only get a few of them sheep, and let them loose here, there would +be some fun in unting of them. They are covered over with air in summer, and +they are so wild you can’t take them no other way than by shooting of +them. Then, Sir, there is the orns of—” +</p> + +<p> +“But how is the moose half English?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Sir, I heard our colour-sergeant M’Clure say so when we was +in Halifax. He was a great reader and a great arguer, Sir, as most Scotchmen +are. I used to say to him, ‘M’Clure, it’s a wonder you can +fight as well as you do, for in England fellows who dispute all the time +commonly take it all out in words.’ +</p> + +<p> +“One day, Sir, a man passed the north barrack gate, tumping (as he said, +which means in English, Sir, hauling) an immense bull moose on a sled, though +why he didn’t say so, I don’t know, unless he wanted to show he +knew what M’Clure calls the botanical word for it. It was the largest +hanimal I ever saw here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Says Mac to him, ‘What do you call that creature?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Moose,’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Do you pretend to tell me,’ said Mac, ‘that that +henormous hanimal, with orns like a deer, is a moose?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I don’t pretend at all,’ said he; ‘I think I +hought to know one when I see it, for I have killed the matter of a undred of +them in my day.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s a daumed lee,’ said the sergeant. +‘It’s no such thing; I wouldn’t believe it if you was to +swear to it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Tell you what,’ said the man, ‘don’t go for to +tell me that again, or I’ll lay you as flat as he is in no time,’ +and he cracked his whip and moved on. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What’s the use,’ said I, ‘M’Clure, to +call that man a liar? How do you know whether it is a moose or not, and he is +more like to get its name right than you, who never saw one afore.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Moose,’ said he, ‘do you take me for a fool? do you +suppose he is a goin’ to cram me with such stuff as that? The idea of his +pretending to tell me that a creature six feet high with great spreading +antlers like a deer is a moose, when in fact they are no bigger than a +cock-roach, and can run into holes the size of a sixpence! Look at me—do +you see anything very green about me?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, Mac,’ sais I, ‘as sure as the world you mean a +mouse.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I said a moose,’ he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, I know you said a moose, but that’s not the way to +pronounce a mouse. It may be Scotch, but it ain’t English. Do you go into +that hardware shop, and ask for a moose-trap, and see how the boys will wink to +each other, and laugh at you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘A man,’ sais he, drawing himself up, ‘who has learned +humanity at Glaskee, don’t require to be taught how to pronounce +moose.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘As for your humanity,’ said I, ‘I never see much of +that. If you ever had that weakness, you got bravely over it, and the glass key +must have been broke years agone in Spain.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You are getting impertinent,’ said he, and he walked off +and left me. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very strange, your Honour, but I never saw an Irishman or +Scotchman yet that hadn’t the vanity to think he spoke English better +than we do.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the Yankees?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sir, they are foreigners, you know, and only speak broken English; +but they mix up a deal of words of their own with it, and then wonder you +don’t understand them. They keep their mouths so busy chawing, they have +to talk through their noses. +</p> + +<p> +“A few days after that, Sir, we walked down to the marketplace, and there +was another of these hanimals for sale. But perhaps I am making too bold, +Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, not at all; go on. I like to hear you.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ said M’Clure to the countryman, ‘What do +you call that?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘A moose,’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I gives him a nudge of my helbow, to remind him not to tell him it +was a ‘daumed lee,’ as he did the other man. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What does moose mean, my man?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Would you believe it, Sir, he didn’t like that word ‘my +man,’ partikelarly coming from a soldier, for they are so hignorant here +they affect to look down upon soldiers, and call ’em ‘thirteen +pences.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mean,’ said he, ‘it means <i>that</i>,’ +a-pointin’ to the carcass. ‘Do you want to buy it?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Hem!’ said Mac. ‘Well now, my good +fellow—’ +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Sir, if you had a seen the countryman when he heard them words, it +would a been as good as a play. He eyed him all over, very scornful, as if he +was taking his measure and weight for throwing him over the sled by his cape +and his trousers, and then he put his hand in his waistcoat pocket, and took +out a large black fig of coarse tobacco, and bit a piece out of it, as if it +was an apple, and fell too a chewing of it, as if to vent his wrath on it, but +said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, my good fellow,’ said Mac, ‘when there are more +than one, or they are in the plural number, what do you call them?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mice,’ said the fellow. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mice!’ said M’Clure, ‘I must look into that; +it’s very odd. Still, it can’t be mooses either.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t know what to make of it; he had been puzzled with mouse +before, and found he was wrong, so he thought it was possible +‘mice’ might be the right word after all. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ said he, ‘what do you call the female +moose?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais the man, ‘I guess,’ a-talkin’ +through his nose instead of his mouth—how I hate that Yankee way, +don’t you, Sir? ‘Why,’ sais he, ‘I guess we call the +he-moose M, and the other N, as the case may be.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Who gave them that name?’ said M’Clure. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, I reckon,’ said the other, ‘their godfathers and +godmothers at their baptism, but I can’t say, for I warn’t +there.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I say, my man,’ said M’Clure, ‘you had better +keep a civil tongue in your head.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ask me no questions, then,’ said the countryman, ‘and +I’ll tell you no lies; but if you think to run a rig on me, you have made +a mistake in the child, and barked up the wrong tree, that’s all. +P’raps I ain’t so old as you be, but I warn’t born yesterday. +So slope, if you please, for I want to sneeze, and if I do, it will blow your +cap over the market-house, and you’ll be lucky if your head don’t +go along with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Come away,’ said I, ‘Mac, that fellow has no more +manners than a heathen.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘He’s an hignorant beast,’ said he, ‘he is +beneath notice.’ +</p> + +<p> +“The man eard that, and called after him, ‘Hofficer, +hofficer,’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“That made M’Clure stop, for he was expectin’ to be one every +day, and the word sounded good, and Scotchmen, Sir, ain’t like other +people, pride is as natural as oatmeal to them. The man came up to us +limpin’. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Hofficer,’ said he, ‘I ax your pardon if I offended +you, I thought you was a pokin’ fun at me, for I am nothing but a poor +hignorant farmer, from the country, and these townspeople are always making +game of us. I’ll tell you all about that are moose and how I killed him. +He urt my feelins, Sir, or I never would have mislested him, for Zack Wilcox is +as good-natured a chap, it’s generally allowed, as ever lived. Yes, he +trod on my toes, I don’t feel right yet, and when any fellow does that to +me, why there ain’t no mistake about it, his time is out and the sentence +is come to pass. He begged for his life, oh, it was piteous to see him. I +don’t mean to say the dumb beast spoke, but his looks were so beseeching +just the way if you was tied up to the halbert to be whipped, you’d look +at the general.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Me?’ said M’Clure. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, you or anybody else,’ said the man. +‘Well,’ said he, ‘I told him I wouldn’t shoot him, +I’de give him one chance for his life, but if he escaped he’d be +deaf for ever afterwards. Poor feller, I didn’t intend to come it quite +so strong, but he couldn’t stand the shock I gave him, and it killed +him—frightened him to death.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How?’ said M’Clure. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais he, ‘I’ll tell you,’ and he +looked cautiously all round, as if he didn’t want any one to know the +secret. ‘I gave him a most an almighty hambler that fairly keeled him +over.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What?’ said M’Clure. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais he, ‘I gave him,’ and he bent +forward towards his hear as if to whisper the word, ‘I gave him a most +thunderin’ everlastin’ loud—’ and he gave a yell into +his hear that was eard clean across the harbour, and at the ospital beyond the +dockyard, and t’other way as far as Fresh-water Bridge. Nothin’ was +hever eard like it before. +</p> + +<p> +“M’Clure sprang backwards the matter of four or five feet, and +placed his hand on his side arms, while the countryman brayed out a horse laugh +that nearly took away one’s earing. The truck-men gate him a cheer, for +they are all Irishmen, and they don’t like soldiers commonly on account +of their making them keep the peace at ome at their meetin’ of monsters, +and there was a general commotion in the market. We beat a retreat, and when we +got out of the crowd, sais I, ‘M’Clure, that comes of arguing with +every one you meet. It’s a bad habit.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I wasn’t arguing,’ sais he, quite short, ‘I was +only asking questions, and how can you ever learn if you don’t +inquire?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when he got to the barrack, he got a book wrote by a Frenchman, +called Buffoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“A capital name,” sais I, “for a Frenchman,” but he +didn’t take, for there is no more fun in an Englishman than a dough +pudding, and went on without stopping. +</p> + +<p> +“Sais he, ‘this author is all wrong. He calls it han +‘horiginal,’ but he ain’t a native animal, it’s half +English and half Yankee. Some British cattle at a remote period have been +wrecked here, strayed into the woods, and erded with the Carriboo. It has the +ugly carcass and ide of the ox, and has taken the orns, short tail, and its +speed from the deer. That accounts for its being larger than the native +stags.’ I think he was right, Sir, what is your opinion?” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor and the rest of the party coming up just put an end to +Jackson’s dissertation on the origin of the moose. The former said, +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Mr Slick, suppose we try the experiment of the bow,” and +Jessie, seeing us preparing for shooting, asked the doctor for smaller ones for +her sister and herself. The targets were accordingly prepared, and placing +myself near one of them, I discharged the gun and removed a few paces on one +side, and commenced as rapidly as I could to reload, but the doctor had sent +three arrows through mine before I had finished. It required almost as little +time as a revolver. He repeated the trial again with the same result. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think of the bow now?” said he in triumph. +“Come, Captain, do you and Mr Slick try your luck, and see what sort of +shots you can make.” The captain, who was an experienced hand with the +gun, after a few attempts to ascertain the power and practice necessary, made +capital play with the bow, and his muscular arm rendered easy to him that which +required of me the utmost exertion of my strength. Jessie and her sister now +stept forward, and measuring off a shorter distance, took their stations. Their +shooting, in which they were quite at home, was truly wonderful. Instead of +using the bow as we did, so as to bring the arrow in a line with the eye, they +held it lower down, in a way to return the elbow to the right side, much in the +same manner that a skilful sportsman shoots from the hip. It seemed to be no +sort of exertion whatever to them, and every arrow was lodged in the inner +circle. It seemed to awaken them to a new existence, and in their excitement I +observed they used their mother tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Beg your pardon, Sir,” said Jackson to the doctor, putting his +hand to his forehead, “if our sharp-shooters in Spain ad ad bows like +yours, in their scrimmages with the French light troops, they would ave done +more service and made less noise about it than they did.” And saluting me +in the same manner, he said in an under-tone, +</p> + +<p> +“If I ad ad one of them at Badajoz, Sir, I think I’d a put a pen in +that trooper’s mouth to write the account of the way he lost his elmet. A +shower of them, Sir, among a troop of cavalry would have sent riders flying, +and horses kicking, as bad as a shower of grape. There is no danger of shooting +your fingers off with them, Sir, or firing away your ramrod. No, there +ain’t, is there, Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tom, do’ee put on your hat now, that’s a good soul,” +said his attentive wife, who had followed him out a third time to remind him of +his danger. “Oh, Sir,” said she, again addressing me, “what +signifies a armless thing like an harrow; that’s nothin but a little +wooden rod to the stroke of the sun, as they calls it. See what a dreadful cut +it’s given him.” +</p> + +<p> +Tom looked very impatient at this, but curbed in his vexation, and said +“Thankee, Betty,” though his face expressed anything but thanks. +“Thankee, Betty. There, the doctor is calling you. She is as good a +creature, Sir, as ever lived,” he continued; “and has seen a deal +of service in her day. But she bothers me to death about that stroke of the +sun. Sometimes I think I’ll tell her all about it; but I don’t like +to demean myself to her. She wouldn’t think nothin’ of me, Sir, if +she thought I could have been floored that way; and women, when they begin to +cry, throw up sometime what’s disagreeable. They ain’t safe. She +would perhaps have heaved up in my face that that dragoon had slapped my chops +for me, with his elmet. I am blowed, Sir, if I can take a glass of grog out of +my canteen, but she says, ‘Tom, mind that stroke of the sun.’ And +when I ave a big D marked agin my name in the pension book, she’ll swear, +to her dying day, I was killed by that are stroke.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you put it on then,” I said, “just to please +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sir, if I was at head-quarters, or even at han hout-post, where +there was a detachment, I would put it hon; because it wouldn’t seem +decent to go bare-headed. But Lord bless you, Sir, <i>what’s the use of a +hat in the woods, where there is no one to see you?”</i> +</p> + +<p> +Poor fellow, he didn’t know what a touch of human nature there was in +that expression, “<i>what’s the use of a hat in the woods, where +there is no one to see you?”</i> +</p> + +<p> +The same idea, though differently expressed, occurs to so many. +“Yes,” said I to myself, “put on your hat for your +wife’s sake, and your own too; for though you may fail to get a stroke of +the sun, you may get not an inflammation of the brain, for there ain’t +enough of it for that complaint to feed on, but rheumatism in the head; and +that will cause a plaguey sight more pain than the dragoon’s helmet ever +did, by a long chalk.” +</p> + +<p> +But, to get back to my story, for the way I travel through a tale is like the +way a child goes to school. He leaves the path to chase a butterfly, or to pick +wild strawberries, or to run after his hat that has blown off, or to take a shy +at a bird, or throw off his shoes, roll up his trousers, and wade about the +edge of a pond to catch polly-wogs; but he gets to school in the eend, though +somewhat of the latest, so I have got back at last, you see. +</p> + +<p> +Mother used to say, “Sam, your head is always a woolgathering.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of it,” says I, “marm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Sam,” she’d say, “why, what on earth do you +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, marm,” I’d reply, “a head that’s alway +a gathering will get well stored at last.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do get out,” the dear old soul would say, “I do believe, in +my heart, you are the most nimpent (impudent), idlest, good-for-nothingest boy +in the world. Do get along.” +</p> + +<p> +But she was pleased, though, after all; for women do like to repeat little +things like them, that their children say, and ask other people, who +don’t hear a word, or if they do, only go right off and laugh at +’em: “Ain’t that proper ‘cute now? Make a considerable +smart man when he is out of his time, and finished his broughtens up, +won’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +Well, arter the archery meeting was over, and the congregation disparsed, who +should I find myself a walkin’ down to the lake with but Jessie? How it +was, I don’t know, for I warn’t a lookin’ for her, nor she +for me; but so it was. I suppose it is human natur, and that is the only way I +can account for it. Where there is a flower, there is the bee; where the grass +is sweet, there is the sheep; where the cherry is ripe, there is the bird; and +where there is a gall, especially if she is pretty, there it is likely I am to +be found also. Yes, it must be natur. Well, we walked, or rather, strolled off +easy. There are different kinds of gaits, and they are curious to observe; for +I consait sometimes I can read a man’s character in his walk. The child +trots; the boy scarcely touches the ground with his feet, and how the plague he +wears his shoes out so fast I don’t know. Perhaps Doctor Lardner can +tell, but I’ll be hanged if I can, for the little critter is so light, he +don’t even squash the grass. The sailor waddles like a duck, and gives +his trousers a jerk to keep them from going down the masts (his legs) by the +run; a sort of pull at the main-brace. The soldier steps solemn and formal, as +if the dead march in Saul was a playin’. A man and his wife walk on +different sides of the street; <i>he</i> sneaks along head down, and <i>she</i> +struts head up, as if she never heard the old proverb, “Woe to the house +where the hen crows.” They leave the carriage-way between them, as if +they were afraid their thoughts could be heard. When meetin’ is out, a +lover lags behind, as if he had nothin’ above particular to do but to go +home; and he is in no hurry to do that, for dinner won’t be ready this +hour. But, as soon as folks are dodged by a blue bonnet with pink ribbons +ahead, he pulls foot like a lamplighter, and is up with the gall that wears it +in no time, and she whips her arms in hisn, and they saunter off, to make the +way as long as possible. She don’t say, “<i>Peeower</i>ful sermon +that, warn’t it?” and he don’t reply, “I heerd +nothin’ but the text, ‘Love one another.’” Nor does he +squeeze her arm with his elbow, nor she pinch his with her little blue-gloved +fingers. Watch them after that, for they go so slow, they almost crawl, they +have so much to say, and they want to make the best of their time; and besides, +walking fast would put them out of breath. +</p> + +<p> +The articled-clerk walks the streets with an air as much like a military man as +he can; and it resembles it almost as much as electrotype ware does silver. He +tries to look at ease, though it is a great deal of trouble; but he imitates +him to a hair in some things, for he stares impudent at the galls, has a cigar +in his mouth, dresses snobbishly, and talks of making a book at Ascot. The +young lawyer struts along in his seven-league boots, has a white-bound book in +one hand, and a parcel of papers, tied with red tape, in the other. He is in a +desperate hurry, and as sure as the world, somebody is a dying, and has sent +for him to make his will. The Irish priest walks like a warder who has the +keys. There is an air of authority about him. He puts his cane down on the +pavement hard, as much as to say, Do you hear that, you spalpeen? He has the +secrets of all the parish in his keeping; but they are other folk’s +secrets, and not his own, and of course, so much lighter to carry, it +don’t prevent him looking like a jolly fellow, as he is, arter all. The +high-churchman has an M. B. waistcoat on, is particular about his dress, and +walks easy, like a gentleman, looks a little pale about the gills, like a +student; but has the air of a man that wanted you to understand—I am +about my work, and I would have you to know I am the boy to do it, and do it +too without a fuss. If he meets a bishop, he takes his hat off, for he admits +his authority. If a beggar accosts him, he slips some charity in his hands, and +looks scared lest he should be seen. +</p> + +<p> +The low-churchman hates the M. B. vestment, it was him who christened it. He is +a dab at nick-names. He meant it to signify the Mark of the Beast. He likes the +broad-brimmed beaver, it’s more like a quaker, and less like a pope. It +is primitive. He looks better fed than the other, and in better care. +Preachin’ he finds in a general way easier than practice. Watch his face +as he goes along, slowly and solemncoly through the street. He looks <i>so</i> +good, all the women that see him say, “Ain’t he a dear man?” +He is meekness itself. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He has no pride +in him. If there is any, it ain’t in his heart at any rate. Perhaps there +is a little grain in his legs, but it never got any higher. Sometimes, I +suspect they have been touched with the frost, for the air of a dining-room is +colder under the table than above it, and his legs do march stiff and formal +like a soldier’s, but then, as he says, he is of the church militant. See +what a curious expression of countenance he has when he meets his bishop. Read +it, it says: “Now, my old Don, let us understand each other; you may +ordain and confirm, but don’t you go one inch beyond that. No synods, no +regeneration in baptism, no control for me; I won’t stand it. My idea is +every clergyman is a bishop in his own parish, and his synod is composed of +pious galls that <i>work,</i> and rich spinsters that <i>give.</i> If you do +interfere, I will do my duty and rebuke those in high places. Don’t rile +me, for I have an ugly pen, an ugly tongue, and an ugly temper, and nothing but +my sanctity enables me to keep them under.” If he is accosted by a +beggar, he don’t, like the other, give him money to squander, but he +gives him instruction. He presents him with a tract. As he passes on, the poor +wretch pauses and looks after him, and mutters—“Is it a prayer? +most likely, for that tract must be worth something, for it cost something to +print.” +</p> + +<p> +Then there is the sectarian lay-brother. He has a pious walk, looks well to his +ways lest he should stumble, and casting his eyes down, kills two birds with +one stone. He is in deep meditation about a contract for a load of deals, and +at the same time regards his steps, for the ways of the world are slippery. His +digestion is not good, and he eats pickles, for the vinegar shows in his face. +Like Jehu Judd, he hates “fiddling and dancing, and serving the +devil,” and it is lucky he has a downcast look, for here come two girls +that would shock him into an ague. +</p> + +<p> +Both of them have the colonial step and air, both of them too are beautiful, as +Nova Scotia girls generally are. The first is young and delicate, and as +blooming as a little blush-rose. She holds out with each hand a portion of her +silk dress, as if she was walking a minuet, and it discloses a snow-white +petticoat, and such a dear little foot and ankle—lick! Her step is short +and mincing. She has a new bonnet on, just imported by the last English +steamer. It has a horrid name, it is called a kiss-me-quick. It is so far back +on her head, she is afraid people will think she is <i>bare-faced,</i> so she +casts her eyes down, as much as to say, “Don’t look at me, please, +I am so pretty I am afraid you will stare, and if you do I shall faint, as sure +as the world, and if you want to look at my bonnet, do pray go behind me, for +what there is of it is all there. It’s a great trial to me to walk alone, +when I am so pretty.” So she compresses her sweet lips with such +resolution, that her dear little mouth looks so small you’d think it +couldn’t take in a sugar-plum. Oh, dear, here are some officers +approaching, for though she looks on the pavement she can see ahead for all +that. What is to be done. She half turns aside, half is enough, to turn her +back would be rude, and she looks up at a print or a necklace, or something or +another in a shop window, and it’s a beautiful attitude, and very +becoming, and if they will stare, she is so intent on the show glass, she +can’t see them, and won’t faint, and her little heart flutters as +one of them says as he passes, “Devilish pretty gall, that, Grant, who is +she?” and then she resumes her walk, and minces on. +</p> + +<p> +If any man was to take his Bible oath that that little delicate girl, when she +gets home, and the hall-door is shut, will scream out at the tip eend of her +voice, like a screetching paraquet, “Eliza Euphemia, where in creation +have you stowed yourself too?” and that Eliza Euphemia would hear her +away up in the third story, and in the same key answer: “I can’t +come down, I ain’t fit to be seen, nary way, for I’m all open +before, and onfastened behind, and my hair is all in paper,” I +wouldn’t believe him; would you? +</p> + +<p> +The other young lady, that follows, is a little too much of Juno, and somewhat +too little of Venus. She is a tall, splendid-looking heifer, as fine a gall as +you will see in any country, and she takes it for granted you don’t need +to inquire who <i>she</i> is. She ain’t bold, and she ain’t +diffident; but she can stare as well as you can, and has as good a right too. +Her look is scorny, as the snobocracy pass and do homage, by bestowing on her +an admiring look. Her step is firm, but elastic; it is a decided step, but the +pious lay-brother regards her not, and moves not out of his way for her. So she +stops that he may see his error, and when he does look, he perceives that it +would lead him into further error if he gazed long, so he moves to the other +side of the path, but does it so slowly, she confronts him again. After a +moment’s reflection, he tries to turn her flank—a movement that is +unfortunately anticipated by her, and there is a collision on the track. The +concussion dislocates his hat, and the red silk Bandannah handkerchief, which +acted as travelling-bag, and pocket-book, discharges its miscellaneous contents +on the pavement. That’s onlucky; for he was a going to shunt off on +another line and get away; but he has to stop and pick up the fragmentary +freight of his beaver. +</p> + +<p> +Before he can do this, he is asked by Juno how he dares to stop a lady in that +indecent manner in the street; and while he is pleading not guilty to the +indictment, the gentlemen that stared at the simpering beauty, come to the aid +of the fair prosecutrix. She knows them, and they say, “Capital, by +Jove—what a rum one he is!” Rum one; why he is a member of a +temperance society, walks in procession when to home, with a white apron in +front, and the ends of a scarf-like sash behind, and a rosette as large as a +soup-plate on his breast—a rum one; what an infamous accusation! +</p> + +<p> +The poor man stands aghast at this; he humbly begs pardon, and Juno is +satisfied. She takes one of the beaux by the arm, and says: “Do pray see +me home—I am quite nervous;” and to prove it she laughs as loud as +any of them. The joke is now being carried too far, and the young sword-knots +pick up, amid roars of laughter, his handkerchief, the papers, the horn-comb, +the fig of tobacco, the fractured pipe, the jack-knife, and the clean +shirt-collar, that was only worn once, and toss them into his hat, which is +carefully secured on his head, so low as to cover his eyes, and so tight as +nearly to shave off both his ears. The lay-brother thinks, with great truth, +that he would sooner take five yoke of oxen, and tail a mast for a frigate +through the solid forest to the river, than snake his way through the streets +of a garrison-town. After re-adjusting his hat, he resumes his pious gait, and +Juno also goes her way, and exhibits her <i>decided</i> step. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the step of Jessie and myself was unlike any of these—it was a +natural and easy one; the step of people who had no reason to hurry, and, at +the same time, were not in the habit of crawling. In this manner we proceeded +to the lake, and sought a point of land which commanded a full view of it on +both sides, and embraced nearly its whole length. Here was a clump of trees +from which the underwood had been wholly cut away, so as to form a shade for +the cattle depasturing in the meadow. As we entered the grove, Jessie +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Mr Slick, do look! Here is a canoe—can you use a +paddle?” +</p> + +<p> +“As well as an oar,” said I, “and perhaps a little grain +better; for I haven’t been down all the New Brunswick and Nova Scotia +rivers in ’em for nothing, let alone Lake Michigan, George, Madawaska, +and Rossignol, and I don’t know how many others. Step in, and let us have +at them on the water.” +</p> + +<p> +In a minute the canoe was launched, and away we flew like lightning. Oh, there +is nothing like one of those light, elegant, graceful barks; what is a wherry +or a whale-boat, or a skull or a gig, to them? They draw no more water than an +egg-shell; they require no strength to paddle; they go right up on the beach, +and you can carry them about like a basket. With a light hand, a cool head, and +a quick eye, you can make them go where a duck can. What has science, and +taste, and handicraft ever made to improve on this simple contrivance of the +savage? When I was for two years in John Jacob Astor Fur Company’s +employment, I knew the play of Jessie’s tribe. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you catch,” said I, “Miss?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never fear.” +</p> + +<p> +And we exchanged paddles, as she sat in one end of the canoe and I in the +other, by throwing them diagonally at each other as if we were passing a +shuttle-cock. She almost screamed with delight, and in her enthusiasm addressed +me in her native Indian language. +</p> + +<p> +“Gaelic,” said I, “give me Gaelic, dear, for I am very simple +and very innocent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, very,” she said, and as she dropped her paddle into the water, +managed to give me the benefit of a spoonful in the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +After we had tried several evolutions with the canoe, and had proceeded +homeward a short distance, we opened a miniature bay into which we leisurely +paddled, until we arrived at its head, where a small waterfall of about forty +feet in height poured its tributary stream into the lake. On the right-hand +side, which was nearest to the house, was a narrow strip of verdant intervale, +dotted here and there with vast shady beeches and elms. I never saw a more +lovely spot. Hills rose above each other beyond the waterfall, like buttresses +to support the conical one that, though not in itself a mountain (for there is +not, strictly speaking, one in this province), yet loomed as large in the light +mist that enveloped its lofty peak. As this high cliff rose abruptly from the +lake, the light of smaller cascades was discernible through the thin shrubbery +that clothed its rocky side, although their voice was drowned in the roar of +that at its base. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing was said by either of us for some time, for both were occupied by +different thoughts. I was charmed with its extraordinary beauty, and wondered +how it was possible that it should be so little known as not even to have a +name. My companion, on the other hand, was engaged in sad reflections, which +the similarity of the scene with her early recollections of her home in the far +west suggested to her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t this beautiful, Jessie?” I said, “don’t +this remind you of Canada, or rather your own country?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” she said, “me—me,” for during the +whole day there had been a sad confusion of languages and idioms, “me +very happy and very sad; I want to laugh, I want to cry; I am here and +there,” pointing to the north-west. “Laughing, talking, sporting +with my father, and Jane, and you, and am also by the side of my dear mother, +far—far beyond those hills. I see your people and my people; I paddle in +our canoe, shoot with our bows, speak our language; yes, I am here, and there +also. The sun too is in both places. He sees us all. When I die, perhaps I +shall go back, but I am not of them or of you—I am nothing,” and +she burst into tears and wept bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie,” said I, “let us talk about something else; you have +been too much excited this morning, let us enjoy what God gives us, and not be +ungrateful; let your sister come also, and try the canoe once more. This is +better than a hot room, ain’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” she replied, “this is life. This is freedom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we dine here,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes,” she replied, “I should like it above all things. +Let us dine on the grass, the table the great Spirit spreads for his +children;” and the transient cloud passed away, and we sped back to the +lawn as if the bark that carried us was a bird that bore us on its wings. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Jessie, how well I understood her emotions. Home is a word, if there is +one in the language, that appeals directly to the heart. Man and wife, father +and mother, brothers and sisters, master and servant, with all their ties, +associations, and duties, all, all are contained in that one word. Is it any +wonder, when her imagination raised them up before her, that the woman became +again a child, and that she longed for the wings of the dove to fly away to the +tents of her tribe in the far west? I am myself as dry, as seasoned, and as +hard as the wood of which my clocks are made. I am a citizen of the world +rather than of Slickville. But I too felt my heart sink within me when I +reflected that mine, also, was desolate, and that I was alone in my own house, +the sole surviving tenant of all that large domestic circle, whose merry voices +once made its silent halls vocal with responsive echoes of happiness. We know +that our fixed domicile is not here, but we feel that it is and must continue +to be our home, ever dear and ever sacred, until we depart hence for another +and a better world. They know but little of the agency of human feelings, who +in their preaching attempt to lessen our attachment for the paternal roof, +because, in common with all other earthly possessions, it is perishable in its +nature, and uncertain in it’s tenure. The home of life is not the less +estimable because it is not the home of eternity; but the more valuable perhaps +as it prepares and fits us by its joys and its sorrows, its rights and its +duties, and also by what it withholds, as well as imparts, for that inheritance +which awaits us hereafter. Yes, home is a great word, but its full meaning +ain’t understood by every one. +</p> + +<p> +It ain’t those who have one, or those who have none, that comprehend what +it is; nor those who in the course of nature leave the old and found a new one +for themselves; nor those who, when they quit, shut their eyes and squinch +their faces when they think of it, as if it fetched something to their mind +that warn’t pleasant to recollect; nor those who suddenly rise so high in +life, that their parents look too vulgar, or the old cottage too mean for them, +or their former acquaintances too low. But I’ll tell you who knows the +meaning and feels it too; a fellow like me, who had a cheerful home, a merry +and a happy home, and who when he returns from foreign lands finds it deserted +and as still as the grave, and all that he loved scattered and gone, some to +the tomb, and others to distant parts of the earth. The solitude chills him, +the silence appals him. At night shadows follow him like ghosts of the +departed, and the walls echo back the sound of his footsteps, as if demons were +laughing him to scorn. The least noise is heard over the whole house. The clock +ticks so loud he has to remove it, for it affects his nerves. The stealthy +mouse tries to annoy him with his mimic personification of the burglar, and the +wind moans among the trees as if it lamented the general desolation. If he +strolls out in his grounds, the squirrel ascends the highest tree and chatters +and scolds at the unusual intrusion, while the birds fly away screaming with +affright, as if pursued by a vulture. They used to be tame once, when the +family inhabited the house, and listen with wonder at notes sweeter and more +musical than their own. They would even feed from the hand that protected them. +His dog alone seeks his society, and strives to assure him by mute but +expressive gestures that he at least will never desert him. As he paces his +lonely quarter-deck (as he calls the gravel-walk in front of his house), the +silver light of the moon, gleaming here and there between the stems of the aged +trees, startles him with the delusion of unreal white-robed forms, that flit +about the shady groves as if enjoying or pitying his condition, or perhaps +warning him that in a few short years he too must join this host of disembodied +spirits. +</p> + +<p> +Time hangs heavily on his hands, he is tired of reading, it is too early for +repose, so he throws himself on the sofa and muses, but even meditation calls +for a truce. His heart laments its solitude, and his tongue its silence. Nature +is weary and exhausted, and sleep at last comes to his aid. But, alas! he +awakes in the morning only to resume his dull monotonous course, and at last he +fully comprehends what it is to be alone. Women won’t come to see him, +for fear they might be talked about, and those that would come would soon make +him a subject of scandal. He and the world, like two people travelling in +opposite directions, soon increase at a rapid rate the distance between them. +He loses his interest in what is going on around him, and people lose their +interest in him. If his name happens to be mentioned, it may occasion a +listless remark, “I wonder how he spends his time?” or, “The +poor devil must be lonely there.” +</p> + +<p> +Yes, yes, there are many folks in the world that talk of things they +don’t understand, and there are precious few who appreciate the meaning +of that endearing term “home.” He only knows it as I have said who +has lived in one, amid a large family, of which he is the solitary surviving +member. The change is like going from the house to the sepulchre, with this +difference only, one holds a living and the other a dead body. Yes, if you have +had a home you know what it is, but if you have lost it, then and not till then +do you feel its value. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C10">CHAPTER X.</a><br/> +A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART I.</h2> + +<p> +When we reached the grove, I left Jessie in the canoe, and went up to the house +in search of her sister. Jackson and Peter were sitting on the wood-pile; the +latter was smoking his pipe, and the other held his in his hand, as he was +relating some story of his exploits in Spain. When I approached, he rose up and +saluted me in his usual formal manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the doctor,” said I, “and the rest of the +party?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone to see a tame moose of his, Sir,” he said, “in the +pasture; but they will be back directly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, lighting a cigar by Peter’s pipe, and taking +a seat alongside of him, “go on Jackson; don’t let me interrupt +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was just telling Mr McDonald, Sir,” said he, “of a night I +once spent on the field of battle in Spain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“As I was a saying to him, Sir,” he continued, “you could ear +the wolves among the dead and the dying a owling like so many devils. I was +afraid to go to sleep, as I didn’t know when my turn might come; so I put +my carbine across my knees, and sat up as well as I could, determined to sell +my life as dearly as possible, but I was so weak from the loss of blood, that I +kept dozing and starting all the time amost. Oh, what a tedious night that was, +Sir, and how I longed for the dawn of day, when search should be made among us +for the wounded! Just as the fog began to rise, I saw a henormous wolf, about a +hundred yards or so from me, busy tearing a body to pieces; and taking a good +steady haim at him, I fired, when he called out: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Blood and ounds! you cowardly furrin rascal, haven’t you +had your belly-full of fighting yet, that you must be after murthering a +wounded man that way? By the powers of Moll Kelly, but you won’t serve +Pat Kallahan that dirty trick again anyhow.’ +</p> + +<p> +“As he levelled at me, I fell back, and the ball passed right over me and +struck a wounded orse that was broke down behind, and a sittin’ up on his +fore-legs like a dog. Oh, the scream of that are hanimal, Sir, was just like a +Christian’s. It was hawful. I have the sound of it in my ears now +halmost. It pierced through me, and you might have eard it that still morning +over the whole field. He sprung up and then fell over, and kicked and struggled +furious for a minute or two before he died, and every time he lashed out, you +could a eard a elpless wounded wretch a groanin’ bitterly, as he battered +away at him. The truth is, Sir, what I took for a wolf that hazy morning, was +poor Pat, who was sitting up, and trying to bandage his hankle, that was +shattered by a bullet, and the way he bobbed his head up and down, as he +stooped forward, looked exactly as a wolf does when he is tearing the flesh off +a dead body. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the scream of that are orse, and the two shots the dragoon and I +exchanged, saved my life, for I saw a man and a woman making right straight for +us. It was Betty, Sir, God bless her, and Sergeant M’Clure. The owling +she sot up, when she saw me, was dreadful to ear, Sir. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Betty,’ said I, ‘dear, for eaven’s sake see if +you can find a drop of brandy in any of these poor fellows’ canteens, for +I am perishing of thirst, and amost chilled to death.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Tom, dear,’ said she, ‘I have thought of +that,’ and unslinging one from her shoulders put it to my lips, and I +believe I would have drained it at a draft, but she snatched it away directly, +and said: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, do ‘ee think of that dreadful stroke of the sun, Tom. +It will set you crazy if you drink any more.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘The stroke of the sun be anged!’ said I; ‘it’s +not in my ead this time—it’s in the other end of me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh dear, dear!’ said Betty; ‘two such marks as them, +and you so handsome too! Oh dear, dear!’ +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old soul! it’s a way she had of trying to come round me. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Where is it?’ said M’Clure. +</p> + +<p> +“‘In the calf of my leg,’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he was a handy man, for he had been a hospital-sargeant, on +account of being able to read doctors’ pot-hooks and inscriptions. So he +cut my boot, and stript down my stocking and looked at it. Says he, ‘I +must make a turn-and-quit.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Rory,’ said I, ‘don’t turn and quit your +old comrade that way.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Rory, dear,’ said Betty, ‘don’t ‘ee +leave Tom now—don’t ’ee, that’s a good soul.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Pooh!’ said he, ‘nonsense! How your early training +has been neglected, Jackson!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Rory,’ said I, ‘if I was well you wouldn’t dare +to pass that slur upon me. I am as well-trained a soldier and as brave a man as +ever you was.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Tut, tut, man,’ said he, ‘I meant your +learning.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ says I, ‘I can’t brag much of that, and +I am not sorry for it. Many a better scholar nor you, and better-looking man +too, has been anged afore now, for all his schoolin’.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Says he, ‘I’ll soon set you up, Tom. Let me see if I can +find anything here that will do for a turn-and-quit.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Close to where I lay there, was a furrin officer who had his head nearly +amputated with a sabre cut. Well, he took a beautiful gold repeater out of his +fob, and a great roll of dubloons out of one pocket, and a little case of +diamond rings out of the other. +</p> + +<p> +“‘The thieving Italian rascal?’ said he, ‘he has robbed +a jeweller’s shop before he left the town,’ and he gave the body a +kick and passed on. Well, close to him was an English officer. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ah,’ said he, ‘here is something useful,’ and +he undid his sash, and then feeling in his breast pocket, he hauled out a tin +tobacco-case, and opening of it, says he: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Tom, here’s a real god-send for you. This and the sash I +will give you as a keepsake. They are mine by the fortune of war, but I will +bestow them on you.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Oigh! oigh!” said Peter, “she was no shentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +“He warn’t then, Sir,” said Tom, not understanding him, +“for he was only a sargeant like me at that time, but he is now, for he +is an officer.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Peter, “the king can make an offisher, but she +can’t make a shentleman. She took the oyster hern ainsel, and gave you +the shell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” continued Jackson, “he took the sash, and tied it +round my leg, and then took a bayonet off a corpse, and with that twisted it +round and round so tight it urt more nor the wound, and then he secured the +bayonet so that it wouldn’t slip. There was a furrin trooper’s orse +not far off that had lost his rider, and had got his rein hunder his foreleg, +so Betty caught him and brought him to where I was a sitting. By the haid of +another pull at the canteen, which put new life into me, and by their +hassistance, I was got on the saddle, and he and Betty steadied me on the +hanimal, and led me off. I no sooner got on the orse than Betty fell to a +crying and a scolding again like anything. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What hails you now,’ says I, ‘Betty? You are like +your own town of Plymouth—it’s showery weather with you all the +year round amost. What’s the matter now?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Tom, Tom,’ said she, ‘you will break my eart +yet—I know you will.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why what have I done?’ says I. ‘I couldn’t help +getting that little scratch on the leg.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, it tante that,’ she said; ‘it’s that orrid +stroke of the sun. There’s your poor ead huncovered again. Where is your +elmet?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, bother,’ sais I, ‘ow do I know? Somewhere on the +ground, I suppose.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, back she ran as ard as she could, but M’Clure wouldn’t +wait a moment for her and went on, and as she couldn’t find mine, she +undid the furriner’s and brought that, and to pacify her I had to put it +on and wear it. It was a good day for M’Clure, and I was glad of it, for +he was a great scholar and the best friend I ever had. He sold the orse for +twenty pounds afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +“She don’t want to say nothin’ disrespectable,” said +Peter, “against her friend, but she was no shentleman for all tat.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is now,” said Tom again, with an air of triumph. “He is +an hofficer, and dines at the mess. I don’t suppose he’d be seen +with me now, for it’s agen the rules of the service, but he is the best +friend I have in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“She don’t know nothin’ about ta mess herself,” said +Peter, “but she supposes she eats meat and drinks wine every tay, which +was more tan she did as a poy. But she’d rather live on oatmeal and drink +whiskey, and be a poor shentlemen, than be an officher like M’Clure, and +tine with the Queen, Cot bless her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the old pipe, then, was all you got for your share, was it?” +says I. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Sir,” said Tom, “it warn’t. One day, when I was +nearly well, Betty came to me— +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Tom,’ said she, ‘I have such good news for +you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What is it?’ sais I, ‘are we going to have another +general engagement?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, dear, I hope not,’ she said. ‘You have had enough +of fighting for one while, and you are always so misfortunate.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, what is it?’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Will you promise me not to tell?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I will.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That’s just what you said the first time I kissed you. Do +get out,’ she replied, ‘and you promise not to lisp a word of it to +Rory M’Clure? or he’ll claim it, as he did that orse, and, Tom, I +caught that orse, and he was mine. It was a orrid, nasty, dirty, mean trick +that.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Betty,’ said I, ‘I won’t ear a word hagin him: +he is the best friend I ever had, but I won’t tell him, if you wish +it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ said Betty, and she bust out crying for joy, for she +can cry at nothing, amost. ‘Look, Tom, here’s twenty Napoleons, I +found them quilted in that officer’s elmet.’ So after all, I got +out of that scrape pretty well, didn’t I, Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed she did,” said Peter, “but if she had seen as much of +wolves as Peter McDonald has she wouldn’t have been much frightened by +them. This is the way to scare a whole pack of them;” and stooping down +and opening a sack, he took out the bagpipes, and struck up a favourite +Highland air. If it was calculated to alarm the animals of the forest, it at +all events served now to recall the party, who soon made their appearance from +the moose-yard. “Tat,” said Peter, “will make ’em +scamper like the tevil. It has saved her life several times.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I should think,” said I. (For of all the awful instruments that +ever was heard that is the worst. Pigs in a bag ain’t the smallest part +of a circumstance to it, for the way it squeals is a caution to cats.) When the +devil was a carpenter, he cut his foot so bad with an adze, he threw it down, +and gave up the trade in disgust. And now that Highlanders have given up the +trade of barbarism, and become the noblest fellows in Europe, they should +follow the devil’s example, and throw away the bagpipes for ever. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never seen M’Clure,” said Jackson, addressing me, +“but once since he disputed with the countryman about the plural of moose +in the country-market. I met him in the street one day, and says I, +</p> + +<p> +“‘How are you, Rory? Suppose we take a bit of a walk.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he held up his ead stiff and straight, and didn’t speak for +a minute or two; at last he said: +</p> + +<p> +“‘How do you do, Sargeant Jackson?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, Rory,’ sais I, ‘what hails you to hact that way? +What’s the matter with you now, to treat an old comrade in that +manner?’ +</p> + +<p> +“He stared ard at me in the face hagain, without giving any explanation. +At last he said, ‘Sargeant Jackson,’ and then he stopped again. +‘If anybody speers at you where Ensign Roderich M’Clure is to be +found, say on the second flat of the officers’ quarters at the North +Barracks,’ and he walked on and left me. He had got his +commission.” +</p> + +<p> +“She had a Highland name,” said Peter, “and tat is all, but +she was only a lowland Glaskow peast. Ta teivil tack a’ such friends a +tat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” said I, “Jessie and I have discovered the canoe, +and had a glorious row of it. I see you have a new skiff there; suppose we all +finish the morning on the lake. We have been up to the waterfall, and if it is +agreeable to you, Jessie proposes to dine at the intervale instead of the +house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just the thing,” said the doctor, “but you understand these +matters better than I do, so just give what instructions you think +proper.” +</p> + +<p> +Jackson and Betty were accordingly directed to pack up what was needful, and +hold themselves in readiness to be embarked on our return from the excursion on +the water. Jessie, her sister, and myself took the canoe; the doctor and Cutler +the boat, and Peter was placed at the stern to awaken the sleeping echoes of +the lake with his pipes. The doctor seeing me provided with a short gun, ran +hastily back to the house for his bow and arrows, and thus equipped and +grouped, we proceeded up the lake, the canoe taking the lead. Peter struck up a +tune on his pipes. The great expanse of water, and the large open area where +they were played, as well as the novelty of the scene, almost made me think +that it was not such bad music after all as I had considered it. +</p> + +<p> +After we had proceeded a short distance, Jessie proposed a race between the +canoe and the boat. I tried to dissuade her from it, on account of the fatigue +she had already undergone, and the excitement she had manifested at the +waterfall, but she declared herself perfectly well, and able for the contest. +The odds were against the girls; for the captain and the doctor were both +experienced hands, and powerful, athletic man, and their boat was a +flat-bottomed skiff, and drew but little water. Added to which, the young women +had been long out of practice, and their hands and muscles were unprepared by +exercise. I yielded at last, on condition that the race should terminate at a +large rock that rose out of the lake at about a mile from us. I named this +distance, not merely because I wished to limit the extent of their exertion, +but because I knew that if they had the lead that far, they would be unable to +sustain it beyond that, and that they would be beaten by the main strength of +the rowers. We accordingly slackened our speed till the boat came up alongside +of us. The challenge was given and accepted, and the terminus pointed out, and +when the signal was made, away we went with great speed. +</p> + +<p> +For more than two-thirds of the distance we were bow and bow, sometimes one and +sometimes the other being ahead, but on no occasion did the distance exceed a +yard or so. When we had but the remaining third to accomplish, I cautioned the +girls that the rowers would now probably put out all their strength, and take +them by surprise, and therefore advised them to be on their guard. They said a +few words to each other in their native language, laughed, and at once prepared +for the crisis, by readjusting their seats and foothold, and then the eldest +said, with a look of animation, that made her surpassingly beautiful, +“Now,” and away we went like iled lightning, leaving the boat +behind at a rate that was perfectly incredible. +</p> + +<p> +They had evidently been playing with them at first, and doing no more than to +ascertain their speed and power of propulsion, and had all along intended to +reserve themselves for this triumph at the last. As soon as we reached the +winning point, I rose up to give the cheer of victory, but just at that moment, +they suddenly backed water with their paddles, and in turning towards the boat, +the toe of my boot caught in one of the light ribs of the canoe, which had been +loosened by the heat of the sun, and I instantly saw that a fall was +unavoidable. To put a hand on the side of the little bark would inevitably +overset it, and precipitate the girls into the lake. I had but one resource +left therefore, and that was to arch over the gunwale, and lift my feet clear +of it, while I dove into the water. It was the work of an instant, and in +another I had again reached the canoe. Begging Jessie to move forward, so as to +counterbalance my weight, I rose over the stern (if a craft can be said to have +one, where both ends are alike, and it can be propelled either way), and then +took the seat that had been occupied by her. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Jane,” said I, “I must return to the house, and get a +dry suit of the doctor’s clothes; let us see what we can do.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor told me Betty knew more about his wardrobe than he did himself, and +would furnish me with what I required; and in the mean time, that they would +lay upon their oars till we returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ready, Miss,” said I, “I want you to do your +prettiest now, and put your best foot out, because I wish them to see that I am +not the awkward critter in a canoe they think I am.” +</p> + +<p> +The fact is, Squire, that neither the doctor nor Cutler knew, that to avoid +falling under the circumstances I was placed in, and to escape without +capsizing the canoe, was a feat that no man, but one familiar with the +management of those fragile barks, and a good swimmer, too, can perform. Peter +was aware of it, and appreciated it; but the other two seemed disposed to cut +their jokes upon me; and them that do that, generally find, in the long run, I +am upsides with them, that’s a fact. A cat and a Yankee always come on +their feet, pitch them up in the air as high and as often as you please. +</p> + +<p> +“Now for it,” said I, and away we went at a 2.30 pace, as we say of +our trotting horses. Cutler and the doctor cheered us as we went; and Peter, as +the latter told me afterwards, said: “A man who can dwell like an otter, +on both land and sea, has two lives.” I indorse that saw, he made it +himself; it’s genuine, and it was like a trapper’s maxim. +Warn’t it? +</p> + +<p> +As soon as I landed I cut off for the house, and in no time rigged up in a dry +suit of our host’s, and joined the party, afore they knew where they +were. I put on a face as like the doctor’s as two clocks of mine are to +each other. I didn’t do it to make fun <i>of</i> him, but <i>out</i> of +him. Oh, they roared again, and the doctor joined in it as heartily as any of +them, though he didn’t understand the joke. But Peter didn’t seem +to like it. He had lived so much among the Indians, and was so accustomed to +their way of biling things down to an essence, that he spoke in proverbs, or +wise saws. Says he to me, with a shake of his head, “<i>a mocking bird +has no voice of its own</i>.” It warn’t a bad sayin’, was it? +I wish I had noted more of them, for though I like ’em, I am so yarney, I +can’t make them as pithey as he did. I can’t talk short-hand, and I +must say I like condensation. Now, brevity is the only use to individuals there +is in telegraphs. There is very little good news in the world for any of us; +and bad news comes fast enough. I hate them myself. The only good there is in +’em, is to make people write short; for if you have to pay for every word +you use, you won’t be extravagant in ’em, there is no mistake. +</p> + +<p> +Telegraphs ruin intellect; they reduce a wise man to the level of a fool; and +fifty years hence there won’t be a sensible trader left. For national +purposes they are very well, and government ought to have kept them to +themselves, for those objects; but they play the devil with merchants. There is +no room for the exercise of judgment. It’s a dead certainty now. Flour is +eight dollars in England; well, every one knows that, and the price varies, and +every one knows that also, by telegraph. Before that, a judgmatical trader took +his cigar in his mouth, sat down, and calculated. Crops short, Russian war, +blockade, and so on. Capital will run up prices, till news of new harvest are +known; and then they will come down by the run. He deliberates, reasons, and +decides. Now, the last Liverpool paper gives the price current. It advises all, +and governs all. Any blockhead can be a merchant now. Formerly, they poked +sapey-headed goneys into Parliament, to play dummey; or into the army and navy, +the church, and the colonial office. But they kept clever fellows for law, +special commissioners, the stage, the “Times,” the +“Chronicle,” and such like able papers, and commerce; and men of +middlin’ talents were resarved for doctors, solicitors, Gretna Green, and +so on. +</p> + +<p> +But the misfortinate prince-merchants now will have to go to the bottom of the +list with tradesmen and retailers. They can’t have an opinion of their +own, the telegraph will give it. The latest quotations, as they call them, come +to them, they know that iron is <i>firm,</i> and timber <i>giving way,</i> that +lead is <i>dull</i> and <i>heavy,</i> and coal gone to <i>blases,</i> while the +stocks are <i>rising</i> and vessels <i>sinking,</i> all the rest they +won’t trouble their heads about. The man who trades with Cuba, +won’t care about Sinope, and it’s too much trouble to look for it +on the map. While the Black Sea man won’t care about Toronto, or whether +it is in Nova Scotia or Vermont, in Canada or California. There won’t +soon be a merchant that understands geography. +</p> + +<p> +But what is wuss, half the time the news is false, and if it hadn’t been +for that, old Hemp and Iron would have made a fortune. And if it is true, +it’s worse still, for he would have acted on his own judgment if he +hadn’t heard it, and circumstances would have altered as they always are +doing every day, and he would have made a rael hit. Oh, I hate them. And +besides this, they have spoiled them by swearing the operators. An oath gives +them fellows such an itch to blart, that though they don’t inform, they +let the cat out of the bag, and that is as bad. Tell you what, I wouldn’t +like to confess by telegraph. If I am courting a gall and she sais all right, +why then my fun is spoiled, for when a thing is settled, all excitement is +gone, and if I am refused, the longer I am in ignorance the better. It is wiser +to wait, as the Frenchman did at Clare, who sat up three nights to see how the +letters passed over the wires. Well, if I am married, I have to report +progress, and logbooks are always made up before or afterwards. It’s apt +to injure my veracity. In short, you know what I mean, and I needn’t +follow it out, for a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. +</p> + +<p> +But the Lord have mercy on merchants, any fool will get along as well as the +best of them now. Dear me, I recollect a man they poked fun at once at Salem. +They induced him by way of a rise, to ship a cargo of blankets and warming-pans +to the West Indies. Well, he did so, and made a good speck, for the pans were +bought for dippers, and the blankets for strainers. Yes, telegraphs will reduce +merchants to the level of that fellow Isaac Oxter. +</p> + +<p> +But I must look for the trail again, or I shall forget my story. +</p> + +<p> +I think I left off where I got back in the canoe, and joined the party in the +boat. Well, we then proceeded like the off and near ox, pulling from rather +than to each other, but still keeping neck and neck as it were. In this manner +we proceeded to the head of the lake, and then as we returned steered for a +small wooded island in the centre, where I proposed to land and rest awhile, +for this beautiful sheet of water was of considerable extent. As we approached +it, Peter again struck up his pipes, and shortly afterwards a noble male moose, +as much terrified by the noise as McDonald said Canada wolves were, broke +cover, and swam for the main land. The moose frequently select such places to +secure their young from the bears, who are their greatest enemies, and find an +easy prey in their helpless calves. It is not improbable that the female still +remained, and that this act of gallantry in the buck was intended to withdraw +attention from her, and thus save her from pursuit. I had no bullets with me, +and my gun was only loaded with duck-shot. To discharge that at him, would have +been a wanton act of cruelty, as at most it could only inflict upon him painful +wounds. In this emergency, Jessie pointed to a stout half-inch rope that was +coiled up in the bottom of the canoe, and I immediately exchanged places with +her, and commenced making a lasso, while she plied the paddle. +</p> + +<p> +We gained rapidly upon him, and I was preparing to throw the fatal noose over +his horns, when to my astonishment he raised his neck and a portion of his +fore-legs out of the water, as if he was landing. We were then a considerable +distance from the shore, but it appeared, as I afterwards learned from the +doctor, that a long low neck of land made out there into the lake, that was +only submerged in the spring and autumn, but in summer was covered with wild +grass, upon which deer fed with avidity, as an agreeable change from browsing. +The instinct of the animal induced him to make for this shallow, from which he +could bound away at full speed (trot) into the cover. +</p> + +<p> +All hope of the chase was now over, and I was about abandoning it in despair, +when an arrow whizzed by us, and in an instant he sprang to his feet, and +exposed his huge form to view. He was a remarkable fine specimen of his kind, +for they are the largest as well as the ugliest of the deer tribe. For an +instant he paused, shook himself violently, and holding down his head, put up +his fore-leg to break off that, which evidently maddened him with pain. He then +stood up erect, with his head high in the air, and laid his horns back on his +neck, and, giving a snort of terror, prepared to save his life by flight. +</p> + +<p> +It is astonishing how much animation and attitude has to do with beauty. I had +never seen one look well before, but as his form was relieved against the sky, +he looked as he is, the giant king of the forest. He was just in the act of +shifting his feet in the yielding surface of the boggy meadow, preparatory to a +start, when he was again transfixed by an arrow, in a more vulnerable and vital +part. He sprung, or rather reared forward, and came down on his knees, and then +several times repeated the attempt to commence his flight by the same desperate +effort. At last he fell to rise no more, and soon rolled over, and after some +splashing with his head to avoid the impending death by drowning, quietly +submitted to his fate. Nothing now was visible of him but the tips of his +horns, and a small strip of the hide that covered his ribs. A shout from the +boat proclaimed the victory. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “what could you have done +with only a charge of duck-shot in your gun, eh? The arrow, you see, served for +shot and bullet. I could have killed him with the first shaft, but his head was +turned, and covered the vital spot. So I had to aim a little too far forward, +but still it carried a death-warrant with it, for he couldn’t have run +over a mile without falling from exhaustion, arising from the loss of blood. It +is a charming day for the bow, for there is no wind, and I could hit a dollar +at a hundred and twenty yards. There is another on that island, but she +probably has a calf, perhaps two, and it would be a wicked waste of the food +that God provides for us, to destroy her. But we must get this gentleman into +the boat, and it will bring us down so deep in the water, we must keep near the +shore, as it may be necessary occasionally to wade.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter, without ceremony, began to make preparations for such an emergency. He +had been accustomed all his life, until he left the Nor-west Company’s +employment, to the kilt, and he neither felt nor looked at home in the +trousers. Like most of his countrymen, he thought there was more beauty in a +hairy leg, and in a manly shammy-leather looking skin, than in any covering. +While his bald knee, the ugliest, weakest, most complicated and important joint +in the frame, he no doubt regarded with as much veneration as the pious do the +shaven crown of a monk. He therefore very complacently and coolly began to +disencumber himself of this detestable article of the tailor’s skill. I +thought it best therefore to push off in time, to spare his daughters this +spectacle, merely telling the doctor we would wait for him where we had +embarked. +</p> + +<p> +We proceeded very leisurely, only once in a while dipping the paddle gently +into the water, so as to keep up the motion of the canoe. The girls amused +themselves by imitating the call and answer of the loon, the blue-jay, the +kingfisher, and the owl. With a piece of bark, rolled up in the form of a +short-ear trumpet, they mimicked the hideous voice of the moose, and the not +less disagreeable lowing of the cariboo. The martin started in surprise at his +affrighted neighbour on the water, and the fox no doubt crept from his hole to +listen to the voice that called him to plunder, at this dangerous hour. All +these sounds are signals among the Indians, and are carried to a perfection +that deceives the ear of nature itself. I had read of their great power in this +species of ventriloquism, but never had heard it practised before, with the +exception of the imitation of the deer tribe, which is well-known to white +“still-hunters.” +</p> + +<p> +They are, in their own country, not very communicative to strangers; and above +all, never disclose practices so peculiarly reserved for their own service or +defence. I was amazed at their skill in this branch of Indian accomplishment. +</p> + +<p> +But the notes of the dear little chick-a-dee-dee charmed me the most. The +stillness of this wild, sequestered place was most agreeably diversified by all +these fictitious birds and beasts, that seemed inviting, each his own kind, to +come and look at this lovely scene. From the wonderful control they appeared to +have over their voices, I knew that one or both of them must sing. I therefore +asked them if they knew the Canadian-boat song; and they answered, with great +delight, that they did. And suiting the action to the word, which, by the by, +adds marvellously to its effect, they sung it charmingly. I couldn’t +resist their entreaties to join in it, although I would infinitely have +preferred listening to taking a part. When we concluded it, Jessie said it was +much prettier in her native tongue, and sung a verse in her own language. She +said the governor of the fort, who spoke Indian as well as English, had +arranged the words for it, and when she was a child in his family, she learned +it. “Listen,” said she, “what is that?” +</p> + +<p> +It was Jackson playing on the key-bugle. Oh, how gloriously it sounded, as its +notes fell on the ear, mellowed and softened by the distance. When Englishmen +talk of the hunters’ horn in the morning, they don’t know what they +are a saying of. It’s well enough I do suppose in the field, as it wakes +the drowsy sportsman, and reminds him that there is a hard day’s ride +before him. But the lake and the forest is nature’s amphitheatre, and it +is at home there. It won’t speak as it can do at all times and in all +places; but it gives its whole soul out in the woods; and the echoes love it, +and the mountains wave their plumes of pines to it, as if they wanted to be +wooed by its clear, sweet, powerful notes.<sup>1</sup> All nature listens to +it, and keeps silence, while it lifts its voice on high. The breeze wafts its +music on its wings, as if proud of its trust; and the lake lies still, and +pants like a thing of life, as if its heart beat to its tones. The birds are +all hushed, as if afraid to disturb it; and the deer pause, and listen, and +gaze on the skies, as if the music came from heaven. Money only can move some +men, and a white heat alone dissolve stones. But he who has ever heard the +bugle, and is not inspired by it, has no divinity within him. The body is +there, but the soul is wanting. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> This inflated passage, and some other similar ones, are extremely +characteristic of Americans in the same station of life as Slick. From the use +of superlative expressions in their conversation, they naturally adopt an +exaggerative style in writing, and the minor poets and provincial orators of +the Republic are distinguished for this hyperbolical tone. In Great Britain +they would be admired by the Irish; on the Continent, by the Gascons. If Mr +Slick were not affected by this weakness himself, he would be among the first +to detect and ridicule it in others. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, Jackson, I will forgive your twaddle about sargeant +M’Clure, the stroke of the sun, the trooper’s helmet, and the night +among the wolves. I will listen to your old soldier’s stories all night, +only go on and play for me. Give me that simple air again. Let me drink it in +with my ears, till my heart is full. No grace notes, no tricks of the +band-master’s, no flourishes; let it be simple and natural. Let it suit +us, and the place we are in, for it is the voice of our common parent, +nature.” Ah, he didn’t hear me, and he ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie, dear, ain’t that beautiful?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she said (and she clasped her hands hard), “it is like +the sound of a spirit speaking from above.” +</p> + +<p> +“Imitate it,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +She knew the air, it was a Scotch one; and their music is the most touching, +because the most simple, I know. +</p> + +<p> +Squire, you will think I am getting spooney, but I ain’t. You know how +fond I am of nature, and always was; but I suppose you will think if I +ain’t talking Turkey, that I am getting crankey, when I tell you an idea +that came into my mind just then. She imitated it in the most perfect manner +possible. Her clear, sweet, mellow, but powerful notes, never charmed me so +before. I thought it sounded like a maiden, answering her lover. One was a +masculine, the other a female voice. The only difference was in the force, but +softness was common to both. Can I ever forget the enchantment of that day? +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Jessie,” said I, “you and your friend are just formed +for each other. How happy you could make him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” said she, and there was no affectation in the question. She +knew not the import of that word. “What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” said I, “I will tell you by and by. Old Tom is +playing again.” +</p> + +<p> +It was “Auld lang syne.” How touching it was! It brought tears to +Jessie’s eyes. She had learned it, when a child, far, far away; and it +recalled her tribe, her childhood, her country, and her mother. I could see +these thoughts throw their shadows over her face, as light clouds chase each +other before the sun, and throw their veil, as they course along the sky, over +the glowing landscape. It made me feel sad, too; for how many of them with whom +my early years were spent have passed away. Of all the fruit borne by the tree +of life, how small a portion drops from it when fully ripe, and in the due +course of nature. The worm, and premature decay, are continually thinning them; +and the tempest and the blight destroy the greater part of those that are left. +Poor dear worthy old Minister, you too are gone, but not forgotten. How could I +have had these thoughts? How could I have enjoyed these scenes? and how +described them? but for you! Innocent, pure, and simple-minded man, how fond +you were of nature, the handy-work of God, as you used to call it. How full you +were of poetry, beauty, and sublimity! And what do I not owe to you? I am not +ashamed of having been a Clockmaker, I am proud of it.<sup>1</sup> But I should +indeed have been ashamed, with your instruction, always to have remained one. +Yes, yes! +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Why should auld acquaintance be forgot,<br/> +And never brought to mind?” +</p> + +<p> +Why? indeed. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> This is the passage to which Mr Slick referred in the conversation +I had with him, related in Chapter I., entitled, “A Surprise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tam it,” said Peter, for we were so absorbed in listening to the +music, we did not hear the approach of the boat, “ta ting is very coot, +but it don’t stir up te blood, and make you feel like a man, as ta pipes +do! Did she ever hear <i>barris an tailler?</i> Fan she has done with her brass +cow-horn, she will give it to you. It can wake the tead, that air. When she was +a piper poy to the fort, Captain Fraisher was killed by the fall of a tree, +knocked as stiff as a gunparrel, and as silent too. We laid her out on the +counter in one of the stores, and pefore we put her into the coffin the +governor said: ‘Peter,’ said he, ‘she was always fond of +<i>barris an tailler,</i> play it before we nail her up, come, <i>seid suas</i> +(strike up).’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she gets the pipes and plays it hern ainsel, and the governor +forgot his tears; and seized McPhee by the hand, and they danced; they +couldn’t help it when that air was played, and what do you think? It +prought Captain Fraisher to life. First she opened her eyes, and ten her mouth +again wunst more. She did, upon my shoul. +</p> + +<p> +“Says she, ‘Peter, play it faster, will you? More faster yet, you +blackguard.’ And she tropt the pipes and ran away, and it was the first +and last time Peter McDonald ever turned his pack on a friend. The doctor said +it was a trance, but he was a sassanach and knew nothing about music; but it +was the pipes prought the tead to. This is the air,” and he played it +with such vigour he nearly grew black in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe it,” sais I; “it has brought me to also, it has +made me a new man, and brought me back to life again. Let us land the +moose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ted,” said Peter, “she is worth two ted men yet. There is +only two teaths. Ted as te tevil, and ted drunk, and she ain’t neither; +and if she were poth she would wake her up with tat tune, <i>barris an +tailler,</i> as she tid Captain Fraisher, tat she will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said I, “let us land the moose.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C11">CHAPTER XI.</a><br/> +A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART II.</h2> + +<p> +Peter’s horrid pipes knocked all the romance out of me. It took all the +talk of dear old Minister (whose conversation was often like poetry without +rhyme), till I was of age, to instil it into me. If it hadn’t been for +him I should have been a mere practical man, exactly like our Connecticut +folks, who have as much sentiment in them in a general way as an onion has of +otter of roses. It’s lucky when it don’t predominate though, for +when it does, it spoils the relish for the real business of life. +</p> + +<p> +Mother, when I was a boy, used to coax me up so everlastingly with loaf-cake, I +declare I got such a sweet tooth, I could hardly eat plain bread made of flour +and corn meal, although it was the wholesomest of the two. When I used to tell +Minister this sometimes, as he was flying off the handle, like when we +travelled through New York State to Niagara, at the scenery of the Hudson; or +Lake George, or that everlastin’ water-fall, he’d say— +</p> + +<p> +“Sam, you are as correct as a problem in Euclid, but as cold and dry. +Business and romance are like oil and water that I use for a night-lamp, with a +little cork dipsey. They oughtn’t to be mixed, but each to be separate, +or they spoil each other. The tumbler should be nearly full of water, then pour +a little oil on the top, and put in your tiny wick and floater, and ignite it. +The water goes to the bottom—that’s business you see, solid and +heavy. The oil and its burner lies on the top—and that’s romance. +It’s a living flame, not enough to illuminate the room, but to cheer you +through the night, and if you want more, it will light stronger ones for you. +People have a wrong idea of romance, Sam. Properly understood, it’s a +right keen, lively appreciation of the works of nature, and its beauty, +wonders, and sublimity. From thence we learn to fear, to serve, and to adore +Him that made them and us. Now, Sam, you understand all the wheels, and +pullies, and balances of your wooden clocks; but you don’t think anything +more of them, than it’s a grand speculation for you, because they cost +you a mere nothing, seeing they are made out of that which is as cheap as dirt +here, and because you make a great profit out of them among the benighted +colonists, who know little themselves, and are governed by English officials +who know still less. Well, that’s nateral, for it is a business view of +things.<sup>1</sup> Now sposen you lived in the Far West woods, away from great +cities, and never saw a watch or a wooden clock before, and fust sot your eyes +on one of them that was as true as the sun, wouldn’t you break out into +enthusiasm about it, and then extol to the skies the skill and knowledge of the +Yankee man that invented and made it? To be sure you would. Wouldn’t it +carry you off into contemplatin’ of the planet whose daily course and +speed it measures so exact? Wouldn’t you go on from that point, and ask +yourself what must be the wisdom and power of Him who made innumerable worlds, +and caused them to form part of a great, grand, magnificent, and harmonious +system, and fly off the handle, as you call it, in admiration and awe? To be +sure you would. And if anybody said you was full of romance who heard you, +wouldn’t you have pitied his ignorance, and said there are other +enjoyments we are capable of besides corporeal ones? Wouldn’t you be a +wiser and a better man? Don’t you go now for to run down romance, Sam; if +you do, I shall think you don’t know there is a divinity within +you,” and so he would preach on for an hour, till I thought it was time +for him to say Amen and give the dismissal benediction. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> It is manifest Mr Hopewell must have had Paley’s +illustration in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +Well, that’s the way I came by it, I was inoculated for it, but I was +always a hard subject to inoculate. Vaccination was tried on me over and over +again by the doctor before I took it, but at last it came and got into the +system. So it was with him and his romance, it was only the continual dropping +that wore the stone at last, for I didn’t listen as I had ought to have +done. If he had a showed me where I could have made a dollar, he would have +found me wide awake, I know, for I set out in life with a determination to go +ahead, and I have; and now I am well to do, but still I wish I had a minded +more what he did say, for, poor old soul, he is dead now. <i>An opportunity +lost, is like missing a passage, another chance may never offer to make the +voyage worth while. The first wind may carry you to the end. A good start often +wins the race. To miss your chance of a shot, is to lose the bird.</i> +</p> + +<p> +How true these “saws” of his are; but I don’t recollect half +of them, I am ashamed to say. Yes, it took me a long time to get romance in my +sails, and Peter shook it out of them by one shiver in the wind. So we went to +work. The moose was left on the shore, for the doctor said he had another +destination for him than the water-fall. Betty, Jackson, and Peter, were +embarked with their baskets and utensils in the boats, and directed to prepare +our dinner. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as they were fairly off, we strolled leisurely back to the house, which +I had hardly time to examine before. It was an irregular building made of hewn +logs, and appeared to have been enlarged, from time to time, as more +accommodation had been required. There was neither uniformity nor design in it, +and it might rather be called a small cluster of little tenements than a house. +Two of these structures alone seemed to correspond in appearance and size. They +protruded in front, from each end of the main building, forming with it three +sides of a square. One of these was appropriated to the purposes of a museum, +and the other used as a workshop. The former contained an exceedingly +interesting collection. +</p> + +<p> +“This room,” he said, “I cannot intrust to Jackson, who would +soon throw everything into confusion by grouping instead of classifying things. +This country is full of most valuable minerals, and the people know as much +about them as a pudding does of the plums contained in it. Observe this shelf, +Sir, there are specimens of seven different kinds of copper on it; and on this +one, fragments of four kinds of lead. In the argentiferous galena is a very +considerable proportion of silver. Here is a piece of a mineral called +molybdena of singular beauty, I found it at Gaberous Bay, in Cape Breton. The +iron ores you see are of great variety. The coal-fields of this colony are +immense in extent, and incalculable in value. All this case is filled with +their several varieties. These precious stones are from the Bay of Fundy. Among +them are amethyst, and other varieties of crystal, of quartz, henlandite, +stibite, analcine, chabasie, albite, nesotype, silicious sinter, and so on. +Pray do me the favour to accept this amethyst. I have several others of equal +size and beauty, and it is of no use to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He also presented Cutler with a splendid piece of nesotype or needle stone, +which he begged him to keep as a memento of the “Bachelor +Beaver’s-dam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three things, Mr Slick,” he continued, “are necessary to the +development of the mineral wealth of this province—skill, capital, and +population; and depend upon it the day is not far distant, when this +magnificent colony will support the largest population, for its area, in +America.” +</p> + +<p> +I am not a mineralogist myself, Squire, and much of what he said was heathen +Greek to me, but some general things I could understand, and remember such as +that there are (to say nothing of smaller ones) four immense independent +coal-fields in the eastern section of Nova Scotia; namely, at Picton, Pomquet, +Cumberland, and Londonderry; the first of which covers an area of one hundred +square miles: and that there are also at Cape Breton two other enormous fields +of the same mineral, one covering one hundred and twenty square miles, and +presenting at Lingan a vein eleven feet thick. Such facts I could comprehend, +and I was sorry when I heard the bugle announcing that the boat had returned +for us. +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie,” said the doctor, “here is a little case containing +a curiously fashioned and exquisitely worked ring, and a large gold cross and +chain, that I found while searching among the ruins of the nunnery at +Louisburg. I have no doubt they belonged to the superior of the convent. These +baubles answered her purpose by withdrawing the eyes of the profane from her +care-worn and cold features; they will serve mine also, by showing how little +you require the aid of art to adorn a person nature has made so lovely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo!” sais I to myself, “well done, Doctor, if that +don’t beat cock-fighting, then there ain’t no snakes in Varginny, I +vow. Oh! you ain’t so soft as you look to be after all; you may be a +child of nature, but that has its own secrets, and if you hain’t found +out its mysteries, it’s a pity.” +</p> + +<p> +“They have neither suffered,” he continued, “from the +corrosion of time nor the asceticism of a devotee, who vainly thought she was +serving God by voluntarily withdrawing from a world into which he himself had +sent her, and by foregoing duties which he had expressly ordained she should +fulfil. Don’t start at the sight of the cross; it is the emblem of +Christianity, and not of a sect, who claim it exclusively, as if He who +suffered on it died for them only. This one has hitherto been used in the +negation of all human affections, may it shed a blessing on the exercise of +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +I could hardly believe my ears; I didn’t expect this of him. I knew he +was romantic, and all that; but I did not think there was such a depth and +strength of feeling in him. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” I said, “Jehu Judd could a heard you, Doctor, he +would have seen the difference between the clear grit of the genuine thing and +a counterfeit, that might have made him open his eyes and wink.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Slick,” said he, “come now, that’s a good fellow, +don’t make me laugh, or I shall upset these glass cases;” and +before Jessie could either accept or decline this act of gallantry, he managed +to lead the way to the lake. The girls and I embarked in the canoe, and the +rest of the party in the boat, but before I stepped into the bark, I hid the +pipes of Peter behind the body of the moose, very much to the amusement of +Jessie and the doctor, who both seemed to agree with me in giving a preference +to the bugle. +</p> + +<p> +I never saw so lovely a spot in this country as the one we had chosen for our +repast, but it was not my intention to land until the preparations for our meal +were all fully completed; so as soon as Jane leaped ashore, I took her place +and asked Jessie to take another look at the lake with me. Desiring Jackson to +recall us with his bugle when required, we coasted up the west side of the lake +for about half a mile, to a place where I had observed two enormous birches +bend over the water, into which they were ultimately doomed to fall, as the +current had washed away the land where they stood, so as to leave them only a +temporary resting-place. Into this arched and quiet retreat we impelled our +canoe, and paused for awhile to enjoy its cool and refreshing shade. +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie,” said I, “this time to-morrow I shall be on the sea +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“So soon?” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear; business calls us away, and life is not all like a day on the +lake.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” she said, “not to me; it is the only really happy +one I have spent since I left my country. You have all been so kind to me; you, +the captain, and the doctor, all of you, you have made no difference, you have +treated me as if I was one of you, as if I was born a lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t the doctor always been kind to you?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” she replied, “always very kind, but there is +nobody here like him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He loves you very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said, in the most unembarrassed and natural manner +possible, “he told me so himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“And can’t you return his love?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do love him as I do my father, brother, or sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t you add the word husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, never,” she said, “Mr Slick. He thinks he loves me +now, but he may not think so always. He don’t see the red blood now, he +don’t think of my Indian mother; when he comes nearer perhaps he will see +plainer. No, no, half-cast and outcast, I belong to no race. Shall I go back to +my tribe and give up my father and his people? they will not receive me, and I +must fall asleep with my mother. Shall I stay here and cling to him and his +race, that race that scorns the half-savage? never! never! when he dies I shall +die too. I shall have no home then but the home of the spirits of the +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk that way, Jessie,” I said, “you make +yourself wretched, because you don’t see things as they are. It’s +your own fault if you are not happy. You say you have enjoyed this day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” she said, “no day like this; it never came before, +it don’t return again. It dies to-night, but will never be +forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not live where you are? Why not have your home here by this lake, +and this mountain? His tastes are like yours, and yours like his; you can live +two lives here,—the forest of the red man around you—the roof of +the white one above you. To unite both is true enjoyment; there is no eye to +stare here, no pride to exclude, no tongue to offend. You need not seek the +society of others, let them solicit yours, and the doctor will make them +respect it.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a subject on which her mind appeared to have been made up. She seemed +like a woman that has lost a child, who hears your advice, and feels there is +some truth in it, but the consolation reaches not her heart. +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be,” she said, with a melancholy smile, as if she +was resigning something that was dear to her, “God or nature forbids it. +If there is one God for both Indian and white man, he forbids it. If there are +two great spirits, one for each, as my mother told me, then both forbid it. The +great spirit of the pale faces,” she continued, “is a wicked one, +and the white man is wicked. Wherever he goes, he brings death and destruction. +The woods recede before him—the wild fowl leave the shores—the fish +desert their streams—the red man disappears. He calls his deer and his +beaver, and his game (for they are all his, and were given to him for food and +for clothing), and travels far, far away, and leaves the graves and the bones +of his people behind him. But the white man pursues him, day and night, with +his gun, and his axe, and fire-water; and what he spares with the rifle, rum, +despair, and starvation destroy. See,” she said, and she plucked a +withered red cone from a shumack that wept over the water, “see +<i>that</i> is dyed with the blood of the red man.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is prejudice,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it is the truth,” she replied. “I know it. My people +have removed twice, if not three times, and the next move will be to the sea or +the grave.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the effect of civilization, and arts, and the power of sciences +and learning, over untutored nature,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“If learning makes men wicked, it is a bad thing,” she observed; +“for the devil instructs men how to destroy. But rum ain’t +learning, it is poison; nor is sin civilization, nor are diseases blessings, +nor madness reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“That don’t alter things,” I said, “if it is all true +that you say, and there is too much reality in it, I fear; but the pale faces +are not all bad, nor the red all good. It don’t apply to your +case.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said, “nature forbids the two races to mingle. That +that is wild, continues wild; and the tame remains tame. The dog watches his +sleeping master; and the wolf devours him. The wild-duck scorns confinement; +and the partridge dies if compelled to dwell with domestic fowls. Look at those +birds,” she said, as she threw a chip among a flock of geese that were +floating down the lake, “if the beautiful Indian wild bird consorts with +one of them, the progeny die out. They are mongrels, they have not the grace, +the shape, or the courage of either. Their doom is fixed. They soon disappear +from the face of the earth and the waters. They are despised by both +breeds;” and she shook her head, as if she scorned and loathed herself, +and burst into a passionate flood of tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie,” said I, and I paused a moment, for I wanted to give her a +homoeopathic dose of common sense—and those little wee doses work like +charms, that’s a fact. “Jessie,” says I, and I smiled, for I +wanted her to shake off those voluntary trammels. “Jessie, the doctor +ain’t quite quite tame, and you ain’t quite wild. You are both six +of one, and half-a-dozen of the other, and just about as like as two +peas.” +</p> + +<p> +Well it’s astonishing what that little sentence did. <i>An ounce of +essence is worth a gallon of fluid. A wise saw is more valuable than a whole +book, and a plain truth is better than an argument.</i> She had no answer for +that. She had been reasoning, without knowing it, as if in fact she had been in +reality an Indian. She had imbibed in childhood the feelings of her mother, who +had taken the first step and repented it—of one who had deserted, but had +not been adopted—who became an exile and remained an alien—who had +bartered her birthright for degradation and death. It is natural that regret +for the past and despair for the future should have been the burden of the +mournful ditties of such a woman; that she who had mated without love, and +lived without affection, the slave, the drudge, but not the wife or companion +of her master, should die with imprecations on her lips for a race who were the +natural foes of her people, and who had reduced her to be an object of scorn +and contempt to both. It is no wonder therefore poor Jessie had a repugnance to +the union, when she remembered her mother, and the sad lesson her unhappy life +and fearful death contained. It was a feeling difficult to overcome. +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie,” sais I, “nature, instead of forbiddin’ it, +approves of it; for like takes to like. I don’t say it to please you, but +you are as good as he is, or any white man in the world. Your forefathers on +your mother’s side are a brave, manly, intelligent race; they are free +men, and have never been subdued or enslaved by any one: and if they have +degenerated at all, it is because they have contracted, as you say, vices from +the white man. You have reason to be proud of being descended from a race of +warriors. On the other hand, your father is a Highlander, and they too have +always been free, because they were brave; they are the noblest fellows in +Europe. As for the English, there are none now, except in Wales, and they are +called Taffies—which means <i>lunatics,</i> for they are awful proud, and +their mountains are so high, every fellow says his ancestors were descended +from the man in the <i>moon.</i> But the present race are a mixture of Taffies, +French, Danes, Saxons, Scotch, and the Lord knows who all, and to my mind are +all the better of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the colour,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“As to colour!” said I, “nations differ in every shade, from +black up to chalk white. The Portuguese, Italians, and Turks are darker than +the Indian if anything; Spaniards and Greeks about the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do they intermarry?” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess they do,” said I; “the difference of language only +stops them,—for it’s hard to make love when you can’t +understand each other,—but colour never.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that now really true?” she said; “for I am ignorant of +the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“True as preachin’,” said I, “and as plain as +poverty.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused awhile, and said slowly: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose if all the world says and does differently, I must be +wrong, for I am unacquainted with everything but my own feelings; and my mother +taught me this, and bade me never to trust a white man. I am glad I was wrong, +for if I feel I am right, I am sure I shall be happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “I am sure you will be so, and this is just +the place, above all others in the world, that will suit you, and make you so. +Now,” sais I, “Jessie, I will tell you a story;” and I told +her the whole tale of Pocahontas; how she saved Captain Smith’s life in +the early settlement of Virginia, and afterwards married Mr Rolfe, and visited +the court of England, where all the nobles sought her society. And then I gave +her all the particulars of her life, illness, and death, and informed her that +her son, who stood in the same relationship to the whites as she did, became a +wealthy planter in Virginia, and that one of his descendants, lately deceased, +was one of the most eloquent as well as one of the most distinguished men in +the United States. It interested her uncommonly, and I have no doubt greatly +contributed to confirm her in the decision she had come to. I will not trouble +you, Squire, with the story, for it is so romantic, I believe everybody has +heard of it. I promised to give her a book containing all the details. +</p> + +<p> +The bugle now sounded our recall, and in a few minutes we were seated on the +grass, and enjoying our meal with an appetite that exercise, excitement, and +forest air never fail to give. Songs, trout-fishing, and stories agreeably +occupied the afternoon; and when the sun began to cast long shadows from the +mountain, we reëmbarked with our traps, and landed at the cove near the +clump of trees where we started in the morning. While preparations were making +for tea in the house, I lit my cigar to take a stroll with Cutler, and talk +over our arrangements for an early start in the morrow, and proceeding +immediately to sea. In the mean time, I briefly stated to the doctor that he +would now find no further obstacle to his wishes, and counselled him to lose no +time, while the impression was favourable, to bring his long-pending +negotiation to a conclusion. +</p> + +<p> +“Slick,” said he, laughing, “your government ought to have +prevailed upon you to remain in the diplomatic service. You are such a capital +negotiator.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said I, “I believe I would have succeeded in that +line; but do you know how?” +</p> + +<p> +“By a plentiful use of soft sawder,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Doctor, I knew you would say that; and it ain’t to be despised +neither, I can tell you. No, it’s because you go coolly to work, for you +are negotiatin’ for another. If you don’t succeed, it’s the +fault of the mission, of course, and defeat won’t break your heart; if +you do carry your point, why, in the natur of things, it is all your own skill. +I have done famously for you; but I made a bungling piece of business for +myself, I assure you. What my brother, the lawyer, used to say is very true: +‘A man who pleads his own cause has a fool for his client.’ You +can’t praise yourself unless it’s a bit of brag, and that I can do +as well as any one, I do suppose; but you can’t lay the whitewash on +handily no more than you can brush the back of your own coat when it is on. +Cutler and I will take a stroll, and do you invite Jessie out, to see the moon +on the lake.” +</p> + +<p> +In about an hour, Peter, who had found his pipes to his infinite delight, +intimated supper was ready; and the dispersed groups returned, and sat down to +a meal which, in addition to the tea and coffee and its usual accompaniments at +country-houses, had some substantial viands for those, like myself, who had +done more talking than eating at dinner. In a short time, the girls retired for +the night, and we arranged for a peep of day return. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “I have ordered the boy to take +the moose down to the village as my share of the sea-stores. Will you give me +leave to go a part of the cruise with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“With great pleasure,” said I; “it’s just what I was +going to ask the favour of you to do. It’s the very identical +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Peter,” said he, “I will show you where to turn +in;” and returning, in a few minutes, with Jackson, desired him to attend +the captain. +</p> + +<p> +When we were alone, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Come this way, Mr Slick. Put your hat on—I want you to take a turn +with me.” +</p> + +<p> +And leading me down to the verge of the woods, where I saw a light, we entered +a large bark wigwam, where he said he often slept during the hot weather. +</p> + +<p> +It was not made in the usual conical form, but resembled a square tent, which +among Indians generally indicates there is a large family, and that they +propose to occupy the same spot for some time. In fact, it was half wigwam, +half summer-house, resembling the former in appearance, construction, and +material; but was floored on account of the damp ground, and contained a small +table, two chairs, and a couple of rustic seats large enough to sleep upon, +which, on the present occasion, had hunters’ beds on them. The tent, or +more properly camp, as it is generally called here, was so contrived as to +admit of the door being shifted according to the wind. On the present occasion, +the opening was towards the lake, on which the moon was casting its silver +light. +</p> + +<p> +Here we sat till a late hour, discoursing, over our cigars, on a variety of +subjects, the first and last of which topic was Jessie, who had, it appeared, +at last accepted the Bachelor Beaver. Altogether, it was a charming visit; and +left a most agreeable recollection of the enjoyment that is to be found in +“<i>a day and a night in the woods</i>.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C12">CHAPTER XII.</a><br/> +THE BETROTHAL.</h2> + +<p> +Early the following morning, just as the first dawn of day was streaking the +eastern sky, Jackson’s bugle sounded the <i>reveillé,</i> and we +were all soon on foot and in motion. The moose was lifted into the cart, and +the boy despatched with it to the harbour, so as to have it in readiness for +putting on board as soon as we should arrive, and a cup of coffee was prepared +for us by Betty, as she said, to keep the cold out of our stomach while +travelling. The doctor had some few arrangements to make for his voyage, and +Cutler and I set out in advance, on foot. It was agreed that Ovey, Peter, and +his daughters, should follow, as soon as possible, in the waggons, and +breakfast with us on board of the Black Hawk. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Jackson,” said I, as I saw him standing at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Sir,” and he was at my side in a minute, and honoured me with +one of his most gracious smiles, and respectful military salutes. +</p> + +<p> +There is great magic in that word “Mr,” when used to men of low +degree, and in “Squire” for those just a notch higher. Servitude, +at best, is but a hard lot. To surrender your will to another, to come and go +at his bidding, and to answer a bell as a dog does a whistle, ain’t just +the lot one would choose, if a better one offered. A master may forget this, a +servant never does. The great art, as well as one of the great Christian +duties, therefore, is not to make him feel it. Bidding is one thing, and +commanding is another. If you put him on good terms with himself, he is on good +terms with you, and affection is a stronger tie than duty. The vanity of +mankind is such, that you always have the ingratitude of helps dinned into your +ears, from one year’s end to another, and yet these folk never heard of +the ingratitude of employers, and wouldn’t believe there was such a thing +in the world, if you were to tell them. Ungrateful, eh! Why, didn’t I pay +him his wages? wasn’t he well boarded? and didn’t I now and then +let him go to a frolic? Yes, he wouldn’t have worked without pay. He +couldn’t have lived if he hadn’t been fed, and he wouldn’t +have stayed if you hadn’t given him recreation now and then. It’s a +poor heart that don’t rejoice sometimes. So much thanks he owes you. Do +you pray that it may always rain at night or on Sundays? Do you think the Lord +is the Lord of masters only? But he has been faithful as well as diligent, and +careful as well as laborious, he has saved you more than his wages came +to—are there no thanks for this? Pooh! you remind me of my poor old +mother. Father used to say she was the most unreasonable woman in the +world—for when she hired a gall she expected perfection, for two dollars +and a half a month. +</p> + +<p> +Mr Jackson! didn’t that make him feel good all over? Why shouldn’t +he be called Mr, as well as that selfish conceited M’Clure, Captain? Yes, +there is a great charm in that are word, “Mr.” It was a wrinkle I +picked up by accident, very early in life. We had to our farm to Slickville, an +Irish servant, called Paddy Monaghan—as hard-working a critter as ever I +see, but none of the boys could get him to do a blessed thing for them. +He’d do his plowin’ or reapin’, or whatever it was, but the +deuce a bit would he leave it to oblige Sally or the boys, or any one else, but +father; he had to mind him, in course, or put his three great coats on, the way +he came, one atop of the other, to cover the holes of the inner ones, and walk. +But, as for me, he’d do anythin’ I wanted. He’d drop his +spade, and help me catch a horse, or he’d do my chores for me, and let me +go and attend my mink and musquash traps, or he’d throw down his hoe and +go and fetch the cows from pasture, that I might slick up for a party—in +short, he’d do anything in the world for me. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they all wondered how under the sun Paddy had taken such a shindy +to me, when nobody else could get him to budge an inch for them. At last, one +day, mother asked me how on airth it was—for nothin’ strange goes +on long, but a woman likes to get at the bottom of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “mother, if you won’t whisper a +syllable to anybody about it, I’ll tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who, me,” sais she, “Sammy?” She always called me +Sammy when she wanted to come over me. “Me tell? A person who can keep +her own secrets can keep yours, Sammy. There are some things I never told your +father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such as what?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“A-hem,” said she. “A-hem—such as he oughtn’t to +know, dear. Why, Sam, I am as secret as the grave! How is it, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “I will tell you. This is the way: I drop Pat +and Paddy altogether, and I call him Mr Monaghan, and never say a word about +the priest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Sammy,” said she, “where in the world did you pick up +all your cuteness? I do declare you are as sharp as a needle. Well, I never. +How you do take after me! <i>boys are mothers’ sons. It’s only +galls who take after their father.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +It’s cheap coin, is civility, and kindness is a nice bank to fund it in, +Squire: for it comes back with compound interest. He used to call Josiah, Jo, +and brother Eldad, Dad, and then yoke ’em both together, as +“spalpeens,” or “rapscallions,” and he’d vex them +by calling mother, when he spoke to them of her, the “ould woman,” +and Sally, “that young cratur, Sal.” But he’d show the +difference when he mentioned me; it was always “the young master,” +and when I was with him, it was “your Honour.” Lord, I shall never +forget wunst, when I was a practisin’ of ball-shooting at a target, Pat +brought out one of my muskits, and sais he: “Would your Honour just let +me take a crack at it. You only make a little round hole in it, about the size +of a fly’s eye; but, by the piper that played before Moses, I’ll +knock it all to smithereens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sais I, “Mr Monaghan; fire and welcome.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, up he comes to the toe-line, and puts himself into attitude, scientific +like. First he throws his left leg out, and then braces back the right one well +behind him, and then he shuts his left eye to, and makes an awful wry face, as +if he was determined to keep every bit of light out of it, and then he brought +his gun up to the shoulder with a duce of a flourish, and took a long, steady +aim. All at once he lowered the piece. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ll do it better knalin’, your Honour,” said +he, “the way I did when I fired at Lord Blarney’s land-agent, from +behind the hedge, for lettin’ a farm to a Belfast heretic. Oh! +didn’t I riddle him, your Honour.” He paused a moment, his tongue +had run away with him. “His coat, I main,” said he. “I cut +the skirts off as nait as a tailor could. It scared him entirely, so, when he +see the feathers flyin’ that way, he took to flight, and I never sot eyes +on him no more. I shouldn’t wonder if he is runnin’ yet.” +</p> + +<p> +So he put down one knee on the ground, and adjusting himself said, “I +won’t leave so much as a hair of that target, to tell where it +stood.” He took a fresh aim, and fired, and away he went, heels over +head, the matter of three or four times, and the gun flew away behind him, ever +so far. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” sais he, “I am kilt entirely. I am a dead man, Master +Sam. By the holy poker, but my arm is broke.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid my gun is broke,” said I, and off I set in search of +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop, yer Honour,” said he, “for the love of Heaven, stop, +or she’ll be the death of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“There are five more shots in her yet, Sir. I put in six cartridges, so +as to make sure of that paper kite, and only one of them is gone off yet. Oh! +my shoulder is out, Master Sam. Don’t say a word of it, Sir, to the ould +cratur, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“To who?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“To her ladyship, the mistress,” said he, “and I’ll +sarve you by day and by night.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Pat! you were a good-hearted creature naturally, as most of your +countrymen are, if repealers, patriots, and demagogues of all sorts and sizes, +would only let you alone. Yes, there is a great charm in that word +“Mr.” +</p> + +<p> +So, sais I, “Mr Jackson!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Sir,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me look at your bugle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is, your Honour.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a curious lookin’ thing it is,” sais I, “and +what’s all them little button-like things on it with long shanks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Keys, Sir,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “they unlock the music, I suppose, +don’t they, and let it out? Let me see if I could blow it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try the pipes, Mr Slick,” said Peter. “Tat is nothin’ +but a prass cow-horn as compared to the pagpipes.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you,” sais I, “it’s only a Highlander can +make music out of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“She never said a wiser word tan tat,” he replied, much gratified. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” sais I, “let me blow this, does it take much +wind?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Jackson, “not much, try it, Sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I put it to my lips, and played a well-known air on it. +“It’s not hard to play, after all, is it, Jackson?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Sir,” said he, looking delighted, “nothing is ard to a +man as knows how, as you do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tom,” sais Betty, “don’t that do’ee good? Oh, +Sir, I ain’t eard that since I left the hold country, it’s what the +guards has used to be played in the mail-coaches has was. Oh, Sir, when they +comed to the town, it used to sound pretty; many’s the time I have run to +the window to listen to it. Oh, the coaches was a pretty sight, Sir. But them +times is all gone,” and she wiped a tear from her eye with the corner of +her apron, a tear that the recollection of early days had called up from the +fountain of her heart. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, what a volume does one stray thought of the past contain within itself. It +is like a rocket thrown up in the night. It suddenly expands into a brilliant +light, and sheds a thousand sparkling meteors, that scatter in all directions, +as if inviting attention each to its own train. Yes, that one thought is the +centre of many, and awakens them all to painful sensibility. Perhaps it is more +like a vivid flash of lightning, it discloses with intense brightness the whole +landscape, and exhibits, in their minutest form and outline, the very leaves +and flowers that lie hid in the darkness of night. +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie,” said I, “will you imitate it?” +</p> + +<p> +I stopt to gaze on her for a moment—she stood in the doorway—a +perfect model for a sculptor. But oh, what chisel could do justice to that +face—it was a study for a painter. Her whole soul was filled with those +clear beautiful notes, that vibrated through the frame, and attuned every +nerve, till it was in harmony with it. She was so wrapt in admiration, she +didn’t notice what I observed, for I try in a general way that nothing +shall escape me; but as they were behind us all, I just caught a glimpse of the +doctor (as I turned my head suddenly) withdrawing his arm from her waist. She +didn’t know it, of course, she was so absorbed in the music. It +ain’t likely she felt him, and if she had, it ain’t probable she +would have objected to it. It was natural he should like to press the heart she +had given him; wasn’t it now his? and wasn’t it reasonable he +should like to know how it beat? He was a doctor, and doctors like to feel +pulses, it comes sorter habitual to them, they can’t help it. They touch +your wrist without knowing it, and if it is a woman’s, why their hand, +like brother Josiah’s cases that went on all fours, crawls up on its +fingers, till it gets to where the best pulse of all is. Ah, Doctor, there is +Highland blood in that heart, and it will beat warmly towards you, I know. I +wonder what Peter would have said, if he had seen what I did. But then he +didn’t know nothin’ about pulses. +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie,” said I, “imitate that for me, dear. It is the last +exercise of that extraordinary power I shall ever hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Play it again,” she said, “that I may catch the air.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it possible,” said I to myself, “you didn’t hear it +after all? It is the first time your little heart was ever pressed before, +perhaps it beat so loud you couldn’t distinguish the bugle notes. Was it +the new emotion or the new music that absorbed you so? Oh, Jessie, don’t +ask me again what natur is.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, I played it again for her, and instantly she gave the repetition with a +clearness, sweetness, and accuracy, that was perfectly amazing. Cutler and I +then took leave for the present, and proceeded on our way to the shore. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Sir!” said Jackson, who accompanied us to the bars, +“it’s a long while ago since I eard that hair. Warn’t them +mail-coaches pretty things, Sir? Hon the hold King’s birthday, Sir, when +they all turned out with new arness and coaches fresh painted, and coachman and +guard in new toggery, and four as beautiful bits of blood to each on ’em +as was to be found in England, warn’t it a sight to behold, Sir? The +world could show nothin’ like it, Sir. And to think they are past and +gone, it makes one’s eart hache. They tells me the coachman now, Sir, has +a dirty black face, and rides on a fender before a large grate, and flourishes +a red ot poker instead of a whip. The guard, Sir, they tells me, is +no—” +</p> + +<p> +“Good bye, Mr Jackson;” and I shook hands with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t that too bad, Sir, now?” he said. “Why, here is +Betty again, Sir, with that d—d hat, and a lecture about the stroke. Good +bye, your Honour,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +When we came to the bridge where the road curved into the woods, I turned and +took a last look at the place where I had spent such an agreeable day. +</p> + +<p> +I don’t envy you it, Doctor, but I wish I had such a lovely place at +Slickville as that. What do you think, Sophy, eh? I have an idea you and I +could be very happy there, don’t you? +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Mr Slick,” said Jehu Judd, who was the first person I saw at +the door of Peter’s house, “what an everlastin’ long day was +yesterday! I did nothing but renew the poultice, look in the glass, and turn +into bed again. It’s off now, ain’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sais I, “and we are off, too, in no time.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the trade,” said he; “let’s talk that over.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t time,” sais I; “it must be short meter, as you +say when you are to home to Quaco, practising Sall Mody (as you call it). +Mackarel is five dollars a barrel, sains thirty—say yes or no, +that’s the word.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you have the conscience?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“I never talk of conscience in trade,” sais I; “only of +prices. Bargain or no bargain, that’s the ticket.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, there is an end of it,” says I. “Good bye, +friend Judd.” +</p> + +<p> +Sais he: “You have a mighty short way with you, my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“A short way is better than a long face,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said he, “I can’t do without the sains (nets) +no how I can fix it, so I suppose I must give the price. But I hope I may be +skinned alive if you ain’t too keen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whoever takes a fancy to skin you, whether dead or alive, will have a +tough job of it, I reckon,” sais I, “it’s as tight as the +bark of a tree.” +</p> + +<p> +“For two pins,” said he, “I’d tan your hide for you +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said I, “you are usin’ your <i>sain</i> before +you pay for it. That’s not fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” sais I, “you are <i>insaine</i> to talk that +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said he, “you do beat the devil.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t say that,” sais I, “for I hain’t laid +a hand on <i>you.</i> Come,” sais I, “wake snakes, and push off +with the Captain, and get the fish on board. Cutler, tell the mate, mackarel is +five dollars the barrel, and nets thirty each. We shall join you presently, and +so, friend Judd, you had better put the licks in and make haste, or there will +be ‘more fiddling and dancing and serving the devil this +morning.’” +</p> + +<p> +He turned round, and gave me a look of intense hatred, and shook his fist at +me. I took off my hat and made him a low bow, and said “That’s +right, save your breath to cool your broth, or to groan with when you get home, +and have a refreshing time with the Come-outers. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“My father was a preacher,<br/> +Â Â Â Â A mighty holy man;<br/> +My mother was a Methodist,<br/> +Â Â Â Â But I’m a Tunyan.” +</p> + +<p> +He became as pale as a mad nigger at this. He was quite speechless with rage, +and turning from me, said nothing, and proceeded with the captain to the boat. +It was some time before the party returned from the lake, but the two waggons +were far apart, and Jessie and the doctor came last—was it that the road +was bad, and he was a poor driver? perhaps so. A man who loves the woods +don’t know or care much about roads. It don’t follow because a +feller is a good shot, he is a good whip; or was it they had so much to say, +the short distance didn’t afford time? Well, I ain’t experienced in +these matters, though perhaps you are, Squire. Still, though Cupid is +represented with bows and arrows (and how many I have painted on my clocks, for +they always sold the best), I don’t think he was ever sketched in an old +one-hoss waggon. A canoe would have suited you both better, you would have been +more at home there. If I was a gall I would always be courted in one, for you +can’t romp there, or you would be capsized. It’s the safest place I +know of. It’s very well to be over head and ears in love, but my eyes, to +be over head and ears in the water, is no place for lovemaking, unless it is +for young whales, and even they spout and blow like all wrath when they come +up, as if you might have too much of a good thing, don’t they? +</p> + +<p> +They both looked happy—Jessie was unsophisticated, and her countenance, +when it turned on me, seemed to say, “Mr Slick, I have taken your advice, +and I am delighted I did.” And the doctor looked happy, but his face +seemed to say, “Come now, Slick, no nonsense, please, let me alone, +that’s a good fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter perceived something he didn’t understand. He had seen a great deal +he didn’t comprehend since he left the Highlands, and heard a great many +things he didn’t know the meaning of. It was enough for him if he could +guess it. +</p> + +<p> +“Toctor,” said he, “how many kind o’ partridges are +there in this country?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two,” said the simple-minded naturalist, “spruce and +birch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which is the prettiest?” +</p> + +<p> +“The birch.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the smartest?” +</p> + +<p> +“The birch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poth love to live in the woods, don’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well there is a difference in colour. Ta spruce is red flesh, and ta +birch white, did you ever know them mix?” +</p> + +<p> +“Often,” said the doctor, who began to understand this allegorical +talk of the North-West trader, and feel uncomfortable, and therefore +didn’t like to say no. “Well, then, the spruce must stay with the +pirch, or the pirch live with the spruce,” continued Peter. “The +peech wood between the two are dangerous to both, for it’s only fit for +cuckoos.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked chuffy and sulky. There was no minister at the remote post he had +belonged to in the nor-west. The governor there read a sermon of a Sunday +sometimes, but he oftener wrote letters. The marriages, when contracted, were +generally limited to the period of service of the <i>employés,</i> and +sometimes a wife was bought, or at others, entrapped like a beaver. It was a +civil or uncivil contract, as the case might be. Wooing was a thing he +didn’t understand; for what right had a woman to an opinion of her own? +Jessie felt for her father, the doctor, and herself, and retired crying. The +doctor said: +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, you know me, I am an honest man; give me your confidence, and +then I will ask the Chief for the hand of his daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tat is like herself,” said Peter. “And she never doubted +her; and there is her hand, which is her word. Tam the coffee! let us have a +glass of whiskey.” +</p> + +<p> +And he poured out three, and we severally drank to each other’s health, +and peace was once more restored. +</p> + +<p> +Thinks I to myself, now is the time to settle this affair; for the doctor, +Peter, and Jessie are all like children; it’s right to show ’em how +to act. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” sais I, “just see if the cart with the moose has +arrived; we must be a moving soon, for the wind is fair.” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as he went on this errand, “Peter,” sais I, “the +doctor wants to marry your daughter, and she, I think, is not unwilling, +though, between you and me, you know better than she does what is good for her. +Now the doctor don’t know as much of the world as you do. He has never +seen Scotland, nor the north-west, nor travelled as you have, and observed so +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“She never said a truer word in her life,” said Peter. “She +has seen the Shetlands and the Rocky Mountains—the two finest places in +the world, and crossed the sea and the Red River; pesides Canada and Nova +Scotia, and seen French, and pairs, and Indians, and wolves, and plue noses, +and puffaloes, and Yankees, and prairie dogs, and Highland chiefs, and Indian +chiefs, and other great shentlemen, pesides peavers with their tails on. She +has seen the pest part of the world, Mr Slick.” And he lighted his pipe +in his enthusiasm, when enumerating what he had seen, and looked as if he felt +good all over. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “the doctor, like an honourable man, has +asked Squire Peter McDonald for his daughter; now, when he comes in, call +Jessie and place her hand in his, and say you consent, and let the spruce and +birch partridge go and live near the lake together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tat she will,” said he, “for ta toctor is a shentleman pred +and porn, though she hasn’t the honour to be a Highlander.” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the Bachelor Beaver returned, Peter went on this paternal mission, +for which I prepared my friend; and the betrothal was duly performed, when he +said in Gaelic: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Dhia Beammich sibh le choile mo chlam!</i> God bless you both, my +children!” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the ceremony was over, “Now,” sais I, “we must be +a movin’. Come, Peter, let us go on board. Where are the pipes? Strike up +your merriest tune.” +</p> + +<p> +And he preceded us, playing, “<i>Nach dambsadh am minster</i>,” in +his best manner—if anything can be said to be good, where bad is the +best. When we arrived at the beach, Cutler and my old friend, the black +steward, were ready to receive us. It would have been a bad omen to have had +Sorrow meet the betrothed pair so soon, but that was only a jocular name given +to a very merry negro. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Sorrow,” sais I, as we pushed off in the boat, “how +are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very bad, Massa,” he said, “I ab been used most rediculous +shamful since you left. Time was berry dull on board since you been withdrawn +from de light ob your countenance, and de crew sent on shore, and got a +consignment ob rum, for benefit ob underwriters, and all consarned as dey said, +and dey sung hymns, as dey call nigga songs, like Lucy Neal and Lucy Long, and +den dey said we must hab ablution sarmon; so dey fust corned me, Massa.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the beef or pork-barrel, Sorrow?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord bless you, Massa, in needer; you knows de meaning ob dat are +word—I is sure you does—dey made me most tosicated, Massa, and dey +said, ‘Sorrow, come preach ablution sarmon.’ Oh, Massa, I was berry +sorry, it made me feel all ober like ague; but how could I insist so many; what +was I to do, dey fust made me der slave, and den said, ‘Now tell us bout +mancipation.’ Well, dey gub me glass ob rum, and I swallowed +it—berry bad rum—well, dat wouldn’t do. Well, den dey gub me +anoder glass, and dat wouldn’t do; dis here child hab trong head, Massa, +werry trong, but he hoped de rum was all out, it was so bad; den dey +rejectioned anoder in my face, and I paused and crastimated; sais I, +‘Masters, is you done?’ for dis child was afeard, Massa, if he +drank all de bottle empty, dey would tro dat in his face too, so sais I: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Masters, I preaches under protest, against owners and ship for +bandonment; but if I must put to sea, and dis niggar don’t know how to +steer by lunar compass, here goes.’ Sais I, ‘My dear +bredren,’ and dey all called out: +</p> + +<p> +“‘You farnal niggar you! do you call us bredren, when you is as +black as de debbil’s hind leg?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I beg your most massiful pardon,’ sais I, ‘but as you +is ablutionists, and when you preach, calls us regraded niggars your coloured +bredren, I tought I might venture to foller in de same suit, if I had a card ob +same colour.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well done, Uncle Tom,’ sais they. ‘Well done, Zip +Coon,’ and dey made me swallow anoder glass ob naked truth. Dis here +child has a trong head, Massa, dat are a fac. He stand so much sun, he +ain’t easy combustioned in his entails. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Go on,’ sais they. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my bredren,” sais I, “I will dilate to you the valy of +a niggar, as put in one scale and white man in de oder. Now, bredren, you know +a sparrer can’t fall to de ground no how he can fix it, but de Lord knows +it—in course ob argument you do. Well, you knows twelve sparrers sell in +de market for one penny. In course ob respondence you do. How much more den +does de Lord care for a niggar like me, who is worth six hundred dollars and +fifty cents, at de least? So, gentlemen, I is done, and now please, my bredren, +I will pass round de hat wid your recurrence.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, dey was pretty high, and dey behaved like gentlemen, I must submit +dat; dey gub me four dollars, dey did—dey is great friends to niggar, and +great mancipationists, all ob dem; and I would hab got two dollars more, I do +raily conclude, if I hadn’t a called ’em my bredren. Dat was a slip +ob de lockjaw.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must inquire into this,” said Cutler, “it’s the most +indecent thing I ever beard of. It is downright profanity; it is +shocking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said I, “but the sermon warn’t a bad one; I +never heerd a niggar reason before; I knew they could talk, and so can Lord +Tandemberry; but as for reasoning, I never heerd either one or the other +attempt it before. There is an approach to logic in that.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a very good hit at the hypocrisy of abolitionists in it,” +said the doctor; “that appeal about my bredren is capital, and the +passing round of the hat is quite evangelical.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oigh,” said Peter, “she have crossed the great sea and the +great prairies, and she haven’t heerd many sarmons, for Sunday +don’t come but once a month there, but dat is the pest she ever heerd, it +is so short.” +</p> + +<p> +“Slick,” said Cutler, “I am astonished at you. Give way +there, my men; ease the bow oar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “Cutler—give way there, my man; ease +the bow oar—that’s my maxim too—how the devil can you learn +if you don’t hear?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“How can you learn good,” said he, “if you listen to +evil?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s split the difference,” said I, laughing, “as I +say in swapping; let’s split the difference. If you don’t study +mankind how can you know the world at all? But if you want to +preach—” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, behave yourself,” said he, laughing; “lower down the +<i>man ropes</i> there.” +</p> + +<p> +“To help up the <i>women</i>,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Slick,” said he, “it’s no use talking; you are +incorrigible.” +</p> + +<p> +The breakfast was like other breakfasts of the same kind; and, as the wind was +fair, we could not venture to offer any amusements to our guests. So in due +time we parted, the doctor alone, of the whole party, remaining on board. +Cutler made the first move by ascending the companion-ladder, and I shook hands +with Peter as a hint for him to follow. Jessie, her sister, Ovey, and I, +remained a few minutes longer in the cabin. The former was much agitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Good bye,” said she, “Mr Slick! Next to him,” pointing +to the Bachelor Beaver, “you have been the kindest and best friend I ever +had. You have made me feel what it is to be happy;” and woman-like, to +prove her happiness, burst out a crying, and threw her arms round my neck and +kissed me. “Oh! Mr Slick! do we part for ever?” +</p> + +<p> +“For ever!” sais I, trying to cheer her up; “for ever is a +most thundering long word. No, not for ever, nor for long either. I expect you +and the doctor will come and visit <i>us</i> to Slickville this fall;” +and I laid an emphasis on that word “<i>us</i>,” because it +referred to what I had told her of Sophy. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said she, “how kind that is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “now I will do a kinder thing. Jane and I +will go on deck, and leave you and the doctor to bid each other +good-bye.” As I reached the door, I turned and said: “Jessie, teach +him Gaelic the way Flora taught me—<i>do bhileau boidheach</i> (with your +pretty lips).” +</p> + +<p> +As the boat drew alongside, Peter bid me again a most affectionate, if not a +most complimentary farewell. +</p> + +<p> +“She has never seen many Yankees herself,” said Peter, “but +prayin’ Joe, the horse-stealer—tarn him—and a few New England +pedlars, who asked three hundred per shent for their coots, but Mr Slick is a +shentleman, every inch of him, and the pest of them she ever saw, and she will +pe glad to see her again whenever she comes this way.” +</p> + +<p> +When they were all seated in the boat, Peter played a doleful ditty, which I +have no doubt expressed the grief of his heart. But I am sorry to say it was +not much appreciated on board of the “Black Hawk.” By the time they +reached the shore, the anchor was up, the sails trimmed, and we were fairly out +of Ship Harbour. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C13">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br/> +A FOGGY NIGHT.</h2> + +<p> +The wind, what there was of it, was off shore; it was a light north-wester, but +after we made an offing of about ten miles, it failed us, being evidently +nothing but a land breeze, and we were soon becalmed. After tossing about for +an hour or two, a light cat’s-paw gave notice that a fresh one was +springing up, but it was from the east, and directly ahead. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall make poor work of this,” said the pilot, “and I am +afraid it will bring up a fog with it, which is a dangerous thing on this +coast, I would advise therefore returning to Ship Harbour,” but the +captain said, “Business must be attended to, and as there was nothing +more of the kind to be done there, we must only have patience and beat up for +Port Liscomb, which is a great resort for fishermen.” I proposed we +should take the wind as we found it, and run for Chesencook, a French +settlement, a short distance to the westward of us, and effect our object +there, which I thought very probable, as no American vessels put in there if +they can avoid it. This proposition met the approval of all parties, so we put +the “Black Hawk” before the wind, and by sunset were safely and +securely anchored. The sails were scarcely furled before the fog set in, or +rather rose up, for it seemed not so much to come from the sea as to ascend +from it, as steam rises from heated water. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed the work of magic, its appearance was so sudden. A moment before +there was a glorious sunset, now we had impenetrable darkness. We were +enveloped as it were in a cloud, the more dense perhaps because its progress +was arrested by the spruce hills, back of the village, and it had receded upon +itself. The little French settlement (for the inhabitants were all descended +from the ancient Acadians) was no longer discernible, and heavy drops of water +fell from the rigging on the deck. The men put on their +“sow-wester” hats and yellow oiled cotton jackets. Their hair +looked grey, as if there had been sleet falling. There was a great change in +the temperature—the weather appeared to have suddenly retrograded to +April, not that it was so cold, but that it was raw and uncomfortable. We shut +the companion-door to keep it from descending there, and paced the deck and +discoursed upon this disagreeable vapour bath, its cause, its effects on the +constitution, and so on. +</p> + +<p> +“It does not penetrate far into the country,” said the doctor, +“and is by no means unhealthy—as it is of a different character +altogether from the land fog. As an illustration however of its density, and of +the short distance it rises from the water, I will tell you a circumstance to +which I was an eyewitness. I was on the citadel hill at Halifax once, and saw +the points of the masts of a mail-steamer above the fog, as she was proceeding +up the harbour, and I waited there to ascertain if she could possibly escape +George’s Island, which lay directly in her track, but which it was +manifest her pilot could not discern from the deck. In a few moments she was +stationary. All this I could plainly perceive, although the hull of the vessel +was invisible. Some idea may be formed of the obscurity occasioned by the fog, +from the absurd stories that were waggishly put abroad at the time of the +accident. It was gravely asserted that the first notice the sentinel had of her +approach, was a poke in the side from her jibboom, which knocked him over into +the moat and broke two of his ribs, and it was also maintained with equal truth +that when she came to the wharf it was found she had brought away a small brass +gun on her bowsprit, into which she had thrust it like the long trunk of an +elephant.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “let Halifax alone for hoaxes. There are some +droll coves in that place, that’s a fact. Many a laugh have I had there, +I tell <i>you.</i> But, Doctor,” sais I, “just listen to the noises +on shore here at Chesencook. It’s a curious thing to hear the shout of +the anxious mother to her vagrant boy to return, before night makes it too dark +to find his way home, ain’t it? and to listen to the noisy gambols of +invisible children, the man in the cloud bawling to his ox, as if the fog had +affected their hearing instead of their sight, the sharp ring of the axe at the +wood pile, and the barking of the dogs as they defy or salute each other. One I +fancy is a grumbling bark, as much as to say, ‘No sleep for us, old boy, +to-night, some of these coasters will be making love to our sheep as they did +last week, if we don’t keep a bright look out. If you hear a fellow speak +English, pitch right into the heretic, and bite like a snapping turtle. I +always do so in the dark, for they can’t swear to you when they +don’t see you. If they don’t give me my soup soon (how like a +French dog that, ain’t it?) I’ll have a cod-fish for my supper +to-night, off of old Jodry’s flakes at the other end of the harbour, for +our masters bark so loud they never bite, so let them accuse little Paul +Longille of theft.’ I wonder if dogs do talk, Doctor?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no doubt of it,” he replied. “I believe both +animals and birds have some means of communicating to each other all that is +necessary for them—I don’t go further.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s reasonable,” sais I; “I go that figure, +too, but not a cent higher. Now there is a nigger,” sais I; and I would +have given him a wink if I could, and made a jupe of my head towards Cutler, to +show him I was a goin’ to get the captain’s dander up for fun; but +what’s the use of a wink in a fog? In the first place, it ain’t +easy to make one; your lids are so everlastin’ heavy; and who the plague +can see you if you do? and if he did notice it, he would only think you were +tryin’ to protect your peepers, that’s all. Well, a wink is no +better nor a nod to a blind horse; so I gave him a nudge instead. “Now, +there is the nigger, Doctor,” sais I, “do you think he has a +soul?<sup>1</sup> It’s a question I always wanted to ask Brother Eldad, +for I never see him a dissectin’ of a darky. If I had, I should have +known; for nature has a place for everything, and everything in it’s +place.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> This very singular and inconsequential rhodomontade of Mr Slick is +one of those startling pieces of levity that a stranger often hears from a +person of his class in his travels on this side of the water. The odd mixture +of strong religious feeling and repulsive looseness of conversation on serious +subjects, which may here and there be found in his Diary, naturally results +from a free association with persons of all or no creeds. It is the most +objectionable trait in his character—to reject it altogether would be to +vary the portrait he has given us of himself—to admit it, lowers the +estimate we might otherwise be disposed to form of him; but, as he has often +observed, what is the use of a sketch if it be not faithful? +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Mr</i> Slick,” said Cutler.—he never called me Mr before, +and it showed he was mad.—“do you doubt it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” sais I, “I don’t; my only doubt is whether they +have three?” +</p> + +<p> +“What in the world do you mean?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “two souls we know they have—their +great fat splaw feet show that, and as hard as jackasses’ they are too; +out the third is my difficulty; if they have a spiritual soul, where is it? We +ain’t jest satisfied about its locality in ourselves. Is it in the heart, +or the brain, or where does it hang out? We know geese have souls, and we know +where to find them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, oh!” said Cutler. +</p> + +<p> +“Cut off the legs and wings and breast of the goose,” sais I, +“and split him down lengthways, and right agin the back-bone is small +cells, and there is the goose’s soul, it’s black meat, pretty much +nigger colour. Oh, it’s grand! It’s the most delicate part of the +bird. It’s what I always ask for myself, when folks say, ‘Mr Slick, +what part shall I help you to—a slice of the breast, a wing, a side-bone, +or the deacon’s nose, or what?’ Everybody laughs at that last word, +especially if there is a deacon at table, for it sounds unctious, as he calls +it, and he can excuse a joke on it. So he laughs himself, in token of +approbation of the tid-bits being reserved for him. ‘Give me the +soul,’ sais I; and this I will say, a most delicious thing it is, too. +Now, don’t groan, Cutler—keep that for the tooth-ache, or a +campmeetin’; it’s a waste of breath; for as we don’t exactly +know where our own souls reside, what harm is there to pursue such an +interesting investigation as to our black brethren. My private opinion is, if a +nigger has one, it is located in his heel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>Mr</i> Slick!” said he, “oh!” and he held up +both hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “Cutler, just listen to reason now, just hear +me; you have been all round the world, but never in it; now, I have been a +great deal in it, but don’t care for goin’ round it. It don’t +pay. Did you ever see a nigger who had the gout? for they feed on the best, and +drink of the best, when they are household servants down south, and often have +the gout. If you have, did you ever hear one say, ‘Get off my +toes?’ No, never, nor any other created critter. They always say, +‘Get off my heel.’ They are all like Lucy Long, ‘when her +foot was in the market-house, her heel was in Main-street.’ It is the +pride and boast of a darky. His head is as thick as a ram’s, but his heel +is very sensi<i>tive.</i> Now, does the soul reside there? Did you ever study a +dead nigger’s heel, as we do a horse’s frog. All the feeling of a +horse is there. Wound that, and he never recovers; he is foundered—his +heart is broke. Now, if a nigger has a soul, and it ain’t in his gizzard, +and can’t in natur be in his skull, why, it stands to reason it must be +in his heel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said Cutler, “I never thought I should have +heard this from you. It’s downright profanity.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no such thing,” sais I, “it’s merely a +philosophical investigation. Mr Cutler,” sais I, “let us understand +each other. I have been brought up by a minister as well as you, and I believe +your father, the clergyman at Barnstaple, was as good a man as ever lived; but +Barnstaple is a small place. My dear old master, Mr Hopewell, was an old man +who had seen a great deal in his time, and knew a great deal, for he had +‘gone through the mill.’” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais I, “when he was a boy, he was intended, like +Washington, for a land-surveyor, and studied that branch of business, and was +to go to the woods to lay out lots. Well, a day or two arter he was +diplomatised as a surveyor, he went to bathe in a mill-pond, and the mill was a +goin’ like all statiee, and sucked him into the flume, and he went +through into the race below, and came out t’other side with both his legs +broke. It was a dreadful accident, and gave him serious reflections, for as he +lay in bed, he thought he might just as easily have broke his neck. Well, in +our country about Slickville, any man arter that who was wise and had +experience of life, was said to have ‘gone through the mill.’ Do +you take?” +</p> + +<p> +But he didn’t answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, your father and my good old friend brought us both up religiously, +and I hope taught us what was right. But, <i>Mr</i> Cutler—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call me <i>Mr</i>,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Cutler, then, I have been ‘through the mill,’ in that +sense. I have acquired a knowledge of the world; if I havn’t, the kicks I +have taken must have fallen on barren ground. I know the chalk line in life +won’t do always to travel by. If you go straight a-head, a bottomless +quag or a precipice will bring you up all standing as sure as fate. Well, they +don’t stop me, for I give them the go-by, and make a level line without a +tunnel, or tubular bridge, or any other scientific folly; I get to the end my +own way—and it ain’t a slow one neither. Let me be, and put this in +your pipe. I have set many a man straight before now, but I never put one on +the wrong road since I was raised. I dare say you have heard I cheated in +clocks—I never did. I have sold a fellow one for five pounds that cost me +one; skill did that. Let him send to London, and get one of Barraud’s, as +father did, for twenty-five pounds sterling. Will it keep better time? I guess +not. Is that a case of sell? Well, my knowledge of horse-flesh ain’t to +be sneezed at. I buy one for fifty dollars and sell him for two hundred; +that’s skill again—it ain’t a cheat. A merchant, thinking a +Russian war inevitable, buys flour at four dollars a barrel, and sells it in a +month at sixteen. Is that a fraud? <i>There is roguery in all trades but our +own.</i> Let me alone therefore. There is wisdom sometimes in a fool’s +answer; the learned are simple, the ignorant wise; hear them both; above all, +hear them out; and if they don’t talk with a looseness, draw them out. If +Newman had talked as well as studied, he never would have quitted his church. +He didn’t convince himself he was wrong; he bothered himself, so he +didn’t at last know right from wrong. If other folks had talked freely, +they would have met him on the road, and told him, ‘You have lost your +way, old boy; there is a river a-head of you, and a very civil ferryman there; +he will take you over free gratis for nothing; but the deuce a bit will he +bring you back, there is an embargo that side of the water.’ Now let me +alone; I don’t talk nonsense for nothing, and when you tack this way and +that way, and beat the ‘Black Hawk’ up agen the wind, I won’t +tell you you don’t steer right on end on a bee line, and go as straight +as a loon’s leg. Do you take?” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand you,” he said, “but still I don’t see the +use of saying what you don’t mean. Perhaps it’s my ignorance or +prejudice, or whatever you choose to call it; but I dare say you know what you +are about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cutler,” sais I, “I warn’t born yesterday. The truth +is, so much nonsense is talked about niggers, I feel riled when I think of it. +It actilly makes me feel spotty on the back.<sup>1</sup> When I was to London +last, I was asked to attend a meetin’ for foundin’ a college for +our coloured brethren. Uncle Tom had set some folks half crazy, and others half +mad, and what he couldn’t do Aunt Harriet did. ‘Well,’ sais I +to myself, ‘is this bunkum, or what in natur is it? If I go, I shall be +set down as a spooney abolitionist; if I don’t go, I shall be set down as +an overseer or nigger driver, and not a clockmaker. I can’t please nobody +any way, and, what is wus, I don’t believe I shall please Mr Slick, no +how I can fix it. Howsoever, I will go and see which way the mule kicks.’ +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> This extraordinary effect of anger and fear on animals was +observed centuries before America was discovered. Statius, a writer who fully +equals Mr Slick both in his affectation and bombast, thus alludes to it:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Qualis ubi audito venantum murmure tigris,<br/> +Horruit in maculas.” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“As when the tigress hears the hunter’s din,<br/> +Dark angry spots distain her glossy skin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Lord Blotherumskite jumps up, and makes a speech; and what do you +think he set about proving? Why, that darkies had immortal souls—as if +any created critter ever doubted it! and he pitched into us Yankees and the +poor colonists like a thousand of bricks. The fact is, the way he painted us +both out, one would think he doubted whether <i>we</i> had any souls. The pious +galls turned up the whites of their eyes like ducks in thunder, as if they +expected drakes to fall from the skies, and the low church folks called out, +‘Hear, hear,’ as if he had discovered the passage at the North +Pole, which I do think might be made of some use if it warn’t blocked up +with ice for everlastingly. And he talked of that great big he-nigger, Uncle +Tom Lavender, who was as large as a bull buffalo. He said he only wished he was +in the House of Peers, for he would have astonished their lordships. Well, so +far he was correct, for if he had been in their hot room, I think Master +Lavender would have astonished their weak nerves so, not many would have waited +to be counted. There would soon have been a <i>dispersion</i>, but there never +would have been a <i>division</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what did you do?” said Cutler. +</p> + +<p> +“Kept my word,” sais I, “as I always do. I seconded the +motion, but I gave them a dose of common sense, as a foundation to build upon. +I told them niggers must be prepared for liberty, and when they were +sufficiently instructed to receive and appreciate the blessing, they must have +elementary knowledge, furst in religion, and then in the useful arts, before a +college should be attempted, and so on, and then took up my hat and walked out. +Well, they almost hissed me, and the sour virgins who bottled up all their +humanity to pour out on the niggers, actilly pointed at me, and called me a +Yankee Pussyite. I had some capital stories to excite ’em with, but I +didn’t think they were worth the powder and shot. It takes a great many +strange people, Cutler,” sais I, “to make a world. I used to like +to put the leak into folks wunst, but I have given it up in disgust now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” sais he. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” sais I, “if you put a leak into a cask that +hain’t got much in it, the grounds and settlin’s won’t pay +for the trouble. Our people talk a great deal of nonsense about emancipation, +but they know it’s all bunkum, and it serves to palmeteer on, and makes a +pretty party catch-word. But in England, it appears to me, they always like +what they don’t understand, as niggers do Latin and Greek quotations in +sermons. But here is Sorrow. I suppose tea is ready, as the old ladies say. +Come, old boy,” sais I to Cutler, “shake hands; we have the same +object in view, but sometimes we travel by different trains, that’s all. +Come, let us go below. Ah, Sorrow,” sais I, “something smells good +here; is it a moose steak? Take off that dish-cover.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Massa,” said he, as he removed it, “dat are is lubbly, +dat are a fac.” +</p> + +<p> +When I looked at it, I said very gravely— +</p> + +<p> +“Take it away, Sorrow, I can’t eat it; you have put the salt and +pepper on it before you broiled it, and drawn out all the juice. It’s as +dry as leather. Take it away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does you tink it would be a little more better if it was a little more +doner, Sar? People of ‘finement, like you and me, sometime differ in +tastes. But, Massa, as to de salt, now how you talks! does you railly tink dis +here niggar hab no more sense den one ob dees stupid white fishermen has? No, +Massa; dis child knows his work, and is de boy to do it, too. When de steak is +een amost done, he score him lengthway—dis way,” passing a finger +of his right hand over the palm of the left, “and fill up de crack wid +salt an pepper, den gub him one turn more, and dat resolve it all beautiful. Oh +no, Massa, moose meat is naterally werry dry, like Yankee preacher when he got +no baccy. So I makes graby for him. Oh, here is some lubbly graby! Try dis, +Massa. My old missus in Varginy was werry ticular about her graby. She usen to +say, ‘Sorrow, it tante fine clothes makes de gentleman, but a delicate +taste for soups, and grabys, and currys. Barbacues, roast pigs, salt meat, and +such coarse tings, is only fit for Congress men.’ I kirsait my graby, +Massa, is done to de turn ob a hair, for dis child is a rambitious niggar. +Fust, Massa, I puts in a lump ob butter bout size ob peace ob chalk, and a +glass ob water, and den prinkle in flour to make it look like milk, den put him +on fire, and when he hiss, stir him wid spoon to make him hush; den I adds +inion, dat is fust biled to take off de trong taste, eetle made mustard, and a +pinch ob most elegant super-superor yellow snuff.” +</p> + +<p> +“Snuff, you rascal!” said I, “how dare you? Take it +away—throw it overboard! Oh, Lord! to think of eating snuff! Was there +ever anything half so horrid since the world began? Sorrow, I thought you had +better broughtens up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now, Massa,” said he, “does you tink dis niggar hab no +soul?” and he went to the locker, and brought out a small square pint +bottle, and said, “Smell dat, Massa; dat are oliriferous, dat are a +fac.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that’s curry-powder,” I said; “why don’t +you call things by their right name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Massa,” said he, with a knowing wink, “<i>dere it more snuff +den is made of baccy, dat are an undoubtable fac</i>. De scent ob dat is so +good, I can smell it ashore amost. Den, Massa, when graby is all ready, and +distrained beautiful, dis child warms him up by de fire and stirs him; +but,” and he put his finger on his nose, and looked me full in the face, +and paused, “but, Massa, it must be stir all de one way, or it iles up, +and de debbil hisself won’t put him right no more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorrow,” sais I, “you don’t know nothin’ about +your business. Suppose it did get iled up, any fool could set it right in a +minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, Massa,” he said, “I know. I ab done it myself +often—drink it all up, and make it ober again, until all right wunst +more; sometimes I drink him up de matter ob two or tree times before he get +quite right.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” sais I, “take it off the fire, add two spoonsful of +cold water, heat it again, and stir it the right way, and it is as straight as +a boot-jack.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Massa,” said he, and showed an unusual quantity of white in +his eyes, “well, Massa, you is actilly right. My ole missus taught me dat +secret herself, and I did actilly tink no libbin’ soul but me and she in +de whole univarsal United States did know dat are, for I take my oat on my last +will and testament, I nebber tole nobody. But, Massa,” said he, “I +ab twenty different ways—ay, fifty different ways, to make graby; but, at +sea, one must do de best he can with nottin’ to do with, and when +nottin’ is simmered a week in nottin’ by de fire, it ain’t +nottin’ of a job to sarve him up. Massa, if you will scuze me, I will +tell you what dis here niggar tinks on de subject ob his perfession. Some grand +folks, like missus, and de Queen ob England and de Emperor ob Roosia, may be +fust chop cooks, and I won’t deny de fac; and no tanks to ’em, for +dere saucepans is all silber and gold; but I have ‘skivered dey +don’t know nuffin’ about de right way to eat tings after dey has +gone done ’em. Me and Miss Phillesy Anne, de two confdential sarvants, +allers had de dinner sent into our room when missus done gone feedin’. +Missus was werry kind to us, and we nebber stinted her in nuffin’. I +allers gib her one bottle wine and ‘no-he-no’ (noyeau) more den was +possible for her and her company to want, and in course good conduct is allers +rewarded, cause we had what was left. Well, me and Miss Phillis used to dress +up hansum for dinner to set good sample to niggars, and two ob de coloured +waiters tended on us. +</p> + +<p> +“So one day, said Miss Phillis to me: ‘What shall I ab de honor to +help yaw to, Mr Sorrow?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Aunt Phillis,’ sais I, ‘skuse me one minit, I ab made +a grand ‘skivery.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What is dat, uncle,’ sais she, ‘you is so clebber! I +clare you is wort your weight in gold. What in natur would our dear missus do +widout you and me? for it was me ‘skivered how to cure de pip in +chickens, and make de eggs all hatch out, roosters or hens; and how to souse +young turkeys like young children in cold water to prevent staggers, but what +is your wention, Mr Sorrow?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘aunty, skuse me one half second. What +does you see out ob dat winder, Sambo? you imperent rascal.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nuffin’, Sar.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, you black niggar, if you stare bout dat way, you will see +yourself flogged next time. If you ab no manners, I must teach you for de +credit ob de plantation; hold a plate to Miss Phillis right away. Why, +aunty,’ sais I, ‘dis is de ‘skivery; <i>a house must have +solid foundation, but a dinner a soft one</i>—on count ob disgestion; so +I begins wid custard and jelly (dey tastes werry well together, and are light +on de stomac), den I takes a glass ob whisky to keep ’em from +turnin’ sour; dat is de first step. Sambo, pour me out some. Second one +is presarves, ices, fruits—strawberry and cream, or mustache churnings +(pistachio cream) and if dey is skilful stowed, den de cargo don’t shift +under de hatches—arter dat comes punkin pie, pineapple tarts, and +raspberry Charlotte.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mr Sorrow,’ sais aunty, ‘I is actilly ashamed ob you +to name a dish arter a yaller gall dat way, and call it Charlotte; it’s +ondecent, specially afore dese niggars.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Law sakes,’ sais I, ‘Miss Phillis, does you tink I ab +no sense; I hate a yaller gall as I do pyson.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘So does I,’ said she, ‘dey is neither chalk nor +cheese; dey is a disgrace to de plantation dey is on; but raspberry Charlotte +is a name I nebber heard tell ob for a dish.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, how you talks,’ sais I. ‘Well, den is de time +for fish, such as stewed rocks.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now you is a funnin’,’ sais aunty, ‘isn’t +you? how on airth do you stew rocks? yah! yah! yah!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Easy as kiss my hand to you,’ sais I, ‘and if dere be +no fish (and dat white Yankee oberseer is so cussed lazy bout catchin’ of +dem, I must struct missus to discharge him). Den dere is two nice little +genteel dishes, ‘birds in de grobe,’ and ‘plover on de +shore,’ and den top off wid soup; and I ain’t particular about dat, +so long as I ab de best; and dat, Miss Phillis, makes a grand soft bed, you +see, for stantials like beef or mutton, or ham, or venson, to lay down easy +on.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, you is a wonderful man, Mr Sorrow,’ sais Miss +Phillis, ‘I do really tink dat stands to reason and experience. When I +married my fiff husband—no, it warn’t my fiff, it was my +sixth—I had lubly baby tree month old, and my old man killed it maken +speriments. He would give it soup and minced veal to make it trong. Sais I, +‘Mr Caesar, dat ain’t natur; fust you know it must ab milk, den +pap, and so on in order.’ Sais he, ‘I allus feeds master’s +young bull-dogs on raw meat.’ Well, Caesar died dat same identical night +child did (and she gub me a wink); ‘sunthen disagreed wid him also that +<i>he</i> eat.’ (‘Oh Massa,’ he continued, ‘<i>bears +dat ab cubs and women dat ab childern is dangerous</i>.) ‘Mr +Sorrow,’ said she, ‘dat is a great ‘skivery of yourn; +you’d best tell missus.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I is most afeard she is too much a slave to fashion,’ sais +I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Uncle,’ said she, ‘you mustn’t say dat ob dear +Miss Lunn, or I must decline de onor to dine wid you. It ain’t spectful. +Mr Sorrow, my missus ain’t de slave ob fashion—she sets it, by +golly!’ and she stood up quite dignant. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sambo, clar out ob dis dinin’ room quick stick,’ sais +I to de waiter; ‘you is so fond ob lookin’ out on de field, you +shall go work dere, you lazy hound; walk out ob de room dis minit; when I has +finished my dinner, I will make you jine de labor gang. Miss Phillis, do resume +your seat agin, you is right as you allus is; shall I ab de honour to take +glass ob wine wid you?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Massa, try dat ‘skivery; you will be able to eat tree times +as much as you do now. Arter dat invention, I used to enjoy my sleep grand. I +went into de hottest place in de sun, laid up my face to him, and sleep like a +cedar stump, but den I allus put my veil on.” +</p> + +<p> +“To keep the flies off?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Lordy gracious! no, master, dey nebber trouble me; dey is afraid in de +dark, and when dey see me, dey tink it is night, and cut off.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the use of it, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“To save my complexion, Massa; I is afraid it will fade white. Yah, yah, +yah!” +</p> + +<p> +While we were engaged in eating our steak, he put some glasses on the table and +handed me a black bottle, about two-thirds full, and said, “Massa, dis +here fog ab got down my troat, and up into my head, and most kill me, I +can’t tell wedder dat is wine or rum, I is almost clean gwine distracted. +Will Massa please to tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +I knew what he was at, so sais I, “If you can’t smell it, taste +it.” Well, he poured a glass so full, nobody but a nigger could have +reached his mouth with it without spilling. When he had swallowed it he looked +still more puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Peers to me,” he said, “dat is wine, he is so mild, and den +it peers to me it’s rum, for when it gets down to de stomach he feel so +good. But dis child ab lost his taste, his smell, and his finement, +altogedder.” +</p> + +<p> +He then poured out another bumper, and as soon as he had tossed it off, said, +“Dat is de clear grit; dat is oleriferous—wake de dead amost, it is +de genuine piticular old Jamaicky, and no mistake. I must put dat bottle back +and give you todder one, dat must be wine for sartain, for it is chock full, +but rum vaporates bery fast when de cork is drawn. Missus used to say, +‘Sorrow, meat, when kept, comes bery <i>high</i>, but rum gets bery +<i>low</i>.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Happy fellow and lucky fellow too, for what white man in your situation +would be treated so kindly and familiarly as you are? The fact is, Doctor, the +negroes of America, as a class, whether slaves or free men, experience more +real consideration, and are more comfortable, than the peasants of almost any +country in Europe. Their notions of the origin of white men are very droll, +when the things are removed I will make him give you his idea on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorrow,” said I, “what colour was Adam and Eve?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Massa,” said he, “don’t go for to ask dis child +what you knows yourself better nor what he does. I will tell you some oder +time, I is bery poorly just now, dis uncountable fog ab got into my bones. Dis +is shocking bad country for niggars; oh, dere is nuffin’ like de lubbly +sout; it’s a nateral home for blackies. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘In Souf Carolina de niggars grow<br/> +If de white man will only plant his toe,<br/> +Den dey water de ground wid baccy smoke,<br/> +And out ob de soil dere heads will poke.<br/> +Â Â Â Â Ring de hoop, blow de horn,<br/> +Â Â Â Â I nebber see de like since I was born,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Way down in de counte-ree,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Four or five mile from de ole Peedee.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Massa, dis coast is only fit for seals, porpoises, and dog-fish, but +not for gentleman, nor niggars, nor ladies. Oh, I berry bad,” and he +pressed both hands on his stomach as if he was in great pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps another glass of old Jamaica would set you right,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Massa, what a most a grand doctor you would ab made,” he said. +“Yah, yah, yah—you know de wery identical medicine for de wery +identical disease, don’t you? dat is just what natur was callin’ +for eber so bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Natur,” sais I, “what’s that, spell it.” +</p> + +<p> +“R-u-m,” said he, “dat is human natur, and whiskey is soft +sawder, it tickle de troat so nice and go down so slick. Dem is de names my old +missus used to gib ’em. Oh, how she would a lubb’d you, if you had +spunked up to her and tied up to our plantation; she didn’t fection +Yankees much, for dem and dead niggars is too cold to sleep with, and cunnuchs +(Canadians) she hated like pison, cause they ‘ticed off niggars; but +she’d a took to you naterally, you is such a good cook. I always tink, +Massa, when folks take to eatin’ same breakfast, same lunch, same dinner, +same tea, same supper, drinkin’ same soup, lubbin’ same graby, and +fectioning same preserves and pickles, and cakes and pies, and wine, and +cordials, and ice-creams, den dey plaguy soon begin to rambition one anodder, +and when dey do dat, dey is sure to say, ‘Sorrow, does you know how to +make weddin’ cake, and frost him, and set him off partikelar jam, wid +wices of all kinds, little koopids, and cocks and hens, and bales of cotton, +figs of baccy, and ears of corn, and all sorts of pretty things done in +clarfied sugar. It do seem nateral to me, for when our young niggars go +sparkin’ and spendin’ evenings, dey most commonly marries. It stand +to reason. But, Massa, I is bery bad indeed wid dis dreadful pain in my +infernal parts—I is indeed. Oh,” said he, smackin’ his lips, +and drainin’ his glass, “dat is def to a white man, but life to a +niggar; dat is sublime. What a pity it is though dey make de glasses so +almighty tunderin’ small; de man dat inwented dem couldn’t a had no +remaginable nose at all, dat are a fac.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the colour of Adam?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Massa,” he said, “you knows bery well he was a black +gentleman, and Missus Eve a most splendid Swanga black lady. Oh yes, Massa, dey +were made black to enjoy de grand warm sun. Well, Cain was a wicked man, cause +he killed his brudder. So de Lord say to him one day, ‘Cain, where is +your brudder?’ ‘I don’t know, Massa,’ said he, ‘I +didn’t see him nowhere.’ Well, de next time he asked him de +sef-same question, and he answered quite sarcy, ‘How in de world does I +know,’ sais he, ‘I ain’t my brudder’s keeper.’ +Well, afore he know’d where he was, de Lord said to him, in a voice of +tunder, ‘You murdered him, you villain!’ And Cain, he was so +scared, he turned white dat very instant. He nebber could stand heat, nor enjoy +summer no more again, nor none ob his childer arter him, but Abel’s +children remain black to dis day. Fac, Massa, fac, I does assure you. When you +like supper, Massa?” +</p> + +<p> +“At ten o’clock,” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, den, I will go and get sunthen nice for you. Oh! my ole missus was +a lubbly cook; I don’t believe in my heart de Queen ob England could hold +a candle to her! she knowed twenty-two and a half ways to cook Indian corn, and +ten or twelve ob ’em she inwented herself dat was de stonishment ob +ebbery one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Half a way,” I said, “what do you mean by that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Massa, de common slommachy way people ab ob boiling it on de cob; +dat she said was only half a way. Oh, Lordy gracious, one way she wented, de +corn was as white as snow, as light as puff, and so delicate it disgested +itself in de mout.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can go,” said Cutler. +</p> + +<p> +“Tankee, Massa,” said Sorrow, with a mingled air of submission and +fun, as much as to say, “I guess I don’t want leave for that, +anyhow, but I thank you all the same as if I did,” and making a scrape of +his hind-leg, he retired. +</p> + +<p> +“Slick,” said Cutler, “it isn’t right to allow that +nigger to swallow so much rum! How can one wonder at their degradation, when a +man like you permits them to drink in that manner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “you think and talk like all +abolitionists, as my old friend Colonel Crockett used to say, the Yankees +always do. He said, ‘When they sent them to pick their cherries, they +made them whistle all the time, so that they couldn’t eat any.’ I +understand blacks better than you do. Lock up your liquor and they will steal +it, for their moral perceptions are weak. Trust them, and teach them to use, +and not abuse it. Do that, and they will be grateful, and prove themselves +trustworthy. That fellow’s drinking is more for the fun of the thing than +the love of liquor. Negroes are not drunkards. They are droll boys; but, +Cutler, long before thrashing machines were invented, there was a command, +‘not to muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.’ Put that in your +pipe, my boy, the next time you prepare your Kinnikennic for smoking, will +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Kinnikennic,’” said the doctor, “what under the +sun is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“A composition,” sais I, “of dry leaves of certain aromatic +plants and barks of various kinds of trees, an excellent substitute for +tobacco, but when mixed with it, something super-superior. If we can get into +the woods, I will show you how to prepare it; but, Doctor,” sais I, +“I build no theories on the subject of the Africans; I leave their +construction to other and wiser men than myself. Here is a sample of the raw +material, can it be manufactured into civilization of a high order? Q stands +for query, don’t it? Well, all I shall do is to put a Q to it, and let +politicians answer it; but I can’t help thinking there is some truth in +the old saw, ‘<i>Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be +wise</i>.’” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C14">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br/> +FEMALE COLLEGES.</h2> + +<p> +After Sorrow had retired, we lighted our cigars, and turned to for a chat, if +chat it can be called one, where I did most of the talking myself. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” said I, “I wish I had had more time to have +examined your collection of minerals. I had no idea Nova Scotia could boast of +such an infinite variety of them. You could have taught me more in conversation +in five minutes than I could have learned by books in a month. You are a +mineralogist, and I am sorry to say I ain’t, though every boarding-school +miss now-a-days in our country consaits she is. They are up to <i>trap</i> at +any rate, if nothing else, you may depend,” and I gave him a wink. +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t, Slick,” said he, “now don’t set me +off, that’s a good fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mr Slick,’ said a young lady of about twelve years of age +to me wunst, ‘do you know what gray wackey is? for I do.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Don’t I,’ sais I; ‘I know it to my cost. Lord! +how my old master used to lay it on!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Lay it on!’ she said, ‘I thought it reposed on a +primitive bed.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No it don’t,’ said I. ‘And if anybody knows +what gray wackey is, I ought; but I don’t find it so easy to repose after +it as you may. <i>Gray</i> means the gray birch rod, dear, and <i>wackey</i> +means layin’ it on. We always called it gray whackey in school, when a +feller was catching particular Moses.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, how ignorant you are!’ said she. ‘Do you know +what them mining tarms, <i>clinch, parting,</i> and <i>black bat</i> +means?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, in course I do!’ sais I; ‘clinch is +<i>marrying,</i> parting is getting <i>divorced,</i> and black bat is where a +fellow <i>beats</i> his wife black and blue.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Pooh!’ said she, ‘you don’t know +nothing.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘what do you know?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ said she, ‘I know Spanish and mathematics, +ichthiology and conchology, astronomy and dancing, mineralogy and animal +magnetism, and German and chemistry, and French and botany. Yes, and the use of +the globes too. Can you tell me what attraction and repulsion is?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘To be sure I can,’ said I, and I drew her on my knee and +kissed her. ‘That’s attraction, dear.’ And when she kicked +and screamed as cross as two cats, ‘that, my pretty one,’ I said, +‘is repulsion. Now I know a great many things you don’t. Can you +hem a pocket-handkerchief?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nor make a pudding?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nor make Kentucky batter?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, do you know any useful thing in life?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, I do; I can sing, and play on the piano, and write +valentines,’ sais she, ‘so get out.’ And she walked away, +quite dignified, muttering to herself, ‘Make a pudding, eh! well, I +<i>want to know!’</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Thinks I to myself, my pretty little may-flower, in this +everlastin’ progressive nation of ourn, where the wheel of fortune never +stops turning day or night, and them that’s at the top one minute are +down in the dirt the next, you may say, “‘I <i>want</i> to +know’ before you die, and be very glad to change your tune, and say, +‘Thank heaven I <i>do</i> know!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that a joke of yours,” said the doctor, “about the young +girl’s geology, or is it really a fact?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fact, I assure you,” said I. “And to prove it I’ll +tell you a story about a Female College that will show you what pains we take +to spoil our young ladies to home. Miss Liddy Adams, who was proprietor and +‘dentess (presidentess) of a Female College to Onionville, was a relation +of mother’s, and I knew her when she was quite a young shoat of a thing +to Slickville. I shall never forget a flight into Egypt I caused once in her +establishment. When I returned from the embassy, I stopped a day in Onionville, +near her university—for that was the name she gave hern; and thinks I, I +will just call and look in on Lid for old acquaintance’ sake, and see how +she is figuring it out in life. Well, I raps away with the knocker as loud as +possible, as much as to say, Make haste, for there is somebody here, when a +tall spare gall with a vinegar face opened the door just wide enough to show +her profile, and hide her back gear, and stood to hear what I had to say. I +never see so spare a gall since I was raised. Pharaoh’s lean kine +warn’t the smallest part of a circumstance to her. She was so thin, she +actilly seemed as if she would have to lean agin the wall to support herself +when she scolded, and I had to look twice at her before I could see her at all, +for I warn’t sure <i>she warn’t her own shadow</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” said the doctor, “what a description! but go +on.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Is the mistress to home?’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I have no mistress,’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I didn’t say you had,’ sais I, ‘for I knew you +hadn’t afore you spoke.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How did you know that?’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Because,’ sais I, ‘seein’ so handsome a lady as +you, I thought you was one of the professors; and then I thought you must be +the mistress herself, and was a thinking how likely she had grow’d since +I seed her last. Are you one of the class-teachers?’ +</p> + +<p> +“It bothered her; she didn’t know whether it was impudence or +admiration; <i>but when a woman arbitrates on a case she is interested in, she +always gives an award in her own favour.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“‘Walk in, Sir,’ said she, ‘and I will see,’ and +she backed and backed before me, not out of deference to me, but to the +onfastened hooks of her gown, and threw a door open. On the opposite side was a +large room filled with galls, peeping and looking over each other’s +shoulders at me, for it was intermission. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Are these your pupils?’ sais I; and before she could speak, +I went right past into the midst of ’em. Oh, what a scuddin’ and +screamin’ there was among them! A rocket explodin’ there +couldn’t a done more mischief. They tumbled over chairs, upsot tables, +and went head and heels over each other like anything, shouting out, ‘A +man! a man!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Where—where?’ sais I, a chasin’ of them, +‘show him to me, and I’ll soon clear him out. What is he a doing +of?’ +</p> + +<p> +“It was the greatest fun you ever see. Out they flew through the door at +the other eend of the room, some up and some down-stairs, singing out, ‘A +man! a man!’ till I thought they would have hallooed their daylights out. +Away I flew after them, calling out, ‘Where is he? show him to me, and +I’ll soon pitch into him!’ when who should I see but Miss Liddy in +the entry, as stiff and as starch as a stand-up shirt collar of a frosty day. +She looked like a large pale icicle, standing up on its broad end, and cold +enough to give you the ague to look at her. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mr Slick,’ said she, ‘may I ask what is the meaning +of all this unseemly behaviour in the presence of young ladies of the first +families in the State?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Says I, ‘<i>Miss</i> Adam,’ for as she used the word +<i>Mr</i> as a handle to me, I thought I’de take a pull at the +<i>Miss</i>,’ some robber or housebreaker has got in, I rather think, and +scared the young femi<i>nine</i> gender students, for they seemed to be running +after somebody, and I thought I would assist them.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘May I ask, Sir,’ a drawin’ of herself up to her full +height, as straight and as prim as a Lombardy poplar, or rather, a bull-rush, +for that’s all one size. ‘May I ask, Sir, what is the object of +your visit here—at a place where no gentlemen are received but the +parents or guardians of some of the children.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I was as mad as a hatter; I felt a little bit vain of the embassy to +London, and my Paris dress, particularly my boots and gloves, and all that, and +I will admit, there is no use talkin’, I rather kinder sorter thought she +would be proud of the connection. I am a good-natured man in a general way when +I am pleased, but it ain’t safe to ryle me, I tell you. When I am spotty +on the back, I am dangerous. I bit in my breath, and tried to look cool, for I +was determined to take revenge out of her. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Allow me to say, Sir,’ said she, a perkin’ up her +mouth like the end of a silk purse, ‘that I think your intrusion is as +unwelcome as it is unpardonable. May I ask the favour of you to withdraw? if +not, I must introduce you to the watchman.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I came,’ sais I, ‘Miss Adam, having heard of your +distinguished college in the saloons of Paris and London, to make a proposal to +you; but, like a bull—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh dear!’ said she, ‘to think I should have lived to +hear such a horrid word, in this abode of learning!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘But,’ I went on without stopping, ‘like a bull in a +chiny-shop, I see I have got into the wrong pew; so nothin’ remains for +me but to beg pardon, keep my proposal for where it will be civilly received, +at least, and back out.’ +</p> + +<p> +“She was as puzzled as the maid. But women ain’t throwed off their +guard easily. If they are in a dark place, they can feel their way out, if they +can’t see it. So says she, dubious like: +</p> + +<p> +“‘About a child, I suppose?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It is customary in Europe,’ sais I, ‘I believe, to +talk about the marriage first, isn’t it? but I have been so much abroad, +I am not certified as to usages here.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, warn’t she brought to a hack! She had a great mind to order me +out, but then that word ‘proposal’ was one she had only seen in a +dictionary—she had never heard it; and it is such a pretty one, and +sounded so nice to the ear; and then that word ‘marriage’ was used +also, so it carried the day. +</p> + +<p> +“‘This is not a place, Mr Slick, for foundlings, I’de have +you to know,’ she said, with an air of disgust, ‘but children whose +parents are of the first class of society. If,’ and she paused and looked +at me scrutinisin’, ‘if your proposals are of <i>that</i> nature, +walk in here, Sir, if you please, where our conversation will not be +over-heard. Pray be seated. May I ask, what is the nature of the proposition +with which you design to honour me?’ and she gave me a smile that would +pass for one of graciousness and sweet temper, or of encouragement. It +hadn’t a decided character, and was a non-committal one. She was +doin’ quite the lady, but I consaited her ear was itching to hear what I +had to say, for she put a finger up, with a beautiful diamond ring on it, and +brushed a fly off with it; but, after all, perhaps it was only to show her +lily-white hand, which merely wanted a run at grass on the after-feed to fatten +it up, and make it look quite beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Certainly,’ sais I, ‘you may ask any question of the +kind you like.’ +</p> + +<p> +“It took her aback, for she requested leave to ask, and I granted it; but +she meant it different. +</p> + +<p> +“Thinks I, ‘My pretty grammarian, there is a little grain of +difference between, ‘May I ask,’ and, ‘I must ask.’ Try +it again.’ +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t speak for a minute; so to relieve her, sais I: +</p> + +<p> +“‘When I look round here, and see how charmingly you are located, +and what your occupation is, I hardly think you would feel disposed to leave +it; so perhaps I may as well forbear the proposal, as it isn’t pleasant +to be refused.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It depends,’ she said, ‘upon what the nature of those +proposals are, Mr Slick, and who makes them,’ and this time she did give +a look of great complacency and kindness. ‘Do put down your hat, Sir. I +have read your Clockmaker,’ she continued; ‘I really feel quite +proud of the relationship; but I hope you will excuse me for asking, Why did +you put your own name to it, and call it ‘Sam Slick the +Clockmaker,’ now that you are a distinguished diplomatist, and a member +of our embassy at the court of Victoria the First? It’s not an elegant +appellation that, of Clockmaker,’ sais she, ‘is it?’ (She had +found her tongue now.) ‘Sam Slick the Clockmaker, a factorist of wooden +clocks especially, sounds trady, and will impede the rise of a colossal +reputation, which has already one foot in the St Lawrence, and the other in the +Mississippi.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘And sneezes in the Chesapeake,’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh,’ said she, in the blandest manner, ‘how like you, +Mr Slick! you don’t spare a joke even on yourself. You see fun in +everything.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Better,’ sais I, ‘than seeing harm in everything, as +them galls—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Young ladies,’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, young ladies, who saw harm in me because I was a man. What +harm is there in their seeing a man? You ain’t frightened at one, are +you, Liddy?’ +</p> + +<p> +“She evaded that with a smile, as much as to say, ‘Well, I +ain’t much skeered, that’s a fact.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mr Slick, it is a subject not worth while pursuing,’ she +replied. ‘You know the sensi<i>tive</i>ness, nervous delicacy, and +scrupulous innocence of the fair sex in this country, and I may speak plainly +to you as a man of the world. You must perceive how destructive of all modesty +in their juvenile minds, when impressions are so easily made, it would be to +familiarise their youthful eyes to the larger limbs of gentlemen enveloped in +pantaloons. To speak plainly, I am sure I needn’t tell you it ain’t +decent.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘it wouldn’t be decent if they +wern’t enveloped in them.’ +</p> + +<p> +“She looked down to blush, but it didn’t come natural, so she +looked up and smiled (as much as to say, do get out you impudent critter. I +know its bunkum as well as you do, but don’t bother me. I have a part to +play.) Then she rose and looked at her watch, and said the lecture hour for +botany has come. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, a taking up my hat, ‘that’s a +charming study, the loves of the plants, for young ladies, ain’t it? they +begin with natur, you see, and—(well, she couldn’t help laughing). +‘But I see you are engaged.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Me,’ said she, ‘I assure you, Sir, I know people used +to say so, afore General Peleg Smith went to Texas.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What that scallawag,’ said I. ‘Why, that fellow ought +to be kicked out of all refined society. How could you associate with a man who +had no more decency than to expect folks to call him by name!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How?’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘what delicate-minded woman could ever +bring herself to say Pe-<i>leg.</i> If he had called himself Hujacious Smith, +or Larger-limb Smith, or something of that kind, it would have done, but +Pe<i>leg</i> is downright ondecent. I had to leave Boston wunst a whole winter, +for making a mistake of that kind. I met Miss Sperm one day from Nantucket, and +says I, ‘Did you see me yesterday, with those two elegant galls from +Albany?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ said she, ‘I didn’t.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Strange, too,’ said I, ‘for I was most sure I caught +a glimpse of you, on the other side of the street, and I wanted to introduce +you to them, but warn’t quite sartain it was you. My,’ sais I, +‘didn’t you see a very <i>unfashionable</i> dressed man’ (and +I looked down at my Paris boots, as if I was doing modest), ‘with two +angeliferous females? Why, I had a <i>leg</i> on each arm.’ +</p> + +<p> +“She fairly screamed out at that expression, rushed into a +milliner’s shop, and cried like a gardner’s watering-pot. The names +she called me ain’t no matter. They were the two Miss Legges of Albany, +and cut a tall swarth, I tell you, for they say they are descended from a +govenor of Nova Scotia, when good men, according to their tell, could be found +for govenors, and that their relations in England are some pumpkins, too. I was +as innocent as a child, Letty.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ said she, ‘you are the most difficult man to +understand I ever see—there is no telling whether you are in fun or in +earnest. But as I was a saying, there was some such talk afore General Smith +went to Texas; but that story was raised by the Pawtaxet College folks, to +injure this institution. They did all they could to tear my reputation to +chitlins. Me engaged, I should like to see the man that—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, you seemed plaguey scared at one just now,’ sais I. +‘I am sure it was a strange way to show you would like to see a +man.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I didn’t say that,’ she replied, ‘but you take +one up so quick.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s a way I have,’ said I, ‘and always had, +since you and I was to singing-school together, and larnt sharps, flats, and +naturals. It was a crotchet of mine,’ and I just whipped my arm round her +waist, took her up and kissed her afore she knowed where she was. Oh Lordy! Out +came her comb, and down fell her hair to her waist, like a mill-dam broke +loose; and two false curls and a braid fell on the floor, and her frill took to +dancin’ round, and got wrong side afore, and one of her shoes slipt off, +and she really looked as if she had been in an indgian-scrimmage and was ready +for scalpin’. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then you ain’t engaged, Liddy,’ sais I; ‘how +glad I am to hear that, it makes my heart jump, and cherries is ripe now, and I +will help you up into the tree, as I used to did when you and I was boy and +gall together. It does seem so nateral, Liddy, to have a game of romps with you +again; it makes me feel as young as a two-year-old. How beautiful you do look, +too! My, what a pity you is shut up here, with these young galls all day, +talking by the yard about the corrallas, calyxes, and staminas of flowers, +while you +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Are doom’d to blush unseen,<br/> +And waste your sweetness on the desert air.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh,’ said she, ‘Sam, I must cut and run, and +‘blush unseen,’ that’s a fact, or I’m ruinated,’ +and she up curls, comb, braid, and shoe, and off like a shot into a bed-room +that adjoined the parlour, and bolted the door, and double-locked it, as if she +was afraid an attachment was to be levied on her and her chattels, by the +sheriff, and I was a bum-bailiff. +</p> + +<p> +“Thinks I, old gall, I’ll pay you off for treating me the way you +did just now, as sure as the world. ‘May I ask, Mr Slick, what is the +object of this visit?’ A pretty way to receive a cousin that you +haven’t seen so long, ain’t it? and though I say it that +shouldn’t say it, that cousin, too, Sam Slick, the attaché to our +embassy to the Court of Victoria, Buckingham Palace. You couldn’t a +treated me wuss if I had been one of the liveried, powdered, bedizened, +be-bloated footmen from ‘t’other big house there of Aunt +Harriette’s.’ I’ll make you come down from your stilts, and +walk naterel, I know, see if I don’t. +</p> + +<p> +“Presently she returned, all set to rights, and a little righter, too, +for she had put a touch of rouge on to make the blush stick better, and her +hair was slicked up snugger than before, and looked as if it had growed like +anything. She had also slipped a handsome habit-shirt on, and she looked, take +her altogether, as if, though she warn’t engaged, she ought to have been +afore the last five hot summers came, and the general thaw had commenced in the +spring, and she had got thin, and out of condition. She put her hand on her +heart, and said, ‘I am so skared, Sam, I feel all over of a twitteration. +The way you act is horrid.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘So do I,’ sais I, ‘Liddy, it’s so long since +you and I used to—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You ain’t altered a bit, Sam,’ said she, for the +starch was coming out, ‘from what you was, only you are more forrider. +Our young men, when they go abroad, come back and talk so free and easy, and +take such liberties, and say it’s the fashion in Paris, it’s quite +scandalous. Now, if you dare to do the like again, I’ll never speak to +you the longest day I ever live, I’ll go right off and leave, see if I +don’t.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, I see, I have offended you,’ sais I, ‘you are not +in a humour to consent now, so I will call again some other time.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘This lecture on botany must now be postponed,’ she said, +‘for the hour is out some time ago. If you will be seated, I will set the +young students at embroidery instead, and return for a short time, for it does +seem so nateral to see you, Sam, you saucy boy,’ and she pinched my ear, +‘it reminds one, don’t it, of bygones?’ and she hung her head +a one side, and looked sentimental. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Of by-gone larks,’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Hush, Sam,’ she said, ‘don’t talk so loud, +that’s a dear soul. Oh, if anybody had come in just then, and caught +us.’ +</p> + +<p> +(“<i>Us</i>,” thinks I to myself, “I thought you had no +objection to it, and only struggled enough for modesty-like; and I did think +you would have said, caught <i>you</i>.”) +</p> + +<p> +“‘I would have been ruinated for ever and ever, and amen, and the +college broke up, and my position in the literary, scientific, and intellectual +world scorched, withered, and blasted for ever. Ain’t my cheek all +burning, Sam? it feels as if it was all a-fire;’ and she put it near +enough for me to see, and feel tempted beyond my strength. ‘Don’t +it look horrid inflamed, dear?’ And she danced out of the room, as if she +was skipping a rope. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” sais I, when she took herself off. “What a +world this is! This is evangelical learning; girls are taught in one room to +faint or scream if they see a man, as if he was an incarnation of sin; and yet +they are all educated and trained to think the sole object of life is to win, +not convert, but win one of these sinners. In the next room propriety, dignity, +and decorum, romp with a man in a way to make even his sallow face blush. Teach +a child there is harm in everything, however innocent, and so soon as it +discovers the cheat, it won’t see no sin in anything. That’s the +reason deacons’ sons seldom turn out well, and preachers’ daughters +are married through a window. Innocence is the sweetest thing in the world, and +there is more of it than folks generally imagine. If you want some to +transplant, don’t seek it in the enclosures of cant, for it has only +counterfeit ones, but go to the gardens of truth and of sense. Coërced +innocence is like an imprisoned lark, open the door and it’s off for +ever. The bird that roams through the sky and the groves unrestrained knows how +to dodge the hawk and protect itself, but the caged one, the moment it leaves +its bars and bolts behind, is pounced upon by the fowler or the vulture. +</p> + +<p> +“Puritans, whether in or out of the church (for there is a whole squad of +’em in it, like rats in a house who eat up its bread and undermine its +walls), make more sinners than they save by a long chalk. They ain’t +content with real sin, the pattern ain’t sufficient for a cloak, so they +sew on several breadths of artificial offences, and that makes one big enough +to wrap round them, and cover their own deformity. It enlarges the margin, and +the book, and gives more texts. +</p> + +<p> +“Their eyes are like the great magnifier at the Polytechnic, that shows +you many-headed, many-armed, many-footed, and many-tailed awful monsters in a +drop of water, which were never intended for us to see, or Providence would +have made our eyes like Lord Rosse’s telescope (which discloses the +secrets of the moon), and given us springs that had none of these canables in +’em. Water is our drink, and it was made for us to take when we were dry, +and be thankful. After I first saw one of these drops, like an old cheese chock +full of livin’ things, I couldn’t drink nothing but pure gin or +brandy for a week. I was scared to death. I consaited when I went to bed I +could audibly feel these critters fightin’ like Turks and minin’ my +inerds, and I got narvous lest my stomach like a citadel might be blowed up and +the works destroyed. It was frightful. +</p> + +<p> +“At last I sot up and said, Sam, where is all your common sense gone? You +used to have a considerable sized phial of it, I hope you ain’t lost the +cork and let it all run out. So I put myself in the witness-stand, and asked +myself a few questions. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Water was made to drink, warn’t it?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That’s a fact.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You can’t see them critters in it with your naked +eye?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I can’t see them at all, neither naked or dressed.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then it warn’t intended you should?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Seems as if it wasn’t,’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then drink, and don’t be skeered.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ll be darned if I don’t, for who knows them +wee-monstrosities don’t help digestion, or feed on human pyson. They +warn’t put into Adam’s ale for nothin’, that’s a +fact.’ +</p> + +<p> +“It seems as if they warn’t,’ sais I. ‘So now +I’ll go to sleep.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, puritans’ eyes are like them magnifiers; they see the devil +in everything but themselves, where he is plaguy apt to be found by them that +want him; for he feels at home in their company. One time they vow he is a +dancin’ master, and moves his feet so quick folks can’t see they +are cloven, another time a music master, and teaches children to open their +mouths and not their nostrils in singing. Now he is a tailor or milliner, and +makes fashionable garments; and then a manager of a theatre, which is the most +awful place in the world; it is a reflex of life, and the reflection is always +worse than the original, as a man’s shadow is more dangerous than he is. +But worst of all, they solemnly affirm, for they don’t swear, he comes +sometimes in lawn sleeves, and looks like a bishop, which is popery, or in the +garb of high churchmen, who are all Jesuits. Is it any wonder these +cantin’ fellows pervert the understanding, sap the principles, corrupt +the heart, and destroy the happiness of so many? Poor dear old Minister used to +say, ‘Sam, you must instruct your conscience; for an ignorant or +superstitious conscience is a snare to the unwary. If you think a thing is +wrong that is not, and do it, then you sin, because you are doing what you +believe in your heart to be wicked. It is the intention that constitutes the +crime.’ Those sour crouts therefore, by creating artificial and imitation +sin in such abundance, make real sin of no sort of consequence, and the world +is so chock full of it, a fellow gets careless at last and won’t get out +of its way, it’s so much trouble to pick his steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was off in a brown study so deep about artificial sins, I +didn’t hear Liddy come in, she shut the door so softly and trod on +tiptoes so light on the carpet. The first thing I knew was I felt her hands on +my head, as she stood behind me, a dividin’ of my hair with her fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, Sam,’ said she, ‘as I’m a livin’ +sinner if you ain’t got some white hairs in your head, and there is a +little bald patch here right on the crown. How strange it is! It only seems +like yesterday you was a curly-headed boy.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ sais I, and I hove a sigh so loud it made the window +jar; ‘but I have seen a great deal of trouble since then. I lost two +wives in Europe.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now do tell,’ said she. ‘Why you +don’t!—oh, jimminy criminy! two wives! How was it, poor Sam?’ +and she kissed the bald spot on my pate, and took a rockin’-chair and sat +opposite to me, and began rockin’ backwards and forwards like a fellow +sawin’ wood. ‘How was it, Sam, dear?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘first and foremost, Liddy, I married a +fashionable lady to London. Well, bein’ out night arter night at balls +and operas, and what not, she got kinder used up and beat out, and unbeknownst +to me used to take opium. Well, one night she took too much, and in the morning +she was as dead as a herring.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Did she make a pretty corpse?’ said Lid, lookin’ very +sanctimonious. ‘Did she lay out handsum? They say prussic acid makes +lovely corpses; it keeps the eyes from fallin’ in. Next to dyin’ +happy, the greatest thing is to die pretty. Ugly corpses frighten sinners, but +elegant ones win them.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘The most lovely subject you ever beheld,’ said I. +‘She looked as if she was only asleep; she didn’t stiffen at all, +but was as limber as ever you see. Her hair fell over her neck and shoulders in +beautiful curls just like yourn; and she had on her fingers the splendid +diamond rings I gave her; she was too fatigued to take ’em off when she +retired the night afore. I felt proud of her even in death, I do assure you. +She was handsome enough to eat. I went to ambassador’s to consult him +about the funeral, whether it should be a state affair, with all the whole +diplomatic corps of the court to attend it, or a private one. But he advised a +private one; he said it best comported with our dignified simplicity as +republicans, and, although cost was no object, still it was satisfactory to +know it was far less expense. When I came back she was gone.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Gone!’ said Liddy, ‘gone where?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Gone to the devil, dear, I suppose.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh my!’ said she. ‘Well, I never in all my born days! +Oh, Sam, is that the way to talk of the dead!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘In the dusk of the evening,’ sais I, ‘a carriage, +they said, drove to the door, and a coffin was carried up-stairs; but the +undertaker said it wouldn’t fit, and it was taken back again for a larger +one. Just afore I went to bed, I went to the room to have another look at her, +and she was gone, and there was a letter on the table for me; it contained a +few words only.—‘Dear Sam, my first husband is come to life, and so +have I. Goodbye, love.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, what did you do?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Gave it out,’ said I, ‘she died of the cholera, and +had to be buried quick and private, and no one never knew to the +contrary.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Didn’t it almost break your heart, Sammy?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ sais I. ‘In her hurry, she took my dressing-case +instead of her own, in which was all her own jewels, besides those I gave her, +and all our ready money. So I tried to resign myself to my loss, for it might +have been worse, you know,’ and I looked as good as pie. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, if that don’t beat all, I declare!’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Liddy,’ sais I, with a mock solemcoly air, ‘every +bane has its antidote, and every misfortin its peculiar consolation.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Sam, that showed the want of a high moral intellectual +education, didn’t it?’ said she. ‘And yet you had the courage +to marry again?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I married,’ sais I, ‘next year in France a lady +who had refused one of Louis Philip’s sons. Oh, what a splendid gall she +was, Liddy! she was the star of Paris. Poor thing! I lost her in six +weeks.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Six weeks! Oh, Solomon!’ said she, ‘in six +weeks.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘in six short weeks.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How was it, Sam? do tell me all about it; it’s quite +romantic. I vow, it’s like the Arabian Nights’ Entertainment. You +are so unlucky, I swow I should be skeered—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘At what?’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, at—’ +</p> + +<p> +“She was caught there; she was a goin’ to say, ‘at +marryin’ you,’ but as she was a leadin’ of me on, that +wouldn’t do. Doctor, you may catch a gall sometimes, but if she has a +mind to, she can escape if she chooses, for they are as slippery as eels. So +she pretended to hesitate on, till I asked her again. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais she, a looking down, ‘at sleeping alone +tonight, after hearing of these dreadful catastrophes.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh,’ sais I, ‘is that all?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘But how did you lose her?’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, she raced off,’ said I, ‘with the Turkish +ambassador, and if I had a got hold of him, I’de a lammed him wuss than +the devil beatin’ tan-bark, I know. I’de a had his melt, if there +was a bowie-knife out of Kentucky.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Did you go after her?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes; but she cotched it afore I cotched her.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How was that, Sam?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, she wanted to sarve him the same way, with an officer of the +Russian Guards, and Mahomet caught her, sewed her up in a sack, and throwed her +neck and crop into the Bosphorus, to fatten eels for the Greek ladies to keep +Lent with.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, how could you be so unfortunate?’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘That’s a question I have often axed myself, Liddy,’ +sais I; ‘but I have come to this conclusion: London and Paris ain’t +no place for galls to be trained in.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘So I have always said, and always will maintain to my dying +day,’ she said, rising with great animation and pride. ‘What do +they teach there but music, dancing, and drawing? The deuce a thing else; but +here is Spanish, French, German, Italian, botany, geology, mineralogy, +icthiology, conchology, theology—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Do you teach angeolology and doxyology?’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, angeolology and doxyology,’ she said, not knowing what +she was a talking about. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And occult sciences?’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, all the sciences. London and Paris, eh! Ask a lady from +either place if she knows the electric battery from the magnetic—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Or a <i>needle</i> from a <i>pole</i>,’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ sais she, without listening, ‘or any such +question, and see if she can answer it.” +</p> + +<p> +“She resumed her seat. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Forgive my enthusiasm,’ she said, ‘Sam, you know I +always had a great deal of that.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I know,’ said I, ‘you had the smallest foot and ankle +of anybody in our country. My! what fine-spun glass heels you had! Where in the +world have you stowed them to?’ pretendin’ to look down for them. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Kept them to kick you with,’ she said, ‘if you are +sassy.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Thinks I to myself, what next? as the woman said to the man who kissed +her in the tunnel, you are coming out, Liddy. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Kick,’ said I, ‘oh, you wouldn’t try that, I am +sure, let me do what I would.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why not?’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘if you did you would have to kick so +high, you would expose one of the larger limbs.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mr Slick,’ said she, ‘I trust you will not so far +forget what is due to a lady, as to talk of showing her larger limbs, +it’s not decent.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I know it ain’t decent,’ said I, ‘but you +said you would do it, and I just remonstrated a little, that’s +all.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You was saying about London and Paris,’ said she, +‘being no place for educating young ladies in.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘that painful story of my two poor dear +wives (which is ‘all in my eye,’ as plain as it was then), +illustrates my theory of education in those two capitals. In London, females, +who are a great deal in society in the season, like a man who drinks, +can’t stop, they are at it all the time, and like him, sometimes forget +the way home again. In Paris, galls are kept so much at home before marriage, +when they once get out, they don’t want to enter the cage again. They are +the two extremes. If ever I marry, I’ll tell you how I will lay down the +law. Pleasure shall be the recreation and not the business of life with her. +Home the rule—parties the exception. Duty first, amusement second. Her +head-quarters shall always be in her own house, but the outposts will never be +neglected.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nothin’ like an American woman for an American man, is +there?’ said she, and she drew nearer, lookin’ up in my face to +read the answer, and didn’t rock so hard. +</p> + +<p> +“‘It depends upon how they are brought up,’ said I, looking +wise. ‘But, Liddy,’ sais I, ‘without joking, what an +amazin’ small foot that is of yours. It always was, and wunst when it +slipt through a branch of the cherry-tree, do you recollect my saying, Well I +vow that calf was suckled by two cows? now don’t you, Liddy?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, Sir,’ said she, ‘I don’t, though children +may say many things that when they grow up they are ashamed to repeat; but I +recollect now, wunst when you and I went through the long grass to the +cherry-tree, your mother said, ‘Liddy, beware you are not bit by a +garter-snake, and I never knew her meanin’ till now;’ and she rose +up and said, ‘Mr Slick, I must bid you good morning.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Liddy,’ sais I, ‘don’t be so pesky starch, +I’ll be dod fetched if I meant any harm, but you beat me all holler. I +only spoke of the calf, and you went a streak higher and talked of the +garter.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ said she, ‘you was always the most impedent, +forredest, and pertest boy that ever was, and travellin’ hain’t +improved you one mite or morsel.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I am sorry I have offended you, Liddy,’ sais I, ‘but +really now, how do you manage to teach all them things with hard names, for we +never even heard of them at Slickville? Have you any masters?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Masters,’ said she, ‘the first one that entered this +college would ruin it for ever. What, a man in this college! where the juvenile +pupils belong to the first families—I guess not. I hire a young lady to +teach rudiments.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘So I should think,’ sais I, ‘from the specimen I saw +at your door, she was rude enough in all conscience.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Pooh,’ said she, ‘well, I have a Swiss lady that +teaches French, German, Spanish, and Italian, and an English one that instructs +in music and drawing, and I teach history, geography, botany, and the sciences, +and so on.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How on earth did you learn them all?’ said I, ‘for it +puzzles me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Between you and me, Sam,’ said she, ‘for you know my +broughtens up, and it’s no use to pretend—primary books does it +all, there is question and answer. I read the question, and they learn the +answer. It’s the easiest thing in the world to teach now-a-days.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘But suppose you get beyond the rudiments?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, they never remain long enough to do that. They are brought +out before then. They go to Saratoga first in summer, and then to Washington in +winter, and are married right off after that. The domestic, seclusive, and +exclusive system, is found most conducive to a high state of refinement and +delicacy. I am doing well, Sam,’ said she, drawing nearer, and looking +confidential in my face. ‘I own all this college, and all the lands +about, and have laid up forty thousand dollars besides;’ and she nodded +her head at me, and looked earnest, as much as to say, ‘That is a fact, +ain’t it grand?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘The devil you have,’ said I, as if I had taken the bait. +‘I had a proposal to make.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh,’ said she, and she coloured up all over, and got up and +said, ‘Sam, won’t you have a glass of wine, dear?’ She +intended it to give me courage to speak out, and she went to a closet, and +brought out a tray with a decanter, and two or three glasses on it, and some +frosted plum-cake. ‘Try that cake, dear,’ she said, ‘I made +it myself, and your dear old mother taught me how to do it;’ and then she +laid back her head, and larfed like anything. ‘Sam,’ said she, +‘what a memory you have; I had forgot all about the cherry-tree, I +don’t recollect a word of it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘And the calf?’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Get along,’ said she, ‘do get out;’ and she +took up some crumbs of the cake, and made ’em into a ball as big as a +cherry, and fired it at me, and struck me in the eye with it, and nearly put it +out. She jumped up in a minit: ‘Did she hurt her own poor cossy’s +eye?’ she said, ‘and put it een amost out,’ and she kissed +it. ‘It didn’t hurt his little peeper much, did it?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, sais I to myself, she’s coming it too <i>pee</i>owerful +strong altogether. The sooner I dig out the better for my wholesomes. However, +let her went, she is wrathy. ‘I came to propose to you—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Dear me,’ said she, ‘I feel dreadful, I warn’t +prepared for this; it’s very onexpected. What is it, Sam? I am all over +of a twiteration.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I know you will refuse me,’ sais I, ‘when I look +round and see how comfortable and how happy you are, even if you ain’t +engaged.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam, I told you I weren’t engaged,’ she said: +‘that story of General Smith is all a fabrication, therefore don’t +mention that again.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I feel,’ said I, ‘it’s no use. I know what you +will say, you can’t quit.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You have a strange way,’ said she, rather tart, ‘for +you ask questions, and then answer them yourself. What <i>do</i> you +mean?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘I’ll tell you, Liddy.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Do, dear,’ said she, and she put her hand over her +<i>eyes,</i> as if to stop her from <i>hearing</i> distinctly. ‘I came to +propose to you—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Sam,’ said she, ‘to think of that!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘To take a seat in my buggy,’ sais I, ‘and come and +spend a month with sister Sally and me, at the old location.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Poor thing, I pitied her; she had one knee over the other, and, as I +said, one hand over her eyes, and there she sot, and the way the upper foot +went bobbin’ up and down was like the palsy, only a little quicker. She +never said another word, nor sighed, nor groaned, nor anything, only her head +hung lower. Well, I felt streaked, Doctor, I tell <i>you</i>. I felt like a man +who had stabbed another, and knew he ought to be hanged for it; and I looked at +her as such a critter would, if he had to look on, and see his enemy bleed to +death. I knew I had done wrong—I had acted spider-like to her—got +her into the web—tied her hand and foot, and tantalized her. I am given +to brag, I know, Doctor, when I am in the saddle, and up in the stirrups, and +leavin’ all others behind; but when a beast is choaked and down in the +dirt, no man ever heard me brag I had rode the critter to death. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I did wrong, she was a woman, and I was a man, and if she did act a +part, why, I ought to have known the game she had to play, and made allowances +for it. I dropt the trump card under the table that time, and though I got the +odd trick, she had the honours. It warn’t manly in me, that’s a +fact; but confound her, why the plague did she call me ‘Mr,’ and +act formal, and give me the bag to hold, when she knew me of old, and minded +the cherry-tree, and all that? Still she was a woman, and a defenceless one +too, and I did’nt do the pretty. But if she was a woman, doctor, she had +more clear grit than most men have. After a while she took her hand off her +eyes and rubbed them, and she opened her mouth and yawned so, you could see +down to her garters amost. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Dear me!’ said she, trying to smile; but, oh me! how she +looked! Her eyes had no more expression than a China-aster, and her face was so +deadly pale, it made the rouge she had put on look like the hectic of a dying +consumption. Her ugly was out in full bloom, I tell <i>you</i>. ‘Dear +cousin Sam,’ said she, ‘I am so fatigued with my labours as +presidentess of this institution, that I can hardly keep my peepers open. I +think, if I recollect—for I am ashamed to say I was a +noddin’—that you <i>proposed</i> (that word lit her eyes up) that I +should go with you to visit dear Sally. Oh, Sam!’ said she (how she bit +in her temper that hitch, didn’t she?) ‘you see, and you saw it at +first, I can’t leave on so short a notice; but if my sweet Sally would +come and visit me, how delighted I should be! Sam, I must join my class now. +How happy it has made me to see you again after so many years! Kiss me, dear; +good bye—God bless you!’ and she yawned again till she nearly +dislocated her jaw. ‘Go on and write books, Sam, for no man is better +skilled in human natur and <i>spares it less</i> than yourself.’ What a +reproachful look she gave me then! ‘Good bye, dear!’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when I closed the door, and was opening of the outer one, I heard +a crash. I paused a moment, for I knew what it was. She had fainted and fell +into a conniption fit. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sam,’ sais I to myself, ‘shall I go back?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No,’ sais I, ‘if you return there will be a scene; +and if you don’t, if she can’t account naterally for it, the devil +can’t, that’s all.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor, I felt guilty, I tell you. I had taken a great many rises out of +folks in my time, but that’s the only one I repent of. Tell you what, +Doctor, folks may talk about their southern gentlemen, their New York +prince-merchants, and so on, but the clear grit, bottom and game, is New +England (Yankee-doodle-dum). Male or female, young or old, I’ll back +’em agin all creation.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire, show this chapter to Lord Tandembery, if you know him; and if you +don’t, Uncle Tom Lavender will give you a letter of introduction to him; +and then ask him if ever he has suffered half so much as Sam Slick has in the +cause of edication. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C15">CHAPTER XV.</a><br/> +GIPSEYING.</h2> + +<p> +We tried the deck again, but the fog was too disagreeable to remain there, for +the water fell from the ropes in such large drops, and the planks were so wet +and slippery, we soon adjourned again to the cabin. +</p> + +<p> +“I have to thank you, Doctor,” said I, “for a most charming +day at the Beaver-Dam. That was indeed a day in the woods, and I believe every +one there knew how to enjoy it. How different it is from people in a town here, +who go out to the country for a pic-nic! A citizen thinks the pleasure of +gipseying, as they call it in England, consists solely in the abundance and +variety of the viands, the quality and quantity of the wines, and as near an +approach to a city dinner as it is possible to have, where there are neither +tables, chairs, sideboards, nor removes. He selects his place for the +encampment in the first opening adjoining the clearing, as it commands a noble +view of the harbour, and there is grass enough to recline upon. The woods are +gloomy, the footing is slippery, and there is nothing to be seen in a forest +but trees, windfalls which are difficult to climb, and boggy ground that wets +your feet, and makes you feel uncomfortable. The limbs are eternally knocking +your hat off, and the spruce gum ruins your clothes, while ladies, like sheep, +are for ever leaving fragments of their dress on every bush. He chooses the +skirts of the forest therefore, the background is a glorious wood, and the +foreground is diversified by the shipping. The o-heave-o of the sailors, as it +rises and falls in the distance, is music to his ears, and suggestive of +agreeable reflections, or profitable conversation peculiarly appropriate to the +place and the occasion. The price of fish in the West Indies, or of deals in +Liverpool, or the probable rise of flour in the market, amuse the vacant mind +of himself and his partner, not his wife, for she is only his <i>sleeping</i> +partner, but the wide-awake partner of the firm, one of those who are embraced +in the comprehensive term the ‘Co.’ He is the depository of his +secrets, the other of his complaints. +</p> + +<p> +“His wife is equally happy, she enjoys it uncommonly, for she knows it +will spite those horrid Mudges. She is determined not to invite them, for they +make too much noise, it gives her the headache, and their flirting is too bad. +Mrs White called them garrison hacks. And besides (for women always put the +real reason last—they live in a postscript) they don’t deserve it, +for they left her girls out when they had the lobster-spearing party by +torch-light, with the officers of the flag-ship, though that was no loss, for +by all accounts it was a very romping party, knocking off the men’s hats, +and then exchanging their bonnets for them. And how any mother could allow her +daughter to be held round the waist by the flag-lieutenant, while she leaned +over the boat to spear the fish, is a mystery to her. The polka is bad enough, +but, to her mind, that is not decent, and then she has something to whisper +about it, that she says is too bad (this is a secret though, and she must +whisper it, for walls have ears, and who knows but trees have, and besides, the +<i>good</i> things are never repeated, but the <i>too bad</i> always is), and +Mrs Black lifts up both her hands, and the whites of both eyes in perfect +horror. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now did you ever! Oh, is that true? Why, you don’t!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Lucy Green saw him with her own eyes,’ and she opens her +own as big as saucers. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And what did Miss Mudge say?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, upon my word,’ said she, ‘I wonder what you +will do next,’ and laughed so they nearly fell overboard. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, what carryings on, ain’t it, dear? But I wonder where +Sarah Matilda is? I don’t see her and Captain De la Cour. I am afraid she +will get lost in the woods, and that would make people talk as they did about +Miss Mudge and Doctor Vincent, who couldn’t find their way out once till +nine o’clock at night.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘They’ll soon get back, dear,’ sais the other, +‘let them be; it looks like watching them, and <i>you</i> know,’ +laying an emphasis on <i>you</i>, ‘you and I were young <i>once</i> +ourselves, and so they will come back when they want to, for though the woods +have no straight paths in them, they have short cuts enough for them +that’s in a hurry. Cupid has no <i>watch</i>, dear; his <i>fob</i> is for +a <i>purse</i>,’ and she smiles wicked on the mother of the heiress. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, who can say this is not a pleasant day to both parties? The +old gentlemen have their nice snug business chat, and the old ladies have their +nice snug gossip chat, and the third estate (as the head of the firm calls it, +who was lately elected member for Grumble Town, and begins to talk +parliamentary), the third estate, the young folks, the people of progression, +who are not behind but rather ahead of the age they live in, don’t they +enjoy themselves? It is very hard if youth, beauty, health, good spirits, and a +desire to please (because if people havn’t that they had better stay to +home), can’t or won’t make people happy. I don’t mean for to +go for to say that will insure it, because nothin’ is certain, and I have +known many a gall that resembled a bottle of beautiful wine. You will find one +sometimes as enticin’ to appearance as ever was, but hold it up and there +is grounds there for all that, settled, but still there, and enough too to +spile all, so you can’t put it to your lips any how you can fix it. What +a pity it is sweet things turn sour, ain’t it? +</p> + +<p> +“But in a general way these things will make folks happy. There are some +sword-knots there, and they do look very like woodsmen, that’s a fact. If +you never saw a forrester, you would swear to them as perfect. A wide-awake +hat, with a little short pipe stuck in it, a pair of whiskers that will be +grand when they are a few years older—a coarse check or red flannel +shirt, a loose neck-handkerchief, tied with a sailor’s knot—a +cut-away jacket, with lots of pockets—a belt, but little or no +waistcoat—homespun trowsers and thick buskins—a rough glove and a +delicate white hand, the real, easy, and natural gait of the woodman (only +it’s apt to be a little, just a little too stiff, on account of the +ramrod they have to keep in their throats while on parade), when combined, +actilly beat natur, for they are too nateral. Oh, these amateur woodsmen enact +their part so well, you think you almost see the identical thing itself. And +then they have had the advantage of Woolwich or Sandhurst, or Chobham, and are +dabs at a bivouac, grand hands with an axe—cut a hop-pole down in half a +day amost, and in the other half stick it into the ground. I don’t make +no doubt in three or four days they could build a wigwam to sleep in, and one +night out of four under cover is a great deal for an amateur hunter, though it +ain’t the smallest part of a circumstance to the Crimea. As, it is, if a +stick ain’t too big for a fire, say not larger than your finger, they can +break it over their knee, sooner than you could cut it with a hatchet for your +life, and see how soon it’s in a blaze. Take them altogether, they are a +killing party of coons them, never miss a moose if they shoot out of an +Indian’s gun, and use a silver bullet. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, the young ladies are equipped so nicely—they have +uglies to their bonnets, the only thing ugly about them, for at a distance they +look like huge green spectacles. They are very useful in the forest, for there +is a great glare of the sun generally under trees; or else they have green +bonnets, that look like eagle’s skins; thin dresses, strong ones are too +heavy, and they don’t display the beauty of nature enough, they are so +high, and the whole object of the party is to admire that. Their walking shoes +are light and thin, they don’t fatigue you like coarse ones, and +India-rubbers are hideous, they make your feet look as if they had the gout; +and they have such pretty, dear little aprons, how rural it looks +altogether—they act a day in the woods to admiration. Three of the +officers have nicknames, a very nice thing to induce good fellowship, +especially as it has no tendency whatever to promote quarrels. There is Lauder, +of the <i>Rifles,</i> he is so short, they call him <i>Pistol;</i> he has a +year to grow yet, and may become a great <i>gun</i> some of these days. Russel +takes a joke good-humouredly, and therefore is so fortunate as to get more than +his share of them, accordingly he goes by the name of Target, as every one +takes a shot at him. Duke is so bad a shot, he has twice nearly pinked the +marksman, so he is called Trigger. He always lays the blame of his want of +skill on that unfortunate appendage of the gun, as it is either too hard or too +quick on the finger. Then there is young Bulger, and as everybody pronounces it +as if it had two ‘g’s’ in it, he corrects them and says, +‘g’ soft, my dear fellow, if you please; so he goes by the name of +‘G’ soft. Oh, the conversation of the third estate is so pretty, I +could listen to it for ever. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Aunt,’ sais Miss Diantha, ‘do you know what +gyp—gypsy—gypsymum—gypsymuming is? Did you ever hear how I +stutter to-day? I can’t get a word out hardly. Ain’t it +provoking?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, stammering is provoking; but a pretty little accidental impediment +of speech like that, accompanied with a little graceful bob of the head, is +very taking, ain’t it? +</p> + +<p> +“‘Gypsuming,’ sais the wise matron, ‘is the plaster of +Paris trade, dear. They carry it on at Windsor, your father says.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Pistol gives Target a wink, for they are honouring the party by their +company, though the mother of one keeps a lodging-house at Bath, and the father +of the other makes real genuine East India curry in London. They look down on +the whole of the townspeople. It is natural; pot always calls kettle an ugly +name. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, Ma,’ sais Di—all the girls address her as Di; +ain’t it a pretty abbreviation for a die-away young lady? But she is not +a die-away lass; she is more of a Di Vernon. ‘No, Ma,’ sais Di, +‘gipsey—ing, what a hard word it is! Mr Russel says it’s what +they call these parties in England. It is so like the gipsy life.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘There is one point,’ sais Pistol, ‘in which they +differ.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What’s that?’ sais Di. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Do you give it up?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘There the gipsy girls steal poultry; and here they steal +hearts,’ and he puts his left hand by mistake on his breast, not knowing +that the pulsation there indicates that his lungs, and not his gizzard is +affected, and that he is broken-<i>winded,</i> and not broken-<i>hearted.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“‘Very good,’ every one sais; but still every one +hasn’t heard it, so it has to be repeated; and what is worse, as the +habits of the gipsies are not known to all, the point has to be explained. +</p> + +<p> +“Target sais, ‘He will send it to the paper, and put +Trigger’s name to it,’ and Pistol says, ‘That is capital, for +if he calls you out, he can’t hit you,’ and there is a joyous +laugh. Oh dear, but a day in the woods is a pleasant thing. For my own part, I +must say I quite agree with the hosier, who, when he first went to New Orleens, +and saw such a swad of people there, said, he ‘didn’t onderstand +how on earth it was that folks liked to live in a heap that way, altogether, +where there was no corn to plant, and no bears to kill.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘My, oh my!’ sais Miss Letitia, or Letkissyou, as Pistol +used to call her. People ought to be careful what names they give their +children, so as folks can’t fasten nicknames on ’em. Before others +the girls called her Letty, and that’s well enough; but sometimes they +would call her Let, which is the devil. If a man can’t give a pretty +fortune to his child, he can give it a pretty name at any rate. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a very large family of Cards wunst to Slickville. They were +mostly in the stage-coach and livery-stable line, and careless, reckless sort +of people. So one day, Squire Zenas Card had a christenin’ at his house. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sais the Minister, ‘what shall I call the child?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Pontius Pilate,’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I can’t,’ said the Minister, ‘and I +won’t. No soul ever heerd of such a name for a Christian since baptism +came in fashion.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I am sorry for that,’ said the Squire, ‘for +it’s a mighty pretty name. I heard it once in church, and I thought if +ever I had a son I’de call him after him; but if I can’t have +that—and it’s a dreadful pity—call him Trump;’ and he +was christenened Trump Card. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh my!’ sais Miss Letitia, lispin’, ‘Captain De +la Cour has smashed my bonnet, see, he is setting upon it. Did you ever?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Never,’ said Di, ‘he has converted your +<i>cottage</i> bonnet into a <i>country seat,</i> I do declare!’ +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody exclaimed, ‘That is excellent,’ and Russel said, +‘Capital, by Jove.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That kind of thing,’ said De la Cour, ‘is more +honoured in the <i>breach</i> than the <i>observance</i>;’ and winked to +Target. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Di is an inveterate punster, so she returns to the charge. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Letty, what fish is that, the name of which would express all you +said about your bonnet?—do you give it up? A bon-net-o!’ (Boneto). +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I can’t <i>fathom</i> that,’ sais De la Cour. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I don’t wonder at that,’ sais the invincible Di; +‘it is beyond your <i>depth,</i> for it is an out-of-<i>soundings</i> +fish.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Poor De la Cour, you had better let her alone, she is too many guns for +you. Scratch your head, for your curls and your name are all that you have to +be proud of. Let her alone, she is wicked, and she is meditating a name for you +and Pistol that will stick to you as long as you live, she has it on the tip of +her tongue—‘The babes in the wood.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Now for the baskets—now for the spread. The old gentlemen break up +their Lloyds’ meeting—the old ladies break up their scandal +club—the young ladies and their beaux are busy in arrangements, and +though the cork-screws are nowhere to be found, Pistol has his in one of the +many pockets of his woodsman’s coat, he never goes without it (like one +of his mother’s waiters), which he calls his <i>young man’s best +companion</i>; and which another, who was a year in an attorney’s office, +while waiting for his commission, calls <i>the crown circuit assistant;</i> and +a third, who has just arrived in a steamer, designates as <i>the screw +propeller.</i> It was a sensible provision, and Miss Di said, ‘a +<i>corkscrew</i> and a <i>pocket-pistol</i> were better suited to him than a +rifle,’ and every one said it was a capital joke that—for everybody +likes a shot that don’t hit themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“‘How tough the goose is!’ sais G soft. ‘I can’t +carve it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ah!’ sais Di, ‘when Greek meets Greek, then comes the +tug of war.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Eating and talking lasts a good while, but they don’t last for +ever. The ladies leave the gentlemen to commence their smoking and finish their +drinking, and presently there is a loud laugh; it’s more than a laugh, +it’s a roar; and the ladies turn round and wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“Letty sais, ‘When the wine is in, the wit is out.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘True,” sais Di, ‘the wine is there, but when you left +them the wit went out.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Rather severe,’ said Letty. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Not at all,’ sais Di, ‘for I was with you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“It is the last shot of poor Di. She won’t take the trouble to talk +well for ladies, and those horrid Mudges have a party on purpose to take away +all the pleasant men. She never passed so stupid a day. She hates pic-nics, and +will never go to one again. De la Cour is a fool, and is as full of airs as a +night-hawk is of feathers. Pistol is a bore; Target is both poor and stingy; +Trigger thinks more of himself than anybody else; and as for G soft, he is a +goose. She will never speak to Pippen again for not coming. They are a poor set +of devils in the garrison; she is glad they are to have a new regiment. +</p> + +<p> +“Letty hasn’t enjoyed herself either, she has been devoured by +black flies and musquitoes, and has got her feet wet, and is so tired she +can’t go to the ball. The sleeping partner of the head of the firm is out +of sorts, too. Her crony-gossip gave her a sly poke early in the day, to show +her she recollected when she was young (not that she is so old now either, for +she knows the grave gentleman who visits at her house is said to like the +mother better than the daughter), but before she was married, and friends who +have such wonderful memories are not very pleasant companions, though it +don’t do to have them for enemies. But then, poor thing, and she consoles +herself with the idea the poor thing has daughters herself, and they are as +ugly as sin, and not half so agreeable. But it isn’t that altogether. +Sarah Matilda should not have gone wandering out of hearing with the captain, +and she must give her a piece of her mind about it, for there is a good deal of +truth in the old saying, ‘If the girls won’t run after the men, the +men will run after them;’ so she calls out loudly, ‘Sarah Matilda, +my love, come here, dear,’ and Sarah Matilda knows when the honey is +produced, physic is to be taken, but she knows she is under observation, and so +she flies to her dear mamma, with the feet and face of an angel, and they +gradually withdraw. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Dear ma, how tired you look.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I am not tired, dear.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, you don’t look well; is anything the matter with +you?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I didn’t say I wasn’t well, and it’s very rude +to remark on one’s looks that way.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Something seems to have put you out of sorts, ma, I will run and +call pa. Dear me, I feel frightened. Shall I ask Mrs Bawdon for her +salts?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You know very well what’s the matter; it’s Captain De +la Cour.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, now, how strange,’ said Sarah Matilda. ‘I told +him he had better go and walk with you; I wanted him to do it; I told him you +liked attention. Yes, I knew you would be angry, but it isn’t my fault. +It ain’t, indeed.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I am astonished,’ replies the horrified mother. +‘I never in all my life. So you told him I liked attention. I, your +mother, your father’s wife, with my position in <i>so</i>cie<i>tee</i>; +and pray what answer did he make to this strange conduct?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘He said, No wonder, you were the handsomest woman in town, and so +agreeable; the only one fit to talk to.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘And you have the face to admit you listened to such stuff?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I could listen all day to it, ma, for I knew it was true. I never +saw you look so lovely, the new bishop has improved your appearance +amazingly.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Who?’ said the mother, with an hysterical scream; +‘what do you mean?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘The new bustler, ma.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh,’ said she, quite relieved, ‘oh, do you think +so?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘But what did you want of me, ma?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘To fasten my gown, dear, there is a hook come undone.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Coming,’ she said, in a loud voice. +</p> + +<p> +“There was nobody calling, but somebody ought to have called; so she +fastens the hook, and flies back as fast as she came. +</p> + +<p> +“Sarah Matilda, you were not born yesterday; first you put your mother on +the defensive, and then you stroked her down with the grain, and made her feel +good all over, while you escaped from a scolding you know you deserved. A +jealous mother makes an artful daughter. But, Sarah Matilda, one word in your +ear. Art ain’t cleverness, and cunning ain’t understanding. +Semblance only answers once; the second time the door ain’t opened to it. +</p> + +<p> +“Henrietta is all adrift, too; she is an old maid, and Di nicknamed her +‘the old hen.’ She has been shamefully neglected today. The young +men have been flirting about with those forward young +girls—children—mere children, and have not had the civility to +exchange a word with her. The old ladies have been whispering gossip all day, +and the old gentlemen busy talking about freights, the Fall-catch of mackarel, +and ship-building. Nor could their talk have been solely confined to these +subjects, for once when she approached them, she heard the head of the firm +say: +</p> + +<p> +“‘The ‘lovely lass’ must be thrown down and scraped, +for she is so foul, and her knees are all gone.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And so she turned away in disgust. Catch her at a pic-nic again! No, +never! It appears the world is changed; girls in her day were never allowed to +romp that way, and men used to have some manners. Things have come to a pretty +pass! +</p> + +<p> +“‘Alida, is that you, dear? You look dull.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Henrietta! I have torn my beautiful thread-lace mantilla all +to rags; it’s ruined for ever. And do <i>you</i> know—oh, <i>I</i> +don’t know how I shall ever dare to face ma again! I have lost her +beautiful little enamelled watch. Some of these horrid branches have pulled it +off the chain.’ And Alida cries and is consoled by Henrietta, who is a +good-natured creature after all. She tells her for her comfort that nobody +should ever think of wearing a delicate and expensive lace mantilla in the +woods; she could not expect anything else than to have it destroyed; and as for +exposing a beautiful gold watch outside of her dress, nobody in her senses +would have thought of such a thing. Of course she was greatly comforted: kind +words and a kind manner will console any one. +</p> + +<p> +“It is time now to re-assemble, and the party are gathered once more; and +the ladies have found their smiles again, and Alida has found her watch; and +there are to be some toasts and some songs before parting. All is jollity once +more, and the head of the firm and his vigilant partner and the officers have +all a drop in their eye, and Henrietta is addressed by the junior partner, who +is a bachelor of about her own age, and who assures her he never saw her look +better; and she looks delighted, and is delighted, and thinks a pic-nic not so +bad a thing after all. +</p> + +<p> +“But there is a retributive justice in this world. Even pic-nic parties +have their moral, and folly itself affords an example from which a wise saw may +be extracted. Captain de Courlay addresses her, and after all, he has the +manners and appearance of a gentleman, though it is whispered he is fond of +practical jokes, pulls ‘colt ensigns’ out of bed, makes them go +through their sword exercise standing shirtless in their tubs, and so on. There +is one redeeming thing in the story, if it be true, he never was known to do it +to a young nobleman; he is too well bred for that. He talks to her of society +as it was before good-breeding was reformed out of the colonies. She is +delighted; but, oh! was it stupidity, or was it insolence, or was it cruelty? +he asked her if she recollected the Duke of Kent. To be sure it is only +fifty-two years since he was here; but to have recollected him! How old did he +suppose she was? She bears it well and meekly. It is not the first time she has +been painfully reminded she was not young. She says her grandmother often spoke +of him as a good officer and a handsome man; and she laughs, though her heart +aches the while, as if it was a good joke to ask <i>her.</i> He backs out as +soon as he can. He meant well, though he had expressed himself awkwardly; but +to back out shows you are in the wrong stall, a place you have no business in, +and being out, he thinks it as well to jog on to another place. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Henrietta! you were unkind to Alida about her lace mantilla and her +gold watch, and it has come home to you. You ain’t made of glass, and +nothing else will hold vinegar long without being corroded itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the toasts are drunk, and the men are not far from being drunk +too, and feats of agility are proposed, and they jump up and catch a springing +bow, and turn a somerset on it, or over it, and they are cheered and applauded +when De Courlay pauses in mid-air for a moment, as if uncertain what to do. Has +the bough given way, or was that the sound of cloth rent in twain? Something +has gone wrong, for he is greeted with uproarious cheers by the men, and he +drops on his feet, and retires from the company as from the presence of +royalty, by backing out and bowing as he goes, repeatedly stumbling, and once +or twice falling in his retrograde motion. +</p> + +<p> +“Ladies never lose their tact—they ask no questions because they +see something is amiss, and though it is hard to subdue curiosity, propriety +sometimes restrains it. They join in the general laugh however, for it can be +nothing serious where his friends make merry with it. When he retires from +view, his health is drank with three times three. Di, who seemed to take +pleasure in annoying the spinster, said she had a great mind not to join in +that toast, for he was a <i>loose</i> fellow, otherwise he would have rent his +<i>heart</i> and not his <i>garments.</i> It is a pity a clever girl like her +will let her tongue run that way, for it leads them to say things they ought +not. Wit in a woman is a dangerous thing, like a doctor’s lancet, it is +apt to be employed about matters that offend our delicacy, or hurt our +feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘What the devil is that?’ said the head, of the firm, +looking up, as a few drops of rain fell. ‘Why, here is a thunder-shower +coming on us as sure as the world. Come, let us pack up and be off.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And the servants are urged to be expeditious, and the sword-knots tumble +the glasses into the baskets, and the cold hams atop of them, and break the +decanters, to make them stow better, and the head of the firm swears, and the +sleeping partner says she will faint, she could never abide thunder; and Di +tells her if she does not want to abide all night, she had better move, and a +vivid flash of lightning gives notice to quit, and tears and screams attest the +notice is received, and the retreat is commenced; but alas, the carriages are a +mile and a half off, and the tempest rages, and the rain falls in torrents, and +the thunder stuns them, and the lightning blinds them. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What’s the use of hurrying?’ says Di, ‘we are +now wet through, and our clothes are spoiled, and I think we might take it +leisurely. Pistol, take my arm, I am not afraid of you now.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Your powder is wet, and you can’t go off. You are quite +harmless. Target, you had better run.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You will be sure to be hit if you don’t—won’t +he, Trigger?’ +</p> + +<p> +“But Pistol, and Target, and Trigger are alike silent. G <i>soft</i> has +lost his <i>softness,</i> and lets fall some <i>hard</i> terms. Every one holds +down his head, why, I can’t understand, because being soaked, that +attitude can’t dry them. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Uncle,’ says Di, to the head of the firm, ‘you appear +to enjoy it, you are buttoning up your coat as if you wanted to keep the rain +in.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I wish you would keep your tongue in,’ he said, gruffly. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I came for a party of pleasure,’ said the unconquerable +girl, ‘and I think there is great fun in this. Hen, I feel sorry for you, +you can’t stand the wet as those darling ducks can. Aunt will shake +herself directly, and be as dry as an India rubber model.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt is angry, but can’t answer—every clap of thunder makes +her scream. Sarah Matilda has lost her shoe, and the water has closed over it, +and she can’t find it. ‘Pistol, where is your corkscrew? draw it +out.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s all your fault,’ sais the sleeping partner to +the head of the firm, ‘I told you to bring the umbrellas.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s all yours,’ retorts the afflicted husband, +‘I told you these things were all nonsense, and more trouble than they +were worth.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s all Hen’s fault,’ said Di, ‘for we +came on purpose to bring her out; she has never been at a pic-nic before, and +it’s holidays now. Oh! the brook has risen, and the planks are gone, we +shall have to wade; Hen, ask those men to go before, I don’t like them to +see above my ancles.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Catch me at a pic-nic again,’ said the terrified spinster. +</p> + +<p> +“‘You had better get home from this first, before you talk of +another,’ sais Di. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Di, Di,’ said Henrietta, ‘how can you act +so?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You may say Di, Di, if you please, dear,’ said the +tormentor; ‘but I never say die—and never will while there is life +in me. Letty, will you go to the ball to-night? we shall catch cold if we +don’t; for we have two miles more of the rain to endure in the open +carriages before we reach the steamer, and we shall be chilled when we cease +walking.’ +</p> + +<p> +“But Letty can do nothing but cry, as if she wasn’t wet enough +already. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Good gracious!’ sais the head of the house, ‘the +horses have overturned the carriage, broke the pole, and run away.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What’s the <i>upset</i> price of it, I wonder?’ sais +Di, ‘the horses will make ‘their <i>election</i> sure;’ they +are at the ‘head of <i>the pole,</i> they are returned and they have left +no <i>trace</i> behind.’ I wish they had taken the <i>rain</i> with them +also.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s a pity you wouldn’t <i>rein</i> your tongue in +also,’ said the fractious uncle. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I will, Nunky, if you will restrain your <i>choler.</i> De +Courcy, the horses are off at a ‘<i>smashing</i> pace;’ G soft, +it’s all <i>dickey</i> with us now, ain’t it? But that +<i>milk-sop,</i> Russel, is making a noise in his boots, as if he was +‘<i>churning</i> butter.’ Well, I never enjoyed anything so much as +this in my life; I do wish the Mudges had been here, it is the only thing +wanting to make this pic-nic perfect. What do you say, Target?’ +</p> + +<p> +“But Target don’t answer, he only mutters between his teeth +something that sounds like, ‘what a devil that girl is!’ Nobody +minds teasing now; their tempers are subdued, and they are dull, weary, and +silent—dissatisfied with themselves, with each other, and the day of +pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +“How could it be otherwise? It is a thing they didn’t understand, +and had no taste for. They took a deal of trouble to get away from the main +road as far as possible; they never penetrated farther into the forest than to +obtain a shade, and there eat an uncomfortable cold dinner, sitting on the +ground, had an ill-assorted party, provided no amusements, were thoroughly +bored, and drenched to the skin—and this some people call a day in the +bush. +</p> + +<p> +“There is an old proverb, that has a hidden meaning in it, that is +applicable to this sort of thing—‘<i>As a man calleth in the woods, +so it shall be answered to him</i>.’” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C16">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br/> +THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD.</h2> + +<p> +We made another attempt at walking on the deck—the moon was trying to +struggle through the fog, which was now of a bright copper colour. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” said I, “have you ever seen a yellow fog +before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “I have seen a white, black, red, and yellow +fog,” and went off into a disquisition about optics, mediums, +reflections, refractions, and all sorts of scientific terms. +</p> + +<p> +Well, I don’t like hard words; when you crack them, which is plaguy tough +work, you have to pick the kernel out with a cambric needle, and unless +it’s soaked in wine, like the heart of a hickory nut is, it don’t +taste nice, and don’t pay you for the trouble. So to change the subject, +“Doctor,” sais I, “how long is this everlasting mullatto +lookin’ fog a goin’ to last, for it ain’t white, and it +ain’t black, but kind of betwixt and between.” +</p> + +<p> +Sais he, and he stopped and listened a moment, “It will be gone by twelve +o’clock to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you think so?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear that?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sais I, “I do; it’s children a playin’ and +a chatterin’ in French. Now it’s nateral they should talk French, +seein’ their parents do. They call it their mother-tongue, for old wives +are like old hosses, they are all tongue, and when their teeth is gone, that +unruly member grows thicker and bigger, for it has a larger bed to stretch out +in,—not that it ever sleeps much, but it has a larger sphere of +action,—do you take? I don’t know whether you have had this feeling +of surprise, Doctor, but I have, hearing those little imps talk French, when, +to save my soul, I can’t jabber it that way myself. In course of nature +they must talk that lingo, for they are quilted in French—kissed in +French—fed in French—and put to bed in French,—and told to +pray to the Virgin in French, for that’s the language she loves best. She +knows a great many languages, but she can’t speak English since Henry the +Eighth’s time, when she said to him, ‘You be fiddled,’ which +meant, the Scotch should come with their fiddles and rule England. +</p> + +<p> +“Still somehow I feel strange when these little critters address me in +it, or when women use it to me (tho’ I don’t mind that so much, for +there are certain freemason signs the fair sex understand all over the world), +but the men puzzle me like Old Scratch, and I often say to myself, What a pity +it is the critters can’t speak English. I never pity myself for not being +able to jabber French, but I blush for their ignorance. However, all this is +neither here nor there. Now, Doctor, how can you tell this fog is booked for +the twelve o’clock train? Is there a Bradshaw for weather?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “there is, do you hear that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t hear nothing,” sais I, “but two Frenchmen +ashore a jawing like mad. One darsen’t, and t’other is afraid to +fight, so they are taking it out in gab—they ain’t worth listening +to. How do they tell you the weather?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said he, “it ain’t them. Do you hear the falls at +my lake? the west wind brings that to us. When I am there and the rote is on +the beach, it tells me it is the voice of the south wind giving notice of rain. +All nature warns me. The swallow, the pig, the goose, the fire on the hearth, +the soot in the flue, the smoke of the chimney, the rising and setting sun, the +white frost, the stars—all, all tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sais I, “when I am to home I know all them +signs.” +</p> + +<p> +“The spider too is my guide, and the ant also. But the little pimpernel, +the poor man’s weather-glass, and the convolvulus are truer than any +barometer, and a glass of water never lies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Doctor,” said I, “you and I read and study the same +book. I don’t mean to assert we are, as Sorrow says, nateral children, +but we are both children of nature, and honour our parents. I agree with you +about the fog, but I wanted to see if you could answer signals with me. I am so +glad you have come on board. You want amusement, I want instruction. I will +swap stories with you for bits of your wisdom, and as you won’t take +boot, I shall be a great gainer.” +</p> + +<p> +After a good deal of such conversation, we went below, and in due season turned +in, in a place where true comfort consists in oblivion. The morning, as the +doctor predicted, was clear, the fog was gone, and the little French village +lay before us in all the beauty of ugliness. The houses were small, unpainted, +and uninviting. Fish-flakes were spread on the beach, and the women were busy +in turning the cod upon them. Boats were leaving the shore for the +fishing-ground. Each of these was manned by two or three or four hands, who +made as much noise as if they were getting a vessel under weigh, and were +severally giving orders to each other with a rapidity of utterance that no +people but Frenchmen are capable of. +</p> + +<p> +“Every nation,” said the doctor, “has its peculiarity, but +the French Acadians excel all others in their adherence to their own ways; and +in this particular, the Chesencookers surpass even their own countrymen. The +men all dress alike, and the women all dress alike, as you will presently see, +and always have done so within the memory of man. A round, short jacket which +scarcely covers the waistcoat, trowsers that seldom reach below the +ankle-joint, and yarn stockings, all four being blue, and manufactured at home, +and apparently dyed in the same tub, with moccasins for the feet, and a round +fur or cloth cap to cover the head, constitute the uniform and unvaried dress +of the men. The attire of the women is equally simple. The short gown which +reaches to the hip, and the petticoat which serves for a skirt, both made of +coarse domestic cloth, having perpendicular blue and white stripes, constitute +the difference of dress that marks the distinction of the sexes, if we except a +handkerchief thrown over the head, and tied under the chin, for the blue +stockings and the moccasins are common to both, males and females. +</p> + +<p> +“There has been no innovation for a century in these particulars, unless +it be that a hat has found its way into Chesencook, not that such a stove-pipe +looking thing as that has any beauty in it; but the boys of Halifax are not to +be despised, if a hat is, and even an ourang-outang, if he ventured to walk +about the streets, would have to submit to wear one. But the case is different +with women, especially modest, discreet, unobtrusive ones, like those of the +‘long-shore French.’ They are stared at because they dress like +those in the world before the Flood, but it’s an even chance if the +antediluvian damsels were half so handsome; and what pretty girl can find it in +her heart to be very angry at attracting attention? Yes, their simple manners, +their innocence, and their sex are their protection. But no cap, bonnet, or +ribbon, velvet, muslin, or lace, was ever seen at Chesencook. Whether this +neglect of finery (the love of which is so natural to their countrywomen in +Europe) arises from a deep-rooted veneration for the ways of their +predecessors, or from the sage counsel of their spiritual instructors, who +desire to keep them from the contamination of the heretical world around them, +or from the conviction that +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘The adorning thee with so much art<br/> +Â Â Â Â Is but a barbarous skill,<br/> +’Tis like the barbing of a dart,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Too apt before to kill,’ +</p> + +<p> +I know not. Such however is the fact nevertheless, and you ought to record it, +as an instance in which they have shown their superiority to this universal +weakness. Still, both men and women are decently and comfortably clad. There is +no such thing as a ragged Acadian, and I never yet saw one begging his bread. +Some people are distinguished for their industry, others for their idleness; +some for their ingenuity, and others for their patience; but the great +characteristic of an Acadian is talk, and his talk is, from its novelty, +amusing and instructive, even in its nonsense. +</p> + +<p> +“These people live close to the banks where cod are found, and but little +time is required in proceeding to the scene of their labour, therefore there is +no necessity for being in a hurry, and there is lots of time for palaver. Every +boat has an oracle in it, who speaks with an air of authority. He is a great +talker, and a great smoker, and he chats so skilfully, that he enjoys his pipe +at the same time, and manages it so as not to interrupt his jabbering. He can +smoke, talk, and row at once. He don’t smoke fast, for that puts his pipe +out by consuming his tobacco; nor row fast, for it fatigues him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “but the tongue, I suppose, having, like a +clock, a locomotive power of its own, goes like one of my wooden ones for +twenty-four hours without ceasing, and like one of them also when it’s +e’en amost worn-out and up in years, goes at the rate of one hundred +minutes to the hour, strikes without counting the number, and gives good +measure, banging away often twenty tunes at one o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +Every boat now steered for the “Black Hawk,” and the oracle stopped +talking French to practise English. “How you do, Sare? how you do your +wife?” said Lewis Le Blanc, addressing me. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“No wife, ton pee? Who turn your fish for you, den?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whereat they all laugh, and all talk French again. And oracle says, +‘He takes his own eggs to market, den.’ He don’t laugh at +that, for wits never laugh at their own jokes; but the rest snicker till they +actilly scream. +</p> + +<p> +“What wind are we going to have, Lewis?” +</p> + +<p> +Oracle stands up, carefully surveys the sky, and notices all the signs, and +then looks wise, and answers in a way that there can be no mistake. “Now +you see, Sare, if de wind blow off de shore, den it will be west wind; if it +blow from de sea, den it will be east wind; and if it blow down coast,” +pointing to each quarter with his hand like a weather-cock, “den it will +sartain be sout; and up de coast, den you will be sartain it will come from de +nort. I never knew dat sign fail.” And he takes his pipe from his mouth, +knocks some ashes out of it, and spits in the water, as much as to say, Now I +am ready to swear to that. And well he may, for it amounts to this, that the +wind will blow from any quarter it comes from. The other three all regard him +with as much respect as if he was clerk of the weather. +</p> + +<p> +“Interesting people these, Doctor,” said I, “ain’t +they? It’s the world before the Flood. I wonder if they know how to +trade? Barter was the primitive traffick. Corn was given for oil, and fish for +honey, and sheep and goats for oxen and horses, and so on. There is a good deal +of trickery in barter, too, for necessity has no laws. The value of money we +know, and a thing is worth what it will fetch in cash; but swapping is a +different matter. It’s a horse of a different colour.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will find,” said the doctor, “the men (I except the +other sex always) are as acute as you are at a bargain. You are more like to be +bitten than to bite if you try that game with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bet you a dollar,” sais I, “I sell that old coon as easy as +a clock. What, a Chesencooker a match for a Yankee! Come, I like that; that is +good. Here goes for a trial, at any rate. +</p> + +<p> +“Mounsheer,” sais I, “have you any wood to sell?” +</p> + +<p> +We didn’t need no wood, but it don’t do to begin to ask for what +you want, or you can’t do nothin’. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the price,” said I, “cash down on the +nail?” for I knew the critter would see “the <i>point</i>” of +coming down with the <i>blunt.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“It’s ten dollars and a half,” said he, “a cord at +Halifax, and it don’t cost me nothin’ to carry it there, for I have +my own shallop—but I will sell it for ten dollars to oblige you.” +That was just seven dollars more than it was worth. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “that’s not high, only cash is scarce. +If you will take mackarel in pay, at six dollars a barrel (which was two +dollars more than its value), p’raps we might trade. Could you sell me +twenty cord?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, may be twenty-five.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the mackarel?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said he, “mackarel is only worth three dollars and a +half at Halifax. I can’t sell mine even at that. I have sixty barrels, +number one, for sale.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will promise me to let me have all the wood I want, more or +less,” sais I, “even if it is ever so little; or as much as thirty +cords, at ten dollars a cord, real rock maple, and yellow birch, then I will +take all your mackarel at three and a half dollars, money down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say four,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” sais I, “you say you can’t git but three and a +half at Halifax, and I won’t beat you down, nor advance one cent myself. +But mind, if I oblige you by buying all your mackarel, you must oblige me by +letting me have all the wood <i>I want</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Done,” said he; so we warped into the wharf, took the fish on +board, and I paid him the money, and cleared fifteen pounds by the operation. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” says I, “where is the wood?” +</p> + +<p> +“All this is mine,” said he, pointing to a pile, containing about +fifty cords. +</p> + +<p> +“Can I have it all,” said I, “if I want it?” +</p> + +<p> +He took off his cap and scratched his head; scratching helps a man to think +amazingly. He thought he had better ask a little more than ten dollars, as I +appeared to be so ready to buy at any price. So he said, +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you may have it all at ten and a half dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you said I might have what I wanted at ten.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I have changed my mind,” said he, “it is too +low.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so have I,” sais I, “I won’t trade with a man that +acts that way,” and I went on board, and the men cast off and began to +warp the vessel again up to her anchor. +</p> + +<p> +Lewis took off his cap and began scratching his head again, he had over-reached +himself. Expecting an immense profit on his wood, he had sold his fish very +low; he saw I was in earnest, and jumped on board. +</p> + +<p> +“Capitaine, you will have him at ten, so much as you want of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, measure me off half a cord.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” said he, opening both eyes to their full extent. +</p> + +<p> +“Measure me off half a cord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t you say you wanted twenty or thirty cord?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” sais I, “I said I must have that much if I wanted it, +but I don’t want it, it is only worth three dollars, and you have had the +modesty to ask ten, and then ten and a half, but I will take half a cord to +please you, so measure it off.” +</p> + +<p> +He stormed, and raved, and swore, and threw his cap down on the deck and jumped +on it, and stretched out his arm as if he was going to fight, and stretched out +his wizzened face, as if it made halloing easier, and foamed at the mouth like +a hoss that has eat lobelia in his hay. +</p> + +<p> +“Be gar,” he said, “I shall sue you before the common +scoundrels (council) at Halifax, I shall take it before the <i>sperm</i> +(supreme) court, and <i>try</i> it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much <i>ile</i> will you get,” sais I, “by +<i>tryin’ me</i> out, do you think? +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said I, in a loud voice, and looking over him at the +mate, and pretending to answer him. “Never mind if he won’t go on +shore, he is welcome to stay, and we will land him on the Isle of Sable, and +catch a wild hoss for him to swim home on.” +</p> + +<p> +The hint was electrical; he picked up his cap and ran aft, and with one +desperate leap reached the wharf in safety, when he turned and danced as before +with rage, and his last audible words were, “Be gar, I shall go to the +<i>sperm</i> court and <i>try</i> it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the world before the Flood, you see, Doctor,” said I, +“they knew how to cheat as well as the present race do; the only +improvement this fellow has made on the antediluvian race is, he can take +himself in, as well as others.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have often thought,” said the doctor, “that in our +dealings in life, and particularly in trading, a difficult question must often +arise whether a thing, notwithstanding the world sanctions it, is lawful and +right. Now what is your idea of smuggling?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never smuggled,” said I: “I have sometimes imported goods +and didn’t pay the duties; not that I wanted to smuggle, but because I +hadn’t time to go to the office. It’s a good deal of trouble to go +to a custom-house. When you get there you are sure to be delayed, and half the +time to git sarce. It costs a good deal; no one thanks you, and nobody defrays +cab-hire, and makes up for lost time, temper, and patience to you—it +don’t pay in a general way; sometimes it will; for instance, when I left +the embassy, I made thirty thousand pounds of your money by one operation. Lead +was scarce in our market, and very high, and the duty was one-third of the +prime cost, as a protection to the na<i>tive</i> article. So what does I do, +but go to old Galena, one of the greatest dealers in the lead trade in Great +Britain, and ascertained the wholesale price. +</p> + +<p> +“Sais I, ‘I want five hundred thousand dollars worth of +lead.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That is an immense order,’ said he, ‘Mr Slick. There +is no market in the world that can absorb so much at once.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘The loss will be mine,’ said I. ‘What deductions will +you make if I take it all from your house?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he came down handsome, and did the thing genteel. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now,’ sais I, ‘will you let one of your people go to +my cab, and bring a mould I have there.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it was done. +</p> + +<p> +“‘There,’ said I, ‘is a large bust of Washington. Every +citizen of the United States ought to have one, if he has a dust of patriotism +in him. I must have the lead cast into rough busts like that.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Hollow,’ said he, ‘of course.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, no,’ sais I, ‘by no manner of means, the heavier +and solider the better.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘But,’ said Galena, ‘Mr Slick, excuse me, though it is +against my own interest, I cannot but suggest you might find a cheaper +material, and one more suitable to your very laudable object.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Not at all,’ said I, ‘lead is the very identical +thing. If a man don’t like the statue and its price, and it’s like +as not he wont, he will like the lead. There is no duty on statuary, but there +is more than thirty per cent. on lead. The duty alone is a fortune of not less +than thirty thousand pounds, after all expenses are paid.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well now,’ said he, throwing back his head and laughing, +‘that is the most ingenious device to evade duties I ever heard +of.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I immediately gave orders to my agents at Liverpool to send so many tons +to Washington and every port and place on the seaboard of the United States +except New York, but not too many to any one town; and then I took passage in a +steamer, and ordered all my agents to close the consignment immediately, and +let the lead hero change hands. It was generally allowed to be the handsomest +operation ever performed in our country. Connecticut offered to send me to +Congress for it, the folks felt so proud of me. +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t call that smugglin’. It is a skilful reading of +a revenue law. My idea of smugglin’ is, there is the duty, and there is +the penalty; pay one and escape the other if you like, if not, run your chance +of the penalty. If the state wants revenue, let it collect its dues. If I want +my debts got in, I attend to drummin’ them up together myself; let +government do the same. There isn’t a bit of harm in smugglin’. I +don’t like a law restraining liberty. Let them that impose shackles look +to the bolts; that’s my idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“That argument won’t hold water, Slick,” said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it is as full of holes as a cullender.’ +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“The obligation between a government and a people is reciprocal. To +protect on the one hand, and to support on the other. Taxes are imposed, first, +for the maintenance of the government, and secondly, for such other objects as +are deemed necessary or expedient. The moment goods are imported, which are +subject to such exactions, the amount of the tax is a debt due to the state, +the evasion or denial of which is a fraud. The penalty is not an alternative at +your option; it is a punishment, and that always presupposes an offence. There +is no difference between defrauding the state or an individual. Corporeality, +or incorporeality, has nothing to do with the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “Domine Doctor, that doctrine of implicit +obedience to the government won’t hold water neither, otherwise, if you +had lived in Cromwell’s time, you would have to have assisted in cutting +the king’s head off, or fight in an unjust war, or a thousand other +wicked but legal things. I believe every tub must stand on its own bottom; +general rules won’t do. Take each separate, and judge of it by +itself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais the doctor; “try that in law and see how it +would work. No two cases would be decided alike; you’d be adrift at once, +and a drifting ship soon touches bottom. No, that won’t hold water. Stick +to general principles, and if a thing is an exception to the rule, put it in +Schedule A or B, and you know where to look for it. General rules are fixed +principles. But you are only talking for talk sake; I know you are. Do you +think now that merchant did right to aid you in evading the duty on your leaden +Washingtons?” +</p> + +<p> +“What the plague had he to do with our revenue laws? They don’t +bind him,” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the doctor, “but there is a higher law than the +statutes of the States or of England either, and that is the moral law. In +aiding you, he made the greatest sale of lead ever effected at once in England; +the profit on that was his share of the smuggling. But you are only drawing me +out to see what I am made of. You are an awful man for a bam. There goes old +Lewis in his fishing boat,” sais he. “Look at him shaking his fist +at you. Do you hear him jabbering away about <i>trying</i> it out in the +‘<i>sperm</i> court?’” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make him draw his fist in, I know,” sais I. So I seized +my rifle, and stepped behind the mast, so that he could not see me; and as a +large grey gull was passing over his boat high up in the air, I fired, and down +it fell on the old coon’s head so heavily and so suddenly, he thought he +was shot; and he and the others set up a yell of fright and terror that made +everybody on board of the little fleet of coasters that were anchored round us, +combine in three of the heartiest, merriest, and loudest cheers I ever heard. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Try</i> that out in the <i>sperm</i> court, you old bull-frog,” +sais I. “I guess there is more ile to be found in that fishy gentleman +than in me. Well,” sais I, “Doctor, to get back to what we was a +talking of. It’s a tight squeeze sometimes to scrouge between a lie and a +truth in business, ain’t it? The passage is so narrow, if you don’t +take care it will rip your trowser buttons off in spite of you. Fortunately I +am thin, and can do it like an eel, squirmey fashion; but a stout, awkward +fellow is most sure to be catched. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never forget a rise I once took out of a set of jockeys at +Albany. I had an everlastin’ fast Naraganset pacer once to Slickville, +one that I purchased in Mandarin’s place. I was considerable proud of +him, I do assure you, for he took the rag off the bush in great style. Well, +our stable-help, Pat Monaghan (him I used to call Mr Monaghan), would stuff him +with fresh clover without me knowing it, and as sure as rates, I broke his wind +in driving him too fast. It gave him the heaves, that is, it made his flanks +heave like a blacksmith’s bellows. We call it ‘heaves,’ +Britishers call it ‘broken wind.’ Well, there is no cure for it, +though some folks tell you a hornet’s nest cut up fine and put in their +meal will do it, and others say sift the oats clean and give them juniper +berries in it, and that will do it, or ground ginger, or tar, or what not; but +these are all quackeries. You can’t cure it, for it’s a ruption of +an air vessel, and you can’t get at it to sew it up. But you can fix it +up by diet and care, and proper usage, so that you can deceive even an old +hand, providin’ you don’t let him ride or drive the beast too fast. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I doctored and worked with him so, the most that could be +perceived was a slight cold, nothin’ to mind, much less frighten you. And +when I got him up to the notch, I advertised him for sale, as belonging to a +person going down east, who only parted with him because he thought him too +heav<i>ey</i> for a man who never travelled less than a mile in two minutes and +twenty seconds. Well, he was sold at auction, and knocked down to Rip Van Dam, +the Attorney-General, for five hundred dollars; and the owner put a saddle and +bridle on him, and took a bet of two hundred dollars with me, he could do a +mile in two minutes, fifty seconds. He didn’t know me from Adam +parsonally, at the time, but he had heard of me, and bought the horse because +it was said Sam Slick owned him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he started off, and lost his bet; for when he got near the +winnin’-post the horse choked, fell, and pitched the rider off half-way +to Troy, and nearly died himself. The umpire handed me the money, and I dug out +for the steam-boat intendin’ to pull foot for home. Just as I reached the +wharf, I heard my name called out, but I didn’t let on I noticed it, and +walked a-head. Presently, Van Dam seized me by the shoulder, quite out of +breath, puffin’ and blowin’ like a porpoise. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mr Slick?’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘what’s left of me; but good +gracious,’ sais I, ‘you have got the ‘heaves.’ I hope +it ain’t catchin’.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No I haven’t,’ said he, ‘but your cussed hoss +has, and nearly broke my neck. You are like all the Connecticut men I ever see, +a nasty, mean, long-necked, long-legged, narrow-chested, slab-sided, +narrow-souled, lantern-jawed, Yankee cheat.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘that’s a considerable of a long +name to write on the back of a letter, ain’t it? It ain’t good to +use such a swad of words, it’s no wonder you have the heaves; but +I’ll cure you; I warn’t brought up to wranglin’; I +hain’t time to fight you, and besides,’ said I, ‘you are +broken-winded; but I’ll chuck you over the wharf into the river to cool +you, boots and all, by gravy.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Didn’t you advertise,’ said he, ‘that the only +reason you had to part with that horse was, that he was too heavy for a man who +never travelled slower than a mile in two minutes and twenty seconds?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Never!’ sais I, ‘I never said such a word. What will +you bet I did?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Fifty dollars,’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Done,’ said I. ‘And, Vanderbelt—(he was just +going on board the steamer at the time)—Vanderbelt,’ sais I, +‘hold these stakes. Friend,’ sais I, ‘I won’t say you +lie, but you talk uncommonly like the way I do when I lie. Now prove it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And he pulled out one of my printed advertisements, and said, +‘Read that.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I read it. ‘It ain’t there,’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ain’t it?’ said he. ‘I leave it to +Vanderbelt.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mr Slick,’ said he, ‘you have lost—it is +here.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Will <i>you</i> bet fifty dollars,’ said I, ‘though +you have seen it, that it’s there?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I will.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Done,’ said I. ‘Now how do you spell heavy?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘H-e-a-v-y,’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Exactly,’ sais I; ‘so do I. But this is spelt +<i>heav-ey.</i> I did it on purpose. I scorn to take a man in about a horse, so +I published his defect to all the world. I said he was too <i>heavey</i> for +harness, and so he is. He ain’t worth fifty dollars—I +wouldn’t take him as a gift—he ain’t worth <i>von +dam</i>?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, I did see that,’ said he, ‘but I thought it was +an error of the press, or that the owner couldn’t spell.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh!’ sais I, ‘don’t take me for one of your +Dutch boors, I beg of you. I can spell, but you can’t read, that’s +all. You remind me,’ sais I, ‘of a feller in Slickville when the +six-cent letter stamps came in fashion. He licked the stamp so hard, he took +all the gum off, and it wouldn’t stay on, no how he could fix it, so what +does he do but put a pin through it, and writes on the letter, “Paid, if +the darned thing will only stick.” Now, if you go and lick the stamp +etarnally that way, folks will put a pin through it, and the story will stick +to you for ever and ever. But come on board, and let’s liquor, and I will +stand treat.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I felt sorry for the poor critter, and I told him how to feed the horse, +and advised him to take him to Saratoga, advertise him, and sell him the same +way; and he did, and got rid of him. The rise raised his character as a lawyer +amazing. He was elected governor next year; a sell like that is the making of a +lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I don’t call the lead Washingtons nor the <i>heavey</i> horse +either on ’em a case of cheat; but I do think a man ought to know how to +read a law and how to read an advertisement, don’t you? But come, let us +go ashore, and see how the galls look, for you have raised my curiosity.” +</p> + +<p> +We accordingly had the boat lowered; and taking Sorrow with us to see if he +could do anything in the catering line, the doctor, Cutler, and myself landed +on the beach, and walked round the settlement. +</p> + +<p> +The shore was covered with fish flakes, which sent up an aroma not the most +agreeable in the world except to those who lived there, and they, I do suppose, +snuff up the breeze as if it was loaded with wealth and smelt of the Gold +Coast. But this was nothing (although I don’t think I can ever eat dum +fish again as long as I live) to the effluvia arising from decomposed heaps of +sea-wood, which had been gathered for manure, and was in the act of removal to +the fields. No words can describe this, and I leave it to your imagination, +Squire, to form an idea of a new perfume in nastiness that has never yet been +appreciated but by an Irishman. +</p> + +<p> +I heard a Paddy once, at Halifax, describe the wreck of a carriage which had +been dashed to pieces. He said there was not “a smell of it left.” +Poor fellow, he must have landed at Chesencook, and removed one of those +oloriferous heaps, as Sorrow called them, and borrowed the metaphor from it, +that there was not “a smell of it left.” On the beach between the +“flakes” and the water, were smaller heaps of the garbage of the +cod-fish and mackarel, on which the grey and white gulls fought, screamed, and +gorged themselves, while on the bar were the remains of several enormous black +fish, half the size of whales, which had been driven on shore, and hauled up +out of the reach of the waves by strong ox teams. The heads and livers of these +huge monsters had been “<i>tried</i> out in the <i>Sperm</i> court” +for ile, and the putrid remains of the carcass were disputed for by pigs and +crows. The discordant noises of these hungry birds and beasts were perfectly +deafening. +</p> + +<p> +On the right-hand side of the harbour, boys and girls waded out on the flats to +dig clams, and were assailed on all sides by the screams of wild fowl who +resented the invasion of their territory, and were replied to in tones no less +shrill and unintelligible. On the left was the wreck of a large ship, which had +perished on the coast, and left its ribs and skeleton to bleach on the shore, +as if it had failed in the vain attempt to reach the forest from which it had +sprung, and to repose in death in its native valley. From one of its masts, a +long, loose, solitary shroud was pendant, having at its end a large double +block attached to it, on which a boy was seated, and swung backward and +forward. He was a little saucy urchin, of about twelve years of age, dressed in +striped homespun, and had on his head a red yarn clackmutch, that resembled a +cap of liberty. He seemed quite happy, and sung a verse of a French song with +an air of conscious pride and defiance as his mother, stick in hand, stood +before him, and at the top of her voice now threatened him with the rod, his +father, and the priest—and then treacherously coaxed him with a promise +to take him to Halifax, where he should see the great chapel, hear the big +bell, and look at the bishop. A group of little girls stared in amazement at +his courage, but trembled when they heard his mother predict a broken +neck—purgatory—and the devil as his portion. The dog was as excited +as the boy—he didn’t bark, but he whimpered as he gazed upon him, +as if he would like to jump up and be with him, or to assure him he would catch +him if he fell, if he had but the power to do so. +</p> + +<p> +What a picture it was—the huge wreck of that that once “walked the +waters as a thing of life”—the merry boy—the anxious +mother—the trembling sisters—the affectionate dog; what bits of +church-yard scenes were here combined—children playing on the +tombs—the young and the old—the merry and the aching +heart—the living among the dead. Far beyond this were tall figures wading +in the water, and seeking their food in the shallows; cranes, who felt the +impunity that the superstition of the simple <i>habitans</i> had extended to +them, and sought their daily meal in peace. +</p> + +<p> +Above the beach and parallel with it, ran a main road, on the upper side of +which were the houses, and on a swelling mound behind them rose the spire of +the chapel visible far off in the Atlantic, a sacred signal-post for the +guidance of the poor coaster. As soon as you reach this street or road and look +around you, you feel at once you are in a foreign country and a land of +strangers. The people, their dress, and their language, the houses, their form +and appearance, the implements of husbandry, their shape and +construction—all that you hear and see is unlike anything else. It is +neither above, beyond, or behind the age. It is the world before the Flood. I +have sketched it for you, and I think without bragging I may say I can take +things off to the life. Once I drawed a mutton chop so nateral, my dog broke +his teeth in tearing the panel to pieces to get at it; and at another time I +painted a shingle so like stone, when I threw it into the water, it sunk right +kerlash to the bottom. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “let me get away from here. +I can’t bear the sight of the sea-coast, and above all, of this offensive +place. Let us get into the woods where we can enjoy ourselves. You have never +witnessed what I have lately, and I trust in God you never will. I have seen +within this month two hundred dead bodies on a beach in every possible shape of +disfiguration and decomposition—mangled, mutilated, and dismembered +corpses; male and female, old and young, the prey of fishes, birds, beasts, +and, what is worse, of human beings. The wrecker had been there—whether +he was of your country or mine I know not, but I fervently hope he belonged to +neither. Oh, I have never slept sound since. The screams of the birds terrify +me, and yet what do they do but follow the instincts of their nature? They +batten on the dead, and if they do feed on the living, God has given them +animated beings for their sustenance, as, he has the fowls of the air, the +fishes of the sea, and the beasts of the field to us, but they feed not on each +other. Man, man alone is a cannibal. What an awful word that is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “for he is then below the canine +species—‘dog won’t eat dog.’<sup>1</sup> The wrecker +lives not on those who die, but on those whom he slays. The pirate has courage +at least to boast of, he risks his life to rob the ship, but the other attacks +the helpless and unarmed, and spares neither age nor sex in his thirst for +plunder. I don’t mean to say we are worse on this side of the Atlantic +than the other, God forbid. I believe we are better, for the American people +are a kind, a feeling, and a humane race. But avarice hardens the heart, and +distress, when it comes in a mass, overpowers pity for the individual, while +inability to aid a multitude induces a carelessness to assist any. A whole +community will rush to the rescue of a drowning man, not because his purse can +enrich them all (that is too dark a view of human nature), but because he is +the sole object of interest. When there are hundreds struggling for life, few +of whom can be saved, and when some wretches are solely bent on booty, the +rest, regardless of duty, rush in for their share also, and the ship and her +cargo attract all. When the wreck is plundered, the transition to rifling the +dying and the dead is not difficult, and cupidity, when once sharpened by +success, brooks no resistance, for the remonstrance of conscience is easily +silenced where supplication is not even heard. Avarice benumbs the feelings, +and when the heart is hardened, man becomes a mere beast of prey. Oh this scene +afflicts me—let us move on. These poor people have never yet been +suspected of such atrocities, and surely they were not perpetrated <i>in the +world before the Flood</i>.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> This homely adage is far more expressive than the Latin +one:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Parcit<br/> +Cognates maculis, similis fera.”—Juv. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C17">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br/> +LOST AT SEA.</h2> + +<p> +“I believe, Doctor,” sais I, “we have seen all that is worth +notice here, let us go into one of their houses and ascertain if there is +anything for Sorrow’s larder; but, Doctor,” sais I, “let us +first find out if they speak English, for if they do we must be careful what we +say before them. Very few of the old people I guess know anything but French, +but the younger ones who frequent the Halifax market know more than they +pretend to if they are like some other <i>habitans</i> I saw at New Orleans. +They are as cunning as foxes.” +</p> + +<p> +Proceeding to one of the largest cottages, we immediately gained admission. The +door, unlike those of Nova Scotian houses, opened outwards, the fastening being +a simple wooden latch. The room into which we entered was a large, dark, dingy, +dirty apartment. In the centre of it was a tub containing some goslins, +resembling yellow balls of corn-meal, rather than birds. Two females were all +that were at home, one a little wrinkled woman, whose age it would puzzle a +physiognomist to pronounce on, the other a girl about twenty-five years old. +They sat on opposite sides of the fire-place, and both were clothed alike, in +blue striped homespun, as previously described. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at their moccasins,” said the doctor. “They know much +more about deer-skins than half the English settlers do. Do you observe, they +are made of carriboo, and not moose hide. The former contracts with wet and the +other distends and gets out of shape. Simple as that little thing is, few +people have ever noticed it.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl, had she been differently trained and dressed, would have been +handsome, but spare diet, exposure to the sun and wind, and field-labour, had +bronzed her face, so that it was difficult to say what her real complexion was. +Her hair was jet black and very luxuriant, but the handkerchief which served +for bonnet and head-dress by day, and for a cap by night, hid all but the ample +folds in front. Her teeth were as white as ivory, and contrasted strangely with +the gipsy colour of her cheeks. Her eyes were black, soft, and liquid, and the +lashes remarkably long, but the expression of her face, which was naturally +good, indicated, though not very accurately, the absence of either thought or +curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +After a while objects became more distinct in the room, as we gradually became +accustomed to the dim light of the small windows. The walls were hung round +with large hanks of yarn, principally blue and white. An open cupboard +displayed some plain coarse cups and saucers, and the furniture consisted of +two rough tables, a large bunk,<sup>1</sup> one or two sea-chests, and a few +chairs of simple workmanship. A large old-fashioned spinning-wheel and a +barrel-churn stood in one corner, and in the other a shoemaker’s bench, +while carpenter’s tools were suspended on nails in such places as were +not occupied by yarn. There was no ceiling or plastering visible anywhere, the +floor of the attic alone separated that portion of the house from the lower +room, and the joice on which it was laid were thus exposed to view, and +supported on wooden cleets, leather, oars, rudders, together with some +half-dressed pieces of ash, snow-shoes, and such other things as necessity +might require. The wood-work, wherever visible, was begrimed with smoke, and +the floor, though doubtless sometimes swept, appeared as if it had the +hydrophobia hidden in its cracks, so carefully were soap and water kept from +it. Hams and bacon were nowhere visible. It is probable, if they had any, they +were kept elsewhere, but still more probable that they had found their way to +market, and been transmuted into money, for these people are remarkably frugal +and abstemious, and there can be no doubt, the doctor says, that there is not a +house in the settlement in which there is not a supply of ready money, though +the appearance of the buildings and their inmates would by no means justify a +stranger in supposing so. They are neither poor nor destitute, but far better +off than those who live more comfortably and inhabit better houses. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Bunk is a word in common use, and means a box that makes a seat by +day and serves for a bedstead by night. +</p> + +<p> +The only article of food that I saw was a barrel of eggs, most probably +accumulated for the Halifax market, and a few small fish on rods, undergoing +the process of smoking in the chimney corner. +</p> + +<p> +The old woman was knitting and enjoying her pipe, and the girl was dressing +wool, and handling a pair of cards with a rapidity and ease that would have +surprised a Lancashire weaver. The moment she rose to sweep up the hearth I saw +she was an heiress. When an Acadian girl has but her outer and under garment +on, it is a clear sign, if she marries, there will be a heavy demand on the +fleeces of her husband’s sheep; but if she wears four or more thick +woollen petticoats, it is equally certain her portion of worldly goods is not +very small. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” sais I, “it tante every darnin’ needle would +reach her through them petticoats, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said he, “Mr Slick—oh!” and he rose as +usual, stooped forward, pressed his hands on his ribs, and ran round the room, +if not at the imminent risk of his life, certainly to the great danger of the +spinning wheel and the goslings. Both the females regarded him with great +surprise, and not without some alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“He has the stomach-ache,” sais I, in French, “he is subject +to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! oh!” said he, when he heard that, “oh, Mr Slick, you +will be the death of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got any peppermint?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said she, talking in her own <i>patois;</i> and she scraped a +spoonful of soot from the chimney, and putting it into a cup, was about pouring +hot water on it for an emetic, when he could stand it no longer, but rushing +out of the door, put to flight a flock of geese that were awaiting their usual +meal, and stumbling over a pig, fell at full length on the ground, nearly +crushing the dog, who went off yelling as if another such blow would be the +death of him, and hid himself under the barn. The idea of the soot-emetic +relieved the old lady, though it nearly fixed the doctor’s flint for him. +She extolled its virtues to the skies; she saved her daughter’s life, she +said, with it once, who had been to Halifax, and was taken by an officer into a +pastrycook’s shop and treated. He told her if she would eat as much as +she could at once, he would pay for it all. +</p> + +<p> +Well, she did her best. She eat one loaf of plumcake, three trays of jellies, a +whole counter of little tarts, figs, raisins, and oranges, and all sorts of +things without number. Oh! it was a grand chance, she said, and the way she eat +was a caution to a cormorant; but at last she gave out she couldn’t do no +more. The foolish officer, the old lady observed, if he had let her fetch all +them things home, you know we could have helped her to eat them, and if we +couldn’t have eat ’em all in one day, surely we could in one week; +but he didn’t think of that I suppose. But her daughter liked to have +died; too much of a good thing is good for nothing. Well, the soot-emetic cured +her, and then she told me all its effects; and it’s very surprising, it +didn’t sound bad in French, but it don’t do to write it in English +at all; it’s the same thing, but it tells better in French. It must be a +very nice language that for a doctor, when it makes emetics sound so pretty; +you might hear of ’em while you was at dinner and not disturb you. +</p> + +<p> +You may depend it made the old lady wake snakes and walk chalks talking of +physic. She told me if a man was dying or a child was born in all that +settlement, she was always sent for, and related to me some capital stories; +but somehow no English or Yankee woman could tell them to a man, and a man +can’t tell them in English. How is this, Squire, do you know? Ah! here is +the doctor, I will ask him by and by. +</p> + +<p> +Women, I believe, are born with certain natural tastes. Sally was death on +lace, and old Aunt Thankful goes the whole figure for furs; either on ’em +could tell real thread or genuine sable clear across the church. Mother was +born with a tidy devil, and had an eye for cobwebs and blue-bottle flies. She +waged eternal war on ’em; while Phoebe Hopewell beat all natur for +bigotry and virtue as she called them <i>(bijouterie</i> and <i>virtu).</i> But +most Yankee women when they grow old, specially if they are spinsters, are +grand at compoundin’ medicines and presarves. They begin by nursin’ +babies and end by nursin’ broughten up folks. Old Mother Boudrot, now, +was great on herbs, most of which were as simple and as harmless as herself. +Some of them was new to me, though I think I know better ones than she has; but +what made her onfallible was she had faith. She took a key out of her pocket, +big enough for a jail-door, and unlocking a huge sailor’s chest, selected +a box made by the Indians of birch bark, worked with porcupine quills, which +enclosed another a size smaller, and that a littler one that would just fit +into it, and so on till she came to one about the size of an old-fashioned +coffee-cup. They are called a nest of boxes. The inner one contained a little +horn thing that looked like a pill-box, and that had a charm in it. +</p> + +<p> +It was a portion of the nail of St Francis’s big toe, which never failed +to work a cure on them who believed in it. She said she bought it from a French +prisoner, who had deserted from Melville Island, at Halifax, during the last +war. She gave him a suit of clothes, two shirts, six pair of stockings, and +eight dollars for it. The box was only a bit of bone, and not worthy of the +sacred relic, but she couldn’t afford to get a gold one for it. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor St Croix,” she said, “I shall never see him again. He +had great larning; he could both read and write. When he sold me that holy +thing, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Madam, I am afraid something dreadful will happen to me before +long for selling that relic. When danger and trouble come, where will be my +charm then?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sure enough, two nights after (it was a very dark night) the dogs +barked dreadful, and in the morning Peter La Roue, when he got up, saw his +father’s head on the gate-post, grinnin’ at him, and his daughter +Annie’s handkerchief tied over his crown and down under his chin. And St +Croix was gone, and Annie was in a trance, and the priest’s desk was +gone, with two hundred pounds of money in it; and old Jodrie’s ram had a +saddle and bridle on, and was tied to a gate of the widow of Justine Robisheau, +that was drowned in a well at Halifax; and Simon Como’s boat put off to +sea of itself, and was no more heard of. Oh, it was a terrible night, and poor +St Croix, people felt very sorry for him, and for Annie La Roue, who slept two +whole days and nights before she woke up. She had all her father’s money +in her room that night; but they searched day after day and never found +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, I didn’t undeceive her. What’s the use? Master St Croix was +an old privateers-man. He had drugged La Roue’s daughter to rob her of +her money; had stolen two hundred pounds from the priest, and Como’s +boat, and sold the old lady a piece of his toe-nail for eight or ten +pounds’ worth in all. <i>I never shake the faith of an ignorant person. +Suppose they do believe too much, it is safer than believing too little. You +may make them give up their creed, but they ain’t always quite so willing +to take your’s. It is easier to make an infidel than a convert.</i> So I +just let folks be, and suffer them to skin their own eels. +</p> + +<p> +After that she took to paying me compliments on my French, and I complimented +her on her good looks, and she confessed she was very handsome when she was +young, and all the men were in love with her, and so on. Well, when I was about +startin’, I inquired what she had to sell in the eatin’ line. +</p> + +<p> +“Eggs and fish,” she said, “were all she had in the +house.” +</p> + +<p> +On examining the barrel containing the former, I found a white-lookin’, +tasteless powder among them. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +Well, she told me what it was (pulverised gypsum), and said, “It would +keep them sweet and fresh for three months at least, and she didn’t know +but more.” +</p> + +<p> +So I put my hand away down into the barrel and pulled out two, and that layer +she said was three months old. I held them to the light, and they were as clear +as if laid yesterday. +</p> + +<p> +“Boil them,” sais I, and she did so; and I must say it was a +wrinkle I didn’t expect to pick up at such a place as that, for nothing +could be fresher. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is a dollar,” said I, “for that receipt, for it’s +worth knowing, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” thinks I, as I took my seat again, “I will try and see +if this French gall can talk English.” I asked her, but she shook her +head. +</p> + +<p> +So to prove her, sais I, “Doctor, ain’t she a beauty, that? See +what lovely eyes she has, and magnificent hair! Oh, if she was well got up, and +fashionably dressed, wouldn’t she be a sneezer? What beautiful little +hands and feet she has! I wonder if she would marry me, seein’ I am an +orthodox man.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, she never moved a muscle; she kept her eyes fixed on her work, and there +wasn’t the leastest mite of a smile on her face. I kinder sorter thought +her head was rather more stationary, if anything, as if she was listening, and +her eyes more fixed, as if she was all attention; but she had dropped a stitch +in her knitting, and was taking of it up, so perhaps I might be mistaken. +Thinks I, I will try you on t’other tack. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor, how would you like to kiss her, eh? Ripe-looking lips them, +ain’t they? Well, I wouldn’t kiss her for the world,” said I; +“I would just as soon think of kissing a ham that is covered with +creosote. There is so much ile and smoke on ’em, I should have the taste +in my mouth for a week. Phew! I think I taste it now!” +</p> + +<p> +She coloured a little at that, and pretty soon got up and went out of the room; +and presently I heard her washing her hands and face like anything, +</p> + +<p> +Thinks I, “You sly fox! you know English well enough to kiss in it +anyhow, if you can’t talk in it easy. I thought I’de find you out; +for a gall that won’t laugh when you tickle her, can’t help +screamin’ a little when you pinch her; that’s a fact.” She +returned in a few minutes quite a different lookin’ person, and resumed +her usual employment, but still persisted that she did not know English. In the +midst of our conversation, the master of the house, Jerome Boudrot, came in. +Like most of the natives of Chesencook, he was short in stature, but very +active, and like all the rest a great talker. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “you follow de sea, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” sais I, “the sea often follows us, especially when the +wind is fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, true,” he said; “I forget dat. It followed me one +time. Oh, I was wunst lost at sea; and it’s an awful feelin’. I was +out of sight of land one whole day, all night, and eetle piece of next day. Oh, +I was proper frightened. It was all sea and sky, and big wave, and no land, and +none of us knew our way back.” And he opened his eyes as if the very +recollection of his danger alarmed him. “At last big ship came by, and +hailed her, and ask: +</p> + +<p> +“‘My name is Jerry Boudrot; where am I?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Aboard of your own vessel,’ said they; and they laughed +like anything, and left us. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, towards night we were overtaken by Yankee vessel, and I say, +‘My name is Jerry Boudrot; where am I?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>Thar</i>,’ said the sarcy Yankee captain, ‘and if +you get this far, you will be <i>here</i>;’ and they laughed at me, and I +swore at them, and called ’em all manner of names. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then I was proper frightened, and I gave myself up for lost, and I +was so sorry I hadn’t put my deed of my land on recor, and that I never +got pay for half a cord of wood I sold a woman, who nevare return agin, last +time I was to Halifax; and Esadore Terrio owe me two shillings and sixpence, +and I got no note of hand for it, and I lend my ox-cart for one day to Martell +Baban, and he will keep it for a week, and wear it out, and my wife marry again +as sure as de world. Oh, I was very scare and propare sorry, you may depend, +when presently great big English ship come by, and I hail her. +</p> + +<p> +“‘My name is Jerry Boudrot,’ sais I, ‘when did you see +land last?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Thirty days ago,’ said the captain. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Where am I?’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘In 44° 40′ north,’ said he, ‘and 63° +40′ west,’ as near as I could hear him. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And what country is dat are?’ said I. ‘My name is +Jerry Boudrot.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Where are you bound?’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Home,’<sup>1</sup> said I. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> All colonists call England “home.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ said he, ‘at this season of the year you shall +make de run in twenty-five day. A pleasant passage to you!’ and away he +went. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I was plague scared; for it is a dreadful thing to be lost at sea. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Twenty-five days,’ said I, ‘afore we get home! Oh, +mon Dieu! oh dear! we shall all starve to death; and what is worse, die first. +What provision have we, boys?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais they, ‘we counted, and we have two figs +of tobacco, and six loaf baker’s bread (for the priest), two feet of +wood, three matches, and five gallons of water, and one pipe among us +all.’ Three matches and five gallons of water! Oh, I was so sorry to lose +my life, and what was wus, I had my best clothes on bord. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, boys, we are out of sight of land now,’ sais I, +‘and what is wus, may be we go so far we get out sight of de sun too, +where is dark like down cellar. Oh, it’s a shocking ting to be lost at +sea. Oh, people lose deir way dere so bad, sometimes dey nevare return no more. +People that’s lost in de wood dey come back if dey live, but them +that’s lost at sea nevare. Oh, I was damn scared. Oh, mon Dieu! what is +44° 40′ north and 63° 40′ west? Is dat de conetry were +people who are lost at sea go to? Boys, is there any rum on board?’ and +they said there was a bottle for the old lady’s rheumatis. ‘Well, +hand it up,’ sais I, ‘and if ever you get back tell her it was lost +at sea, and has gone to 44° 40′ north and 63° 40′ west. +Oh, dear, dis all comes from going out of sight of land.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I was vary dry you may depend; I was so scared at being lost at sea +that way, my lips stuck together like the sole and upper-leather of a shoe. And +when I took down the bottle to draw breath, the boys took it away, as it was +all we had. Oh, it set my mouth afire, it was made to warm outside and not +inside. Dere was brimstone, and camphor, and eetle red pepper, and turpentene +in it. Vary hot, vary nasty, and vary trong, and it made me sea-sick, and I +gave up my dinner, for I could not hole him no longer, he jump so in de +stomach, and what was wus, I had so little for anoder meal. Fust I lose my way, +den I lose my sense, den I lose my dinner, and what is wus I lose myself to +sea. Oh, I repent vary mush of my sin in going out of sight of land. Well, I +lights my pipe and walks up and down, and presently the sun comes out quite +bright. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, dat sun,’ sais I, ‘boys, sets every night +behind my barn in the big swamp, somewhere about the Hemlock Grove. Well, dat +is 63° 40′ west I suppose. And it rises a few miles to the eastward +of that barn, sometimes out of a fog bank, and sometimes out o’ the +water; well that is 44° 40′ north, which is all but east I suppose. +Now, if we steer west we will see our barn, but steering east is being lost at +sea, for in time you would be behind de sun.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we didn’t sleep much dat night, you may depend, but we +prayed a great deal, and we talked a great deal, and I was so cussed scared I +did not know what to do. Well, morning came and still no land, and I began to +get diablement feared again. Every two or tree minutes I run up de +riggin’ and look out, but couldn’t see notin’. At last I went +down to my trunk, for I had bottle there for my rheumatics too, only no nasty +stuff in it, that the boys didn’t know of, and I took very long draught, +I was so scared; and then I went on deck and up de riggin’ again. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Boys,’ sais I, ‘there’s the barn. That’s +63° 40′ west. I tole you so.’ Well, when I came down I went on +my knees, and I vowed as long as I lived I would hug as tight and close as ever +I could.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your wife?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh, no,” said he, turning round contemptuously towards her; +“hug her, eh! why, she has got the rheumatiz, and her tongue is in +mourning for her teeth. No, hug the shore, man, hug it so close as posseeble, +and nevare lose sight of land for fear of being lost at sea.” +</p> + +<p> +The old woman perceiving that Jerry had been making some joke at her expense, +asked the girl the meaning of it, when she rose, and seizing his cap and boxing +his ears with it, right and left, asked what he meant by wearing it before +gentlemen, and then poured out a torrent of abuse on him, with such volubility +I was unable to follow it. +</p> + +<p> +Jerry sneaked off, and set in the corner near his daughter, afraid to speak, +and the old woman took her chair again, unable to do so. There was a truce and +a calm, so to change the conversation, sais I: +</p> + +<p> +“Sorrow, take the rifle and go and see if there is a Jesuit-priest about +here, and if there is shoot him, and take him on board and cook him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Massa Sam,” said he, and he opened his eyes and goggled like +an owl awfully frightened. “Goody gracious me, now you is joking, +isn’t you? I is sure you is. You wouldn’t now, Massa, you +wouldn’t make dis child do murder, would you? Oh, Massa!! kill de poor +priest who nebber did no harm in all his born days, and him hab no wife and +child to follow him to—” +</p> + +<p> +“The pot,” sais I, “oh, yes, if they ask me arter him I will +say he is gone to pot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Massa, now you is funnin, ain’t you?” and he tried to +force a laugh. “How in de world under de canopy ob hebbin must de priest +be cooked?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cut his head and feet off,” sais I, “break his thighs short, +close up to the stumps, bend ’em up his side, ram him into the pot and +stew him with ham and vegetables. Lick! a Jesuit-priest is delicious done that +way.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl dropped her cards on her knees and looked at me with intense anxiety. +She seemed quite handsome, I do actilly believe if she was put into a tub and +washed, laid out on the grass a few nights with her face up to bleach it, her +great yarn petticoats hauled off and proper ones put on, and her head and feet +dressed right, she’d beat the Blue-nose galls for beauty out and out; but +that is neither here nor there, those that want white faces must wash them, and +those that want white floors must scrub them, it’s enough for me that +they are white, without my making them so. Well, she looked all eyes and ears. +Jerry’s under-jaw dropped, Cutler was flabbergasted, and the doctor +looked as if he thought, “Well, what are you at now?” while the old +woman appeared anxious enough to give her whole barrel of eggs to know what was +going on. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Massa,” said Sorrow, “dis here child can’t have no +hand in it. De priest will pyson you, to a dead sartainty. If he was baked he +mout do. In Africa dey is hannibals and eat dere prisoners, but den dey bake or +roast ’em, but stew him, Massa! by golly he will pyson you, as sure as +‘postles. My dear ole missus died from only eaten hogs wid dere heads +on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hogs!” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Massa, in course, hogs wid dere heads on. Oh, she was a most a +beautiful cook, but she was fizzled out by bad cookery at de last.” +</p> + +<p> +“You black villain,” said I, “do you mean to say your +mistress ever eat whole hogs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Massa, in course I do, but it was abbin’ dere heads on fixed +her flint for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“What an awful liar you are, Sorrow!” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Pon my sacred word and honour, Massa,” he said, “I +stake my testament oat on it; does you tink dis here child now would swear to a +lie? true as preachin’, Sar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said I, “I like to see a fellow go the whole animal +while he is about it. How many did it take to kill her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Massa, she told me herself, on her def bed, she didn’t eat +no more nor ten or a dozen hogs, but she didn’t blame dem, it was +havin’ dere heads on did all the mischief. I was away when dey was +cooked, or it wouldn’t a happened. I was down to Charleston Bank to draw +six hundred dollars for her, and when I came back she sent for me. +‘Sorrow,’ sais she, ‘Plutarch has poisoned me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, de black villain’, sais I, ‘Missus, I will tye +him to a tree and burn him.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, no,’ she said, ‘I will return good for ebil. Send +for Rev. Mr Hominy, and Mr Succatash, de Yankee oberseer, and tell my poor +granny Chloe her ole missus is dyin’, and to come back, hot foot, and +bring Plutarch, for my disgestion is all gone.’ Well, when Plutarch came +she said, ‘Plue, my child, you have killed your missus by cooking de hogs +wid dere heads on, but I won’t punish you, I is intendin’ to +extinguish you by kindness among de plantation niggers. I will heap coals of +fire on your head.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Dat’s right, Missus,’ sais I, ‘burn the villain +up, but burn him with green wood so as to make slow fire, dat’s de +ticket, Missus, it sarves him right.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if you eber heard yellin’, Massa, you’d a heard it den. +Plue he trowed himself down on de ground, and he rolled and he kicked and he +screamed like mad. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Don’t make a noise, Plutarch,’ said she, ‘I +can’t stand it. I isn’t a goin’ to put you to def. You shall +lib. I will gib you a wife.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, tankee, Missus,’ said he, ‘oh, I will pray for +you night and day, when I ain’t at work or asleep, for eber and eber. +Amen.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You shall ab Cloe for a wife.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Cloe, Massa, was seventy-five, if she was one blessed second old. She +was crippled with rheumatis, and walked on crutches, and hadn’t a tooth +in her head. She was just doubled up like a tall nigger in a short bed. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Lord, Missus,’ said Plutarch, ‘hab mercy on dis +sinner, O dear Missus, O lubly Missus, oh hab mercy on dis child.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Tankee, Missus,’ said Cloe. ‘God bless you, Missus, I +is quite appy now. I is a leetle too young for dat spark, for I is +cuttin’ a new set o’ teeth now, and ab suffered from teethin’ +most amazin’, but I will make him a lubin’ wife. Don’t be +shy, Mr Plue,’ said she, and she up wid one ob her crutches and gub him a +poke in de ribs dat made him grunt like a pig. ‘Come, tand up,’ +said she, ‘till de parson tie de knot round your neck.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh! Lord, Missus,’ said he, ‘ab massy!’ But de +parson married ’em, and said, ‘Slute your bride!’ but he +didn’t move. +</p> + +<p> +“‘He is so bashful,’ said Cloe, takin’ him round de +neck and kissin’ ob him. ‘Oh, Missus!’ she said, ‘I is +so proud ob my bridegroom—he do look so genteel wid ole massa’s +frill shirt on, don’t he?’ +</p> + +<p> +“When dey went out o’ de room into de entry, Cloe fotched him a +crack ober his pate with her crutch that sounded like a cocoa-nut, it was so +hollow. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Take dat,’ said she, ‘for not slutin’ ob your +bride, you good-for-nottin’ onmanerly scallawag you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Poor dear missus! she died dat identical night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come here, Sorrow,” said I; “come and look me in the +face.” +</p> + +<p> +The moment he advanced, Jerry slipt across the room, and tried to hide behind +the tongues near his wife. He was terrified to death. “Do you mean to +say,” said I, “she died of going the whole hog? Was it a +hog—tell me the truth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Massa,” said he, “I don’t know to a zact +sartainty, for I was not dere when she was tooked ill,—I was at de bank +at de time,—but I will take my davy it was hogs or dogs. I wont just +zackly sartify which, because she was ‘mazin’ fond of both; but I +will swear it was one or toder, and dat dey was cooked wid dere heads +on—dat I will stificate to till I die!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hogs or dogs,” said I, “whole, with their heads on—do +you mean that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Massa, dis here child do, of a sartainty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hogs like the pig, and dogs like the Newfoundlander at the door?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, Massa, in course it don’t stand to argument ob reason it +was. Oh, no, it was quadogs and quahogs—clams, you know. We calls +’em down South, for shortness, hogs and dogs. Oh, Massa, in course you +knows dat—I is sure you does—you is only intendin’ on puppose +to make game of dis here nigger, isn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You villain,” said I, “you took a rise out of me that time, +at any rate. It ain’t often any feller does that, so I think you deserve +a glass of the old Jamaiky for it when we go on board. Now go and shoot a +Jesuit-priest if you see one.” +</p> + +<p> +The gall explained the order to her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Shoot the priest?” said she, in French. +</p> + +<p> +“Shoot the priest,” said Jerry; “shoot me!” And he +popped down behind his wife, as if he had no objection to her receiving the +ball first. +</p> + +<p> +She ran to her chest, and got out the little horn box with the nail of St +Francis, and looked determined to die at her post. Sorrow deposited the gun in +the corner, hung down his head, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Dis here child, Massa Slick, can’t do no murder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I must do it myself,” said I, rising and proceeding to get my +rifle. +</p> + +<p> +“Slick,” said the doctor, “what the devil do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” says I, a settin’ down again, “I’ll tell +you. Jesuit-priests were first seen in Spain and Portugal, where they are very +fond of them. I have often eaten them there.” +</p> + +<p> +“First seen in Spain and Portugal!” he replied. “You are out +there—but go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a man,” said I, “in Yorkshire, who says his +ancestor brought the first over from America, when he accompanied Cabot in his +voyages, and he has one as a crest. But that is all bunkum. Cabot never saw +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“What in the world do you call a Jesuit-priest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why a turkey to be sure,” said I; “that’s what they +call them at Madrid and Lisbon, after the Jesuits who first introduced them +into Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“My goody gracious!” said Sorrow, “if that ain’t fun +alive it’s a pity, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll,” said Jerry, “I was lost at sea that time; I +was out of sight of land. It puzzled me like 44° north, and 63° +40′ west.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hogs, dogs, and Jesuit-priests!” said the doctor, and off he set +again, with his hands on his sides, rushing round the room in convulsions of +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“The priest,” said I to the old woman, “has given him a pain +in his stomach,” when she ran to the dresser again, and got the cup of +soot for him which had not yet been emptied. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh dear!” said he, “I can’t stand that; oh, Slick, you +will be the death of me yet,” and he bolted out of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Having purchased a bushel of clams from the old lady, and bid her and her +daughter good-bye, we <i>vamosed the ranche</i>.<sup>1</sup> At the door I saw +a noble gobbler. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> One of the numerous corruptions of Spanish words introduced into +the States since the Mexican war, and signifies to quit the house or shanty. +Rancho designates a hut, covered with branches, where herdsmen temporarily +reside. +</p> + +<p> +“What will you take for that Jesuit-priest,” said I, +“Jerry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Seven and sixpence,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Done,” said I, and his head was perforated with a ball in an +instant. +</p> + +<p> +The dog unused to such a sound from his master’s house, and recollecting +the damage he received from the fall of the doctor, set off with the most +piteous howls that ever were heard, and fled for safety—the pigs squealed +as if they had each been wounded—and the geese joined in the general +uproar—while old Madam Boudrot and her daughter rushed screaming to the +door to ascertain what these dreadful men were about, who talked of shooting +priests, and eating hogs and dogs entire with their heads on. It was some time +before order was restored, and when Jerry went into the house to light his pipe +and deposit his money, I called Cutler’s attention to the action and +style of a horse in the pasture whom my gun had alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +“That animal,” said I, “must have dropped from the clouds. If +he is young and sound, and he moves as if he were both, he is worth six hundred +dollars. I must have him; can you give him a passage till we meet one of our +large coal ships coming from Pictou?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Jerry,” sais I, when he returned, “what in the world do you +keep such a fly-away devil as that for? why don’t you sell him and buy +cattle? Can’t you sell him at Halifax?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh”, said he, “I can’t go there now no more, Mr Slick. +The boys call after me and say: Jerry, when did you see land last? My name is +Jerry Boudrot, where am I? Jerry, I thought you was lost at sea! Jerry, has +your colt got any slippares on yet (shoes)? Jerry, what does 44—40 mean? +Oh! I can’t stand it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you send him by a neighbour?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! none o’ my neighbours can ride him. We can’t break him. +We are fishermen, not horsemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did he come from?” +</p> + +<p> +“The priest brought a mare from Canada with him, and this is her colt. He +gave it to me when I returned from being lost at sea, he was so glad to see me. +I wish you would buy him, Mr Slick; you will have him cheap; I can’t do +noting with him, and no fence shall stop him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What the plague,” sais I, “do you suppose I want of a horse +on board of a ship? do you want me to be lost at sea too? and besides, if I did +try to oblige you,” said I, “and offered you five pounds for that +devil nobody can ride, and no fence stop, you’d ask seven pound ten right +off. Now, that turkey was not worth a dollar here, and you asked at once seven +and sixpence. Nobody can trade with you, you are so everlasting sharp. If you +was lost at sea, you know your way by land, at all events.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais he, “say seven pounds ten, and you will have +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! of course,” said I, “there is capital pasture on board +of a vessel, ain’t there? Where am I to get hay till I send him +home?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will give you tree hundredweight into the bargain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “let’s look at him; can you catch +him?” +</p> + +<p> +He went into the house, and bringing out a pan of oats, and calling him, the +horse followed him into the stable, where he was secured. I soon ascertained he +was perfectly sound, and that he was an uncommonly fine animal. I sent Sorrow +on board for my saddle and bridle, whip and spurs, and desired that the vessel +might be warped into the wharf. When the negro returned, I repeated the terms +of the bargain to Jerry, which being assented to, the animal was brought out +into the centre of the field, and while his owner was talking to him, I vaulted +into the saddle. At first he seemed very much alarmed, snorting, and blowing +violently; he then bounded forward and lashed out with his hind feet most +furiously, which was succeeded by alternate rearing, kicking, and backing. I +don’t think I ever see a critter splurge so badly; at last he ran the +whole length of the field, occasionally throwing up his heels very high in the +air, and returned unwillingly, stopping every few minutes and plunging +outrageously. On the second trial he again ran, and for the first time I gave +him both whip and spur, and made him take the fence, and in returning I pushed +him in the same manner, making him take the leap as before. Though awkward and +ignorant of the meaning of the rein, the animal knew he was in the hands of a +power superior to his own, and submitted far more easily than I expected. +</p> + +<p> +When we arrived at the wharf, I removed the saddle, and placing a strong rope +round his neck, had it attached to the windlass, not to drag him on board, but +to make him feel if he refused to advance that he was powerless to resist, an +indispensable precaution in breaking horses. Once and once only he attempted +escape; he reared and threw himself, but finding the strain irresistible, he +yielded and went on board quietly. Jerry was as delighted to get rid of him as +I was to purchase him, and though I knew that seven pounds ten was as much as +he could ever realize out of him, I felt I ought to pay him for the hay, and +also that I could well afford to give him a little conciliation present; so I +gave him two barrels of flour in addition, to enable him to make his peace with +his wife, whom he had so grossly insulted by asserting that his vow to heaven +was to hug the shore hereafter, and had no reference to her. If I ain’t +mistaken, Jerry Boudrot, for so I have named the animal after him, will +astonish the folks to Slickville; for of all the horses on this continent, to +my mind, the real genuine Canadian is the best by all odds. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my friend,” said Jerry, addressing the horse, “you shall +soon be out of sight of land, like your master; but unlike him, I hope you +shall never be lost at sea.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a><br/> +HOLDING UP THE MIRROR.</h2> + +<p> +From Halifax to Cumberland, Squire, the eastern coast of Nova Scotia presents +more harbours fit for the entrance of men-of-war than the whole Atlantic coast +of our country from Maine to Mexico. No part of the world I am acquainted with +is so well supplied and so little frequented. They are “thar,” as +we say, but where are the large ships? growing in the forest I guess. And the +large towns? all got to be built I reckon. And the mines? why wanting to be +worked. And the fisheries? Well, I’ll tell you, if you will promise not +to let on about it. We are going to have them by treaty, as we now have them by +trespass. Fact is, we treat with the British and the Indians in the same way. +Bully them if we can, and when that won’t do, get the most valuable +things they have in exchange for trash, like glass beads and wooden clocks. +Still, Squire, there is a vast improvement here, though I won’t say there +ain’t room for more; but there is such a change come over the people, as +is quite astonishing. The Blue-nose of 1834 is no longer the Blue-nose of 1854. +He is more active, more industrious, and more enterprising. Intelligent the +critter always was, but unfortunately he was lazy. He was asleep then, now he +is wide awake, and up and doing. He never had no occasion to be ashamed to show +himself, for he is a good-looking feller, but he needn’t now be no longer +skeered to answer to his name, when the muster is come and his’n is +called out in the roll, and say, “Here am I, <i>Sirree</i>.” A new +generation has sprung up, some of the drones are still about the hive, but +there is a young vigorous race coming on who will keep pace with the age. +</p> + +<p> +It’s a great thing to have a good glass to look in now and then and see +yourself. They have had the mirror held up to them. +</p> + +<p> +Lord, I shall never forget when I was up to Rawdon here once, a countryman came +to the inn where I was, to pay me for a clock I had put off on him, and as I +was a passin’ through the entry I saw the critter standin’ before +the glass, awfully horrified. +</p> + +<p> +“My good gracious,” said he, a talking to himself, “my good +gracious, is this you, John Smiler? I havn’t seen you before now going on +twenty years. Oh, how shockingly you are altered, I shouldn’t a known +you, I declare.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, I have held the mirror to these fellows to see themselves in, and it has +scared them so they have shaved slick up, and made themselves look decent. I +won’t say I made all the changes myself, for Providence scourged them +into activity, by sending the weavel into their wheat-fields, the rot into +their potatoes, and the drought into their hay crops. It made them scratch +round, I tell you, so as to earn their grub, and the exertion did them good. +Well, the blisters I have put on their vanity stung ’em so, they jumped +high enough to see the right road, and the way they travel ahead now is a +caution to snails. +</p> + +<p> +Now, if it was you who had done your country this sarvice, you would have spoke +as mealy-mouthed of it as if butter wouldn’t melt in it. “I flatter +myself,” you would have said, “I had some little small share in +it.” “I have lent my feeble aid.” “I have contributed +my poor mite,” and so on, and looked as meek and felt as proud as a +Pharisee. Now, that’s not my way. I hold up the mirror, whether when +folks see themselves in it they see me there or not. The value of a glass is +its truth. And where colonists have suffered is from false reports, ignorance, +and misrepresentation. There is not a word said of them that can be depended +on. Missionary returns of all kinds are coloured and doctored to suit English +subscribing palates, and it’s a pity they should stand at the head of the +list. British travellers distort things the same way. They land at Halifax, +where they see the first contrast between Europe and America, and that contrast +ain’t favourable, for the town is dingy lookin’ and wants paint, +and the land round it is poor and stony. But that is enough, so they set down +and abuse the whole country, stock and fluke, and write as wise about it as if +they had seen it all instead of overlooking one mile from the deck of a +steamer. The military enjoy it beyond anything, and are far more comfortable +than in soldiering in England; but it don’t do to say so, for it counts +for foreign service, and like the witnesses at the court-marshall at Windsor, +every feller sais, <i>Non mi ricordo.</i> Governors who now-a-days have nothing +to do, have plenty of leisure to write, and their sufferings are such, their +pens are inadequate to the task. They are very much to be pitied. +</p> + +<p> +Well, colonists on the other hand seldom get their noses out of it. But if +provincials do now and then come up on the other side of the big pond, like +deep sea-fish rising to the surface, they spout and blow like porpoises, and +try to look as large as whales, and people only laugh at them. Navy officers +extol the harbour and the market, and the kindness and hospitality of the +Haligonians, but that is all they know, and as far as that goes they speak the +truth. It wants an impartial friend like me to hold up the mirror, both for +their sakes and the Downing Street officials too. Is it any wonder then that +the English don’t know what they are talking about? Did you ever hear of +the devil’s advocate? a nickname I gave to one of the understrappers of +the Colonial office, an ear mark that will stick to the feller for ever! Well, +when they go to make a saint at Rome, and canonize some one who has been dead +so long he is in danger of being forgot, the cardinals hold a sort of +court-martial on him, and a man is appointed to rake and scrape all he can agin +him, and they listen very patiently to all he has to say, so as not to do +things in a hurry. He is called “the devil’s advocate,” but +he never gained a cause yet. The same form used to be gone through at Downing +Street, by an underling, but he always gained his point. The nickname of the +“devil’s advocate” that I gave him did his business for him, +he is no longer there now. +</p> + +<p> +The British cabinet wants the mirror held up to them, to show them how they +look to others. Now, when an order is transmitted by a minister of the crown, +as was done last war, to send all Yankee prisoners to the fortress of Louisburg +for safe keeping, when that fortress more than sixty years before had been +effectually razed from the face of the earth by engineer officers sent from +England for the purpose, why it is natural a colonist should laugh, and say +Capital! only it is a little too good; and when another minister says, he +can’t find good men to be governors, in order to defend appointments that +his own party say are too <i>bad,</i> what language is strong enough to express +his indignation? Had he said openly and manly, We are so situated, and so bound +by parliamentary obligations, <i>we not only have to pass over the whole body +of provincials themselves, who have the most interest and are best informed in +colonial matters,</i> but we have to appoint some people like those to whom you +object, who are forced upon us by hollerin’ their daylights out for us at +elections, when we would gladly select others, who are wholly unexceptionable, +and their name is legion; why, he would have pitied his condition, and admired +his manliness. If this sweeping charge be true, what an encomium it is upon the +Dalhousies, the Gosfords, the Durhams, Sydenhams, Metcalfs, and Elgins, that +they were chosen because suitable men could not be found if not supported by +party. All that can be said for a minister who talks such stuff, is that a man +who knows so little of London as to be unable to find the shortest way home, +may easily lose himself in the wilds of Canada. +</p> + +<p> +Now we licked the British when we had only three millions of people including +niggers, who are about as much use in a war as crows that feed on the slain, +but don’t help to kill ’em. We have “run up” an empire, +as we say of a “wooden house,” or as the gall who was asked where +she was raised, said “She warn’t raised, she growed up.” We +have shot up into manhood afore our beards grew, and have made a nation that +ain’t afeard of all creation. Where will you find a nation like ours? +Answer me that question, but don’t reply as an Irishman does by repeating +it,—“Is it where I will find one, your Honour?” +</p> + +<p> +Minister used to talk of some old chap, that killed a dragon and planted his +teeth, and armed men sprung up. As soon as we whipped the British we sowed +their teeth, and full-grown coons growed right out of the earth. Lord bless +you, we have fellows like Crocket, that would sneeze a man-of-war right out of +the water. +</p> + +<p> +We have a right to brag, in fact it ain’t braggin’, its talking +history, and cramming statistics down a fellow’s throat, and if he wants +tables to set down to, and study them, there’s the old chairs of the +governors of the thirteen united universal worlds of the old States, besides +the rough ones of the new States to sit on, and canvas-back ducks, blue-point +oysters, and, as Sorrow says, “hogs and dogs,” for soup and pies, +for refreshment from labour, as Freemasons say. Brag is a good dog, and +Holdfast is a better one, but what do you say to a cross of the two?—and +that’s just what we are. An English statesman actually thinks nobody +knows anything but himself. And his conduct puts folks both on the defensive +and offensive. He eyes even an American all over as much as to say, Where the +plague did you originate, what field of cotton or tobacco was you took from? +and if a Canadian goes to Downing Street, the secretary starts as much as to +say, I hope you han’t got one o’ them rotten eggs in your hand you +pelted Elgin with. Upon my soul, it wern’t my fault, his +indemnifyin’ rebels, we never encourage traitors except in Spain, Sicily, +Hungary, and places we have nothin’ to do with. He brags of purity as +much as a dirty piece of paper does, that it was originally clean. +</p> + +<p> +“We appreciate your loyalty most fully, I assure you,” he says. +“When the militia put down the rebellion, without efficient aid from the +military, parliament would have passed a vote of thanks to you for your +devotion to <i>our</i> cause, but really we were so busy just then we forgot +it. Put that egg in your pocket, that’s a good fellow, but don’t +set down on it, or it might stain the chair, and folks might think you was +frightened at seeing so big a man as me;” and then he would turn round to +the window and laugh. +</p> + +<p> +Whoever brags over me gets the worst of it, that’s a fact. Lord, I shall +never forget a rise I once took out of one of these magnetized officials, who +know all about the colonies, tho’ he never saw one. I don’t want +any man to call me coward, and say I won’t take it parsonal. There was a +complaint made by some of our folks against the people of the Lower provinces +seizing our coasters under pretence they were intrudin’ on the fisheries. +Our embassador was laid up at the time with rheumatism, which he called gout, +because it sounded diplomatic. So says he, “Slick, take this letter and +deliver it to the minister, and give him some verbal explanations.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, down I goes, was announced and ushered in, and when he saw me, he looked +me all over as a tailor does a man before he takes his measure. It made me +hoppin’ mad I tell you, for in a general way I don’t allow any man +to turn up his nose at me without having a shot at it. So when I sat down I +spit into the fire, in a way to put it out amost, and he drew back and made a +face, a leettle, just a leettle uglier than his natural one was. +</p> + +<p> +“Bad habit,” sais I, “that’of spittin’, +ain’t it?” lookin’ up at him as innocent as you please, and +makin’ a face exactly like his. +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said he, and he gave a shudder. +</p> + +<p> +Sais I, “I don’t know whether you are aware of it or not, but most +bad habits are catching.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should hope not,” said he, and he drew a little further off. +</p> + +<p> +“Fact,” sais I; “now if you look long and often at a man that +winks, it sets you a winkin’. If you see a fellow with a twitch in his +face, you feel your cheek doin’ the same, and stammerin’ is +catching too. Now I caught that habit at court, since I came to Europe. I dined +wunst with the King of Prussia, when I was with our embassador on a visit at +Berlin, and the King beats all natur in spittin’, and the noise he makes +aforehand is like clearin’ a grate out with a poker, it’s horrid. +Well, that’s not the worst of it, he uses that ugly German word for it, +that vulgarians translate ‘spitting.’ Now some of our western +people are compelled to chew a little tobacco, but like a broker tasting +cheese, when testing wine, it is only done to be able to judge of the quality +of the article, but even them unsophisticated, free, and enlightened citizens +have an innate refinement about them. They never use that nasty word +‘spitting,’ but call it ‘expressing the ambia.’ Well, +whenever his Majesty crosses my mind, I do the same out of clear sheer disgust. +Some o’ them sort of uppercrust people, I call them big bugs, think they +can do as they like, and use the privilege of indulging those evil habits. When +folks like the king do it, I call them ‘High, low, jack, and the +game.’” +</p> + +<p> +Well, the stare he gave me would have made you die a larfin’. I never saw +a man in my life look so skeywonaky. He knew it was true that the king had that +custom, and it dumb-foundered him. He looked at me as much as to say, +“Well, that is capital; the idea of a Yankee, who spits like a +garden-engine, swearing it’s a bad habit he larned in Europe, and a trick +he got from dining with a king, is the richest thing I ever heard in my life. I +must tell that to Palmerston.” +</p> + +<p> +But I didn’t let him off so easy. In the course of talk, sais he: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Slick, is it true that in South Carolina, if a free nigger, on board +of one of our vessels, lands there, he is put into jail until the ship +sails?” and he looked good, as much as to say, “Thank heaven I +ain’t like that republican.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” said I. “We consider a free nigger and a free +Englishman on a parr; we imprison a free black, lest he should corrupt +<i>our</i> slaves. The Duke of Tuscany imprisons a free Englishman, if he has a +Bible in his possession, lest he should corrupt <i>his</i> slaves. It’s +upon the principle, that what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the +gander.” +</p> + +<p> +He didn’t pursue the subject. +</p> + +<p> +That’s what I call brag for brag. We never allow any created critter, +male or female, to go a-head of us in anything. I heard a lady say to +embassador’s wife once, in answer to her question, “how she +was?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I am in such <i>rude</i> health, I have grown quite +<i>indecently</i> stout.” +</p> + +<p> +Embassadress never heard them slang words before (for even high life has its +slang), but she wouldn’t be beat. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said she, “all that will yield to exercise. Before I +was married I was the <i>rudest</i> and <i>most indecent gall</i> in all +Connecticut.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, an Irishman, with his elbow through his coat, and his shirt, if he has +one, playing diggy-diggy-doubt from his trowsers, flourishes his shillalah over +his head, and brags of the “Imirald Isle,” and the most splindid +pisantry in the world; a Scotchman boasts, that next to the devil and the royal +owner of Etna, he is the richest proprietor of sulphur that ever was heard of; +while a Frenchman, whose vanity exceeds both, has the modesty to call the +English a nation of shopkeepers, the Yankees, <i>canaille,</i> and all the rest +of the world beasts. Even John Chinaman swaggers about with his three tails, +and calls foreigners “Barbarians.” If we go a-head and speak out, +do you do so, too. You have a right to do so. Hold the mirror to them, and your +countrymen, too. It won’t lie, that’s a fact. They require it, I +assure you. The way the just expectations of provincials have been +disappointed, the loyal portion depressed, the turbulent petted, and the manner +the feelings of all disregarded, the contempt that has accompanied concessions, +the neglect that has followed devotion and self-sacrifice, and the +extraordinary manner the just claims of the meritorious postponed to +parliamentary support, has worked a change in the feelings of the people that +the Downing Street officials cannot understand, or surely they would pursue a +different course. They want to have the mirror held up to them. +</p> + +<p> +I know they feel sore here about the picture my mirror gives them, and +it’s natural they should, especially comin’ from a Yankee; and they +call me a great bragger. But that’s nothin’ new; doctors do the +same when a feller cures a poor wretch they have squeezed like a sponge, +ruinated, and given up as past hope. They sing out Quack. But I don’t +care; I have a right to brag nationally and individually, and I’d be no +good if I didn’t take my own part. Now, though I say it that +shouldn’t say it, for I ain’t afraid to speak out, the sketches I +send you are from life; I paint things as you will find them and know them to +be. I’ll take a bet of a hundred dollars, ten people out of twelve in +this country will recognise Jerry Boudrot’s house who have never entered +it, but who have seen others exactly like it, and will say, “I know who +is meant by Jerry and his daughter and wife; I have often been there; it is at +Clare or Arichat or Pumnico, or some such place or another.” +</p> + +<p> +Is that braggin’? Not a bit; it’s only the naked fact. To my mind +there is no vally in a sketch if it ain’t true to nature. We +needn’t go searching about for strange people or strange things; life is +full of them. There is queerer things happening every day than an author can +imagine for the life of him. It takes a great many odd people to make a world, +that’s a fact. Now, if I describe a house that has an old hat in one +window, and a pair of trousers in another, I don’t stop to turn glazier, +take ’em out and put whole glass in, nor make a garden where there is +none, and put a large tree in the foreground for effect; but I take it as I +find it, and I take people in the dress I find ’em in, and if I set +’em a talkin’ I take their very words down. Nothing gives you a +right idea of a country and its people like that. +</p> + +<p> +There is always some interest in natur, where truly depicted. Minister used to +say that some author (I think he said it was old Dictionary Johnson) remarked, +that the life of any man, if wrote truly, would be interesting. I think so too; +for every man has a story of his own, adventures of his own, and some things +have happened to him that never happened to anybody else. People here abuse me +for all this, they say, after all my boastin’ I don’t do ’em +justice. But after you and I are dead and gone, and things have been changed, +as it is to be hoped they will some day or another for the better, unless they +are like their Acadian French neighbours, and intend to remain just as they are +for two hundred and fifty years, then these sketches will be curious; and, as +they are as true to life as a Dutch picture, it will be interestin’ to +see what sort of folks were here in 1854, how they lived, and how they employed +themselves, and so on. +</p> + +<p> +Now it’s more than a hundred years ago since Smollett wrote, but his men +and women were taken from real life, his sailors from the navy, his attorneys +from the jails and criminal courts, and his fops and fine ladies from the herd +of such cattle that he daily met with. Well, they are read now; I have +’em to home, and laugh till I cry over them. Why? Because natur is the +same always. Although we didn’t live a hundred years ago, we can see how +the folks of that age did; and, although society is altered, and there are no +Admiral Benbows, nor Hawser Trunnions, and folks don’t travel in vans +with canvas covers, or wear swords, and frequent taverns, and all that as they +used to did to England; still it’s a pictur of the times, and +instructin’ as well as amusin’. I have learned more how folks +dressed, talked, and lived, and thought, and what sort of critters they were, +and what the state of society, high and low, was then, from his books and +Fielding’s than any I know of. They are true to life, and as long as +natur remains the same, which it always will, they will be read. That’s +my idea at least. +</p> + +<p> +Some squeamish people turn up the whites of their peepers at both those authors +and say they are coarse. How can they be otherwise? society was coarse. There +are more veils worn now, but the devil still lurks in the eye under the veil. +Things ain’t talked of so openly, or done so openly, in modern as in old +times. There is more concealment; and concealment is called delicacy. But where +concealment is, the passions are excited by the difficulties imposed by +society. Barriers are erected too high to scale, but every barrier has its +wicket, its latch key, and its private door. Natur is natur still, and there is +as much of that that is condemned in his books now, as there was then. There is +a horrid sight of hypocrisy now, more than there was one hundred years ago; +vice was audacious then, and scared folks. It ain’t so bold at present as +it used to did to be; but if it is forbid to enter the drawing-room, the back +staircase is still free. Where there is a will there is a way, and always will +be. I hate pretence, and, above all, mock modesty; it’s a bad sign. +</p> + +<p> +I knew a clergyman to home a monstrous pious man, and so delicate-minded, he +altered a great many words and passages in the Church Service, he said he +couldn’t find it in his heart to read them out in meetin’, and yet +that fellow, to my sartain knowledge, was the greatest scamp in private life I +ever knew. Gracious knows, I don’t approbate coarseness, it shocks me, +but narvous sensibility makes me sick. I like to call things by their right +names, and I call a leg a leg, and not a larger limb; a shirt a shirt, though +it is next the skin, and not a linen vestment; and a stocking a stocking, +though it does reach up the leg, and not a silk hose; and a garter a garter, +though it is above the calf, and not an elastic band or a hose suspender. <i>A +really modest woman was never squeamish. Fastidiousness is the envelope of +indelicacy. To see harm in ordinary words betrays a knowledge, and not an +ignorance of evil.</i> +</p> + +<p> +But that is neither here nor there, as I was sayin’, when you are dead +and gone these Journals of mine which you have edited, when mellowed by time, +will let the hereafter-to-be Blue-noses, see what the has-been Nova Scotians +here from ‘34 to ‘54 were. Now if something of the same kind had +been done when Halifax was first settled a hundred years ago, what strange +coons the old folks would seem to us. That state of society has passed away, as +well as the actors. For instance, when the militia was embodied to do duty so +late as the Duke of Kent’s time, Ensign Lane’s name was called on +parade. “Not here,” said Lieutenant Grover, “he is mending +Sargent Street’s breeches.” +</p> + +<p> +Many a queer thing occurred then that would make a queer book, I assure you. +There is much that is characteristic both to be seen and heard in every harbour +in this province, the right way is to jot all down. Every place has its +standing topic. At Windsor it is the gypsum trade, the St John’s steamer, +the Halifax coach, and a new house that is building. In King’s County it +is export of potatoes, bullocks, and horses. At Annapolis, cord, wood, oars, +staves, shingles, and agricultural produce of all kinds. At Digby, smoked +herrings, fish weirs, and St John markets. At Yarmouth, foreign freights, +berthing, rails, cat-heads, lower cheeks, wooden bolsters, and the crown, palm, +and shank of anchors. At Shelburne, it is divided between fish, lumber, and the +price of vessels. At Liverpool, ship-building, deals, and timber, knees, +transums, and futtucks, pintles, keelsons, and moose lines. At Lunenburg, +Jeddore, and Chesencook, the state of the market at the capital. At the other +harbours further to the eastward, the coal trade and the fisheries engross most +of the conversation. You hear continually of the fall <i>run</i> and the spring +<i>catch</i> of mackerel that <i>set</i> in but don’t stop to +<i>bait.</i> The remarkable discovery of the French coasters, that was made +fifty years ago, and still is as new and as fresh as ever, that when fish are +plenty there is no salt, and when salt is abundant there are no fish, +continually startles you with its novelty and importance. While you are both +amused and instructed by learning the meaning of coal cakes, Albion tops, and +what a Chesencooker delights in, “slack;” you also find out that a +hundred tons of coal at Sydney means when it reaches Halifax one hundred and +fifteen, and that West India, Mediterranean, and Brazilian fish are actually +<i>made</i> on these shores. These local topics are greatly diversified by +politics, which, like crowfoot and white-weed, abound everywhere. +</p> + +<p> +Halifax has all sorts of talk. Now if you was writin’ and not me, you +would have to call it, to please the people, that flourishing great capital of +the greatest colony of Great Britain, the town with the harbour, as you say of +a feller who has a large handle to his face, the man with the nose, that place +that is destined to be the London of America, which is a fact if it ever +fulfils its destiny. The little scrubby dwarf spruces on the coast are destined +not to be lofty pines, because that can’t be in the natur of things, +although some folks talk as if they expected it; but they are destined to be +enormous trees, and although they havn’t grown an inch the last fifty +years, who can tell but they may exceed the expectations that has been formed +of them? Yes, you would have to give it a shove, it wants it bad enough, and +lay it on thick too, so as it will stick for one season. +</p> + +<p> +It reminds me of a Yankee I met at New York wunst, he was disposin’ of a +new hydraulic cement he had invented. Now cements, either to resist fire or +water, or to mend the most delicate china, or to stop a crack in a stove, is a +thing I rather pride myself on. I make my own cement always, it is so much +better than any I can buy. +</p> + +<p> +Sais I, “What are your ingredients?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sais he, “tell you my secrets, let the cat out of the +bag for you to catch by the tail. No, no,” sais he, “excuse me, if +you please.” +</p> + +<p> +It ryled me that, so I just steps up to him, as savage as a meat-axe, +intendin’ to throw him down-stairs, when the feller turned as pale as a +rabbit’s belly, I vow I could hardly help laughin’, so I +didn’t touch him at all. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” sais I, “you and the cat in the bag may run to Old +Nick and see which will get to him first, and say tag—I don’t want +the secret, for I don’t believe you know it yourself. If I was to see a +bit of the cement, and break it up myself, I’d tell you in a moment +whether it was good for anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais he, “I’ll tell you;” and he gave me +all the particulars. +</p> + +<p> +Sais I, “It’s no good, two important ingredients are wantin’, +and you haven’t tempered it right, and it won’t stick.” +</p> + +<p> +Sais he, “I guess it will stick till I leave the city, and that will +answer me and my eends.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” sais I, “it won’t, it will ruin you for ever, and +injure the reputation of Connecticut among the nations of the airth. Come to me +when I return to Slickville, and I will show you the proper thing in use, +tested by experience, in tanks, in brick and stone walls, and in a small +furnace. Give me two thousand dollars for the receipt, take out a patent, and +your fortune is made.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais he, “I will if it’s all you say, for there +is a great demand for the article, if it’s only the true Jeremiah.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t mind what I say,” said I, “ask it what it says, +there it is, go look at it.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, you would have to give these Haligonians a coat of white-wash that would +stick till you leave the town. But that’s your affair, and not mine. I +hold the mirror truly, and don’t flatter. Now, Halifax is a sizable +place, and covers a good deal of ground, it is most as large as a piece of +chalk, which will give a stranger a very good notion of it. It is the seat of +government, and there are some very important officers there, judging by their +titles. There are a receiver-general, an accountant-general, an +attorney-general, a solicitor-general, a commissary-general, an assistant +commissary-general, the general in command, the quartermaster-general, the +adjutant-general, the vicar-general, surrogate-general, and postmaster-general. +His Excellency the governor, and his Excellency the admiral. The master of the +Rolls, their lordships the judges, the lord bishop, and the archbishop, +archdeacon, secretary for the Home department, and a host of great men, with +the handle of honourable to their names. Mayors, colonels, and captains, +whether of the regulars or the militia, they don’t count more than +fore-cabin passengers. It ain’t considered genteel for them to come abaft +the paddle-wheel. Indeed, the quarter-deck wouldn’t accommodate so many. +Now, there is the same marvel about this small town that there was about the +scholar’s head— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“And still the wonder grew,<br/> +How one small head could carry all he knew.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, it is a wonder so many great men can be warm-clothed, bedded-down, and +well stalled there, ain’t it? But they are, and very comfortably, too. +This is the upper crust; now the under crust consists of lawyers, doctors, +merchants, army and navy folks, small officials, articled clerks, and so on. +Well, in course such a town, I beg pardon, it is a city (which is more than +Liverpool in England is), and has two cathedral churches, with so many grades, +trades, blades, and pretty maids in it, the talk must be various. The military +talk is professional, with tender reminiscences of home, and some little +boasting, that they are suffering in their country’s cause by being so +long on foreign service at Halifax. The young swordknots that have just joined +are brim full of ardour, and swear by Jove (the young heathens) it is too bad +to be shut up in this vile hole (youngsters, take my advice, and don’t +let the town’s-people hear that, or they will lynch you), instead of +going to Constantinople. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Lennox, wouldn’t that be jolly work?” +</p> + +<p> +“Great work,” says Lennox, “rum coves those Turks must be in +the field, eh? The colonel is up to a thing or two; if he was knocked on the +head, there would be such promotion, no one would lament him, but his dear wife +and five lovely daughters, and they would be <i>really distressed</i> to lose +him.” +</p> + +<p> +He don’t check the youthful ardour, on the contrary, chimes in, and is in +hopes he can make interest at the Horse-guards for the regiment to go yet, and +then he gives a wink to the doctor, who was in the corps when he was a boy, as +much as to say, “Old fellow, you and I have seen enough of the pleasures +of campaigning in our day, eh! Doctor, that is good wine; but it’s +getting confounded dear lately; I don’t mind it myself, but it makes the +expense of the mess fall heavy upon the youngsters.” The jolly subs look +across the table and wink, for they know that’s all bunkum. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” sais a new hand, “do you know if Cargill has sold +his orses. His leada is a cleverwish saut of thing, but the wheela is a riglar +bute. That’s a goodish orse the Admewall wides; I wonder if he is going +to take him ome with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t heard—can’t say. Jones, what’s that +thing that wont burn, do you know? Confound the thing, I have got it on the tip +of my tongue too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Asphalt,” sais Jones. +</p> + +<p> +“No! that’s not it; that’s what wide-awakes are made +of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so,” sais Gage, “<i>ass’felt</i> is very +appropriate for a <i>fool’s</i> cap.” +</p> + +<p> +At which there is a great roar. +</p> + +<p> +“No; but really what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it arbutus?” sais Simpkins, “I think they make it at +Killarney—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; oh! I have it, asbestos; well, that’s what I believe the +cigars here are made of—they won’t go.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are a good many things here that are no go,” sais Gage, +“like Perry’s bills on Coutts; but, Smith, where did you get that +flash waistcoat I saw last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! that was worked by a poor despairing girl at Bath, during a fit of +the <i>scarlet</i> fever.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a <i>memento mori</i> then, I suppose,” replies the other. +</p> + +<p> +But all the talk is not quite so frivolous. Opposite to that large stone +edifice, is an old cannon standing on end at the corner of the street, to keep +carriages from trespassing on the pavement, and the non-military assemble round +it; they are civic great guns. They are discussing the great event of the +season—the vote of want of confidence of last night, the resignation of +the provincial ministry this morning, and the startling fact that the head +upholsterer has been sent for to furnish a new cabinet, that won’t warp +with the heat and fly apart. It is very important news; it has been telegraphed +to Washington, and was considered so alarming, the President was waked up to be +informed of it. He rubbed his eyes and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I acknowledge the coin, you may take my hat. I hope I may be +cow-hided if I knew they had a ministry. I thought they only had a governor, +and a regiment for a constitution. Will it affect the stocks? How it will scare +the Emperor of Rooshia, won’t it?” and he roared so loud he nearly +choked. That just shows (everybody regards the speaker with silence, for he is +an oracle), says Omniscient Pitt. +</p> + +<p> +That just shows how little the Yankees know and how little the English care +about us. “If we want to be indepindent and respictable,” sais an +Hibernian magnate, “we must repale the Union.” But what is this? +here is a fellow tied hand and foot on a truck, which is conveying him to the +police court, swearing and screaming horribly. What is the meaning of all that? +</p> + +<p> +A little cynical old man, commonly called the major, looks knowing, puts on a +quizzical expression, and touching his nose with the tip of his finger, says, +“One of the new magistrates qualifying as he goes down to be sworn into +office.” +</p> + +<p> +It makes the politicians smile, restores their equanimity, and they make room +for another committee of safety. A little lower down the street, a mail-coach +is starting for Windsor, and ten or fifteen men are assembled doing their +utmost, and twenty or thirty boys helping them, to look at the passengers, but +are unexpectedly relieved from their arduous duty by a military band at the +head of a marching regiment. +</p> + +<p> +Give me the bar though. I don’t mean the bar-room, though there are some +capital songs sung, and good stories told, and first-rate rises taken out of +green ones, in that bar-room at the big hotel, but I mean the lawyers. They are +the merriest and best fellows everywhere. They fight like prize-boxers in +public and before all the world, and shake hands when they set to and after +it’s over. Preachers, on the contrary, write anonymous letters in +newspapers, or let fly pamphlets at each other, and call ugly names. While +doctors go from house to house insinuating, undermining, shrugging shoulders, +turning up noses, and looking as amazed as when they was fust born into the +world, at each other’s prescriptions. Well, politicians are dirty birds +too, they get up all sorts of lies against each other, and if any one lays an +egg, t’other swears it was stole out of his nest. But lawyers are above +all these tricks. As soon as court is ended, off they go arm-in-arm, as if they +had both been fighting on one side. “I say, Blowem, that was a capital +hit of yours, making old Gurdy swear he was king of the mountains.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not half as good as yours, Monk, telling the witness he couldn’t +be a partner, for the plaintiff had put in all the ‘stock in hand,’ +and he had only put in his ‘stock in feet.’” +</p> + +<p> +They are full of stories, too, tragic as well as comic, picked up in the +circuits. +</p> + +<p> +“Jones, do you know Mc Farlane of Barney’s River, a Presbyterian +clergyman? He told me he was once in a remote district there where no minister +had ever been, and visiting the house of a settler of Scotch descent, he began +to examine the children. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, my man,’ said he, patting on the shoulder a stout +junk of a boy of about sixteen years of age, ‘can you tell me what is the +chief end of man?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, Sir,’ said he. ‘To pile and burn brush.’1 +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> In clearing woodland, after the trees are chopped down and cut +into convenient sizes for handling, they are piled into heaps and burned. +</p> + +<p> +“‘No it ain’t,’ said his sister. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, but it is though,’ replied the boy, ‘for father +told me so himself.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, no,’ said the minister, ‘it’s not that; but +perhaps, my dear,’ addressing the girl, ‘you can tell me what it +is?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, yes, Sir,’ said she, ‘I can tell you, and so +could John, but he never will think before he speaks.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, what is it, dear?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, the chief end of man, Sir, is his head and shoulders.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh,’ said a little lassie that was listening to the +conversation, ‘if you know all these things, Sir, can you tell me if Noah +had any butterflies in the ark? I wonder how in the world he ever got hold of +them! Many and many a beauty have I chased all day, and I never could catch one +yet.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I can tell you a better one than that,” says Larry Hilliard. +“Do you recollect old Hardwood, our under-sheriff? He has a very +beautiful daughter, and she was married last week at St Paul’s Church, to +a lieutenant in the navy. There was such an immense crowd present (for they +were considered the handsomest couple ever married there), that she got so +confused she could hardly get through the responses. When the archdeacon said, +‘Will you have this man to be your wedded husband?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ she said, and made a slight pause; and then became +bewildered, and got into her catechism. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘by +God’s grace I will, and I humbly thank my Heavenly Father for having +brought me to this state of salvation.’ +</p> + +<p> +“It was lucky she spoke low, and that the people didn’t distinctly +hear her, but it nearly choaked the parson.” +</p> + +<p> +“Talking of church anecdotes,” says Lawyer Martin, “reminds +me of old Parson Byles, of St John’s, New Brunswick. Before the American +rebellion he was rector at Boston, and he had a curate who always preached +against the Roman Catholics. It tickled the Puritans, but didn’t injure +the Papists, for there were none there at that time. For three successive +Sundays he expounded the text, ‘And Peter’s wife’s mother lay +ill of a fever.’ +</p> + +<p> +“From which he inferred priests ought to marry. Shortly after that the +bell was tolling one day, and somebody asked Dr Byles who was dead. +</p> + +<p> +“Says he, and he looked solemcoly, shut one eye and winked with the +other, as if he was trying to shut that also—‘I rather think it is +Peter’s wife’s mother, for she has been ill of a fever for three +weeks.’” +</p> + +<p> +There are charms in these little “home scenes,” these little +detached sketches, which are wholly lost in a large landscape. +</p> + +<p> +There is one very redeeming property about the people. Although they differ +widely in politics, I infer that they live in the greatest possible harmony +together, from the fact that they speak of each other like members of the same +family. The word Mr is laid aside as too cold and formal, and the whole +Christian name as too ceremonious. Their most distinguished men speak of each +other, and the public follow their example, as Joe A, or Jim B, or Bill C, or +Tom D, or Fitz this, or Dick that. It sounds odd to strangers no doubt, but the +inference that may be drawn from it is one of great amiability. +</p> + +<p> +Still, in holding up the mirror, hold it up fairly, and take in all the groups, +and not merely those that excite ridicule. Halifax has more real substantial +wealth about it than any place of its size in America; wealth not amassed by +reckless speculation, but by judicious enterprise, persevering industry, and +consistent economy. In like manner there is better society in it than in any +similar American or colonial town. A man must know the people to appreciate +them. He must not merely judge by those whom he is accustomed to meet at the +social board, for they are not always the best specimens anywhere, but by those +also who prefer retirement, and a narrower circle, and rather avoid general +society, as not suited to their tastes. The character of its mercantile men +stands very high, and those that are engaged in professional pursuits are +distinguished for their ability and integrity. In short, as a colonist, Squire, +you may at least be satisfied to hear from a stranger like me, that they +contrast so favourably with those who are sent officially among them from +England, that they need not be ashamed to see themselves grouped with the best +of them in the same mirror. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, yes, Squire, every place has its queer people, queer talk, and queer +grouping. I draw what is before me, and I can’t go wrong. Now, if the +sketcher introduces his own person into his foregrounds, and I guess I figure +in all mine as large as life (for like a respectable man I never forget +myself), he must take care he has a good likeness of his skuldiferous head, as +well as a flattering one. Now, you may call it crackin’ and +braggin’, and all that sort of a thing, if you please, but I must say, I +allot that I look, sit, walk, stand, eat, drink, smoke, think, and talk, aye, +and brag too, like a Yankee clockmaker, don’t you? Yes, there is a +decided and manifest improvement in the appearance of this province. When I say +the province, I don’t refer to Halifax alone, though there are folks +there that think it stands for and represents the whole colony. I mean what I +say in using that expression, which extends to the country at large—and I +am glad to see this change, for I like it. And there is a still more decided +and manifest improvement in the people, and I am glad of that too, for I like +them also. Now, I’ll tell you one great reason of this alteration. +Blue-nose has seen himself as other folks see him, he has had “<i>the +mirror held up to him</i>.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C19">CHAPTER XIX.</a><br/> +THE BUNDLE OF STICKS.</h2> + +<p> +I had hardly entered these remarks in my Journal, and ascended the +companion-ladder, when the doctor joined me in my quarter-deck walk, and said, +“Mr Slick, what is your opinion of the state of these North American +colonies?” +</p> + +<p> +What a curious thing these coincidences are, Squire, ain’t they? How +often when you are speaking of a man, he unexpectedly makes his appearance, +don’t he? or if you are thinking of a subject, the person who is with you +starts the same topic, or if you are a going to say a thing, he takes, as we +say, the very words out of your mouth. It is something more than accident that, +but what is it? Is it animal magnetism, or what is it? Well, I leave you to +answer that question, for I can’t. +</p> + +<p> +“Their growth beats all. The way they are going ahead is a caution to +them that live in Sleepy Hollow, a quiet little place the English call Downing +Street. It astonishes them as a young turkey does a hen that has hatched it, +thinking it was a chicken of her own. She don’t know what in the world to +make of the great long-legged, long-bodied critter, that is six times as large +as herself, that has cheeks as red as if it drank brandy, an imperial as large +as a Russian dragoon, eats all the food of the poultry-yard, takes a shocking +sight of nursing when it is young, and gets as sarcy as the devil when it grows +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “I am aware of its growth; but what do you +suppose is the destiny of British North America?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” sais I, “I could tell you if I was Colonial minister, +because I should then have the power to guide that destiny. I know full well +what ought to be done, and the importance of doing it soon, but I am not in the +position to give them the right direction. No English statesmen have the +information, the time, or the inclination to meddle with the subject. To get +rid of the bother of them, they have given up all control and said to them, +‘There is responsible government for you, now tortle off hum, and manage +your own affairs.’ Yes, yes, so far so good—they can manage their +own <i>domestic</i> matters, but who is to manage their foreign affairs, as I +said wunst to a member of parliament. They have outgrown colonial dependance; +their minority is ended; their clerkship is out; they are of age now: they +never did well in your house; they were put out to nurse at a distance; they +had their schooling; they learnt figures early; they can add and multiply +faster than you can to save your soul; and now they are uneasy. They have your +name, for they are your children, but they are younger sons. The estate and all +the honours go to the eldest, who resides at home. They know but little about +their parents, further than that their bills have been liberally paid, but they +have no personal acquaintance with you. You are tired of maintaining them, and +they have too much pride and too much energy to continue to be a burden to you. +They can and they will do for themselves. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever thought of setting them up in business on their own +account, or of taking them into partnership with yourself? In the course of +nature they must form some connection soon. Shall they seek it with you or the +States, or intermarry among themselves, and begin the world on their own hook? +These are important questions, and they must be answered soon. Have you +acquired their confidence and affection? What has been your manner to them? Do +you treat them like your other younger children that remain at home? Them you +put into your army and navy, place a sword in their hands and say, Distinguish +yourselves, and the highest rewards are open to you; or you send them to the +church or the bar, and say, A mitre or a coronet shall be the prize to contend +for. If you prefer diplomacy, you shall be attaché to your elder +brother. I will place the ladder before you; ascend it. If you like politics, I +will place you in parliament, and if you have not talents sufficient for the +House of Commons, you shall go out as governor of one of <i>our</i> colonies. +<i>Those appointments belong of right to them, but they can’t help +themselves at present.</i> Get one while you can. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you done this, or anything like it, for your children abroad? If +you have, perhaps you will be kind enough to furnish me with some names, that I +may mention them when I hear you accused of neglect. You are very hospitable +and very considerate to strangers. The representative of any little +insignificant German state, of the size of a Canadian township, has a place +assigned him on state occasions. Do you ever show the same attention to the +delegate of a colony, of infinitely more extent and value than Ireland? There +can’t be a doubt you have, though I have never heard of it. Such little +trifles are matters of course, but still, as great interests are at stake, +perhaps it would be as well to notice such things occasionally in the Gazette, +for distant and humble relations are always touchy. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Doctor,” said I, “<i>things can’t and won’t +remain long as they are.</i> England has three things among which to choose for +her North American colonies:—First: Incorporation with herself, and +representation in Parliament. Secondly: Independence. Thirdly: Annexation with +the States. Instead of deliberating and selecting what will be most conducive +to the interest of herself and her dependencies, she is allowing things to take +their chance. Now, this is all very well in matters over which we have no +control, because Providence directs things better than we can; but if one of +these three alternatives is infinitely better than the other, and it is in our +power to adopt it, it is the height of folly not to do so. I know it is said, +for I have often heard it myself, Why, we can but lose the colonies at last. +Pardon me, you can do more than that, for you can lose their affections also. +If the partnership is to be dissolved, it had better be done by mutual consent, +and it would be for the interest of both that you should part friends. You +didn’t shake hands with, but fists at, us when we separated. We had a +stand-up fight, and you got licked, and wounds were given that the best part of +a century hasn’t healed, and wounds that will leave tender spots for +ever; so don’t talk nonsense. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Doctor, mark my words. I say again, things won’t remain long +as they are. I am glad I have you to talk to instead of the Squire, for he +always says, I am chockfull of crotchets, and brimfull of brag. Now, it is +easy, we all know, to prophesy a thing after it has happened, but if I foretell +a thing and it comes out true, if I haven’t a right to brag of my skill, +I have a right to boast that I guessed right at all events. Now, when I set on +foot a scheme for carrying the Atlantic mail in steamers, and calculated all +the distances and chances, and showed them Bristol folks (for I went to that +place on purpose) that it was shorter by thirty-six miles to come to Halifax, +and then go to New York, than to go to New York direct, they just laughed at +me, and so did the English Government. They said it couldn’t be shorter +in the nature of things. There was a captain in the navy to London too, who +said, ‘Mr Slick, you are wrong, and I think I ought to know something +about it,’ giving a toss of his head. ‘Well,’ sais I, with +another toss of mine, ‘I think you ought too, and I am sorry you +don’t, that’s all.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then the Squire said:—‘Why, how you talk, Mr Slick! +Recollect, if you please, that Doctor Lardner says that steam won’t do to +cross the Atlantic, and he is a great gun.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘I don’t care a fig for what +Lardner says, or any other locomotive lecturer under the light of the living +sun. If a steamer can go agin a stream, and a plaguy strong one too, two +thousand five hundred miles up the Mississippi, why in natur can’t it be +fixed so as to go across the Atlantic?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, some time after that, my second Clockmaker came out in London, +and, sais I, I’ll stand or fall by my opinion, right or wrong, and I just +put it body and breeches all down in figures in that book. Well, that set +inquiries on foot, folks began to calculate—a tender was made and +accepted, and now steam across the Atlantic is a fixed fact, and an old story. +Our folks warn’t over pleased about it, they consaited I should have told +them first, so they might have taken the lead in it, as they like to go ahead +of the British in all things, and I wish to goodness I had, for thanks are +better nor jeers at any time. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I was right there, you see. So on this subject I have told Squire, +and them who ought to know something of the colonies they rule, over and over +again, and warned government that something was wanting to place these +provinces on a proper permanent footing; that I knew the temper of colony folks +better than they did, and you will find in my Journals the subject often +mentioned. But no, a debate on a beer bill, or a metropolitan bridge, or a +constabulary act, is so pressing, there is no time. Well, sure enough +that’s all come true. First, the Canadian league started up, it was a +feverish symptom, and it subsided by good treatment, without letting blood. +Last winter it was debated in the Legislature here, and the best and ablest +speeches made on it ever heard in British America, and infinitely superior to +the great majority of those uttered in the House of Commons.<sup>1</sup> Do you +suppose for a moment that proud-spirited, independent, able men like those +members, will long endure the control of a Colonial minister, who, they feel, +is as much below them in talent, as by accident he may be above them in rank? +No, Sir, the day is past. The form of provincial government is changed, and +with it provincial dependence also. <i>When we become men, we must put away +childish thing’s.</i> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> All these speeches are well worth reading, especially those of Mr +Howe, Mr Johnston, and Mr M. Wilkins. That of the former gentleman is +incomparably superior to any one delivered during the last session of the +Imperial Parliament. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a sense of soreness that is uncomfortably felt by a colonist +now when he surveys our condition, and that of Englishmen, and compares his own +with it. He can hardly tell you what he wants, he has yet no definite plan: but +he desires something that will place him on a perfect equality with either. +When I was in Europe lately, I spent a day at Richmond, with one of them I had +known out in America. He was a Tory, too, and a pretty staunch one, I tell you. +</p> + +<p> +“Thinks I to myself, ‘I’ll put you through your paces a +little, my young sucking Washington, for fear you will get out of practice when +you get back.’ +</p> + +<p> +“So, sais I, ‘how do you get on now? I suppose responsible +government has put an end to all complaints, hain’t it?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Sais he, ‘Mr Slick,’ and I saw he felt sore, for he looked +like it, and talked like it; ‘Mr Slick,’ said he, ‘kinder +niblin’ at the question, I have no remonstrance to make. There is +something very repulsive in a complaint. I can’t bear the sound of it +myself. It should never be pronounced but in the ear of a doctor, or a police +magistrate. Your man with a grievance is everywhere voted a bore. If he goes to +the Colonial Office with one, that stout gentleman at the door, the porter, who +has the keys of that realm of knowledge and bliss, and knows as much and has as +many airs as his master, soon receives an order not to admit him. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Worn out with fatigue and disappointment, the unfortunate suitor +finds at last his original grievance merged in the greater one, that he can +obtain no hearing and no redress, and he returns to his own province, like +Franklin, or the Australian delegate, with thoughts of deep revenge, and +visions of a glorious revolution that shall set his countrymen free from +foreign dominion. He goes a humble suppliant, he returns an implacable rebel. +The restless Pole, who would rather play the part of a freebooting officer than +an honest farmer, and who prefers even begging to labour, wanders over Europe +and America, uttering execrations against all monarchs in general, and his own +in particular, and, when you shake your head at his oft-told tale of fictitious +patriotism, as he replaces his stereotyped memorial in his pocket, exhibits the +handle of a stiletto, with a savage smile of unmistakeable scoundrelism.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>Poles</i> loom large,’ sais I, ‘in the fogs of +London, but they dwindle into poor <i>sticks</i> with us.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He was in no temper however to laugh. It was evident he felt deeply, but +he was unwilling to exhibit the tender spot. ‘The world, Sir,’ he +said, ‘is full of grievances. Papineau’s parliament mustered +ninety-two of them at one time, and a Falmouth packet-ship actually foundered +with its shifting cargo. What a pity it is that their worthlessness and +lightness alone caused them to float! The English, who reverse every wholesome +maxim, in this instance pursued their usual course. The sage advice, <i>parcere +subjectis, et debilare superbos,</i> was disregarded. The loyalists suffered, +the arrogant and turbulent triumphed. Every house, Sir, in the kingdom is +infested with grievances. Fathers grieve over the extravagances of their sons, +the giddiness of their daughters, and the ceaseless murmurs of their wives, +while they in their turn unite in complaining of parental parsimony and +meanness. Social intercourse I have long since given up, for I am tired of +tedious narratives of the delinquencies of servants and the degeneracy of the +times. I prefer large parties, where, although you know the smile hides the +peevish temper, the aching heart, the jealous fear, and the wounded pride; yet +it is such a great satisfaction to know there is a truce to complaints, that I +prefer its many falsehoods to unceasing wailings over the sad realities of +life.’ +</p> + +<p> +“This was no answer, but something to bluff me off. I saw he was +unwilling to speak out, and that it was a mere effort to button up and evade +the subject. So to draw him out, I said, +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, there is one thing you <i>can</i> boast. Canada is the most +valuable and beautiful appendage of the British Crown.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘England may boast of it as such,’ he said, ‘but I +have no right to do so. I prefer being one of the pariahs of the empire, a mere +colonist, having neither grade nor caste, without a country of my own, and +without nationality. I am a humble man, and when I am asked where I come from, +readily answer, the Chaudiere River. Where is that? Out of the world? <i>Extra +flammantia limina mundi</i>. What is the name of your country? It is not a +country, it is only a place. It is better to have no flag than a borrowed one. +If I had one I should have to defend it. If it were wrested from me I should be +disgraced, while my victorious enemy would be thanked by the Imperial +Legislature, and rewarded by his sovereign. If I were triumphant, the affair +would be deemed too small to merit a notice in the Gazette. He who called out +the militia, and quelled amid a shower of <i>balls</i> the late rebellion, was +knighted. He who assented amid a shower of <i>eggs</i> to a bill to indemnify +the rebels, was created an earl. Now to pelt a governor-general with eggs is an +overt act of treason, for it is an attempt to throw off the <i>yoke.</i> If +therefore he was advanced in the peerage for remunerating traitors for their +losses, he ought now to assent to another act for reimbursing the expenses of +the exhausted stores of the poultry yards, and be made a marquis, unless the +British see a difference between a rebel mob and an indignant crowd, between +those whose life has been spent in hatching mischief, and those who desired to +scare the foul birds from their nests. +</p> + +<p> +“‘If that man had been a colonist, the dispatch marked +‘private’ would have said, ‘It sarved you right,’ +whereas it announced to him, ‘You are one of us,’ and to mark our +approbation of your conduct, you may add one of these savoury missiles to your +coat of arms, that others may be <i>egged</i> on to do their duty. Indeed, we +couldn’t well have a flag of our own. The Americans have a very +appropriate and elegant one, containing stripes emblematical of their slaves, +and stars to represent their free states, while a Connecticut goose typifies +the good cheer of thanksgiving day. It is true we have the honour of fighting +under that of England; but there is, as we have seen, this hard condition +annexed to it, we must consent to be taxed, to reimburse the losses of those +whom by our gallantry we subdue. If we take Sebastopol, we must pay for the +damage we have done. We are not entitled to a separate flag, and I am afraid if +we had one we should be subject to ridicule. A pure white ground would +prefigure our snow drifts; a gull with outspread wings, our credulous +qualities; and a few discoloured eggs, portray our celebrated missiles. But +what sort of a flag would that be? No, Sir, these provinces should be united, +and they would from their territorial extent, their commercial enterprise, +their mineral wealth, their wonderful agricultural productions, and, above all, +their intelligent, industrious, and still loyal population, in time form a +nation second to none on earth, until then I prefer to be a citizen of the +world. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I once asked an Indian where he lived, I meant of course where +his camp was, but the question was too broad, and puzzled him. Stretching out +his arm and describing a circle with his heel, he said, ‘I live in all +these woods!’ Like him, I live in all this world. Those who, like the +English and Americans, have appropriated so large a portion of it to +themselves, may severally boast, if they think proper, of their respective +governments and territories. My boast, Sir, is a peculiar one, that I have +nothing to boast of.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘If such are your views,’ I said, ‘I must say, I do +not understand that absurd act of firing your parliament house. It is, I assure +you, reprobated everywhere. Our folks say your party commenced as old +<i>Hunkers</i><sup>1</sup> and ended as <i>Barnburners</i>.’ +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> “We have been requested to give a definition of this term, +‘Old Hunkers.’ Party nicknames are not often logically justified; +and we can only say that that section of the late dominant party in this State +(the democratic) which claims to be the more radical, progressive, reformatory, +&c., bestowed the appellation of ‘Old Hunker’ on the other +section, to indicate that it was distinguished by opposite qualities from those +claimed for itself. We believe the title was also intended to indicate that +those on whom it was conferred had an appetite for a large ‘hunk’ +of the spoils, though we never could discover that they were peculiar in that. +On the other hand, the opposite school was termed ‘Barnburners,’ in +allusion to the story of an old Dutchman, who relieved himself of rats by +burning his barns, which they infested—just like exterminating all banks +and corporations to root out the abuses connected therewith. The fitness or +unfitness of these family terms of endearment is none of our +business.”—NEW YORK TRIBUNE. +</p> + +<p> +“That remark threw him off his guard; he rose up greatly agitated; his +eyes flashed fire, and he extended out his arm as if he intended by +gesticulation to give full force to what he was about to say. He stood in this +attitude for a moment without uttering a word, when by a sudden effort he +mastered himself, and took up his hat to walk out on the terrace and recover +his composure. +</p> + +<p> +“As he reached the door, he turned, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“‘The assenting to that infamous indemnity act, Mr Slick, and the +still more disreputable manner in which it received the gubernational sanction, +has produced an impression in Canada that no loyal man—’ but he +again checked himself, and left the sentence unfinished. +</p> + +<p> +“I was sorry I had pushed him so hard, but the way he tried to evade the +subject at first, the bitterness of his tone, and the excitement into which the +allusion threw him, convinced me that the English neither know who their real +friends in Canada are, nor how to retain their affections. +</p> + +<p> +“When he returned, I said to him, ‘I was only jesting about your +having no grievances in Canada, and I regret having agitated you. I agree with +you however that it is of no use to remonstrate with the English public. They +won’t listen to you. If you want to be heard, attract their attention, in +the first instance, by talking of their own immediate concerns, and while they +are regarding you with intense interest and anxiety, by a sleight of hand shift +the dissolving view, and substitute a sketch of your own. For instance, says +you, ‘How is it the army in the Crimea had no tents in the autumn, and no +huts in the winter—the hospitals no fittings, and the doctors no nurses +or medicines? How is it disease and neglect have killed more men than the +enemy? Why is England the laughing-stock of Russia, and the butt of French and +Yankee ridicule? and how does it happen this country is filled with grief and +humiliation from one end of it to the other? I will tell you. These affairs +were managed <i>by a branch of the Colonial Office.</i> The minister for that +department said to the army, as he did to the distant provinces, ‘Manage +your own affairs, and don’t bother us.’ Then pause and say, slowly +and emphatically, ‘<i>You now have a taste of what we have endured in the +colonies. The same incompetency has ruled over both</i>.’” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Good heavens,’ said he, ‘Mr Slick. I wish you was one +of us.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Thank you for the compliment.’ sais I. ‘I feel +flattered, I assure you; but, excuse me. I have no such ambition. I am content +to be a humble Yankee clockmaker. <i>A Colonial Office, in which there is not a +single man that ever saw a colony, is not exactly the government to suit me. +The moment I found my master knew less than I did, I quit his school and set up +for myself.’</i> +</p> + +<p> +‘Yes, my friend, the English want to have the mirror held up to them; but +that is your business and not mine. It would be out of place for me. I am a +Yankee, and politics are not my line; I have no turn for them, and I +don’t think I have the requisite knowledge of the subject for discussing +it; but you have both, and I wonder you don’t. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Doctor, you may judge from that conversation, and the deep feeling +it exhibits, that men’s thoughts are wandering in new channels. The great +thing for a statesman is to direct them to the right one. I have said there +were three courses to be considered; first, incorporation with England; +secondly, independence; thirdly, annexation. The subject is too large for a +quarter-deck walk, so I will only say a few words more. Let’s begin with +annexation first. The thinking, reflecting people among us don’t want +these provinces. We guess we are big enough already, and nothing but our great +rivers, canals, railroads, and telegraphs (which, like skewers in a round of +beef, fasten the unwieldy mass together) could possibly keep us united. Without +them we should fall to pieces in no time. It’s as much as they can keep +all tight and snug now; but them skewers nor no others can tie a greater bulk +than we have. Well, I don’t think colonists want to be swamped in our +vast republic either. So there ain’t no great danger from that, unless +the devil gits into us both, which, if a favourable chance offered, he is not +onlikely to do. So let that pass. Secondly, as to incorporation. That is a +grand idea, but it is almost too grand for John Bull’s head, and a little +grain too large for his pride. There are difficulties, and serious ones, in the +way. It would require participation in the legislature, which would involve +knocking off some of the Irish brigade to make room for your members; and there +would be a hurrush at that, as O’Connell used to say, that would bang +Banaghar. It would also involve an invasion of the upper house, for colonists +won’t take half a loaf now, I tell you; which would make some o’ +those gouty old lords fly round and scream like Mother Cary’s chickens in +a gale of wind; and then there would be the story of the national debt, and a +participation in imperial taxes to adjust, and so on; but none of these +difficulties are insuperable. +</p> + +<p> +“A statesman with a clever head, a sound judgment, and a good heart, +could adjust a scheme that would satisfy all; at least it would satisfy +colonists by its justice, and reconcile the peers and the people of England by +its expediency, for the day Great Britain parts with these colonies, depend +upon it, she descends in the scale of nations most rapidly. India she may lose +any day, for it is a government of opinion only. Australia will emancipate +itself ere long, but these provinces she may and ought to retain. +</p> + +<p> +“Thirdly, independence. This is better for her than annexation by a long +chalk, and better for the colonies too, if I was allowed to spend my opinion on +it; but if that is decided upon, something must be done soon. The way ought to +be prepared for it by an immediate federative and legislative union of them +all. It is of no use to consult their governors, they don’t and they +can’t know anything of the country but its roads, lakes, rivers, and +towns; but of the people they know nothing whatever. You might as well ask the +steeple of a wooden church whether the sill that rests on the stone foundation +is sound. They are too big according to their own absurd notions, too small in +the eyes of colonists, and too far removed and unbending to know anything about +it. What can a man learn in five years except the painful fact, that he knew +nothing when he came, and knows as little when he leaves? He can form a better +estimate of himself than when he landed, and returns a humbler, but not a wiser +man; but that’s all his schoolin’ ends in. No, <i>Sirree,</i> +it’s only men like you and me who know the ins and outs of the people +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say me,” said the doctor, “for goodness’ +sake, for I know nothing about the inhabitants of these woods and waters, but +the birds, the fish, and the beasts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you include politicians,” said I, “of all shades +and colours, under the last genus? because I do, they are regular beasts of +prey.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, he laughed; he said he didn’t know nothing about them. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “I ain’t so modest, I can tell you, for +I <i>do</i> know. I am a clockmaker, and understand machinery. I know all about +the wheels, pulleys, pendulum, balances, and so on, the length of the chain, +and what is best of all, the way to wind ’em up, set ’em a going, +and make ’em keep time. Now, Doctor, I’ll tell you what neither the +English nor the Yankees, nor the colonists themselves, know anything of, and +that is about the extent and importance of these North American provinces under +British rule. Take your pencil now, and write down a few facts I will give you, +and when you are alone meditating, just chew on ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“First—there are four millions of square miles of territory in +them, whereas all Europe has but three millions some odd hundred thousands, and +our almighty, everlastin’ United States still less than that again. +Canada alone is equal in size to Great Britain, France, and Prussia. The +maritime provinces themselves cover a space as large as Holland, Belgium, +Greece, Portugal, and Switzerland, all put together. The imports for 1853 were +between ten and eleven millions, and the exports (ships sold included) between +nine and ten millions. At the commencement of the American Revolution, when we +first dared the English to fight us, we had but two and a half, these provinces +now contain nearly three, and in half a century will reach the enormous amount +of eighteen millions of inhabitants. The increase of population in the States +is thirty-three per cent., in Canada sixty-eight. The united revenue is nearly +a million and a half, and their shipping amounts to four hundred and fifty +thousand tons. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, take these facts and see what an empire is here, surely the best in +climate, soil, mineral, and other productions in the world, and peopled by such +a race as no other country under heaven can produce. No, Sir, here are <i>the +bundle of sticks</i>, all they want is to be well united. How absurd it seems +to us Yankees that England is both so ignorant and so blind to her own +interests, as not to give her attention to this interesting portion of the +empire, that in natural and commercial wealth is of infinitely more importance +than half a dozen Wallachias and Moldavias, and in loyalty, intelligence, and +enterprise, as far superior to turbulent Ireland as it is possible for one +country to surpass another. However, Doctor, it’s no affair of mine. I +hate politics, and I hate talking figures. Sposin’ we try a cigar, and +<i>some white satin</i>.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C20">CHAPTER XX.</a><br/> +TOWN AND COUNTRY.</h2> + +<p> +“Doctor,” sais I, as we ascended the deck the following morning, +“I can’t tell you how I have enjoyed these incidental runs on shore +I have had during my cruise in the ‘Black Hawk.’ I am amazin’ +fond of the country, and bein’ an early riser, I manage to lose none of +its charms. I like to see the early streak in the east, and look on the +glorious sky when the sun rises. I like everything about the country, and the +people that live in it. The town is artificial, the country is natural. Whoever +sees the peep of the morning in the city but a drowsy watchman, who waits for +it to go to his bed? a nurse, that is counting the heavy hours, and longs to +put out the unsnuffed candles, and take a cup of strong tea to keep her peepers +open; or some houseless wretch, that is woke up from his nap on a door-step, by +a punch in the ribs from the staff of a policeman, who begrudges the +misfortunate critter a luxury he is deprived of himself, and asks him what he +is a doin’ of there, as if he didn’t know he had nothin’ to +do nowhere, and tells him to mizzle off home, as if he took pleasure in +reminding him he had none. Duty petrifies these critters’ hearts harder +than the grand marble porch stone that served for a couch, or the doorstep that +was used for a pillow. Even the dogs turn in then, for they don’t think +it’s necessary to mount guard any longer. Blinds and curtains are all +down, and every livin’ critter is asleep, breathing the nasty, hot, +confined, unwholesome air of their bed-rooms, instead of inhaling the cool dewy +breeze of heaven. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it any wonder that the galls are thin, and pale, and delicate, and +are so languid, they look as if they were givin’ themselves airs, when +all they want is air? or that the men complain of dyspepsy, and look hollow and +unhealthy, having neither cheeks, stomach, nor thighs, and have to take bitters +to get an appetite for their food, and pickles and red pepper to digest it? The +sun is up, and has performed the first stage of his journey before the maid +turns out, opens the front door, and takes a look up and down street, to see +who is a stirrin’. Early risin’ must be cheerfulsome, for she is +very chipper, and throws some orange-peel at the shopman of their next +neighbour, as a hint if he was to chase her, he would catch her behind the +hall-door, as he did yesterday, after which she would show him into the +supper-room, where the liquors and cakes are still standing as they were left +last night. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she is right to hide, for it is decent, if it ain’t modest, +seein’ the way she has jumped into her clothes, and the danger there is +of jumping out of them again. How can it be otherwise, when she has to get up +so horrid early? It’s all the fault of the vile milkman, who will come +for fear his milk will get sour; and that beast, the iceman, who won’t +wait, for fear his ice will melt; and that stupid nigger who will brush the +shoes then, he has so many to clean elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +“As she stands there, a woman ascends the step, and produces a basket +from under her cloak, into which she looks carefully, examines its contents +(some lace frills, tippets, and collars of her mistress, which she wore a few +nights ago at a ball), and returns with something heavy in it, for the arm is +extended in carrying it, and the stranger disappears. She still lingers, she is +expecting some one. It is the postman, he gives her three or four letters, one +of which is for herself. She reads it approvingly, and then carefully puts it +into her bosom, but that won’t retain it no how she can fix it, so she +shifts it to her pocket. It is manifest Posty carries a verbal answer, for she +talks very earnestly to him, and shakes hands with him at parting most +cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be her turn for a ball to-night I reckon, for a carriage drives +very rapidly to within three or four hundred yards of the house, and then +crawls to the door so as not to disturb the family. A very fashionably-dressed +maid is there (her mistress must be very kind to lend her such expensive +head-gear, splendid jewelry, and costly and elegant toggery), and her beau is +there with such a handsome moustache and becoming beard, and an +exquisitely-worked chain that winds six or seven times round him, and hangs +loose over his waistcoat, like a coil of golden cord. At a given signal, from +the boss of the hack, who stands door in hand, the young lady gathers her +clothes well up her drumsticks, and would you believe, two steps or springs +only, like those of a kangaroo, take her into the house? It’s a streak of +light, and nothing more. It’s lucky she is thin, for fat tames every +critter that is foolish enough to wear it, and spoils agility. +</p> + +<p> +“The beau takes it more leisurely. There are two epochs in a +critter’s life of intense happiness, first when he doffs the petticoats, +pantellets, the hermaphrodite rig of a child, and mounts the jacket and +trowsers of a boy; and the other is when that gives way to a ‘long tail +blue,’ and a beard. He is then a man. +</p> + +<p> +“The beau has reached this enviable age, and as he is full of admiration +of himself, is generous enough to allow time to others to feast their eyes on +him. So he takes it leisurely, his character, like that charming girl’s, +won’t suffer if it is known they return with the cats in the morning; on +the contrary, women, as they always do, the little fools, will think more of +him. They make no allowance for one of their own sex, but they are very +indulgent, indeed they are both blind and deaf, to the errors of the other. The +fact is, if I didn’t know it was only vindicating the honour of their +sex, I vow I should think it was all envy of the gall who was so lucky, as to +be unlucky; but I know better than that. If the owner of the house should be +foolish enough to be up so early, or entirely take leave of his senses, and ask +him why he was mousing about there, he flatters himself he is just the child to +kick him. Indeed he feels inclined to flap his wings and crow. He is very +proud. Celestina is in love with him, and tells him (but he knew that before) +he is very handsome. He is a man, he has a beard as black as the ace of spades, +is full dressed, and the world is before him. He thrashed a watchman last +night, and now he has a drop in his eye, would fight the devil. He has +succeeded in deceiving that gall, he has no more idea of marrying her than I +have. It shows his power. He would give a dollar to crow, but suffers himself +to be gently pushed out of the hall, and the door fastened behind him, amid +such endearing expressions, that they would turn a fellow’s head, even +after his hair had grown gray. He then lights a cigar, gets up with the driver, +and looks round with an air of triumph, as much as to say—‘What +would you give to be admired and as successful as I am?’ and when he +turns the next corner, he does actilly crow. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, when the cat’s away, the mice will play. Things +ain’t in a mess, and that house a hurrah’s nest, is it? Time wears +on, and the alternate gall must be a movin’ now, for the other who was at +the ball has gone to bed, and intends to have her by-daily head-ache if +inquired for. To-night it will be her turn to dance, and to-morrow to sleep, so +she cuts round considerable smart. Poor thing, the time is not far off when you +will go to bed and not sleep, but it’s only the child that burns its +fingers that dreads the fire. In the mean time, set things to rights. +</p> + +<p> +“The curtains are looped up, and the shutters folded back into the wall, +and the rooms are sprinkled with tea-leaves, which are lightly swept up, and +the dust left behind, where it ought to be, on the carpet,—that’s +all the use there is of a carpet, except you have got corns. And then the +Venetians are let down to darken the rooms, and the windows are kept closed to +keep out the flies, the dust, and the heat, and the flowers brought in and +placed in the stands. And there is a beautiful temperature in the parlour, for +it is the same air that was there a fortnight before. It is so hot, when the +young ladies come down to breakfast, they can’t eat, so they take nothing +but a plate of buck-wheat cakes, and another of hot buttered rolls, a dozen of +oysters, a pot of preserves, a cup of honey, and a few ears of Indian corn. +They can’t abide meat, it’s too solid and heavy. It’s so +horrid warm it’s impossible they can have an appetite, and even that +little trifle makes them feel dyspeptic. They’ll starve soon; what can be +the matter? A glass of cool ginger pop, with ice, would be refreshing, and soda +water is still better, it is too early for wine, and at any rate it’s +heating, besides being unscriptural. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the men look at their watches, and say they are in a hurry, and +must be off for their counting-houses like wink, so they bolt. What a wonder it +is the English common people call the stomach a bread-basket, for it has no +meanin’ there. They should have called it a meat-tray, for they are the +boys for beef and mutton. But with us it’s the identical thing. They +clear the table in no time, it’s a grand thing, for it saves the servants +trouble. And a steak, and a dish of chops, added to what the ladies had, is +grand. The best way to make a pie is to make it in the stomach. But flour +fixins piping hot is the best, and as their disgestion ain’t good, it is +better to try a little of everything on table to see which best agrees with +them. So down goes the Johnny cakes, Indian flappers, Lucy Neals, Hoe +cakes—with toast, fine cookies, rice batter, Indian batter, Kentucky +batter, flannel cakes, and clam fritters. Super-superior fine flour is the +wholesomest thing in the world, and you can’t have too much of it. +It’s grand for pastry, and that is as light and as flakey as snow when +well made. How can it make paste inside of you and be wholesome? If you would +believe some Yankee doctors you’d think it would make the stomach a +regular glue pot. They pretend to tell you pap made of it will kill a baby as +dead as a herring. But doctors must have some hidden thing to lay the blame of +their ignorance on. Once when they didn’t know what was the matter of a +child, they said it was water in the brain, and now when it dies—oh, they +say, the poor thing was killed by that pastry flour. But they be hanged. How +can the best of anything that is good be bad? The only thing is to be sure a +thing is best, and then go a-head with it. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when the men get to their offices, they are half roasted alive, +and have to take ices to cool them, and then for fear the cold will heat them, +they have to take brandy cock-tail to counteract it. So they keep up a sort of +artificial fever and ague all day. The ice gives the one, and brandy the other, +like shuttlecock and battledore. If they had walked down as they had ought to +have done, in the cool of the morning, they would have avoided all this. +</p> + +<p> +“How different it is now in the country, ain’t it? What a glorious +thing the sun-rise is! How beautiful the dew-spangled bushes, and the pearly +drops they shed, are! How sweet and cool is the morning air, and how refreshing +and bracing the light breeze is to the nerves that have been relaxed in warm +repose! The new-ploughed earth, the snowy-headed clover, the wild flowers, the +blooming trees, and the balsamic spruce, all exhale their fragrance to invite +you forth. While the birds offer up their morning hymn, as if to proclaim that +all things praise the Lord. The lowing herd remind you that they have kept +their appointed time; and the freshening breezes, as they swell in the forest +and awaken the sleeping leaves, seem to whisper, ‘We too come with +healing on our wings;’ and the babbling brook, that it also has its +mission to minister to your wants. Oh, morning in the country is a glorious +thing, and it is impossible when one rises and walks forth and surveys the +scene not to exclaim, ‘God is good.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that early hour has health, vigour, and cheerfulness in it. How +natural it seems to me, how familiar I am with everything it indicates! The dew +tells me there will be no showers, the white frost warns me of its approach; +and if that does not arrive in time, the sun instructs me to notice and +remember, that if it rises bright and clear and soon disappears in a cloud, I +must prepare for heavy rain. The birds and the animals all, all say, ‘We +too are cared for, and we have our foreknowledge, which we disclose by our +conduct to you.” The brooks too have meaning in their voices, and the +southern sentinel proclaims aloud, ‘Prepare.’ And the western, +‘All is well.’” +</p> + +<p> +Oh, how well I know the face of nature! What pleasure I take as I commence my +journey at this hour, to witness the rising of the mist in the autumn from the +low grounds, and its pausing on the hill-tops, as if regretting the scene it +was about to leave! And how I admire the little insect webs, that are spangled +over the field at that time; and the partridge warming itself in the first +gleam of sunshine it can discover on the road! The alder, as I descend into the +glen, gives me notice that the first frost has visited him, as it always does, +before others, to warn him that it has arrived to claim every leaf of the +forest as its own. Oh, the country is the place for peace, health, beauty, and +innocence. I love it, I was born in it. I lived the greater part of my life +there, and I look forward to die in it. +</p> + +<p> +“How different from town life is that of the country! There are duties to +be performed in-door and out-door, and the inmates assemble round their +breakfast-table, refreshed by sleep and invigorated by the cool air, partake of +their simple, plain, and substantial meal, with the relish of health, +cheerfulness, and appetite. The open window admits the fresh breeze, in happy +ignorance of dust, noise, or fashionable darkness. The verandah defies rain or +noon-day sun, and employment affords no room for complaint that the day is hot, +the weather oppressive, the nerves weak, or the digestion enfeebled. There can +be no happiness where there is an alternation of listlessness and excitement. +They are the two extremes between which it resides, and that locality to my +mind is the country. Care, disease, sorrow, and disappointment are common to +both. They are the lot of humanity; but the children of mammon, and of God, +bear them differently. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t intend to turn preacher, Doctor, but I do positively +believe, if I hadn’t a been a clockmaker, dear old Minister would have +made me one. I don’t allot, though, I would have taken in Slickville, for +I actilly think I couldn’t help waltzing with the galls, which would have +put our folks into fits, or kept old Clay, clergymen like, to leave sinners +behind me. I can’t make out these puritan fellows, or evangelical boys, +at all. To my mind, religion is a cheerful thing, intended to make us happy, +not miserable; and that our faces, like that of nature, should be smiling, and +that like birds we should sing and carol, and like lilies, we should be well +arrayed, and not that our countenances should make folks believe we were chosen +vessels, containing, not the milk of human kindness, but horrid sour vinegar +and acid mothery grounds. Why, the very swamp behind our house is full of a +plant called ‘a gall’s side-saddle.’<sup>1</sup> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> This is the common name for the Sarracenia. +</p> + +<p> +“Plague take them old Independents; I can’t and never could +understand them. I believe, if Bishop Laud had allowed them to sing through +their noses, pray without gowns, and build chapels without steeples, they would +have died out like Quakers, by being let alone. They wanted to make the state +believe they were of consequence. If the state had treated them as if they were +of no importance, they would have felt that too very soon. Opposition made them +obstinate. They won’t stick at nothing to carry their own ends. +</p> + +<p> +“They made a law once in Connecticut that no man should ride or drive on +a Sunday except to a conventicle. Well, an old Dutch governor of New York, when +that was called New Amsterdam and belonged to Holland, once rode into the +colony on horseback on a Sabbath day, pretty hard job it was too, for he was a +very stout man, and a poor horseman. There were no wheel carriages in those +days, and he had been used to home to travel in canal boats, and smoke at his +ease; but he had to make the journey, and he did it, and he arrived just as the +puritans were coming out of meeting, and going home, slowly, stately, and +solemnly, to their cold dinner cooked the day before (for they didn’t +think it no harm to make servants work double tides on Saturday), their rule +being to do <i>anything</i> of a week day, but <i>nothing</i> on the Sabbath. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it was an awful scandal this, and a dreadful violation of the blue +laws of the young nation. Connecticut and New Amsterdam (New York) were nothing +then but colonies; but the puritans owed no obedience to princes, and set up +for themselves. The elders and ministry and learned men met on Monday to +consider of this dreadful profanity of the Dutch governor. On the one hand it +was argued, if he entered their state (for so they called it then) he was +amenable to their laws, and ought to be cited, condemned, and put into the +stocks, as an example to evil-doers. On the other hand, they got hold of a +Dutch book on the Law of Nations, to cite agin him; but it was written in +Latin, and although it contained all about it, they couldn’t find the +place, for their minister said there was no index to it. Well, it was said, if +we are independent, so is he, and whoever heard of a king or a prince being put +in the stocks? It bothered them, so they sent their Yankee governor to him to +bully and threaten him, and see how he would take it, as we now do, at the +present day, to Spain about Cuba, and England about your fisheries. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the governor made a long speech to him, read him a chapter in the +Bible, and then expounded it, and told him they must put him in the stocks. All +this time the Dutchman went on smoking, and blowing out great long puffs of +tobacco. At last he paused, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“‘You be tamned. Stockum me—stockum teivel.’ And he +laid down his pipe, and with one hand took hold of their governor by the +fore-top, and with the other drew a line across his forehead and said, +‘Den I declare war, and Gooten Himmel! I shall scalp you all.’ +</p> + +<p> +“After delivering himself of that long speech, he poured out two glasses +of Schiedam, drunk one himself, and offered the Yankee governor the other, who +objected to the word Schiedam, as it terminated in a profane oath, with which, +he said, the Dutch language was greatly defiled; but seeing it was also called +Geneva, he would swallow it. Well, his high mightiness didn’t understand +him, but he opened his eyes like an owl and stared, and said, ‘Dat is tam +coot,’ and the conference broke up. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it was the first visit of the Dutch governor, and they hoped it +would be the last, so they passed it over. But his business was important, and +it occupied him the whole week to settle it, and he took his leave on Saturday +evening, and was to set out for home on Sunday again. Well, this was considered +as adding insult to injury. What was to be done? Now it’s very easy and +very proper for us to sit down and condemn the Duke of Tuscany, who encourages +pilgrims to go to shrines where marble statues weep blood, and cataliptic galls +let flies walk over their eyes without winking, and yet imprisons an English +lady for giving away the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress.’ It’s +very wrong, no doubt, but it ain’t very new after all. Ignorant and +bigoted people always have persecuted, and always will to the end of the +chapter. But what was to be done with his high mightiness, the Dutch governor? +Well, they decided that it was not lawful to put him into the stocks; but that +it was lawful to deprive him of the means of sinning. So one of the elders +swapped horses with him, and when he started on the Sabbath, the critter was so +lame after he went a mile, he had to return and wait till Monday. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t understand these puritan folks; and I suppose if I had +been a preacher they wouldn’t have understood me. But I must get back to +where I left off. I was a talkin’ about the difference of life in town +and in the country, and how in the world I got away, off from the subject, to +the Dutch governor and them puritans, I don’t know. When I say I love the +country, I mean it in its fullest extent, not merely old settlements and rural +districts, but the great unbroken forest. This is a taste, I believe, a man +must have in early life. I don’t think it can be acquired in middle age, +any more than playin’ marbles can, though old Elgin tried that game and +made money at it. A man must know how to take care of himself, forage for +himself, shelter himself, and cook for himself. It’s no place for an +epicure, because he can’t carry his cook, and his spices, and sauces, and +all that, with him. Still a man ought to know a goose from a gridiron; and if +he wants to enjoy the sports of the flood and the forest, he should be able to +help himself; and what he does he ought to do well. Fingers were made afore +knives and forks; flat stones before bake-pans; crotched sticks before jacks; +bark before tin; and chips before plates; and it’s worth knowing how to +use them or form them. +</p> + +<p> +“It takes two or three years to build and finish a good house. A wigwam +is knocked up in an hour; and as you have to be your own architect, carpenter, +mason, and labourer, it’s just as well to be handy as not. A critter that +can’t do that, hante the gumption of a bear who makes a den, a fox who +makes a hole, or a bird that makes a nest, let alone a beaver, who is a dab at +house building. No man can enjoy the woods that ain’t up to these things. +If he ain’t, he had better stay to his hotel, where there is one servant +to clean his shoes, another to brush his coat, a third to make his bed, a +fourth to shave him, a fifth to cook for him, a sixth to wait on him, a seventh +to wash for him, and half a dozen more for him to scold and bless all day. +That’s a place where he can go to bed, and get no sleep—go to +dinner, and have no appetite—go to the window, and get no fresh air, but +snuff up the perfume of drains, bar-rooms, and cooking ranges—suffer from +heat, because he can’t wear his coat, or from politeness, because he +can’t take it off—or go to the beach, where the sea breeze +won’t come, it’s so far up the country, where the white sand will +dazzle, and where there is no shade, because trees won’t grow—or +stand and throw stones into the water, and then jump in arter ’em in +despair, and forget the way out. He’d better do anything than go to the +woods. +</p> + +<p> +“But if he can help himself like a man, oh, it’s a glorious place. +The ways of the forest are easy to learn, its nature is simple, and the cooking +plain, while the fare is abundant. Fish for the catching, deer for the +shooting, cool springs for the drinking, wood for the cutting, appetite for +eating, and sleep that waits no wooing. It comes with the first star, and +tarries till it fades into morning. For the time you are monarch of all you +survey. No claimant forbids you; no bailiff haunts you; no thieves molest you; +no fops annoy you. If the tempest rages without, you are secure in your lowly +tent. Though it humbles in its fury the lofty pine, and uproots the stubborn +oak, it passes harmlessly over you, and you feel for once you are a free and +independent man. You realize a term which is a fiction in our constitution. Nor +pride nor envy, hatred nor malice, rivalry nor strife is there. You are at +peace with all the world, and the world is at peace with you. You own not its +authority. You can worship God after your own fashion, and dread not the name +of bigot, idolater, heretic, or schismatic. The forest is his temple—he +is ever present, and the still small voice of your short and simple prayer +seems more audible amid the silence that reigns around you. You feel that you +are in the presence of your Creator, before whom you humble yourself, and not +of man, before whom you clothe yourself with pride. Your very solitude seems to +impress you with the belief that, though hidden from the world, you are more +distinctly visible, and more individually an object of Divine protection, than +any worthless atom like yourself ever could be in the midst of a +multitude—a mere unit of millions. Yes, you are free to come, to go, to +stay; your home is co-extensive with the wild woods. Perhaps it is better for a +solitary retreat than a permanent home; still it forms a part of what I call +the country. +</p> + +<p> +“At Country Harbour we had a sample of the simple, plain, natural, +unpretending way in which neighbours meet of an evening in the rural districts. +But look at that house in the town, where we saw the family assembled at +breakfast this morning, and see what is going on there to-night. It is the last +party of the season. The family leave the city in a week for the country. What +a delightful change from the heated air of a town-house, to the quiet retreat +of an hotel at a watering-place, where there are <i>only</i> six hundred people +collected. It is positively the very last party, and would have been given +weeks ago, but everybody was engaged for so long a time a-head, there was no +getting the fashionable folks to come. It is a charming ball. The old ladies +are <i>fully</i> dressed, only they are so squeezed against the walls, their +diamonds and pearls are hid. And the young ladies are so <i>lightly</i> +dressed, they look lovely. And the old gentlemen seem so happy as they walk +round the room, and smile on all the acquaintances of their early days; and +tell every one they look so well, and their daughters are so handsome. It +ain’t possible they are bored, and they try not even to look so. And the +room is so well lighted, and so well filled, perhaps a little too much so to +leave space for the dancers; but yet not more so than is fashionable. And then +the young gentlemen talk so enchantingly about Paris, and London, and Rome, and +so disparagingly of home, it is quite refreshing to hear them. And they have +been in such high society abroad, they ought to be well bred, for they know +John <i>Manners,</i> and all the <i>Manners</i> family, and well informed in +politics; for they know John Russell, who never says I’ll be hanged if I +do this or that, but I will be beheaded if I do; in allusion to one of his +great ancestors who was as <i>innocent</i> of trying to subvert the +<i>constitution</i> as he is. And they have often seen ‘Albert, Albert, +Prince of Wales, and all the royal family,’ as they say in England for +shortness. They have travelled with their eyes open, ears open, mouths open, +and pockets open. They have heard, seen, tasted, and bought everything worth +having. They are capital judges of wine, and that reminds them there is lots of +the best in the next room; but they soon discover they can’t have it in +perfection in America. It has been nourished for the voyage, it has been fed +with brandy. It is heady, for when they return to their fair friends, their +hands are not quite steady, they are apt to spill things over the ladies +dresses (but <i>they</i> are so good-natured, they only laugh; for they never +wear a dress but wunst). And their eyes sparkle like jewels, and they look at +their partners as if they would eat ’em up. And I guess they tell them +so, for they start sometimes, and say: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, well now, that’s too bad! Why how you talk! Well, +travellin’ hasn’t improved you?’ +</p> + +<p> +“But it must be a charming thing to be eat up, for they look delighted at +the very idea of it; and their mammas seem pleased that they are so much to the +<i>taste</i> of these travelled gentlemen. +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, dancing is voted a bore by the handsomest couple in the room, +and they sit apart, and the uninitiated think they are making love. And they +talk so confidentially, and look so amused; they seem delighted with each +other. But they are only criticising. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Who is pink skirt?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Blue-nose Mary.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What in the world do they call her Blue-nose for?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It is a nickname for the Nova Scotians. Her father is one; he +made his fortune by a diving-<i>bell</i>.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Did he? Well, it’s quite right then it should go with a +<i>belle</i>.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How very good! May I repeat that? You do say such clever things! +And who is that pale girl that reminds you of brown holland, bleached white? +She looks quite scriptural; she has a proud look and a high stomach.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That’s Rachael Scott, one of my very best friends. She is +as good a girl as ever lived. My! I wish I was as rich as she is. I have only +three hundred thousand dollars, but she will have four at her father’s +death if he don’t bust and fail. But, dear me! how severe you are! I am +quite afraid of you. I wonder what you will say of me when my back is +turned!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Shall I tell you?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, if it isn’t too savage.’ +</p> + +<p> +“The hint about the money is not lost, for he is looking for a fortune, +it saves the trouble of making one; and he whispers something in her ear that +pleases her uncommonly, for she sais, +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ah now, the severest thing you can do is to flatter me that +way.’ +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t discourse of the company anymore; they have too much to +say to each other of themselves now. +</p> + +<p> +“‘My! what a smash! what in the world is that?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nothing but a large mirror. It is lucky it is broken, for if the +host saw himself in it, he might see the face of a fool.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘How uproariously those young men talk, and how loud the music is, +and how confounded hot the room is! I must go home. But I must wait a moment +till that noisy, tipsy boy is dragged down-stairs, and shoved into a +hack.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And this is upstart life, is it? Yes, but there are changing scenes in +life. Look at these rooms next morning. The chandelier is broken; the centre +table upset, the curtains are ruined, the carpets are covered with ice-creams, +jellies, blancmanges, and broken glass. And the elegant album, souvenirs, and +autograph books, are all in the midst of this nasty mess.<sup>1</sup> The +couches are greasy, the <i>silk</i> ottoman shows it has been <i>sat in</i> +since it met with an accident which was only a <i>trifle,</i> and there has +been the devil to pay everywhere. A doctor is seen going into the house, and +soon after a coffin is seen coming out. An unbidden guest, a disgusting +levelling democrat came to that ball, how or when no one knew; but there he is +and there he will remain for the rest of the summer. He has victimized one poor +girl already, and is now strangling another. The yellow fever is there. Nature +has sent her avenging angel. There is no safety but in flight. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Whoever thinks this description over-drawn, is referred to a +remarkably clever work which lately appeared in New York, entitled “The +Potiphar Papers.” Mr Slick has evidently spared this class of society. +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious! if people will ape their superiors, why won’t they +imitate their elegance as well as their extravagance, and learn that it is the +refinement alone, of the higher orders which in all countries distinguishes +them from the rest of mankind? <i>The decencies of life, when polished, become +its brightest ornaments.</i> Gold is a means, and not an end. It can do a great +deal, still it can’t do everything; and among others I guess it +can’t make a gentleman, or else California would be chock full of +’em. No, give me the country, and the folks that live in it, I +say.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C21">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br/> +THE HONEYMOON.</h2> + +<p> +After having given vent to the foregoing lockrum, I took Jehosophat +Bean’s illustrated “Biography of the Eleven Hundred and Seven +Illustrious American Heroes,” and turned in to read a spell; but arter a +while I lost sight of the heroes and their exploits, and I got into a wide +spekilation on all sorts of subjects, and among the rest my mind wandered off +to Jordan river, the Collingwood girls in particular, and Jessie and the +doctor, and the Beaver-dam, and its inmates in general. I shall set down my +musings as if I was thinking aloud. +</p> + +<p> +I wonder, sais I to myself, whether Sophy and I shall be happy together, +sposin’ always, that she is willing to put her head into the yoke, for +that’s by no means sartain yet. I’ll know better when I can study +her more at leisure. Still matrimony is always a risk, where you don’t +know what sort of breaking a critter has had when young. Women in a general way +don’t look like the same critters when they are spliced, that they do +before; matrimony, like sugar and water, has a nateral affinity for and +tendency to acidity. The clear, beautiful, bright sunshine of the wedding +morning is too apt to cloud over at twelve o’clock, and the afternoon to +be cold, raw, and uncomfortable, or else the heat generates storms that fairly +make the house shake, and the happy pair tremble again. Everybody knows the +real, solid grounds which can alone make married life perfect. I should only +prose if I was to state them, but I have an idea as cheerfulness is a great +ingredient, a good climate has a vast deal to do with it, for who can be chirp +in a bad one? Wedlock was first instituted in Paradise. Well, there must have +been a charming climate there. It could not have been too hot, for Eve never +used a parasol, or even a “kiss-me-quick,” and Adam never +complained, though he wore no clothes, that the sun blistered his skin. It +couldn’t have been wet, or they would have coughed all the time, like +consumptive sheep, and it would have spoiled their garden, let alone giving +them the chilblains and the snuffles. They didn’t require umbrellas, +uglies, fans, or India-rubber shoes. There was no such a thing as a stroke of +the sun or a snow-drift there. The temperature must have been perfect, and +connubial bliss, I allot, was rael jam up. The only thing that seemed wanting +there, was for some one to drop in to tea now and then for Eve to have a good +chat with, while Adam was a studyin’ astronomy, or tryin’ to invent +a kettle that would stand fire; for women do like talking, that’s a fact, +and there are many little things they have to say to each other that no man has +any right to hear, and if he did, he couldn’t understand. +</p> + +<p> +It’s like a dodge Sally and I had to blind mother. Sally was for +everlastingly leaving the keys about, and every time there was an inquiry about +them, or a hunt for them, the old lady would read her a proper lecture. So at +last she altered the name, and said, “Sam, wo is shlizel?” instead +of Where is the key, and she tried all she could to find it out, but she +couldn’t for the life of her. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, what can be expected of such a climate as Nova Scotia or England? Though +the first can ripen Indian corn and the other can’t, and that is a great +test, I can tell you. It is hard to tell which of them is wuss, for both are +bad enough, gracious knows, and yet the fools that live in them brag that their +own beats all natur. If it is the former, well then thunder don’t clear +the weather as it does to the South, and the sun don’t come out bright +again at wunst and all natur look clear and tranquil and refreshed; and the +flowers and roses don’t hang their heads down coily for the breeze to +brush the drops from their newly-painted leaves, and then hold up and look more +lovely than ever; nor does the voice of song and merriment arise from every +tree; nor fragrance and perfume fill the air, till you are tempted to say, Now +did you ever see anything so charming as this? nor do you stroll out arm-in-arm +(that is, sposin’ you ain’t in a nasty dirty horrid town), and feel +pleased with the dear married gall and yourself, and all you see and hear, +while you drink in pleasure with every sense—oh, it don’t do that. +Thunder unsettles everything for most a week, there seems no end to the gloom +during these three or four days. You shiver if you don’t make a fire, and +if you do you are fairly roasted alive. It’s all grumblin’ and +growlin’ within, and all mud, slush, and slop outside. You are bored to +death everywhere. And if it’s English climate it is wuss still, because +in Nova Scotia there is an end to all this at last, for the west wind blows +towards the end of the week soft and cool and bracing, and sweeps away the +clouds, and lays the dust and dries all up, and makes everything smile again. +But if it is English it’s unsettled and uncertain all the time. You +can’t depend on it for an hour. Now it rains, then it clears, after that +the sun shines; but it rains too, both together, like hystericks, laughing and +crying at the same time. The trees are loaded with water, and hold it like a +sponge; touch a bough of one with your hat, and you are drowned in a +shower-bath. There is no hope, for there is no end visible, and when there does +seem a little glimpse of light, so as to make you think it is a going to +relent, it wraps itself up in a foggy, drizzly mist, and sulks like anything. +</p> + +<p> +In this country they have a warm summer, a magnificent autumn, a clear, cold, +healthy winter, but no sort of spring at all. In England they have no summer +and no winter.<sup>1</sup> Now, in my opinion, that makes the difference in +temper between the two races. The clear sky and bracing air here, when they do +come, give the folks good spirits; but the extremes of heat and cold limit the +time, and decrease the inclination for exercise. Still the people are +good-natured, merry fellows. In England, the perpetual gloom of the sky affects +the disposition of the men. America knows no such temper as exists in Britain. +People here can’t even form an idea of it. Folks often cut off their +children there in their wills for half nothing, won’t be reconciled to +them on any terms, if they once displease them, and both they and their sons +die game, and when death sends cards of invitation for the last assemblage of a +family, they write declensions. There can’t be much real love where there +is no tenderness. A gloomy sky, stately houses, and a cold, formal people, make +Cupid, like a bird of passage, spread his wings, and take flight to a more +congenial climate. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> I wonder what Mr Slick would say now, in 1855? +</p> + +<p> +Castles have show-apartments, and the vulgar gaze with stupid wonder, and envy +the owners. But there are rooms in them all, not exhibited. In them the +imprisoned bird may occasionally be seen, as in the olden time, to flutter +against the casement and pine in the gloom of its noble cage. There are +chambers too in which grief, anger, jealousy, wounded pride, and disappointed +ambition, pour out their sighs, their groans, and imprecations, unseen and +unheard. The halls resound with mirth and revelry, and the eye grows dim with +its glittering splendour; but amid all this ostentatious brilliancy, poor human +nature refuses to be comforted with diamonds and pearls, or to acknowledge that +happiness consists in gilded galleries, gay equipages, or fashionable parties. +They are cold and artificial. The heart longs to discard this joyless +pageantry, to surround itself with human affections, and only asks to love and +be loved. +</p> + +<p> +Still England is not wholly composed of castles and cottages, and there are +very many happy homes in it, and thousands upon thousands of happy people in +them, in spite of the melancholy climate, the destitution of the poor, and the +luxury of the rich. God is good. He is not only merciful, but a just judge. He +equalizes the condition of all. The industrious poor man is content, for he +relies on Providence and his own exertions for his daily bread. He earns his +food, and his labour gives him a zest for it. Ambition craves, and is never +satisfied, one is poor amid his prodigal wealth, the other rich in his frugal +poverty. <i>No man is rich whose expenditure exceeds his means; and no one is +poor whose incomings exceeds his outgoings.</i> Barring such things as climate, +over which we have no control, happiness, in my idea, consists in the mind, and +not in the purse. These are plain common truths, and everybody will tell you +there is nothing new in them, just as if there was anything new under the sun +but my wooden clocks, and yet they only say so because they can’t deny +them, for who acts as if he ever heard of them before. Now, if they do know +them, why the plague don’t they regulate their timepieces by them? If +they did, matrimony wouldn’t make such an everlastin’ +transmogrification of folks as it does, would it? +</p> + +<p> +The way cupidists scratch their head and open their eyes and stare after they +are married, reminds me of Felix Culpepper. He was a judge at Saint Lewis, on +the Mississippi, and the lawyers used to talk gibberish to him, yougerry, +eyegerry, iggery, ogerry, and tell him it was Littleton’s Norman French +and Law Latin. It fairly onfakilised him. Wedlock works just such changes on +folks sometimes. It makes me laugh, and then it fairly scares me. +</p> + +<p> +Sophy, dear, how will you and I get on, eh? The Lord only knows, but you are an +uncommon sensible gall, and people tell me till I begin to believe it myself, +that I have some common sense, so we must try to learn the chart of life, so as +to avoid those sunk rocks so many people make shipwreck on. I have often asked +myself the reason of all this onsartainty. Let us jist see how folks talk and +think, and decide on this subject. First and foremost they have got a great +many cant terms, and you can judge a good deal from them. There is the +honeymoon, now, was there ever such a silly word as that? Minister said the +Dutch at New Amsterdam, as they used to call New York, brought out the word to +America, for all the friends of the new married couple, in Holland, did nothing +for a whole month but smoke, drink metheglin (a tipple made of honey and gin), +and they called that bender the honeymoon; since then the word has remained, +though metheglin is forgot for something better. +</p> + +<p> +Well, when a couple is married now, they give up a whole month to each other, +what an everlastin’ sacrifice, ain’t it, out of a man’s short +life? The reason is, they say, the metheglin gets sour after that, and +ain’t palatable no more, and what is left of it is used for +picklin’ cucumbers, peppers, and nastertions, and what not. Now, as +Brother Eldad, the doctor, says, let us dissect this phrase, and find out what +one whole moon means, and then we shall understand what this wonderful thing +is. The new moon now, as a body might say, ain’t nothing. It’s just +two small lines of a semicircle, like half a wheel, with a little strip of +white in it, about as big as a cart tire, and it sets a little after sundown; +and as it gives no light, you must either use a candle or go to bed in the +dark: now that’s the first week, and it’s no great shakes to brag +on, is it? Well, then there is the first quarter, and calling that the first +which ought to be second, unless the moon has only three quarters, which sounds +odd, shows that the new moon counts for nothin’. Well, the first quarter +is something like the thing, though not the real genuine article either. +It’s better than the other, but its light don’t quite satisfy us +neither. Well, then comes the full moon, and that is all there is, as one may +say. Now, neither the moon nor nothin’ else can be more than full, and +when you have got all, there is nothing more to expect. But a man must be a +blockhead, indeed, to expect the moon to remain one minute after it is full, as +every night clips a little bit off, till there is a considerable junk gone by +the time the week is out, and what is worse, every night there is more and more +darkness afore it rises. It comes reluctant, and when it does arrive it hante +long to stay, for the last quarter takes its turn at the lantern. That only +rises a little afore the sun, as if it was ashamed to be caught napping at that +hour—that quarter therefore is nearly as dark as ink. So you see the new +and last quarter go for nothing; that everybody will admit. The first +ain’t much better, but the last half of that quarter and the first of the +full, make a very decent respectable week. +</p> + +<p> +Well, then, what’s all this when it’s fried? Why, it amounts to +this, that if there is any resemblance between a lunar and a lunatic month, +that the honeymoon lasts only one good week. +</p> + +<p> +Don’t be skeared, Sophy, when you read this, because we must look things +in the face and call them by their right name. +</p> + +<p> +Well, then, let us call it the honey-week. Now if it takes a whole month to +make one honey-week, it must cut to waste terribly, mustn’t it? But then +you know a man can’t wive and thrive the same year. Now wastin’ so +much of that precious month is terrible, ain’t it? But oh me, bad as it +is, it ain’t the worst of it. There is no insurance office for happiness, +there is no policy to be had to cover losses—you must bear them all +yourself. Now suppose, just suppose for one moment, and positively such things +have happened before now, they have indeed; I have known them occur more than +once or twice myself among my own friends, fact, I assure you. Suppose now that +week is cold, cloudy, or uncomfortable, where is the honeymoon then? Recollect +there is only one of them, there ain’t two. You can’t say it rained +cats and dogs this week, let us try the next; you can’t do that, +it’s over and gone for ever. Well, if you begin life with disappointment, +it is apt to end in despair. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Sophy, dear, as I said before, don’t get skittish at seeing this, +and start and race off and vow you won’t ever let the halter be put on +you, for I kinder sorter guess that, with your sweet temper, good sense, and +lovin’ heart, and with the light-hand I have for a rein, our honeymoon +will last through life. We will give up that silly word, that foolish boys and +girls use without knowing its meanin’, and we will count by years and not +by months, and we won’t expect, what neither marriage nor any other +earthly thing can give, perfect happiness. It tante in the nature of things, +and don’t stand to reason, that earth is Heaven, Slickville paradise, or +you and me angels; we ain’t no such a thing. If you was, most likely the +first eastwardly wind (and though it is a painful thing to confess it, I must +candidly admit there is an eastwardly wind sometimes to my place to home), why +you would just up wings and off to the sky like wink, and say you didn’t +like the land of the puritans, it was just like themselves, cold, hard, +uncongenial, and repulsive; and what should I do? Why most likely remain +behind, for there is no marrying or giving in marriage up there. +</p> + +<p> +No, no, dear, if you are an angel, and positively you are amazingly like one, +why the first time I catch you asleep I will clip your wings and keep you here +with me, until we are both ready to start together. We won’t hope for too +much, nor fret for trifles, will we? These two things are the greatest maxims +in life I know of. When I was a boy I used to call them commandments, but I got +such a lecture for that, and felt so sorry for it afterwards, I never did +again, nor will as long as I live. Oh, dear, I shall never forget the lesson +poor dear old Minister taught me on that occasion. +</p> + +<p> +There was a thanksgiving ball wunst to Slickville, and I wanted to go, but I +had no clothes suitable for such an occasion as that, and father said it would +cost more than it was worth to rig me out for it, so I had to stop at home. +Sais Mr Hopewell to me, +</p> + +<p> +“Sam,” said he, “don’t fret about it, you will find it +‘all the same a year hence.’ As that holds good in most things, +don’t it show us the folly now of those trifles we set our hearts on, +when in one short year they will be disregarded or forgotten?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never fear,” said I, “I am not a going to break the twelfth +commandment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Twelfth commandment,” said he, repeatin’ the words slowly, +laying down his book, taking off his spectacles, and lookin’ hard at me, +almost onfakilised. “Twelfth commandment, did I hear right, Sam,” +said he, “did you say that?” +</p> + +<p> +Well, I saw there was a squall rising to windward, but boy like, instead of +shortening sail, and taking down royals and topgallant masts, and making all +snug, I just braved it out, and prepared to meet the blast with every inch of +canvas set. “Yes, Sir,” said I, “the twelfth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me,” said he, “poor boy, that is my fault. I really +thought you knew there were only ten, and had them by heart years ago. They +were among the first things I taught you. How on earth could you have forgotten +them so soon? Repeat them to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, I went through them all, down to “anything that is his,” to +ampersand without making a single stop. +</p> + +<p> +“Sam,” said he, “don’t do it again, that’s a good +soul, for it frightens me. I thought I must have neglected you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “there are two more, Sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two more,” he said, “why what under the sun do you mean? +what are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais I, “the eleventh is, ‘Expect nothin’, +and you shall not be disappointed,’ and the twelfth is, ‘Fret not +thy gizzard.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And pray, Sir,” said he, lookin’ thunder-squalls at me, +“where did you learn them?” +</p> + +<p> +“From Major Zeb Vidito,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“Major Zeb Vidito,” he replied, “is the greatest reprobate in +the army. He is the wretch who boasts that he fears neither God, man, nor +devil. Go, my son, gather up your books, and go home. You can return to your +father. My poor house has no room in it for Major Zeb Vidito, or his pupil, Sam +Slick, or any such profane wicked people, and may the Lord have mercy on +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, to make a long story short, it brought me to my bearings that. I had to +heave to, lower a boat, send a white flag to him, beg pardon, and so on, and we +knocked up a treaty of peace, and made friends again. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t say no more about it, Sam,” said he, “but mind +my words, and apply your experience to it afterwards in life, and see if I +ain’t right. <i>Crime has but two travelling companions. It commences its +journey with the scoffer, and ends it with the blasphemer:</i> not that talking +irreverently ain’t very improper in itself, but it destroys the sense of +right and wrong, and prepares the way for sin.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, I won’t call these commandments, for the old man was right, +it’s no way to talk, I’ll call them maxims. Now, we won’t +expect too much, nor fret over trifles, will we, Sophy? It takes a great deal +to make happiness, for everything must be in tune like a piano; but it takes +very little to spoil it. Fancy a bride now having a tooth-ache, or a swelled +face during the honeymoon—in courtship she won’t show, but in +marriage she can’t help it,—or a felon on her finger (it is to be +hoped she hain’t given her hand to one); or fancy now; just fancy, a +hooping-cough caught in the cold church, that causes her to make a noise like +drowning, a great gurgling in-draught, and a great out-blowing, like a young +sporting porpoise, and instead of being all alone with her own dear husband, to +have to admit the horrid doctor, and take draughts that make her breath as hot +as steam, and submit to have nauseous garlic and brandy rubbed on her breast, +spine, palms of her hands, and soles of her feet, that makes the bridegroom, +every time he comes near her to ask her how she is, sneeze, as if he was +catching it himself. He don’t say to himself in an under-tone damn it, +how unlucky this is. Of course not; he is too happy to swear, if he ain’t +too good, as he ought to be; and she don’t say, eigh—augh, like a +donkey, for they have the hooping-cough all the year round; “dear love, +eigh—augh, how wretched this is, ain’t it? eigh—augh,” +of course not; how can she be wretched? Ain’t it her honeymoon? and +ain’t she as happy as a bride can be, though she does eigh—augh her +slippers up amost. But it won’t last long, she feels sure it won’t, +she is better now, the doctor says it will be soon over; yes, but the honeymoon +will be over too, and it don’t come like Christmas, once a-year. When it +expires, like a dying swan, it sings its own funeral hymn. +</p> + +<p> +Well, then fancy, just fancy, when she gets well, and looks as chipper as a +canary-bird, though not quite so yaller from the effects of the cold, that the +bridegroom has his turn, and is taken down with the acute rheumatism, and +can’t move, tack nor sheet, and has camphor, turpentine, and hot +embrocations of all sorts and kinds applied to him, till his room has the +identical perfume of a druggist’s shop, while he screams if he +ain’t moved, and yells if he is, and his temper peeps out. It don’t +break out of course, for he is a happy man; but it just peeps out as a +masculine he-angel’s would if he was tortured. +</p> + +<p> +The fact is, lookin’ at life, with its false notions, false hopes, and +false promises, my wonder is, not that married folks don’t get on better, +but that they get on as well as they do. If they regard matrimony as a lottery, +is it any wonder more blanks than prizes turn up on the wheel? Now, my idea of +mating a man is, that it is the same as matching a horse; the mate ought to +have the same spirit, the same action, the same temper, and the same training. +Each should do his part, or else one soon becomes strained, sprained, and +spavined, or broken-winded, and that one is about the best in a general way +that suffers the most. +</p> + +<p> +Don’t be shocked at the comparison; but to my mind a splendiferous woman +and a first chop horse is the noblest works of creation. They take the rag off +the bush quite; a woman “that will come” and a horse that +“will go” ought to make any man happy. Give me a gall that all I +have to say to is, “<i>Quick, pick up chips and call your father to +dinner</i>,” and a horse that enables you to say, “<i>I am +thar</i>.” That’s all I ask. Now just look at the different sorts +of love-making in this world. First, there is boy and gall love; they are +practising the gamut, and a great bore it is to hear and see them; but poor +little things, their whole heart and soul is in it, as they were the year +before on a doll or a top. They don’t know a heart from a gizzard, and if +you ask them what a soul is, they will say it is the dear sweet soul they love. +It begins when they enter the dancing-school, and ends when they go out into +the world; but after all, I believe it is the only real romance in life. +</p> + +<p> +Then there is young maturity love, and what is that half the time based on? +vanity, vanity, and the deuce a thing else. The young lady is handsome, no, +that’s not the word, she is beautiful, and is a belle, and all the young +fellows are in her train. To win the prize is an object of ambition. The +gentleman rides well, hunts and shoots well, and does everything well, and +moreover he is a fancy man, and all the girls admire him. It is a great thing +to conquer the hero, ain’t it? and distance all her companions; and it is +a proud thing for him to win the prize from higher, richer, and more +distinguished men than himself. It is the triumph of the two sexes. They are +allowed to be the handsomest couple ever married in that church. What an +elegant man, what a lovely woman, what a splendid bride! they seem made for +each other! how happy they both are, eyes can’t show—words +can’t express it; they are the admiration of all. +</p> + +<p> +If it is in England, they have two courses of pleasure before them—to +retire to a country-house or to travel. The latter is a great bore, it exposes +people, it is very annoying to be stared at. Solitude is the thing. They are +all the world to each other, what do they desire beyond it—what more can +they ask? They are quite happy. How long does it last? for they have no +resources beyond excitement. Why, it lasts till the first juicy day comes, and +that comes soon in England, and the bridegroom don’t get up and look out +of the window, on the cloudy sky, the falling rain, and the inundated meadows, +and think to himself, “Well, this is too much bush, ain’t it? I +wonder what de Courcy and de Lacy and de Devilcourt are about to-day?” +and then turn round with a yawn that nearly dislocates his jaw. Not a bit of +it. He is the most happy man in England, and his wife is an angel, and he +don’t throw himself down on a sofa and wish they were back in town. It +ain’t natural he should; and she don’t say, “Charles, you +look dull, dear,” nor he reply, “Well, to tell you the truth, it is +devilish dull here, that’s a fact,” nor she say, “Why, you +are very complimentary,” nor he rejoin, “No, I don’t mean it +as a compliment, but to state it as a fact, what that Yankee, what is his name? +Sam Slick, or Jim Crow, or Uncle Tom, or somebody or another calls an +established fact!” Her eyes don’t fill with tears at that, nor does +she retire to her room and pout and have a good cry; why should she? she is so +happy, and when the honied honeymoon is over, they will return to town, and all +will be sunshine once more. +</p> + +<p> +But there is one little thing both of them forget, which they find out when +they do return. They have rather just a little overlooked or undervalued means, +and they can’t keep such an establishment as they desire, or equal to +their former friends. They are both no longer single. He is not asked so often +where he used to be, nor courted and flattered as he lately was; and she is a +married woman now, and the beaus no longer cluster around her. Each one thinks +the other the cause of this dreadful change. It was the imprudent and +unfortunate match did it. Affection was sacrificed to pride, and that deity +can’t and won’t help them, but takes pleasure in tormenting them. +First comes coldness, and then estrangement; after that words ensue, that +don’t sound like the voice of true love, and they fish on their own hook, +seek their own remedy, take their own road, and one or the other, perhaps both, +find that road leads to the devil. +</p> + +<p> +Then, there is the “ring-fence match,” which happens everywhere. +Two estates, or plantations, or farms adjoin, and there is an only son in one, +and an only daughter in the other; and the world, and fathers, and mothers, +think what a suitable match it would be, and what a grand thing a ring-fence +is, and they cook it up in the most fashionable style, and the parties most +concerned take no interest in it, and, having nothing particular to object to, +marry. Well, strange to say, half the time it don’t turn out bad, for as +they don’t expect much, they can’t be much disappointed. They get +after a while to love each other from habit; and finding qualities they +didn’t look for, end by getting amazin’ fond of each other. +</p> + +<p> +Next is a cash match. Well, that’s a cheat. It begins in dissimulation, +and ends in detection and punishment. I don’t pity the parties; it serves +them right. They meet without pleasure, and part without pain. The first time I +went to Nova Scotia to vend clocks, I fell in with a German officer, who +married a woman with a large fortune; she had as much as three hundred pounds. +He could never speak of it without getting up, walking round the room, rubbing +his hands, and smacking his lips. The greatest man he ever saw, his own prince, +had only five hundred a-year, and his daughters had to select and buy the +chickens, wipe the glasses, starch their own muslins, and see the fine soap +made. One half of them were Protestants, and the other half Catholics, so as to +bait the hooks for royal fish of either creed. They were poor and proud, but he +hadn’t a morsel of pride in him, for he had condescended to marry the +daughter of a staff surgeon; and she warn’t poor, for she had three +hundred pounds. He couldn’t think of nothin’ but his fortune. He +spent the most of his time in building castles, not in Germany, but in the air, +for they cost nothing. He used to delight to go marooning<sup>1</sup> for a day +or two in Maitland settlement, where old soldiers are located, and measured +every man he met by the gauge of his purse. “Dat poor teevil,” he +would say, “is wort twenty pounds, well, I am good for tree hundred, in +gold and silver, and provinch notes, and de mortgage on Burkit Crowse’s +farm for twenty-five pounds ten shillings and eleven pence +halfpenny—fifteen times as much as he is, pesides ten pounds +interest.” If he rode a horse, he calculated now many he could purchase; +and he found they would make an everlastin’ cahoot.<sup>2</sup> If he +sailed in a boat, he counted the flotilla he could buy; and at last he used to +think, “Vell now, if my vrow would go to de depot (graveyard) vat is near +to de church, Goten Himmel, mid my fortune I could marry any pody I liked, who +had shtock of cattle, shtock of clothes, and shtock in de Bank, pesides farms +and foresht lands, and dyke lands, and meadow lands, and vind-mill and +vater-mill; but dere is no chanse she shall die, for I was dirty (thirty) when +I married her, and she was dirty-too (thirty-two). Tree hundred pounds! Vell, +it’s a great shum; but vat shall I do mid it? If I leave him mid a +lawyer, he say, Mr Von Sheik, you gub it to me. If I put him into de pank, den +de ting shall break, and my forten go smash, squash—vot dey call von +shilling in de pound. If I lock him up, den soldier steal and desert away, and +conetry people shall hide him, and I will not find him no more. I shall +mortgage it on a farm. I feel vary goot, vary pig, and vary rich. If I would +not lose my bay and commission, I would kick de colonel, kiss his vife, and put +my cane thro’ his vinder. I don’t care von damn for nopoty no +more.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Marooning differs from pic-nicing in this—the former +continues several days, the other lasts but one. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>2</sup> Cahoot is one of the new coinage, and in Mexico, means a band or +cavalcade. +</p> + +<p> +Well, his wife soon after that took a day and died; and he followed her to the +grave. It was the first time he ever gave her precedence, for he was a +disciplinarian; he knew the difference of “rank and file,” and +liked to give the word of command, “Rear rank, take open +order—march!” Well, I condoled with him about his loss. Sais he: +“Mr Shlick, I did’nt lose much by her: the soldier carry her per +order, de pand play for noting, and de crape on de arm came from her +ponnet.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the loss of your wife?” said I. +</p> + +<p> +Well, that excited him, and he began to talk Hessian. “<i>Jubes renovare +dolorem</i>,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand High Dutch,” sais I, “when +it’s spoke so almighty fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a ted language,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +I was a goin’ to tell him I didn’t know the dead had any language, +but I bit in my breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Shlick,” said he, “de vife is gone” (and clapping +his waistcoat pocket with his hand, and grinning like a chissy cat), he added, +“but <i>de monish remain</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Yes, such fellows as Von Sheik don’t call this ecclesiastical and civil +contract, wedlock. They use a word that expresses their meaning +better—matri-<i>money</i>. Well, even money ain’t all gold, for +there are two hundred and forty nasty, dirty, mulatto-looking copper pennies in +a sovereign; and they have the affectation to call the filthy incrustation, if +they happen to be ancient coin, verd-antique. Well, fine words are like fine +dresses; one often covers ideas that ain’t nice, and the other sometimes +conceals garments that are a little the worse for wear. Ambition is just as +poor a motive. It can only be gratified at the expense of a journey over a +rough road, and he is a fool who travels it by a borrowed light, and generally +finds he takes a <i>rise</i> out of himself. +</p> + +<p> +Then there is a class like Von Sheik, “who feel so pig and so +hugeaciously grandiferous,” they look on a wife’s fortune with +contempt. The independent man scorns connection, station, and money. He has got +all three, and more of each than is sufficient for a dozen men. He regards with +utter indifference the opinion of the world, and its false notions of life. He +can afford to please himself; he does not stoop if he marries beneath his own +rank; for he is able to elevate any wife to his. He is a great admirer of +beauty, which is confined to no circle and no region. The world is before him, +and he will select a woman to gratify himself and not another. He has the right +and ability to do so, and he fulfils his intention. Now an independent man is +an immoveable one until he is proved, and a soldier is brave until the day of +trial comes. He however is independent and brave enough to set the opinion of +the world at defiance, and he marries. Until then society is passive, but when +defied and disobeyed, it is active, bitter, and relentless. +</p> + +<p> +The conflict is only commenced—marrying is merely firing the first gun. +The battle has yet to be fought. If he can do without the world, the world can +do without him, but, if he enters it again bride in hand, he must fight his way +inch by inch, and step by step. She is slighted and he is stung to the quick. +She is ridiculed and he is mortified to death. He is able to meet open +resistance, but he is for ever in dread of an ambuscade. He sees a sneer in +every smile, he fears an insult in every whisper. The unmeaning jest must have +a hidden point for him. Politeness seems cold, even good-nature looks like the +insolence of condescension. If his wife is addressed, it is manifestly to draw +her out. If her society is not sought, it is equally plain there is a +conspiracy to place her in Coventry. To defend her properly, and to put her on +her guard, it is necessary he should know her weak points himself. +</p> + +<p> +But, alas, in this painful investigation, his ears are wounded by false +accents, his eyes by false motions and vulgar attitudes, he finds ignorance +where ignorance is absurd, and knowledge where knowledge is shame, and what is +worse, this distressing criticism has been forced upon him, and he has arrived +at the conclusion that beauty without intelligence is the most valueless +attribute of a woman. Alas, the world is an argus-eyed, many-headed, sleepless, +heartless monster. The independent man, if he would retain his independence, +must retire with his wife to his own home, and it would be a pity if in +thinking of his defeat he was to ask himself, Was my pretty doll worth this +terrible struggle after all? wouldn’t it? Well, I pity that man, for at +most he has only done a foolish thing, and he has not passed through life +without being a public benefactor. <i>He has held a reversed lamp. While he has +walked in the dark himself, he has shed light on the path of others.</i> +</p> + +<p> +Ah, Sophy, when you read this, and I know you will, you’ll say, What a +dreadful picture you have drawn! it ain’t like you—you are too +good-natured, I can’t believe you ever wrote so spiteful an article as +this, and, woman like, make more complimentary remarks than I deserve. Well, it +ain’t like me, that’s a fact, but it is like the world for all +that. Well, then you will puzzle your little head whether after all there is +any happiness in married life, won’t you? +</p> + +<p> +Well, I will answer that question. I believe there may be and are many, very +many happy marriages; but then people must be as near as possible in the same +station of life, their tempers compatible, their religious views the same, +their notions of the world similar, and their union based on mutual affection, +entire mutual confidence, and what is of the utmost consequence, the greatest +possible mutual respect. Can you feel this towards me, Sophy, can you, dear? +Then be quick—“pick up chips and call your father to dinner.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C22">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br/> +A DISH OF CLAMS.</h2> + +<p> +Eating is the chief occupation at sea. It’s the great topic as well as +the great business of the day, especially in small sailing vessels like the +“Black Hawk;” although anything is good enough for me when I +can’t get nothin’ better, which is the true philosophy of life. If +there is a good dish and a bad one set before me, I am something of a rat, I +always choose the best. +</p> + +<p> +There are few animals, as there are few men, that we can’t learn +something from. Now a rat, although I hate him like pyson, is a travelling +gentleman, and accommodates himself to circumstances. He likes to visit people +that are well off, and has a free and easy way about him, and don’t +require an introduction. He does not wait to be pressed to eat, but helps +himself, and does justice to his host and his viands. When hungry, he will walk +into the larder and take a lunch or a supper without requiring any waiting on. +He is abstemious, or rather temperate in his drinking. Molasses and syrup he +prefers to strong liquors, and he is a connoisseur in all things pertaining to +the dessert. He is fond of ripe fruit, and dry or liquid preserves, the latter +of which he eats with cream, for which purpose he forms a passage to the dairy. +He prides himself on his knowledge of cheese, and will tell you in the +twinkling of an eye which is the best in point of flavour or richness. Still he +is not proud—he visits the poor when there is no gentlemen in the +neighbourhood, and can accommodate himself to coarse fare and poor cookery. To +see him in one of these hovels, you would think he never knew anything better, +for he has a capital appetite, and can content himself with mere bread and +water. He is a wise traveller, too. He is up to the ways of the world, and is +aware of the disposition there is everywhere to entrap strangers. He knows now +to take care of himself. If he is ever deceived, it is by treachery. He is +seized sometimes at the hospitable board, and assassinated, or perhaps cruelly +poisoned. But what skill can ensure safety, where confidence is so shamefully +abused? He is a capital sailor, even bilge-water don’t make him +squeamish, and he is so good a judge of the sea-worthiness of a ship, that he +leaves her at the first port if he finds she is leaky or weak. Few architects, +on the other hand, have such a knowledge of the stability of a house as he has. +He examines its foundations thoroughly, and if he perceives any, the slightest +chance of its falling, he retreats in season, and leaves it to its fate. In +short, he is a model traveller, and much may be learned from him. +</p> + +<p> +But, then, who is perfect? He has some serious faults, from which we may also +take instructive lessons, so as to avoid them. He runs all over a house, sits +up late at night, and makes a devil of a noise. He is a nasty, cross-grained +critter, and treacherous even to those who feed him best. He is very dirty in +his habits, and spoils as much food as he eats. If a door ain’t left open +for him, he cuts right through it, and if by accident he is locked in, he +won’t wait to be let out, but hacks a passage ship through the floor. Not +content with being entertained himself, he brings a whole retinue with him, and +actilly eats a feller out of house and home, and gets as sassy as a free +nigger. He gets into the servant-gall’s bed-room sometimes at night, and +nearly scares her to death under pretence he wants her candle; and sometimes +jumps right on to the bed, and says she is handsome enough to eat, gives her a +nip on the nose, sneezes on her with great contempt, and tells her she takes +snuff. The fact is, he is hated everywhere he travels for his ugly behaviour as +much as an Englishman, and that is a great deal more than sin is by half the +world. +</p> + +<p> +Now, being fond of natur, I try to take lessons from all created critters. I +copy the rat’s travelling knowledge and good points as near as possible, +and strive to avoid the bad. I confine myself to the company apartments, and +them that’s allotted to me! Havin’ no family, I take nobody with me +a-visitin’, keep good hours, and give as little trouble as possible; and +as for goin’ to the servant-gall’s room, under pretence of wanting +a candle, I’d scorn such an action. Now, as there is lots of good things +in this vessel, rat like, I intend to have a good dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorrow, what have you got for us to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is the moose-meat, Massa.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let that hang over the stern, we shall get tired of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Den, Massa, dar is de Jesuit-priest; by golly, Massa, dat is a funny +name. Yah, yah, yah! dis here niggar was took in dat time. Dat ar a fac.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the turkey had better hang over too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sposin’ I git you fish dinner to-day, Massa?” +</p> + +<p> +“What have you got?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some tobacco-pipes, Massa, and some miller’s thumbs.” The +rascal expected to take a rise out of me, but I was too wide awake for him. +Cutler and the doctor, strange to say, fell into the trap, and required an +explanation, which delighted Sorrow amazingly. Cutler, though an old fisherman +on the coast, didn’t know these fish at all. And the doctor had some +difficulty in recognising them, under names he had never heard of before. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us have them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there is a fresh salmon, Massa?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us have steaks off of it. Do them as I told you, and take care the +paper don’t catch fire, and don’t let the coals smoke ’em. +Serve some lobster sauce with them, but use no butter, it spoils salmon. Let us +have some hoss-radish with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hoss-radish! yah, yah, yah! Why, Massa, whar under the sun does you +suppose now I could git hoss-radish, on board ob dis ‘Black Hawk?’ +De sea broke into my garden de oder night, and kill ebery created ting in it. +Lord a massy, Massa, you know dis is notin’ but a fishin’-craft, +salt pork and taters one day, and salt beef and taters next day, den twice laid +for third day, and den begin agin. Why, dere neber has been no cooking on board +of dis here fore-and-after till you yourself comed on board. Dey don’t +know nuffin’. Dey is as stupid and ignorant as coots.” +</p> + +<p> +Here his eye rested on the captain, when with the greatest coolness he gave me +a wink, and went on without stopping. +</p> + +<p> +“Scept massa captain,” said he, “and he do know what is good, +dat ar a fact, but he don’t like to be ticular, so he takes same fare as +men, and dey isn’t jealous. ‘Sorrow,’ sais he, ‘make no +stinction for me. I is used to better tings, but I’ll put up wid same +fare as men.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorrow,” said the captain, “how can you tell such a +barefaced falsehood. What an impudent liar you are, to talk so before my face. +I never said anything of the kind to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Massa, now,” said Sorrow, “dis here child is wide +awake, that are a fac, and no mistake, and it’s onpossible he is a +dreamin’. What is it you did say den, when you ordered dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“I gave my orders and said nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, Massa, I knowed I was right; dat is de identical ting I said. +You was used to better tings; you made no stinctions, and ordered all the same +for boaf of you. Hoss-radish, Massa Slick,” said he, “I wish I had +some, or could get some ashore for you, but hoss-radish ain’t French, and +dese folks nebber hear tell ob him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Make some.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Massa, now you is makin’ fun ob dis poor niggar.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not. Take a turnip, scrape it the same as the radish, into fine +shaving, mix it with fresh mustard, and a little pepper and vinegar, and you +can’t tell it from t’other.” +</p> + +<p> +“By golly, Massa, but dat are a wrinkle. Oh, how missus would a lubbed +you. It was loud all down sout dere was a great deal ob ’finement in her. +Nobody was good nuff for her dere; dey had no taste for cookin’. She was +mighty high ‘mong de ladies, in de instep, but not a mossel of pride to +de niggars. Oh, you would a walked right into de cockles ob her heart. If you +had tredded up to her, she would a married you, and gub you her tree +plantations, and eight hundred niggar, and ebery ting, and order dinner for you +herself. Oh, wouldn’t she been done, gone stracted, when you showed her +how she had shot her grandmother?<sup>1</sup> wouldn’t she? I’ll be +dad fetched if she wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Shooting one’s granny, or grandmother, means fancying you +have discovered what was well known before. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any other fish?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, Massa; some grand fresh clams.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know how to cook them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Massa,” said he, putting his hands under his white apron, and, +sailor-like, giving a hitch up to his trousers, preparatory to stretching +himself straight; “Massa, dis here niggar is a rambitious niggar, and he +kersaits he can take de shine out ob any niggar that ever played de juice harp +in cookin’ clams. Missus structed me husself. Massa, I shall nebber +forget dat time, de longest day I live. She sent for me, she did, and I went +in, and she was lyin’ on de sofa, lookin’ pale as de inside of +parsimmon seed, for de wedder was brilin’ hot. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sorrow,’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, Missus,’ said I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Put the pillar under my head. Dat is right,’ said she; +‘tank you, Sorrow.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Massa, how different she was from abulitinists to Boston. She always +said Tankee, for ebery ting. Now ablutinists say, ‘Hand me dat piller, +you darned rascal, and den make yourself skase, you is as black as de +debbil’s hind leg.’ And den she say— +</p> + +<p> +“‘Trow dat scarf over my ankles, to keep de bominable flies off. +Tankee, Sorrow; you is far more handier dan Aunt Dolly is. Dat are niggar is so +rumbustious, she jerks my close so, sometimes I tink in my soul she will pull +’em off.’ Den she shut her eye, and she gabe a cold shiver all +ober. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sorrow,’ sais she, ‘I am goin’ to take a long, +bery long journey, to de far off counteree.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh dear me! Missus,’ says I; ‘Oh Lord; Missus, you +ain’t a goin’ to die, is you?’ and I fell down on my knees, +and kissed her hand, and said, ‘Oh, Missus; don’t die, please +Missus. What will become oh dis niggar if you do? If de Lord in his goodness +take you away, let me go wid you, Missus;’ and I was so sorry I boohooed +right out, and groaned and wipy eye like courtin’ amost. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, Uncle Sorrow,’ said she, ‘I isn’t a +goin’ to die; what makes you tink dat? Stand up: I do railly believe you +do lub your missus. Go to dat closet, and pour yourself out a glass of +whiskey;’ and I goes to de closet—just dis way—and dere stood +de bottle and a glass, as dis here one do, and I helpt myself dis fashen. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What made you tink I was a goin’ for to die?’ said +she, ‘do I look so ill?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘No, Missus; but dat is de way de Boston preacher dat staid here +last week spoke to me,—de long-legged, sour face, Yankee villain. He is +uglier and yallerer dan Aunt Phillissy Anne’s crooked-necked squashes. I +don’t want to see no more ob such fellers pysonin’ de minds ob de +niggars here.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Says he, ‘My man.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I isn’t a man,’ sais I, ‘I is only a +niggar.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Poor, ignorant wretch,’ said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Massa,’ sais I, ‘you has waked up de wrong passenger +dis present time. I isn’t poor, I ab plenty to eat, and plenty to drink, +and two great trong wenches to help me cook, and plenty of fine frill shirt, +longin’ to my old massa, and bran new hat, and when I wants money I asks +missus, and she gives it to me, and I ab white oberseer to shoot game for me. +When I wants wild ducks or wenson, all I got to do is to say to dat Yankee +oberseer, ‘Missus and I want some deer or some canvasback, I spect you +had better go look for some, Massa Buccra.’ No, no, Massa, I ain’t +so ignorant as to let any man come over me to make seed-corn out of me. If you +want to see wretches, go to James Town, and see de poor white critters dat ab +to do all dere own work deyselves, cause dey is so poor, dey ab no niggars to +do it for ’em.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Sais he, ‘Hab you ebber tort ob dat long journey dat is afore you? +to dat far off counteree where you will be mancipated and free, where de weary +hab no rest, and de wicked hab no labor?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Down to Boston I spose, Massa,’ sais I, ‘mong dem +pententionists and ablutionists, Massa; ablution is a mean, nasty, dirty ting, +and don’t suit niggars what hab good missus like me, and I won’t +take dat journey, and I hate dat cold counteree, and I want nottin’ to do +wid mansipationists.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It ain’t dat, said he, ‘it’s up above.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What,’ sais I, ‘up dere in de mountains? What onder +de sun should I go dere for to be froze to defth, or to be voured by wild +beasts? Massa, I won’t go nowhere widout dear missus goes.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I mean Heaben,’ he said, ‘where all are free and all +equal; where <i>joy</i> is, and <i>sorrow</i> enters not.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What,’ sais I, ‘Joy in Heaben? I don’t believe +one word of it. Joy was de greatest tief on all dese tree plantations of +missus; he stole more chicken, and corn, and backey, dan his great bull neck +was worth, and when he ran off, missus wouldn’t let no one look for him. +Joy in Heaben, eh; and Sorrow nebber go dere! Well, I clare now! Yah, yah, yah, +Massa, you is foolin’ dis here niggar now, I know you is when you say Joy +is dead, and gone to Heaben, and dis child is shot out for ebber. Massa,’ +sais I, ‘me and missus don’t low ablution talk here, on no account +whatsomever, de only larnin’ we lows of is whippin’ fellows who +tice niggars to rections, and de slaves of dis plantation will larn you as sure +as you is bawn, for dey lub missus dearly. You had better kummence de long +journey usself. Sallust, bring out dis gentleman hoss; and Plutarch, go fetch +de saddle-bag down.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I led his hoss by where de dogs was, and, sais I, ‘Massa, I +can’t help larfin’ no how I can fix it, at dat ar story you told me +about dat young rascal Joy. Dat story do smell rader tall, dat are a fac; yah, +yah, yah,’ and I fell down and rolled ober and ober on de grass, and +it’s lucky I did, for as I dodged he fetched a back-handed blow at me wid +his huntin’ whip, that would a cut my head off if it had tooked me round +my neck. +</p> + +<p> +“My missus larfed right out like any ting, tho’ it was so hot, and +when missus larf I always know she is good-natured. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sorrow,’ said missus, ‘I am afraid you is more rogue +dan fool.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘I nebber stole the vally of a +pin’s head off ob dis plantation, I scorn to do such a nasty, dirty, mean +action, and you so kind as to gib me more nor I want, and you knows dat, +Missus; you knows it, oderwise you wouldn’t send me to de bank, instead +ob white oberseer, Mr Succatash, for six, seben, or eight hundred dollars at a +time. But, dere is too much stealin’ going on here, and you and I, +Missus, must be more ticklar. You is too dulgent altogether.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I didn’t mean that, Sorrow,’ she said, ‘I +don’t mean stealin’. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, Missus, I’s glad to hear dat, if you will let me ab +permission den, I will drink you good helf.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why didn’t you do it half an hour ago?’ she said. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘I was so busy talkin’, and so +scared about your helf, and dere was no hurry,’ and I stept near to her +side, where she could see me, and I turned de bottle up, and advanced dis way, +for it hadn’t no more dan what old Cloe’s thimble would hold, jist +like dis bottle. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ said she (and she smiled, and I knowed she was +good-natured), ‘dere is nottin’ dere, see if dere isn’t some +in de oder bottle,’ and I went back and set it down, and took it up to +her, and poured it out dis way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Slick,” said Cutler, “I am astonished at you, you are +encouraging that black rascal in drinking, and allowing him to make a beast of +himself,” and he went on deck to attend to his duty, saying as he shut +the door, “That fellow will prate all day if you allow him.” Sorrow +followed him with a very peculiar expression of eye as he retired. +</p> + +<p> +“Massa Captain,” said he, “as sure as de world, is an +ablutionist, dat is just de way dey talk. Dey call us coloured breddren when +they tice us off from home, and den dey call us black rascals and beasts. I +wish I was to home agin, Yankees treat dere coloured breddren like dogs, dat is +a fact; but he is excellent man, Massa Captain, bery good man, and though I +don’t believe it’s a possible ting Joy is in heaben, I is certain +de captain, when de Lord be good nuff to take him, will go dere.” +</p> + +<p> +“The captain is right,” said I, “Sorrow, put down that +bottle; you have had more than enough already—put it down;” but he +had no idea of obeying, and held on to it. +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t put that down, Sorrow,” I said, “I will +break it over your head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Massa,” said he, “dat would be a sin to waste dis +oloriferous rum dat way; just let me drink it first, and den I will stand, and +you may break de bottle on my head; it can’t hurt niggar’s head, +only cut a little wool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, no more of this nonsense,” I said, “put it +down;” and seeing me in earnest, he did so. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” sais I, “tell us how you are going to cook the +clams.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Massa,” said he, “do let me finish de story about de way +I larned it. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sorrow,’ said missus, ‘I am going to take a long +journey all de way to Boston, and de wedder is so cold, and what is wus, de +people is so cold, it makes me shudder,’ and she shivered like cold ague +fit, and I was afraid she would unjoint de sofa. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Don’t lay too close to them, Missus,’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What,’ said she, and she raised herself up off ob de +pillar, and she larfed, and rolled ober and ober, and tosticated about almost +in a conniption fit, ‘you old goose,’ said she, ‘you +onaccountable fool,’ and den she larfed and rolled ober agin, I tought +she would a tumbled off on de floor, ‘do go way; you is too foolish to +talk to, but turn my pillar again. Sorrow,’ said she, ‘is I +showin’ of my ankles,’ said she, ‘rollin’ about so like +mad?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Little bit,’ sais I, ‘Missus.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Den put dat scarf ober my feet agin. What on earth does you mean, +Sorrow, bout not sleepin’ too close to de Yankees?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘does you recollect de day when Zeno +was drownded off de raft? Well, dat day Plutarch was lowed to visit next +plantation, and dey bring him home mazin’ drunk—stupid as owl, his +mout open and he couldn’t speak, and his eye open and he couldn’t +see. Well, as you don’t low niggar to be flogged, Aunt Phillissy Ann and +I lay our heads together, and we tought we’d punish him; so we ondressed +him, and put him into same bed wid poor Zeno, and when he woke up in de +mornin’ he was most frighten to def, and had de cold chills on him, and +his eye stared out ob his head, and his teeth chattered like monkeys. He was so +frighten, we had to burn lights for a week—he tought after dat he saw +Zeno in bed wid him all de time. It’s werry dangerous, Missus, to sleep +near cold people like Yankees and dead niggars.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sorrow, you is a knave I believe,’ she said. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Knave, knave, Missus,’ I sais, ‘I don’t know +dat word.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sorrow,’ said she, ‘I is a goin’ to take you +wid me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Tank you, Missus,’ said I, ‘oh! bless your heart, +Missus.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorrow,” said I, sternly, “do you ever intend to tell us how +you are going to cook them clams, or do you mean to chat all day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jist in one minute, Massa, I is jist comin’ to it,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now,’ sais missus, ‘Sorrow, it’s werry genteel +to travel wid one’s own cook; but it is werry ongenteel when de cook +can’t do nuffin’ super-superior; for bad cooks is plenty eberywhere +widout travellin’ wid ’em. It brings disgrace.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Exactly, Missus,’ sais I, ‘when you and me was up to +de president’s plantation, his cook was makin’ plum pudden, he was. +Now how in natur does you rimagine he did it? why, Missus, he actilly made it +wid flour, de stupid tick-headed fool, instead ob de crumbs ob a six cent stale +loaf, he did; and he nebber ‘pared de gredients de day afore, as he had +aughten to do. It was nuffin’ but stick jaw—jist fit to feed +turkeys and little niggeroons wid. Did you ebber hear de likes ob dat in all +your bawn days, Missus; but den, Marm, de general was a berry poor cook hisself +you know, and it stand to argument ob reason, where massa or missus don’t +know nuffin’, de sarvant can’t neither. Dat is what all de +gentlemen and ladies says dat wisit here, Marm: ‘What a lubly beautiful +woman Miss Lunn is,’ dey say, ‘dere is so much ‘finement in +her, and her table is de best in all Meriky.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What a fool you is, Uncle Sorrow,’ she say, and den she +larf again; and when missus larf den I know she was pleased. +‘Well,’ sais she, ‘now mind you keep all your secrets to +yourself when travellin’, and keep your eyes open wide, and see eberyting +and say nuffin’.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘I will be wide awake; you may pend +on me—eyes as big as two dog-wood blossoms, and ears open like +mackarel.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What you got for dinner to-day?’ she say—jist as you +say, Massa. Well, I tell her all ober, as I tells you, numeratin’ all I +had. Den she picked out what she wanted, and mong dem I recklect was +clams.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Now tell us how you cooked the clams,” I said; “what’s +the use of standing chattering all day there like a monkey?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dat, Massa, now is jist what I is goin’ to do dis blessid minit. +‘Missus,’ sais I, ‘talkin’ of clams, minds me of +chickens.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘What on airth do you mean,’ sais she, ‘you blockhead; +it might as well mind you of tunder.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, Missus,’ sais I, ‘now sometimes one ting does +mind me of anoder ting dat way; I nebber sees you, Missus, but what you mind me +ob de beautiful white lily, and dat agin ob de white rose dat hab de lubly +color on his cheek.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Do go away, and don’t talk nonsense,’ she said, +larfing; and when she larfed den I know she was pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“‘So clams mind me of chickens.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘And whiskey,’ she said. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, it do, Missus; dat are a fac;’ and I helped myself +agin dis way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorrow,” said I, “this is too bad; go forward now and cut +this foolery short. You will be too drunk to cook the dinner if you go on that +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Massa,” said he, “dis child nebber was drunk in his life; +but he is frose most to deaf wid de wretched fogs (dat give people here +‘blue noses’), an de field ice, and raw winds: I is as cold as if I +slept wid a dead niggar or a Yankee. Yah, yah, yah. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, Missus,’ sais I, ‘dem clams do mind me ob +chickens. Now, Missus, will you skuse me if I git you the receipt Miss Phillis +and I ab cyphered out, how to presarve chickens?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I will. Let me hear it. Dat is +sumthen new.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, Missus, you know how you and I is robbed by our niggars +like so many minks. Now, Missus, sposin’ you and I pass a law dat all fat +poultry is to be brought to me to buy, and den we keep our fat poultry locked +up; and if dey steal de lean fowls, and we buy ’em, we saves de +fattenin’ of ’em, and gibs no more arter all dan de vally of food +and tendin’, which is all dey gits now, for dere fowls is always de best +fed in course; and when we ab more nor we wants for you and me, den I take +’em to market and sell ’em; and if dey will steal ’em arter +dat, Missus, we must try ticklin’; dere is nuffin’ like it. It +makes de down fly like a feather-bed. It makes niggars wery sarcy to see white +tief punished tree times as much as dey is; dat are a fac, Missus. A poor white +man can’t work, and in course he steal. Well, his time bein’ no +airthly use, dey gib him six month pensiontary; and niggar, who can airn a +dollar or may be 100 cents a day, only one month. I spise a poor white man as I +do a skunk. Dey is a cuss to de country; and it’s berry hard for you and +me to pay rates to support ’em: our rates last year was bominable. Let us +pass dis law, Missus, and fowl stealin’ is done—de ting is +dead.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, you may try it for six months,’ she say, ‘only +no whippin’. We must find some oder punishment,’ she said. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I ab it,’ sais I, ‘Missus! Oh Lord a massy, Missus! +oh dear missus! I got an inwention as bright as bran new pewter button. +I’ll shave de head of a tief close and smooth. Dat will keep his head +warm in de sun, and cool at night; do him good. He can’t go +courtin’ den, when he ab ‘no wool whar de wool ought to +grow,’ and spile his ‘frolicken, and all de niggaroons make game ob +him. It do more good praps to tickle fancy ob niggars dan to tickle dere hide. +I make him go to church reglar den to show hisself and his bald pate. Yah, yah, +yah!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Sorrow,” I said, “I am tired of all this foolery; +either tell me how you propose to cook the clams, or substitute something else +in their place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Massa,” he said, “I will; but railly now when I gits +talkin’ bout my dear ole missus, pears to me as if my tongue would run +for ebber. Dis is de last voyage I ebber make in a fishin’ craft. I is +used to de first society, and always moved round wid ladies and gentlemen what +had ‘finement in ’em. Well, Massa, now I comes to de clams. First +of all, you must dig de clams. Now dere is great art in diggin’ clams. +</p> + +<p> +“Where you see little hole like worm hole dere is de clam. He breathe up +tru dat, and suck in his drink like sherry-cobbler through a straw. Whar dere +is no little air holes, dere is no clam, dat are a fac. Now, Massa, can you +tell who is de most knowin’ clam-digger in de worl? De gull is, Massa; +and he eat his clam raw, as some folks who don’t know nuffin’ bout +cookin’ eat oysters. He take up de clam ebber so far in de air, and let +him fall right on de rock, which break shell for him, and down he goes and +pounces on him like a duck on a June bug. Sometimes clam catch him by de toe +though, and hold on like grim death to a dead niggar, and away goes bird +screamin’ and yellin’, and clam sticking to him like burr to a +hosses tail. Oh, geehillikin, what fun it is. And all de oder gulls larf at him +like any ting; dat comes o’ seezin’ him by de mout instead ob de +scruff ob de neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when you git clam nuff, den you must wash ’em, and dat is +more trouble dan dey is worth; for dey is werry gritty naturally, like +buckwheat dat is trashed in de field—takes two or tree waters, and salt +is better dan fresh, cause you see fresh water make him sick. Well, now, Massa, +de question is, what will you ab; clam soup, clam sweetbread, clam pie, clam +fritter, or bake clam?” +</p> + +<p> +“Which do you tink best, Sorrow?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Massa, dey is all good in dere way; missus used to fection baked +clams mighty well, but we can’t do dem so tip-top at sea; clam +sweetbread, she said, was better den what is made ob oyster; and as to clam +soup, dat pends on de cook. Now, Massa, when missus and me went to wisit de +president’s plantation, I see his cook, Mr Sallust, didn’t know +nuffin’ bout parin’ de soup. What you tink he did, Massa? stead ob +poundin’ de clams in a mortar fust, he jist cut ’em in quarters and +puts ’em in dat way. I nebber see such ignorance since I was raised. He +made de soup ob water, and actilly put some salt in it; when it was sarved +up—it was rediculous disgraceful—he left dem pieces in de tureen, +and dey was like leather. Missus said to me: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sorrow,’ sais she, ‘I shall starve here; dem military +men know nuffin’ but bout hosses, dogs, and wine; but dey ain’t +delicate no way in dere tastes, and yet to hear ’em talk you’d be +most afeered to offer ’em anyting, you’d tink dey was de debbel and +all.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she use those words, Sorrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, not zactly,” he said, scratching his head, “dey was +dicksionary words and werry fine, for she had great ‘finement bout her; +but dat was de meanin’ ob ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now, Sorrow,’ she said, ‘tell me de trut, +wasn’t dat soup now made of water?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes, Missus, it was,’ said I, ‘I seed it wid my own +eyes.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I taut so,’ she said, ‘why dat cook ain’t fit +to tend a bear trap, and bait it wid sheep’s innerds.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she use those words?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why laws a massy, Massa! I can’t swear to de identical words; how +can I? but as I was a sayin’, dere was ‘finement in ’em, +werry long, werry crooked, and werry pretty, but dat was all de sense ob +’em. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Now, Sorrow,’ said she, ‘he ought to ab used milk; +all fish soups ought to be made o’ milk, and den tickened wid +flour.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why in course, Missus,’ sais I, ‘dat is de way you +and me always likes it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It has made me quite ill,’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘So it ab nearly killed me, Missus,’ sais I, puttin’ +my hand on my stomach, ‘I ab such a pain down here, I tink sometimes I +shall die.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, you look ill, Uncle Sorrow,’ she said, and she went +to her dressin’-case, and took a little small bottle (covered ober wid +printed words), ‘Take some o’ dis,’ said she, and she poured +me out bout dis much (filling his glass again), ‘take dat, it will do you +good.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Is it berry bad to swaller,’ sais I, ‘Missus? I is +most afeard it will spile the ‘finement of my taste.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Try it,’ sais she, and I shut to my eyes, and made awful +long face, and swallowed it jist dis way. +</p> + +<p> +“‘By golly,’ sais I, ‘Missus, but dat is grand. What is +dat?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Clove, water,’ said she. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, Missus,’ sais I, ‘dat is plaguy trong water, dat +are a fac, and bery nice flavoured. I wish in my heart we had a nice spring ob +it to home. Wouldn’t it be grand, for dis is a bery thirsty niggar, dat +are a fac. Clam pie, Massa, is first chop, my missus ambitioned it some +punkins.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, how do you make it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dere is seberal ways, Massa. Sometime we used one way and sometime +anoder. I do believe missus could do it fifty ways.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty ways!” said I, “now Sorrow, how can you lie that way? +I shall begin to think at last you never had a mistress at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty ways! Well, Massa, goodness gracious me! You isn’t +goin’ to tie me down to swear to figures now, any more nor identical +words, is you? I ab no manner o’ doubt she could fifty ways, but she only +used eight or ten ways which she said was de best. First dere is de clam +bake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I know that,” sais I, “go on to the clam pie.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” said the doctor, “for I should like to know how +they are prepared.” +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said I, “is the most approved mode. A cavity is dug +in the earth, about eighteen inches deep, which is lined with round stones. On +this a fire is made; and when the stones are sufficiently heated, a bushel or +more of clams (according to the number of persons who are to partake of the +feast) is thrown upon them. On this is put a layer of rock-weed, gathered from +the beach, and over this a second layer of sea-weed. This prevents the escape +of the steam, and preserves the sweetness of the fish. Clams baked in this +manner are preferred to those cooked in the usual way in the kitchen. On one +occasion, that of a grand political mass-meeting in favour of General Harrison +on the 4th of July, 1840, nearly 10,000 persons assembled in Rhode Island, for +whom a clambake and chowder was prepared. This was probably the greatest feast +of the kind that ever took place in New England.” +</p> + +<p> +“Zactly,” said Sorrow, “den dere is anoder way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t hear it,” said I, “stiver now, make the pie +any way you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Massa,” said he, “eber since poor missus died from eaten +hogs wid dere heads on, I feel kinder faint when I sees clams, I hab neber +swallowed one since, and neber will. De parfume gits into my stomach, as it did +when de General’s cook used water instead of milk, in his soup. I +don’t spose you ab any clove-water, but if you will let me take jist a +tumblerfull ob dis, I tink it would make me survive a little,” and +without waiting for leave he helped himself to a bumper. “Now, +Massa,” he said, “I show you what cookin’ is, I know,” +and making a scrape of his leg, he left the cabin. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” said I, “I am glad you have seen this specimen of a +southern negro. He is a fair sample of a servant in the houses of our great +planters. Cheerful, grateful, and contented, they are better off and happier +than any portion of the same race I have met with in any part of the world. +They have a quick perception of humour, a sort of instinctive knowledge of +character, and great cunning, but their reasoning powers are very limited. +Their appetites are gross, and their constitutional indolence such that they +prefer enduring any suffering and privation to regular habits of industry. +</p> + +<p> +“Slavery in the abstract is a thing that nobody approves of, or attempts +to justify. We all consider it an evil—but unhappily it was entailed upon +us by our forefathers, and has now grown to be one of such magnitude that it is +difficult to know now to deal with it—and this difficulty is much +increased by the irritation which has grown out of the unskilful and +unjustifiable conduct of abolitionists. The grossest exaggerations have been +circulated as to the conduct and treatment of our slaves, by persons who either +did not know what they were talking about, or who have wilfully perverted +facts. The devil we have painted black, and the negro received the same colour +from the hand of his Maker. It only remained to represent the planter as of a +deeper dye than either. This picture however wanted effect, and latterly lights +and shades have been judiciously introduced, by mingling with these groups +eastern abolitionists, white overseers, and English noblemen, and ladies of +rank. It made a clever caricature—had a great run—has been +superseded by other follies and extravagancies, and is now nearly forgotten. +The social evil still remains, and ever will, while ignorant zeal, blind +bigotry, hypocrisy, and politics, demand to have the exclusive treatment of it. +The planter has rights as well as the slave, and the claims of both must be +well weighed and considered before any dispassionate judgment can be formed. +</p> + +<p> +“In the mean time invective and misrepresentation, by irritating the +public, disqualify it for the deliberate exercise of its functions. If the +slaves have to mourn over the want of freedom, the planters may lament the want +of truth in their opponents; and it must be admitted that they have submitted +to the atrocious calumnies that have been so liberally heaped upon them of late +years, with a contempt that is the best refutation of falsehood, or a meekness +and forbearance that contrast very favourably with the violence and fury of +their adversaries.” +</p> + +<p> +My object however, Squire, is not to write a lecture on emancipation, but to +give you a receipt for cooking “a dish of clams.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br/> +THE DEVIL’S HOLE; OR, FISH AND FLESH.</h2> + +<p> +“Sorrow,” said the doctor, “seems to me to consider women, +from the way he flatters his mistress, as if she was not unlike the grupers at +Bermuda. There is a natural fish-pond there near Flats Village, in which there +is a great lot of these critters, which are about the size of the cod. They +will rise to the surface, and approach the bank for you to tickle their sides, +which seems to afford them particular delight.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is what you would call, I suppose, practical soft sawdering.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it is an operation of which the rest are exceedingly jealous, and +while you are thus amusing one of them, you must take care others do not feel +offended, and make a dash at your fingers. With true feminine jealousy too they +change colour when excited, for envy seems to pervade all animate +nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s called the Devil’s Hole where they are, ain’t +it?” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “it is, and it is situated not far from +Moore’s favourite tree, under whose shade he used to recline while +writing his poetry, at a time when his deputy was equally idle, and instead of +keeping his accounts, kept his money. Bermuda is a fatal place to poets. Moore +lost his purse there, and Waller his favourite ring; the latter has been +recently found, the former was never recovered. In one thing these two +celebrated authors greatly resembled each other, they both fawned and flattered +on the great.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Cutler, “and both have met their reward. +Everybody regrets that anything was known of either, but his +poetry—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “I am glad I am not an Englishman, or as true +as the world, a chap like Lord John Russell would ruin me for ever. I am not a +poet, and can’t write poetry, but I am a Clockmaker, and write common +sense. Now a biographer like that man, that knows as little of one as he does +of the other, would ruin me for everlastingly. It ain’t pleasant to have +such a burr as that stick on to your tail, especially if you have no comb to +get it off, is it? A politician is like a bee; he travels a zig-zag course +every way, turnin’ first to the right and then to the left, now +makin’ a dive at the wild honeysuckle, and then at the sweet briar; now +at the buck-wheat blossom, and then at the rose; he is here and there and +everywhere; you don’t know where the plague to find him; he courts all +and is constant to none. But when his point is gained and he has wooed and +deceived all, attained his object, and his bag is filled, he then shows plain +enough what he was after all the time. He returns as straight as a chalk line, +or as we say, as the crow flies to his home, and neither looks to the right or +to the left, or knows or cares for any of them who contributed to his success. +His object is to enrich himself and make a family name. A politician therefore +is the last man in the world to write a biography. Having a kind of +sneakin’ regard for a winding, wavy way himself, he sees more beauty in +the in and out line of a Varginny fence, than the stiff straight formal post +and rail one of New England. As long as a partizan critter is a thorn in the +flesh of the adverse party, he don’t care whether he is Jew or Gentile. +He overlooks little peccadilloes, as he calls the worst stories, and thinks +everybody else will be just as indulgent as himself. He uses romanists, +dissenters, republicans, and evangelicals at his own great +log-rolling<sup>1</sup> frollicks, and rolls for them in return. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Log-rolling.—In the lumber regions of Maine, it is customary +for men of different logging camps to appoint days for helping each other in +rolling the logs to the river after they are felled and trimmed, this rolling +being about the hardest work incident to the business. Thus the men of three or +four different camps will unite, say on Monday, to roll for camp No. 1, on +Tuesday, for camp No. 2, on Wednesday, for camp No. 3, and so on through the +whole number of camps within convenient distance of each other. The term has +been adopted in legislation to signify a little system of mutual co-operation. +For instance, a member from St Lawrence has a pet bill for a plank-road which +he wants pushed through. He accordingly makes a bargain with a member from +Onondaga, who is coaxing along a charter for a bank, by which St Lawrence +agrees to vote for Onondaga’s bank if Onondaga will vote St +Lawrence’s plank-road. This is legislative log-rolling, and there is +abundance of it carried on at Albany every winter. Generally speaking, the +subject of the log-rolling is some merely local project, interesting only to +the people of a certain district; but sometimes there is party log-rolling, +where the Whigs, for instance, will come to an understanding with the Democrats +that the former shall not oppose a certain democratic measure merely on party +grounds, provided the Democrats will be equally tender to some Whig measure in +return.—J. INMAN. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the plague hain’t done something, said something, or thought +something he is sorry for, and prays may be forgot and forgiven; big brag as I +am, I know I can’t say I haven’t over and over again offended. +Well, if it’s the part of a friend to go and rake all these things up, +and expose ’em to the public, and if it’s agreeable to my wife, +sposin’ I had one, to have ’em published because the stained paper +will sell, all I can sais is, I wish he had shown his regard for me by running +away with my wife and letting me alone. It’s astonishing how many friends +Moore’s disloyalty made him. A seditious song or a treasonable speech +finds more favour with some people in the old country than building a church, +that’s a fact. Howsomever, I think I am safe from him, for first, I am a +Yankee, secondly, I ain’t married, thirdly, I am a Clockmaker, and +fourthly, my biography is written by myself in my book, fifthly, I write no +letters I can help, and never answer one except on business.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a hint father gave me: ‘Sam,’ said he, ‘never +talk to a woman, for others may hear you; only whisper to her, and never write +to her, or your own letters may rise up in judgment against you some day or +another. Many a man afore now has had reason to wish he had never seen a pen in +his life;’ so I ain’t afeard therefore that he can write himself up +or me down, and make me look skuywoniky, no how he can fix it. If he does, we +will declare war again England, and blow the little darned thing out of the map +of Europe; for it ain’t much bigger than the little island Cronstadt is +built on after all, is it? It’s just a little dot and nothin’ more, +dad fetch my buttons if it is. +</p> + +<p> +“But to go back to the grupers and the devil’s hole; I have been +there myself and seen it, Doctor,” sais I, “but there is other fish +besides these in it; there is the parrot-fish, and they are like the feminine +gender too; if the grupers are fond of being tickled, parrots are fond of +hearing their own voices. Then there is the angel-fish, they have fins like +wings of a pale blue colour; but they must be fallen angels to be in such a +place as that hole too, musn’t they? and yet they are handsome even now. +Gracious! what must they have been before the fall! and how many humans has +beauty caused to fall, Doctor, hasn’t it? and how many there are that the +sound of that old song, ‘My face is my fortune, Sir, she said,’ +would make their hearts swell till they would almost burst. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then there is another fish there, and those Mudians sartainly must +have a good deal of fun in them, to make such a capital and comical assortment +of queer ones for that pond. There is the lawyer-fish—can anything under +the sun be more appropriate than the devil’s hole for a lawyer? What a +nice place for him to hang out his shingle in, ain’t it? it’s no +wonder his old friend the landlord finds him an office in it—rent free, +is it? What mischief he must brood there; bringing actions of slander against +the foolish parrot-fish that will let their tongues run, ticklin’ the +grupers, and while they are smirking and smiling, devour their food, and +prosecute the fallen angels for violating the Maine law and disturbing the +peace. The devil’s hole, like Westminster Hall, is a dangerous place for +a fellow of substance to get into, I can tell you; the way they fleece him is a +caution to sinners. +</p> + +<p> +“My dog fell into that fish-pond, and they nearly fixed his flint before +I got him out, I tell you; his coat was almost stripped off when I rescued +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “what in the world took you +to Bermuda?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais I, “I had heard a great deal about it. It is a +beautiful spot and very healthy. It is all that has ever been said or sung of +it, and more too, and that’s sayin’ a great deal, for most +celebrated places disappoint you; you expect too much, and few crack parts of +the world come up to the idea you form of them beforehand. Well, I went down +there to see if there was anything to be done in the way of business, but it +was too small a field for me, although I made a spec that paid me very well +too. There is a passage through the reefs there, and it’s not every pilot +knows it, but there was a manuscript chart of it made by a captain of a +tradin’ vessel. When he died his widow offered it to the government, but +they hummed and hawed about the price, and was for gitting it for half nothing, +as they always do. So what does I do, but just steps in and buys it, for in war +time it is of the greatest importance to know this passage, and I sold it to +our navy-board, and I think if ever we are at loggerheads with the British, we +shall astonish the weak nerves of the folks at the summer islands some fine +day. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a charming visit. There are some magnificent caves there, and in +that climate they are grand places, I do assure you. I never saw anything so +beautiful. The ceiling is covered with splendiferous spary-like icicles, or +chandelier drops. What do you call that word, Doctor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stalactites.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, that’s it, glorious stalactites reaching to the bottom +and forming fluted pillars. In one of those caves where the water runs, the +admiral floored over the bottom and gave a ball in it, and it was the most +Arabian Night’s entertainment kind of thing that I ever saw. It looked +like a diamond hall, and didn’t it show off the Mudian galls to +advantage, lick! I guess it did, for they are the handsomest Creoles in all +creation. There is more substance in ’em than in the tropical ladies. I +don’t mean worldly (though that ain’t to be sneered at, neither, by +them that ain’t got none themselves). When the people used to build small +clippers there for the West Indian trade, cedar was very valuable, and a +gall’s fortune was reckoned, not by pounds, but by so many cedars. Now it +is banana trees. But dear me, somehow or another we have drifted away down to +Bermuda, we must stretch back again to the Nova Scotian coast east of +Chesencook, or, like Jerry Boudrot, we shall be out of sight of land, and lost +at sea.” +</p> + +<p> +On going up on the deck, my attention was naturally attracted to my new +purchase, the Canadian horse. +</p> + +<p> +“To my mind,” said the doctor, “Jerry’s knee action +does not merit the extravagant praise you bestowed upon it. It is not high +enough to please me.” +</p> + +<p> +“There you are wrong,” sais I, “that’s the mistake most +people make. It is not the height of the action, but the nature of it, that is +to be regarded. A high-stepping horse pleases the eye more than the judgment. +He seems to go faster than he does. There is not only power wasted in it, but +it injures the foot. My idea is this; you may compare a man to a man, and a +woman to a woman, for the two, including young and old, make the world. You see +more of them and know more about ’em than horses, for you have your own +structure to examine and compare them by, and can talk to them, and if they are +of the feminine gender, hear their own account of themselves. They can speak, +for they were not behind the door when tongues were given out, I can tell you. +The range of your experience is larger, for you are always with them, but how +few hosses does a man own in his life. How few he examines, and how little he +knows about other folk’s beasts. They don’t live with you, you only +see them when you mount, drive, or visit the stable. They have separate houses +of their own, and pretty buildings they are too in general, containin’ +about as much space for sleepin’ as a berth on board a ship, and about as +much ventilation too, and the poor critters get about as little exercise as +passengers, and are just about worth as much as they are when they land for a +day’s hard tramp. Poor critters, they have to be on their taps most all +the time.<sup>1</sup> The Arab and the Canadian have the best horses, not only +because they have the best breed, but because one has no stalls, and +t’other has no stable treatment. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> On their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Now in judging of a horse’s action, I compare him not with other +horses, but with animals of a different species. Did you ever know a fox +stumble, or a cat make a false step? I guess not; but haven’t you seen a +bear when chased and tired go head over heels? A dog in a general way is a +sure-footed critter, but he trips now and then, and if he was as big as a +horse, would throw his rider sometimes. Now then I look to these animals, and I +find there are two actions to be combined, the knee and the foot action. The +fox and the cat bend the knee easy and supply, but don’t arch ’em, +and though they go near the ground, they don’t trip. I take that then as +a sort of standard. I like my beast, especially if he is for the saddle, to be +said to trot like a fox. Now, if he lifts too high, you see, he describes half +a circle, and don’t go ahead as he ought, and then he pounds his frog +into a sort of mortar at every step, for the horny shell of a foot is just like +one. Well then, if he sends his fore leg away out in front, and his hind leg +away out behind like a hen scratchin’ gravel, he moves more like an ox +than anything else, and hainte sufficient power to fetch them home quick enough +for fast movement. Then the foot action is a great point, I looked at this +critter’s tracks on the pasture and asked myself, Does he cut turf, or +squash it flat? If he cuts it as a gardener does weeds with his spade, then +good bye, Mr Jerry, you won’t suit me, it’s very well to dance on +your toes, but it don’t convene to <i>travel on ’em,</i> or +you’re apt to make somersets. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, a neck is a valuable thing. We have two legs, two eyes, two hands, +two ears, two nostrils, and so on, but we have only one neck, which makes it so +easy to hang a fellow, or to break it by a chuck from your saddle; and besides, +we can’t mend it, as we do a leg or an arm. When it’s broken +it’s done for; and what use is it if it’s insured? The money +don’t go to you, but to your heirs, and half the time they wouldn’t +cry, except for decency sake, if you did break it. Indeed, I knew a great man +once, who got his neck broke, and all his friends said, for his own reputation, +it was a pity he hadn’t broke it ten years sooner. The Lord save me from +such friends, I say. Fact is, a broken neck is only a nine days’ wonder +after all, and is soon forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, the fox has the right knee action, and the leg is +‘thar.’ In the real knee movement, there is a peculiar spring, that +must be seen to be known and valued, words don’t give you the idea of it. +It’s like the wire end of a pair of galluses—oh, it’s +charming. It’s down and off in a jiffy, like a gall’s finger on a +piano when she is doin’ chromatic runs. Fact is, if I am walking out, and +see a critter with it, I have to stop and stare; and, Doctor, I will tell you a +queer thing. Halt and look at a splendid movin’ hoss, and the rider is +pleased; he thinks half the admiration is for him, as rider and owner, and +t’other half for his trotter. The gony’s delighted, chirups his +beast, gives him a sly touch up with the off heel, and shows him off to +advantage. But stop and look at a woman, and she is as mad as a hatter. She +don’t care how much you look at her, as long as you don’t stand +still or turn your head round. She wouldn’t mind slackin’ her pace +if you only attended to that. +</p> + +<p> +“Now the fox has that special springy movement I speak of, and he puts +his foot down flat, he bends the grass rather to him, than from him, if +anything, but most commonly crumples it flat; but you never see it +inclinin’ in the line of the course he is runnin’—never. Fact +is, they never get a hoist, and that is a very curious word, it has a very +different meanin’ at sea from what it has on land. In one case it means +to haul up, in the other to fall down. The term ‘look out’ is just +the same. +</p> + +<p> +“A canal boat was once passing through a narrow lock on the Erie line, +and the captain hailed the passengers and said, ‘Look out.’ Well, a +Frenchman thinking something strange was to be seen, popt his head out, and it +was cut off in a minute. ‘Oh, mon Dieu!’ said his comrade, +‘dat is a very <i>striking</i> lesson in English. On land, look out +means, open de window and see what you will see. On board canal boat it means, +haul your head in, and don’t look at nothin’.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the worst hoist that I ever had was from a very high-actioned +mare, the down foot slipped, and t’other was too high to be back in time +for her to recover, and over both of us went kerlash in the mud. I was skeered +more about her than myself, lest she should git the skin of her knee cut, for +to a knowing one’s eye that’s an awful blemish. It’s a long +story to tell how such a blemish warn’t the hoss’s fault, for +I’d rather praise than apologize for a critter any time. And there is one +thing few-people knows. <i>Let the cut come which way it will, the animal is +never so safe afterwards. Nature’s bandage, the skin, is severed, and +that leg is the weakest.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as I was a sayin’, Doctor, there is the knee action and the +foot action, and then there is a third thing. The leg must be just +<i>thar</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Thar</i>,” said I, “there is only one place for that, and +that is ‘thar,’ well forward at the shoulder-point, and not where +it most commonly is, too much under the body—for if it’s too far +back he stumbles, or too forward he can’t ‘pick chips quick +stick.’ Doctor, I am a borin’ of you, but the fact is, when I get a +goin’ ‘talkin’ hoss,’ I never know where to stop. How +much better tempered they are than half the women in the world, ain’t +they? and I don’t mean to undervally the dear critters neither by no +manner of means, and how much more sense they have than half the men either, +after all their cracking and bragging! How grateful they are for kindness, how +attached to you they get. How willin’ they are to race like dry dust in a +thunder squall, till they die for you! I do love them, that is a fact, and when +I see a feller a ill-usin’ of one of ’em, it makes me feel as cross +as two crooked gate-posts, I tell you. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, a man that don’t love a hoss is no man at all. I +don’t think he can be religious. A hoss makes a man humane and +tender-hearted, teaches him to feel for others, to share his food, and be +unselfish; to anticipate wants and supply them; to be gentle and patient. Then +the hoss improves him otherwise. He makes him rise early, attend to meal hours, +and to be cleanly. He softens and improves the heart. Who is there that ever +went into a stable of a morning, and his critter whinnered to him and played +his ears back and forward, and turned his head affectionately to him, and +lifted his fore-feet short and moved his tail, and tried all he could to +express his delight, and say, ‘Morning to you, master,’ or when he +went up to the manger and patted his neck, and the lovin’ critter rubbed +his head agin him in return, that didn’t think within himself, well, +after all, the hoss is a noble critter? I do love him. Is it nothin’ to +make a man love at all? How many fellers get more kicks than coppers in their +life—have no home, nobody to love them and nobody to love, in whose +breast all the affections are pent up, until they get unwholesome and want +ventilation. Is it nothin’ to such an unfortunate critter to be made a +stable help? Why, it elevates him in the scale of humanity. He discovers at +last he has a head to think and a heart to feel. He is a new man. Hosses +warn’t given to us, Doctor, to ride steeple-chases, or run races, or +brutify a man, but to add new powers and lend new speed to him. He was destined +for nobler uses. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it any wonder that a man that has owned old Clay likes to talk hoss? +I guess not. If I was a gall I wouldn’t have nothin’ to say to a +man that didn’t love a hoss and know all about him. I wouldn’t +touch him with a pair of tongs. I’d scorn him as I would a nigger. +Sportsmen breed pheasants to kill, and amature huntsmen shoot dear for the +pleasure of the slaughter. The angler hooks salmon for the cruel delight he has +in witnessing the strength of their dying struggles. The black-leg gentleman +runs his hoss agin time, and wins the race, and kills his noble steed, and +sometimes loses both money and hoss, I wish to gracious he always did; but the +rail hossman, Doctor, is a rail <i>man,</i> every inch of him, stock, lock, and +barrel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Massa,” said Sorrow, who stood listenin’ to me as I was +warmin’ on the subject. “Massa, dis hoss will be no manner of +remaginable use under de blessed light ob de sun.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Sorrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cause, Massa, he don’t understand one word of English, and de +French he knows no libbin’ soul can understand but a Cheesencooker, yah, +yah, yah! Dey called him a ‘<i>shovel</i>,’ and his tail a +‘<i>queue</i>.’ “ +</p> + +<p> +“What a goose you are, Sorrow,” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Fac, Massa,” he said, “fac I do ressure you, and dey called +de little piggy doctor fell over, ‘<i>a coach</i>.’ Dod drat my +hide if they didn’t yah, yah, yah!” +</p> + +<p> +“The English ought to import, Doctor,” sais I, “some of these +into their country, for as to ridin’ and drivin’ there is +nothin’ like them. But catch Britishers admitting there is anything good +in Canada, but the office of Governor-General, the military commands, and other +pieces of patronage, which they keep to themselves, and then say they have +nothing left. Ah me! times is altered, as Elgin knows. The pillory and the +peerage have changed places. Once, a man who did wrong was first elevated, and +then pelted. A peer is now assailed with eggs, and then exalted.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Palmam qui meruit ferat</i>,” said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the Latin for how many hands high the horse is?” sais I. +“Well, on an average, say fifteen, perhaps oftener less than more. +It’s the old Norman horse of two centuries ago, a compound of the Flemish +stock and the Barb, introduced into the Low Countries by the Spaniards. +Havin’ been transported to Canada at that early period, it has remained +unchanged, and now may be called a distinct breed, differing widely in many +respects from those found at the present day in the locations from which they +originally came. But look at the amazin’ strength of his hip, look at the +lines, and anatomical formation (as you would say) of his frame, which fit him +for both a saddle and a gig hoss. Look at his chest, not too wide to make him +paddle in his gait, nor too narrow to limit his wind. Observe all the points of +strength. Do you see the bone below the knee and the freedom of the cord there. +Do you mark the eye and head of the Barb. Twig the shoulder, the identical +medium for a hoss of all work, and the enormous power to shove him ahead. This +fellow is a picture, and I am glad they have not mutilated or broken him. He is +just the hoss I have been looking for, for our folks go in to the handle for +fast trotters, and drive so much and ride so little, it ain’t easy to get +the right saddle beast in our State. The Cape Breton pony is of the same breed, +though poor feed, exposure to the weather, and rough usage has caused him to +dwindle in size; but they are the toughest, hardiest, strongest, and most +serviceable of their inches, I know anywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +I always feel scared when I git on the subject of hosses for fear I should +ear-wig people, so I stopt short; “And,” sais I, “Doctor, I +think I have done pretty well with the talking tacks, spose you give me some of +your experience in the trapping line, you must have had some strange adventures +in your time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I have,” said he, “but I have listened with pleasure +to you, for although I am not experienced in horses, performing most of my +journeys on foot, I see you know what you are talking about, for I am familiar +with the anatomy of the horse. My road is the trackless forest, and I am more +at home there than in a city. Like you I am fond of nature, but unlike you I +know little of human nature, and I would rather listen to your experience than +undergo the labour of acquiring it. Man is an artificial animal, but all the +inhabitants of the forest are natural. The study of their habits, propensities, +and instincts is very interesting, and in this country the only one that is +formidable is the bear, for he is not only strong and courageous, but he has +the power to climb trees, which no other animal will attempt in pursuit of man +in Nova Scotia. The bear therefore is an ugly customer, particularly the female +when she has her cubs about her, and a man requires to have his wits about him +when she turns the table on him and hunts him. But you know these things as +well as I do, and to tell you the truth there is little or nothing that is new +to be said on the subject; one bear hunt is like another. The interest of these +things is not so much in their incidents or accidents, as in the mode of +telling them.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a fact,” sais I, “Doctor. But what do you +suppose was the object Providence had in view in filling the world with beasts +of prey? The east has its lions, tigers, and boa-constrictors; the south its +panthers and catamounts; the north its bears and wolves; and the west its +crocodiles and rattle-snakes. We read that dominion was given over the birds of +the air, the fish of the sea, and the beast of the forest, and yet no man in a +state of nature scarcely is a match for any one of these creatures; they +don’t minister to his wants, and he can’t tame them to his +uses.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have often asked myself, Slick,” said he, “the same +question, for nothing is made in vain, but it is a query not easy to answer. My +own opinion is, they were designed to enforce civilisation. Without these +terrors attending a sojourn in the wilderness, man would have wandered off as +they do, and lived alone; he would have made no home, dwelt with no wife, and +nurtured no children. His descendants would have done the same. When he +encountered another male, he would have given him battle, perhaps killed and +eat him. His very language would have perished, if ever he had any, and he +would have been no better than an ourang-outang. The option was not given him. +He was so constructed and so situated, he could not live alone. Individual +strength was insufficient for independent existence. To preserve life he had to +herd with his kind. Thus tribes were first formed, and to preserve one tribe +from the violence of another, they again united and formed nations. This +combination laid the foundation of civilisation, and as that extended, these +beasts of prey retired to the confines of the country, enforcing while they +still remain the observance of that law of nature which assigned to them this +outpost duty. +</p> + +<p> +“Where there is nothing revealed to us on the subject, all is left to +conjecture. Whatever the cause was, we know it was a wise and a necessary one; +and this appears to me to be the most plausible reason I can assign. Perhaps we +may also trace a further purpose in their creation, in compelling by the terror +they inspire the inferior animals to submit themselves to man, who is alone +able to protect them against their formidable enemies, or to congregate, so +that he may easily find them when he requires food; and may we not further +infer that man also may by a similar sense of weakness be led to invoke in like +manner the aid of Him who made all things and governs all things? Whatever is, +is right,” and then he quoted two Latin lines. +</p> + +<p> +I hate to have a feller do that, it’s like throwin’ an apple into +the water before a boy. He either has to lose it and go off disappointed, +wonderin’ what its flavour is, or else wade out for it, and like as not +get out of his depth afore he knows where he is. So I generally make him first +translate it, and then write it down for me. He ain’t likely after that +to do it a second time. Here are the words: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Siquid novisti rectius istis<br/> +Candidas imperti, si non his utere mecum.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br/> +THE CUCUMBER LAKE.</h2> + +<p> +“Here is a place under the lee bow,” said the pilot, “in +which there are sure to be some coasters, among whom the mate may find a market +for his wares, and make a good exchange for his mackarel.” +</p> + +<p> +So we accordingly entered and cast anchor among a fleet of fore-and-afters in +one of those magnificent ports with which the eastern coast is so liberally +supplied. +</p> + +<p> +“There is some good salmon-fishing in the stream that falls into the +harbour,” said the doctor, “suppose we try our rods;” and +while Cutler and his people were occupied in traffic, we rowed up the river +beyond the little settlement, which had nothing attractive in it, and landed at +the last habitation we could see. Some thirty or forty acres had been cleared +of the wood, the fields were well fenced, and a small stock of horned cattle, +principally young ones, and a few sheep, were grazing in the pasture. A +substantial rough log hut and barn were the only buildings. With the exception +of two little children playing about the door, there were none of the family to +be seen. +</p> + +<p> +On entering the house, we found a young woman, who appeared to be its sole +occupant. She was about twenty-five years of age; tall, well formed, strong, +and apparently in the enjoyment of good health and spirits. She had a fine open +countenance, an artless and prepossessing manner, and was plainly but +comfortably clad in the ordinary homespun of the country, and not only looked +neat herself, but everything around her was beautifully clean. It was manifest +she had been brought up in one of the older townships of the province, for +there was an ease and air about her somewhat superior to the log hut in which +we found her. The furniture was simple and of rude manufacture, but sufficient +for the wants of a small family, though here and there was an article of a +different kind and old-fashioned shape, that looked as if it had once graced a +substantial farm-house, probably a present from the inmates of the old +homestead. +</p> + +<p> +We soon found from her that she and her husband were as she said new beginners, +who, like most persons in the wilderness, had had many difficulties to contend +with, which from accidental causes had during the past year been greatly +increased. The weavil had destroyed their grain crop and the rot their +potatoes, their main dependence, and they had felt the pressure of hard times. +She had good hopes however she said for the present season, for they had sowed +the golden straw wheat, which they heard was exempt from the ravages of +insects, and their potatoes had been planted early on burnt land without barn +manure, and she was confident they would thereby be rescued from the disease. +Her husband, she informed us, in order to earn some money to make up for their +losses, had entered on board of an American fishing vessel, and she was in +daily expectation of his arrival, to remain at home until the captain should +call for him again, after he had landed his cargo at Portland. All this was +told in a simple and unaffected manner, but there was a total absence of +complaint or despondency, which often accompany the recital of such severe +trials. +</p> + +<p> +Having sent Sorrow back in the boat with an injunction to watch our signal of +recall, we proceeded further up the river, and commenced fishing. In a short +time we killed two beautiful salmon, but the black flies and musquitoes were so +intolerably troublesome, we were compelled to return to the log hut. I asked +permission of our cheerful, tidy young hostess to broil a piece of the salmon +by her fire, more for the purpose of leaving the fish with her than anything +else, when she immediately offered to perform that friendly office for us +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” she said, “I have a drawing of tea left,” +and taking from the shelf a small mahogany caddy, emptied it of its contents. +It was all she had. The flour-barrel was also examined and enough was gathered, +as she said by great good luck, to make a few cakes. Her old man, she remarked, +for so she termed her young husband, would be back in a day or two and bring a +fresh supply. To relieve her of our presence, while she was busied in those +preparations, we strolled to the bank of the river, where the breeze in the +open ground swept away our tormentors, the venomous and ravenous flies, and by +the time our meal was ready, returned almost loaded with trout. I do not know +that I ever enjoyed anything more than this unexpected meal. The cloth was +snowy white, the butter delicious, and the eggs fresh laid. In addition to +this, and what rendered it so acceptable, it was a free offering of the heart. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of conversation I learned from her, that the first year they had +been settled there they had been burnt out, and lost nearly all they had, but +she didn’t mind that she said, for, thank God, she had saved her +children, and she believed they had originally put up their building in the +wrong place. The neighbours had been very kind to them, helped them to erect a +new and larger house, near the beautiful spring we saw in the green; and +besides, she and her husband were both young, and she really believed they were +better off than they were before the accident. +</p> + +<p> +Poor thing, she didn’t need words of comfort, her reliance on Providence +and their own exertions was so great, she seemed to have no doubt as to their +ultimate success. Still, though she did not require encouragement, confirmation +of her hopes, I knew, would be grateful to her, and I told her to tell her +husband on no account to think of parting with or removing from the place, for +I observed there was an extensive intervale of capital quality, an excellent +mill privilege on the stream where I caught the salmon, and as he had the +advantage of water carriage, that the wood on the place, which was of a quality +to suit the Halifax market, would soon place him in independent circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +“He will be glad to hear you think so, Sir,” she replied, +“for he has often said the very same thing himself; but the folks at the +settlement laugh at him when he talks that way, and say he is too sanguine. But +I am sure he ain’t, for it is very much like my poor father’s place +in Colchester, only it has the privilege of a harbour which he had not, and +that is a great thing.” +</p> + +<p> +The signal for Sorrow having been hung out for some time, we rose to take +leave, and wishing to find an excuse for leaving some money behind me, and +recollecting having seen some cows in the field, I asked her if she could sell +me some of her excellent butter for the use of the cabin. She said she could +not do so, for the cows all had calves, and she made but little; but she had +five or six small prints, if I would accept them, and she could fill me a +bottle or two with cream. +</p> + +<p> +I felt much hurt—I didn’t know what to do. She had given me her +last ounce of tea, baked her last cake, and presented me with all the butter +she had in the house. “Could or would you have done that?” said I +to myself, “come, Sam, speak the truth now.” Well, Squire, I only +brag when I have a right to boast, though you do say I am always brim full of +it, and I won’t go for to deceive you or myself either, I know I +couldn’t, that’s a fact. I have mixed too much with the world, my +feelings have got blunted, and my heart ain’t no longer as soft as it +used to did to be. I can give, and give liberally, because I am able, but I +give what I don’t want and what I don’t miss; but to give as this +poor woman did all she had of these two indispensable articles, tea and flour, +is a thing, there is no two ways about it, I could not. +</p> + +<p> +I must say I was in a fix; if I was to offer to pay her, I knew I should only +wound her feelings. She derived pleasure from her hospitality, why should I +deprive her of that gratification? If she delighted to give, why should I not +in a like feeling be pleased to accept, when a grateful reception was all that +was desired—must I be outdone in all things? must she teach me how to +give freely and accept gracefully? +</p> + +<p> +She shall have her way this hitch, and so will I have mine bime by, or the +deuce is in the die. I didn’t surely come to Liscombe Harbour to be +taught those things. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell your husband,” sais I, “I think very highly of his +location, and if hard times continue to pinch him, or he needs a helping hand, +I am both able and willing to assist him, and will have great pleasure in doing +so for her sake who has so kindly entertained us in his absence. Here is my +card and address, if he wants a friend let him come to me, and if he +can’t do that, write to me, and he will find I am on hand. Any man in +Boston will tell him where Sam Slick lives.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Sam Slick,” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“My goodness,” said she, “are you <i>the</i> Mr Slick who +used to sell—” She paused and coloured slightly, thinking perhaps, +as many people do, I would be ashamed to be reminded of pedling. +</p> + +<p> +“Wooden clocks,” sais I, helping her to the word. +“Yes,” sais I, “I am Sam Slick the Clockmaker, at least what +is left of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness gracious, Sir,” said she, advancing and shaking hands +cordially with me, “how glad I am to see you! You don’t recollect +me of course, I have grown so since we met, and I don’t recollect your +features, for it is so long ago, but I mind seeing you at my father’s old +house, Deacon Flint’s, as well as if it was yesterday. We bought a clock +from you; you asked mother’s leave to let you put it up, and leave it in +the room till you called for it. You said you trusted to ‘soft +sawder’ to get it into the house, and to ‘human natur’ that +it should never come out of it. How often our folks have laughed over that +story. Dear, dear, only to think we should have ever met again,” and +going to a trunk she took out of a bark-box a silver sixpence with a hole in +it, by which it was suspended on a black ribbon. +</p> + +<p> +“See, Sir, do you recollect that, you gave that to me for a keepsake? you +said it was ‘luck-money.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “<i>if that</i> don’t pass, don’t +it? Oh, dear, how glad I am to see you, and yet how sad it makes me too! I am +delighted at meetin’ you so onexpected, and yet it makes me feel so old +it scares me. It only seems as if it was the other day when I was at your +father’s house, and since then yon have growd up from a little girl into +a tall handsome woman, got married, been settled, and are the mother of two +children. Dear me, it’s one o’ the slaps old Father Time gives me +in the face sometimes, as much as to hint, ‘I say, Slick, you are +gettin’ too old now to talk so much nonsense as you do.’ +Well,” sais I, “my words have come true about that silver +sixpence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come here, my little man,” sais I to her pretty curly-headed +little boy; “come here to me,” and I resumed my seat. +“Now,” sais I, “my old friend, I will show you how that +prophecy is fulfilled to this child. That clock I sold to Deacon Flint only +cost me five dollars, and five dollars more would pay duty, freight, and +carriage, and all expenses, which left five pounds clear profit, but that +warn’t the least share of the gain. It introduced my wares all round and +through the country, and it would have paid me well if I had given him a dozen +clocks for his patronage. I always thought I would return him that profit if I +could see him, and as I can’t do that I will give it to this little +boy,” so I took out my pocket-book and gave her twenty dollars for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” sais I, “my friend, that relieves my conscience now +of a debt of gratitude, for that is what I always intended to do if I got a +chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, she took it, said it was very kind, and would be a great help to them; +but that she didn’t see what occasion there was to return the money, for +it was nothing but the fair profit of a trade, and the clock was a most +excellent one, kept capital time, and was still standing in the old house. +</p> + +<p> +Thinks I to myself, “You have taught me two things, my pretty friend; +first, how to give, and second, how to receive.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, we bid her good-bye, and after we had proceeded a short distance I +returned. +</p> + +<p> +Sais I, “Mrs Steele, there is one thing I wish you would do for me; is +there any cranberries in this neighbourhood?” +</p> + +<p> +“Plenty, Sir,” she said; “at the head of this river there is +an immense bog, chock full of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “there is nothin’ in natur I am so fond +of as them; I would give anything in the world for a few bushel. Tell your +husband to employ some people to pick me this fall a barrel of them, and send +them to me by one of our vessels, directed to me to Slickville, and when I go +on board I will send you a barrel of flour to pay for it. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me, Sir,” said she, “that’s a great deal more +than their value; why they ain’t worth more than two dollars. We will +pick them for you with great pleasure. We don’t want pay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t they worth that?” said I, “so much the better. +Well, then, he can send me another barrel the next year. Why, they are as cheap +as bull beef at a cent a pound. Good bye; tell him to be sure to come and see +me the first time he goes to the States. Adieu.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think of that, Doctor?” said I, as we proceeded to the +boat; “ain’t that a nice woman? how cheerful and uncomplaining she +is; how full of hope and confidence in the future. Her heart is in the right +place, ain’t it? My old mother had that same sort of contentment about +her, only, perhaps, her resignation was stronger than her hope. When anything +ever went wrong about our place to home to Slickville, she’d always say, +‘Well, Sam, it might have been worse;’ or, ‘Sam, the darkest +hour is always just afore day,’ and so on. But Minister used to amuse me +beyond anything, poor old soul. Once the congregation met and raised his wages +from three to four hundred dollars a-year. Well, it nearly set him crazy; it +bothered him so he could hardly sleep. So after church was over the next +Sunday, he sais, ‘My dear brethren, I hear you have raised my salary to +four hundred dollars. I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness, but I +can’t think of taking it on no account. First, you can’t afford it +no how you can fix it, and I know it; secondly, I ain’t worth it, and you +know it; and thirdly, I am nearly tired to death collecting my present income; +if I have to dun the same way for that, it will kill me. I can’t stand +it; I shall die. No, no; pay me what you allow me more punctually, and it is +all I ask, or will ever receive.’ +</p> + +<p> +“But this poor woman is a fair sample of her class in this country; I do +believe the only true friendship and hospitality is to be found among them. +They ain’t rich enough for ostentation, and are too equal in condition +and circumstances for the action of jealousy or rivalry; I believe they are the +happiest people in the world, but I know they are the kindest. Their feelings +are not chilled by poverty or corrupted by plenty; their occupations preclude +the hope of wealth and forbid the fear of distress. Dependent on each other for +mutual assistance, in those things that are beyond individual exertion, they +interchange friendly offices, which commencing in necessity, grow into habit, +and soon become the ‘labour of love.’ They are poor, but not +destitute, a region in my opinion in which the heart is more fully developed +than in any other. Those who are situated like Steele and his wife, and +commence a settlement in the woods, with the previous training they have +received in the rural districts, begin at the right end; but they are the only +people who are fit to be pioneers in the forest. How many there are who begin +at the wrong end; perhaps there is no one subject on which men form such false +notions as the mode of settling in the country, whether they are citizens of a +colonial town, or strangers, from Great Britain. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at that officer at Halifax: he is the best dressed man in the +garrison; he is well got up always; he looks the gentleman every inch of him; +how well his horses are groomed; how perfect his turn-out looks; how well +appointed it is, as he calls it. He and his servant and his cattle are a little +bit of fashion imported from the park, and astonish the natives. Look at his +wife, ain’t she a beautiful creature? they are proud of, and were just +made for each other. This is not merely all external appearance either: they +are accomplished people; they sing, they play, they sketch, they paint, they +speak several languages, they are well read, they have many resources. +Soldiering is dull, and, in time of peace, only a police service. It has +disagreeable duties; it involves repeated removals, and the alternation of bad +climates—from Hudson’s Bay to Calcutta’s Black Hole. The +juniors of the regimental officers are mere boys, the seniors great empty +cartouch-boxes, and the women have cabals,—there is a sameness even in +its variety; but worse than all, it has no home—in short, the whole thing +is a bore. It is better to sell out and settle in the province; land is cheap; +their means are ample, and more than sufficient for the requirements of the +colony; country society is stupid; there are no people fit to visit. It is best +to be out of the reach of their morning calls and their gossip. A few miles +back in the woods there is a splendid stream with a beautiful cascade on it; +there is a magnificent lake communicating with several others that form a chain +of many miles in extent. That swelling knoll that slopes so gently to the water +would be such a pretty site for a cottage-<i>orné</i>, and the +back-ground of hanging wood has an indescribable beauty in it, especially in +the autumn, when the trees are one complete mass of variegated hues. He warms +on the theme as he dilates on it, and sings as he turns to his pretty wife: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled<br/> +Â Â Â Â Above the green elms that a cottage was near;<br/> +And I said, if there’s peace to be found in the world,<br/> +Â Â Â Â The heart that is humble might hope for it here.’ +</p> + +<p> +“How sweet to plan, how pleasant to execute. How exciting to see it grow +under one’s own eye, the work of one’s own hand, the creation of +one’s own taste. It is decided on; Dechamps retires, the papers go in, +the hero goes out—what a relief! no inspection of soldiers’ dirty +kits—no parade by day—no guards nor rounds by night—no +fatigue parties of men who never fatigue themselves—no stupid +court-martial—no horrid punishments—no reviews to please a colonel +who never is pleased, or a general who will swear—no marching through +streets, to be stared at by housemaids from upper windows, and by dirty boys in +the side paths—no procession to follow brass instruments, like the train +of a circus—no bearded band-master with his gold cane to lead on his +musicians, and no bearded white goat to march at the head of the regiment. All, +all are gone. +</p> + +<p> +“He is out of livery, he has played at soldiering long enough, he is +tired of the game, he sells out, the man of business is called in, <i>his</i> +lawyer, as he terms him, as if every gentleman kept a lawyer as he does a +footman. He is in a hurry to have the purchase completed with as little delay +as possible. But delays will occur, he is no longer a centurion and a man of +authority, who has nothing to do but to say to this one, Come, and he cometh; +and another, Go, and he goeth; Do this, and it is done. He can’t put a +lawyer under arrest, he is a man of arrests himself. He never heard of an +attachment for contempt, and if he had, he couldn’t understand it; for, +when the devil was an attorney, he invented the term, as the softest and +kindest name for the hardest and most unkind process there is. +<i>Attachment</i> for <i>contempt,</i> what a mockery of Christian forgiveness! +</p> + +<p> +“A conveyancer is a slow coach, he must proceed cautiously, he has a long +journey to take, he has to travel back to a grant from the crown, through all +the ‘mesne’ conveyances. He don’t want a <i>mean</i> +conveyance, he will pay liberally if it is only done quickly; and is informed +‘mesne’ in law signifies intermediate. It is hard to say what the +language of law does mean. Then there are searches to be made in the record +offices, and the—damn the searches, for he is in a hurry and loses his +patience—search at the bankers, and all will be found right. Then there +are releases and assignments and discharges. He can stand it no longer, he +releases his lawyer, discharges him, and assigns another, who hints, +insinuates, he don’t charge; but gives him to understand his predecessor +was idle. He will lose no time, indeed he has no time to lose, he is so busy +with other clients’ affairs, and is as slow as the first man was. +</p> + +<p> +“But at last it is done; the titles are completed. He is presented with a +huge pile of foolscap paper, very neatly folded, beautifully engrossed and +endorsed in black letters, and nicely tied up with red tape, which, with sundry +plans, surveys, and grants, are secured in a large despatch box, on which are +inscribed in gold letters the ‘<i>Epaigwit estate</i>.’ It is a +pretty Indian word that, it means the ‘home on the wave.’ It is the +original name of that gem of the western ocean which the vulgar inhabitants +have christened Prince Edward’s Island. +</p> + +<p> +“But what can you expect of a people whose governor calls the gentry +‘the upper crust of society,’ and who in their turn see an affinity +between a Scotch and a Roman fiddle, and denounce him as a Nero? But then who +looks, as he says, for taste in a colony? it is only us Englishmen who have +any. Yes, he calls this place ‘Epaigwit.’ It has a +<i>distingué</i> appearance on his letters. It has now a name, the next +thing is ‘a local habitation.’ Well, we won’t stop to +describe it, but it has an elegant drawing-room, if there was only company to +collect in it, a spacious dining-room, and though only two plates are on the +table there is room for twenty, and a charming study, only awaiting his leisure +to enjoy it, and so on. +</p> + +<p> +“It is done and the design carried out, though not completed; prudence +forbids a further expenditure just now. It has cost five times as much as was +contemplated, and is not worth a tenth part of the outlay, still it is very +beautiful. Strangers go to see it, and every one pronounces it the prettiest +thing in the Lower provinces. There have been some little drawbacks, but they +are to be expected in a colony, and among the Goths and Vandals who live there. +The contractors have repudiated their agreement on account of the extensive +alterations made in the design and the nature of the work, and he has found +there is law in the country if not justice. The servants find it too lonely, +they have no taste for the beauties of nature, and remain without work, or quit +without notice. If he refuses to pay he is sued, if he pays he is cheated. The +house leaks, for the materials are green; the chimneys smoke, for the drafts +are in the wrong place. The children are tormented by black flies and +musquitoes, and their eyes are so swelled they can’t see. The bears make +love to his sheep, and the minks and foxes devour his poultry. The Indians who +come to beg are supposed to come to murder, and the negroes who come to sell +wild berries are suspected of coming to steal. He has no neighbours, he did not +desire any, and if a heavy weight has to be lifted, it is a little, but not +much, inconvenience to send to the town for assistance; and the people go +cheerfully, for they have only five miles to come, and five to return, and they +are not detained more than five minutes, for he never asks them into his house. +The butcher won’t come so far to carry his meat, nor the baker his bread, +nor the postman to deliver his letters. +</p> + +<p> +“The church is too far off, and there is no school. But the clergyman is +not fit to be heard, he is such a drone in the pulpit; and it is a sweet +employment to train one’s own children, who thus avoid contamination by +not associating with vulgar companions. +</p> + +<p> +“These are trifling vexations, and what is there in this life that has +not some little drawback? But there is something very charming in perfect +independence, in living for each other, and in residing in one of the most +delightful spots in America, surrounded by the most exquisite scenery that was +ever beheld. There is one thing however that is annoying. The country people +will not use or adopt that pretty word Epaigwit, ‘the home of the +wave,’ which rivals in beauty of conception an eastern expression. The +place was originally granted to a fellow of the name of Umber, who was called +after the celebrated navigator Cook. These two words when united soon became +corrupted, and the magnificent sheet of water was designated ‘the +Cucumber Lake,’ while its splendid cataract, known in ancient days by the +Indians as the ‘Pan-ook,’ or ‘the River’s Leap,’ +is perversely called by way of variation ‘the Cowcumber Falls;’ can +anything be conceived more vulgar or more vexatious, unless it be their awkward +attempt at pronunciation, which converts Epaigwit into ‘a pig’s +wit,’ and Pan-ook into ‘Pond-hook?’ +</p> + +<p> +“But then, what can you expect of such boors, and who cares, or what does +it matter? for after all, if you come to that, the ‘Cumberland +Lakes’ is not very euphonious, as he calls it, whatever that means. He is +right in saying it is a beautiful place, and, as he often observes, what an +immense sum of money it would be worth if it were only in England! but the day +is not far distant, now that the Atlantic is bridged by steamers, when +‘bag-men’ will give place to tourists, and ‘Epaigwit’ +will be the ‘Killarney’ of America. He is quite right, that day +will come, and so will the millennium, but it is a good way off yet; and dear +old Minister used to say there was no dependable authority that it ever would +come at all. +</p> + +<p> +“Now and then a brother officer visits him. Elliott is there now, not the +last of the Elliotts, for there is no end of them, and though only a hundred of +them have been heard of in the world, there are a thousand well known to the +Treasury. But he is the last chum from his regiment he will ever see. As they +sit after dinner he hands the olives to his friend, and suddenly checks +himself, saying, I forgot, you never touch the ‘<i>after-feed</i>.’ +Then he throws up both eyes and hands, and affects to look aghast at the +mistake. ‘Really,’ he says, ‘I shall soon become us much of a +boor as the people of this country. I hear nothing now but mowing, browsing, +and ‘after-feed,’ until at last I find myself using the latter word +for ‘dessert.’ He says it prettily and acts it well, and although +his wife has often listened to the same joke, she looks as if it would bear +repetition, and her face expresses great pleasure. Poor Dechamps, if your place +is worth nothing, she at least is a treasure above all price. +</p> + +<p> +“Presently Elliott sais, ‘By-the-by, Dechamps, have you heard we +are ordered to Corfu, and embark immediately?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me, what magic there is in a word. Sometimes it discloses in +painful distinctness the past, at others it reveals a prophetic page of the +future; who would ever suppose there was anything in that little insignificant +word to occasion a thought, unless it was whether it is pronounced Corfoo or +Corfew, and it’s so little consequence which, I always give it the go by +and say Ionian Isles. +</p> + +<p> +“But it startled Dechamps. He had hoped before he left the army to have +been ordered there, and from thence to have visited the classic coasts of +Greece. Alas, that vision has gone, and there is a slight sigh of regret, for +possession seldom equals expectation, and always cloys. He can never more see +his regiment, they have parted for ever. Time and distance have softened some +of the rougher features of military life. He thinks of the joyous days of +youth, the varied scenes of life, his profession exposed to his view, and the +friends he has left behind him. The service he thinks not so intolerable after +all, and though regimental society is certainly not what he should choose, +especially as a married man, yet, except in a rollicking corps, it may at least +negatively be said to be ‘not bad.’ +</p> + +<p> +“From this review of the past he turns to the prospect before him. But he +discerns something that he does not like to contemplate, a slight shadow passes +over his face, and he asks Elliott to pass the wine. His wife, with the +quickness of perception so natural to a woman, sees at once what is passing in +his mind; for similar, but deeper, far deeper thoughts, like unbidden guests, +have occupied hers many an anxious hour. Poor thing, she at once perceives her +duty and resolves to fulfil it. She will be more cheerful. She at least will +never murmur. After all, Doctor, it’s no great exaggeration to call a +woman that has a good head and kind heart, and the right shape, build, and +bearings, an angel, is it? But let us mark their progress, for we shall be +better able to judge then. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us visit Epaigwit again in a few years. Who is that man near the +gate that looks unlike a servant, unlike a farmer, unlike a gentleman, unlike a +sportsman, and yet has a touch of all four characters about him? He has a +shocking bad hat on but what’s the use of a good hat in the woods, as +poor Jackson said, where there is no one to see it. He has not been shaved +since last sheep-shearing, and has a short black pipe in his mouth, and the +tobacco smells like nigger-head or pig-tail. He wears a coarse check shirt +without a collar, a black silk neck-cloth frayed at the edge, that looks like a +rope of old ribbons. His coat appears as if it had once been new, but had been +on its travels, until at last it had got pawned to a Jew at Rag-alley. His +waistcoat was formerly buff, but now resembles yellow flannel, and the buttons, +though complete in number are of different sorts. The trowsers are homespun, +much worn, and his boots coarse enough to swap with a fisherman for mackarel. +His air and look betokens pride rendered sour by poverty. +</p> + +<p> +“But there is something worse than all this, something one never sees +without disgust or pain, because it is the sure precursor of a diseased body, a +shattered intellect, and voluntary degradation. There is a bright red colour +that extends over the whole face, and reaches behind the ears. The whiskers are +prematurely tipt with white, as if the heated skin refused to nourish them any +longer. The lips are slightly swelled, and the inflamed skin indicates inward +fever, while the eyes are bloodshot, the under lids distended, and incline to +shrink from contact with the heated orbs they were destined to protect. He is a +dram-drinker; and the poison that he imbibes with New England rum is as fatal, +and nearly as rapid in its destruction, as strikline. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he; can you guess? do you give it up? He is that handsome +officer, the Laird of Epaigwit as the Scotch would say, the general as we +should call him, for we are liberal of titles, and the man that lives at +Cowcumber Falls, as they say here. Poor fellow, he has made the same discovery +Sergeant Jackson did, that there is no use of good things in the woods where +there is no one to see them. He is about to order you off his premises, but it +occurs to him that would be absurd, for he has nothing now worth seeing. He +scrutinises you however to ascertain if he has ever seen you before. He fears +recognition, for he dreads both your pity and your ridicule; so he strolls +leisurely back to the house with a certain bull-dog air of defiance. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us follow him thither; but before we enter, observe there is some +glass out of the window, and its place supplied by shingles. The stanhope is in +the coach-house, but the by-road was so full of stumps and cradle-hills, it was +impossible to drive in it, and the moths have eaten the lining out. The +carriage has been broken so often it is not worth repairing, and the double +harness has been cut up to patch the tacklin’ of the horse-team. The +shrubbery has been browsed away by the cattle, and the rank grass has choked +all the rose bushes and pretty little flowers. What is the use of these things +in the woods? That remark was on a level with the old dragoon’s +intellect; but I am surprised that this intelligent officer; this man of the +world, this martinet, didn’t also discover, that he who neglects himself +soon becomes so careless as to neglect his other duties, and that to lose sight +of them is to create and invite certain ruin. But let us look at the interior. +</p> + +<p> +“There are some pictures on the walls, and there are yellow stains where +others hung. Where are they? for I think I heard a man say he bought them on +account of their handsome frames, from that crack-brained officer at Cucumber +Lake; and he shut his eye, and looked knowing and whispered, ‘Something +wrong there, had to sell out of the army; some queer story about another wife +still living; don’t know particulars.’ Poor Dechamps, you are +guiltless of that charge at any rate, to my certain knowledge; <i>but how often +does slander bequeath to folly that which of right belongs to crime!</i> The +nick-knacks, the antique china, the Apostles’ spoons, the queer little +old-fashioned silver ornaments, the French clock, the illustrated works, and +all that sort of thing,—all, all are gone. The housemaids broke some, the +children destroyed others, and the rest were sent to auction, merely to +<i>secure their preservation.</i> The paper is stained in some places, in +others has peeled off; but where under the sun have all the accomplishments +gone to? +</p> + +<p> +“The piano got out of tune, and there was nobody to put it in order: it +was no use; the strings were taken out, and the case was converted into a +cupboard. The machinery of the harp became rusty, and the cords were wanted for +something else. But what is the use of these things in the woods where there is +nobody to see them? But here is Mrs Dechamps. Is it possible! My goody gracious +as I am a living sinner! Well I never in all my born days! what a dreadful +wreck! you know how handsome she was. Well, I won’t describe her now, I +pity her too much. You know I said they were counterparts, just made for each +other, and so they were; but they are of different sexes, made of different +stuff, and trouble has had a different effect on them. He has neglected +himself, and she is negligent of her dress too, but not in the same way. She is +still neat, but utterly regardless of what her attire is; but let it be what it +may, and let her put on what she will, still she looks like a lady. But her +health is gone, and her spirits too; and in their place a little, delicate +hectic spot has settled in her cheek, beautiful to look at, but painful to +think of. This faint blush is kindly sent to conceal consumption, and the faint +smile is assumed to hide the broken heart. If it didn’t sound +unfeelin’, I should say she was booked for an early train; but I think so +if I don’t say so. The hour is fixed, the departure certain; she is glad +to leave Epaigwit. +</p> + +<p> +“Somehow though I must say I am a little disappointed in her. She was a +soldier’s wife; I thought she was made of better stuff, and if she had +died would have at least died game. Suppose they have been unfortunate in +pitching their tent ‘on the home of the wave,’ and got aground, and +their effects have been thrown overboard; what is that, after all? Thousands +hare done the same; there is still hope for them. They are more than a match +for these casualties; how is it she has given up so soon? Well, don’t +allude to it, but there is a sad tragical story connected with that lake. Do +you recollect that beautiful curly-headed child, her eldest daughter, that she +used to walk with at Halifax? Well, she grew up into a magnificent girl; she +was full of health and spirits, and as fleet and as wild as a hare. She lived +in the woods and on the lake. She didn’t shoot, and she didn’t +fish, but she accompanied those who did. The beautiful but dangerous bark canoe +was her delight; she never was happy but when she was in it. Tom Hodges, the +orphan boy they had brought with them from the regiment, who alone of all their +servants had remained faithful in their voluntary exile, was the only one +permitted to accompany her; for he was so careful, so expert, and so good a +swimmer. Alas! one night the canoe returned not. What a long, eager, anxious +night was that! but towards noon the next day the upturned bark drifted by the +shore, and then it was but too evident that that sad event which the anxious +mother had so often dreaded and predicted had come to pass. They had met a +watery grave. Often and often were the whole chain of lakes explored, but their +bodies were never found. Entangled in the long grass and sunken driftwood that +covered the bottom of these basins, it was not likely they would ever rise to +the surface. +</p> + +<p> +“It was impossible to contemplate that fearful lake without a shudder. +They must leave the place soon and for ever. Oh, had Emily’s life been +spared, she could have endured any and everything for her sake. Poor thing! how +little she knew what she was a talking about, as she broke the seal of a letter +in a well-known hand. Her life was spared; it never was endangered. She had +eloped with Tom Hodges—she had reached Boston—she was very +happy—Tom was all kindness to her. She hoped they would forgive her and +write to her, for they were going to California, where they proposed to be +married as soon as they arrived. Who ever appealed to a mother for forgiveness +in vain? Everything appeared in a new light. The child had been neglected; she +ought not to have been suffered to spend so much of her time with that boy; +both her parents had strangely forgotten that they had grown up, and—it +was no use to say more. Her father had locked her out of his heart, and thrown +away the key for ever. He wished she had been drowned, for in that case she +would have died innocent; and he poured out such a torrent of imprecations, +that the poor mother was terrified lest, as the Persians say, these curses, +like fowls, might return home to roost, or like prayers, might be heard, and +procure more than was asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You may grieve over the conduct of a child, and lament its untimely +death, and trust in God for his mercy; but no human being can reverse the order +of things, and first mourn the decease of a child, and then grieve for its +disgraceful life; for there is a grave again to be dug, and who knoweth whether +the end shall be peace? We can endure much, but there is a load that crusheth. +Poor thing! you were right, and your husband wrong. Woman-like, your judgment +was correct, your impulses good, and your heart in the right place. The child +was not to be blamed, but its parents. You could, if you thought proper, give +up society and live for each other; you had proved it, and knew how hollow and +false it was; but your children could not resign what they never had, nor +ignore feelings which God had implanted within them. Nature has laws which must +and will be obeyed. The swallow selects its mate, builds its nest, and occupies +itself in nurturing its young. The heart must have something to love, and if it +is restricted in its choice, it will bestow its affections not on what it would +approve and select, but upon what it may chance to find; you are not singular +in your domestic affliction; it is the natural consequence of your isolation, +and I have known it happen over and over again. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Doctor, let us return, after the lapse of a few years, as I did, to +Epaigwit. I shall never forget the impression it made upon me. It was about +this season of the year I went there to fish, intending to spend the night in a +camp, so as to be ready for the morning sport: ‘Why, where am I?’ +sais I to myself, when I reached the place. ‘Why, surely this ain’t +Cucumber Lake! where is that beautiful hanging wood, the temptation in the +wilderness that ruined poor Dechamps? gone, not cleared, but destroyed; not +subdued to cultivation, but reduced to desolation.’ Tall gaunt black +trees stretch out their withered arms on either side, as if balancing +themselves against a fall, while huge trunks lie scattered over the ground, +where they fell in their fierce conflict with the devouring fire that overthrew +them. The ground is thickly covered with ashes, and large white glistening +granite rocks, which had formerly been concealed by moss, the creeping +evergreen, and the smiling, blushing may-flower, now rear their cold snowy +heads that contrast so strangely with the funereal pall that envelopes all +around them. No living thing is seen there, nor bird, nor animal, nor insect, +nor verdant plant; even the hardy fire-weed has not yet ventured to intrude on +this scene of desolation, and the woodpecker, afraid of the atmosphere which +charcoal has deprived of vitality, shrinks back in terror when he approaches +it. Poor Dechamps, had you remained to witness this awful conflagration, you +would have observed in those impenetrable boulders of granite a type of the +hard, cold, unfeeling world around you, and in that withered and blackened +forest, a fitting emblem of your blighted and blasted prospects. +</p> + +<p> +“But if the trees had disappeared from that side of the lake, they had +been reproduced on the other. The fields, the lawn, and the garden were +over-run with a second growth of wood that had nearly concealed the house from +view. It was with some difficulty I forced my way through the chaparel +(thicket), which was rendered almost impenetrable by thorns, Virginia creepers, +honeysuckles, and sweet-briars, that had spread in the wildest profusion. The +windows, doors, mantle-pieces, bannisters, and every portable thing had been +removed from the house by the blacks, who had squatted in the neighbourhood; +even the chimneys had been taken down for the bricks. The swallows were the +sole tenants; the barn had fallen a prey to decay and storms, and the roof lay +comparatively uninjured at some distance on the ground. A pair of glistening +eyes, peeping through a broken board at the end, showed me that the foxes had +appropriated it to their own use. The horse-stable, coach-house, and other +buildings were in a similar state of dilapidation. +</p> + +<p> +“I returned to the camp, and learned that Mrs Dechamps was reposing in +peace in the village church-yard, the children had been sent to England to +their relatives, and the captain was residing in California with his daughter +and Tom Hodges, who were the richest people in St Francisco.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a sad picture!” said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s true though,” said I, “ain’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never was at Cucumber Lake,” said he, smiling, “but I have +known several similar failures. The truth is, Mr Slick, though I needn’t +tell you, for you know better than I do, our friend Steele began at the right +and Dechamps at the wrong end. The poor native ought always to go to the woods, +the emigrant or gentleman never; the one is a rough and ready man; he is at +home with an axe, and is conversant as well with the privations and +requirements as with the expedients and shifts of forest life; his condition is +ameliorated every year, and in his latter days he can afford to rest from his +labours; whereas, if he buys what is called a half-improved farm, and is unable +to pay for it at the time of the purchase, the mortgage is almost sure to ruin +him at last. Now a man of means who retires to the country is wholly unfit for +a pioneer, and should never attempt to become one; he should purchase a farm +ready made to his hands, and then he has nothing to do but to cultivate and +adorn it. It takes two generations, at least, to make such a place as he +requires. The native, again is one of a class, and the most necessary one too +in the country; the people sympathise with him, aid and encourage him. The +emigrant-gentleman belongs to no class, and wins no affection; he is kindly +received and judiciously advised by people of his own standing in life, but he +affects to consider their counsel obtrusive and their society a bore; he is +therefore suffered to proceed his own way, which they all well know, as it has +been so often travelled before, leads to ruin. They pity, but they can’t +assist him. Yes, yes, your sketch of ‘Epaigwit’ is so close to +nature, I shouldn’t wonder if many a man who reads it should think he +sees the history of his own place under the name of ‘the Cucumber +Lake.’” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="C25">CHAPTER XXV.</a><br/> +THE RECALL.</h2> + +<p> +In compiling this Journal, Squire, my object has been less to give you the +details of my cruise, than to furnish you with my remarks on men and things in +general. Climate, locality, and occupation form or vary character, but man is +the same sort of critter everywhere. To know him thoroughly, he must be studied +in his various aspects. When I learned drawing, I had an India-rubber figure, +with springs in it, and I used to put it into all sorts of attitudes. Sometimes +it had its arms up, and sometimes down, now a-kimbo, and then in a boxing +posture. I stuck out its legs or made it stand bolt upright, and put its head +every way I could think of, and so on. It taught me to draw, and showed me the +effect of light and shade. So in sketching human character, feelings, +prejudices, and motives of action, I have considered man at one time as a +politician, a preacher, or a trader, and at another as a countryman or a +citizen, as ignorant or wise, and so on. In this way I soon learned to take his +gauge as you do a cask of spirits, and prove his strength or weakness by the +bead I could raise on him. +</p> + +<p> +If I know anything of these matters, and you seem to consait I do, why I +won’t act “Peter Funk”<sup>1</sup> to myself, but this I will +say, “Human natur is my weakness.” Now I think it best to send you +only such portions of my Journal as will interest you, for a mere diary of a +cruise is a mere nothing. So I skip over my sojourn at Canzeau, and a trip the +doctor and I took to Prince Edward’s Island, as containing nothing but a +sort of ship’s log, and will proceed to tell you about our sayings and +doings at that celebrated place Louisburg, in Cape Breton, which was twice +besieged and taken, first by our colony-forefathers from Boston, and then by +General Wolfe, the Quebec hero, and of which nothing now remains but its name, +which you will find in history, and its harbour, which you will find in the +map. The French thought building a fortress was colonization, and the English +that blowing it up was the right way to settle the country. The world is wiser +now. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> At petty auctions in the States, a person is employed to bid up +articles, in order to raise their price. Such a person is called a <i>Peter +Funk,</i> probably from that name having frequently been given when things were +bought in. In short, it is now used as a “puffer.”—BARTLETT. +</p> + +<p> +As we approached the place the Doctor said, “You see, Mr Slick, the +entrance to Louisburg is pointed out to voyagers coming from the eastward, by +the ruins of an old French lighthouse, and the lantern of a new one, on the +rocky wall of the north shore, a few minutes after approaching which the +mariner shoots from a fretful sea into the smooth and capacious port. The +ancient ruins display even yet the most attractive object to the eye. The +outline of these neglected mounds, you observe, is boldly marked against the +sky, and induces a visit to the spot where the fortress once stood. Louisburg +is everywhere covered with a mantle of turf, and without the assistance of a +native it is not easy to discover even the foundations of the public buildings. +Two or three casemates still remain, appearing like the mouths of huge ovens, +surmounted by a great mass of earth and stone. These caverns, originally the +safeguards of powder and other combustible munitions of war, now serve to +shelter the flocks of sheep that graze upon the grass that conceals them. The +floors are rendered nearly impassable by the ordure of these animals, but the +vaulted ceilings are adorned by dependent stalactites, like icicles in shape, +but not in purity of colour, being of a material somewhat similar to oyster +shells. The mass of stone<sup>1</sup> and brick that composed the buildings, +and which is now swept so completely from its site, has been distributed along +the shores of America, as far as Halifax and Boston, having been successively +carried away for the erections in those places and the intermediate coast, +which contains many a chimney bearing the memorials of Louisburg. The remains +of the different batteries on the island and round the harbour are still shown +by the inhabitants, as well as of the wharves, stockade, and sunken ships of +war. On gaining the walls above the town, they are found to consist of a range +of earthen fortifications with projecting angles, and extending as already +mentioned from the harbour to the sea, interrupted at intervals by large pits, +said to have been produced by the efforts of the captors to blow up the walls. +From these heights, the glacis slopes away to the edge of the bog outside, +forming a beautiful level walk, though now only enjoyed by the sheep, being, +like the walls, carpeted by short turf. At the termination of this line of +fortification on the sea-shore, is a huge and uncouth black rock, which appears +to have been formerly quarried for building stone, large quantities ready hewn +being still scattered round it, and gathered in masses as if prepared for that +use. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> See Haliburton’s “History of Nova Scotia.” +</p> + +<p> +“The prospect from the brow of the dilapidated ramparts is one of the +most impressive that the place affords. Looking to the south-west over the +former city, the eye wanders upon the interminable ocean, its blue rolling +waves occupying three-fourths of the scene, and beyond them, on the verge of +the horizon, a dense bank of fog sweeps along with the prevailing S.W. wind, +precluding all hopes of discerning any vista beyond that curtain. Turning +landwards towards the south-west, over the spacious bog that lies at the foot +of the walls, the sight is met by a range of low wood in the direction of +Gabarus, and can penetrate no further. The harbour is the only prospect to the +northward, and immediately in its rear the land rises so as to prevent anymore +distant view, and even the harbour appears dwindled to a miniature of itself, +being seen in the same picture with the mighty ocean that nearly surrounds the +beholder. The character of the whole scene is melancholy, presenting the +memorials of former life and population, contrasted with its present apparent +isolation from the natives of the earth. The impression is not weakened by the +sight of the few miserable huts scattered along the shores of the port, and the +little fishing vessels, scarcely perceptible in the mountain-swell of the +ocean; they serve but to recall painfully the images of elegant edifices that +once graced the foreground, and of proud flags that waved upon the face of that +heaving deep. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not easy to give a reason for the continued desolation of +Louisburg. A harbour opening directly upon the sea, whence egress is +unobstructed and expeditious, and return equally convenient at all seasons; +excellent fishing grounds at the very entrance; space on shore for all the +operations of curing the fish; every advantage for trade and the fisheries is +offered in vain. The place would appear to be shunned by tacit consent. The +shallops come from Arichet and St Peter’s Bay to fish at its very mouth, +but no one sets up his establishment there. The merchants resort to every +station in its vicinity, to Main-a-Dieu, the Bras d’Or, St Anne, +Inganish, nay, even Cape North, places holding out no advantage to compare with +those of Louisburg, yet no one ventures there. The fatality that hangs over +places of fallen celebrity seems to press heavily on this once valued +spot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Massa Doctor,” said Sorrow, when he heard this description, +“peers to me, dem English did gib de French goss widout sweetenin’, +most particular jess dat are a nateral fac. By golly, but dey was strange folks +boff on ’em. Ki dey must been gwine stracted, sure as you born, when dey +was decomposed (angry) wid each other, to come all de way out here to fight. +Lordy gracious, peers to me crossin’ de sea might a cooled them, +sposin’ dar hair was rumpled.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, Sorrow,” said I; “and, Doctor, niggers and +women often come to a right conclusion, though they cannot give the right +reasons for it, don’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “pray don’t class ladies +and niggers together. Oh, I thought you had more gallantry about you than +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “there is where the shoe pinches. You are +a so far and no further emancipationist. You will break up the social system of +the south, deprive the planter of his slave, and set the nigger free; but you +will not admit him to your family circle, associate with him, or permit him to +intermarry with your daughter. Ah, Doctor, you can emancipate him, but you +can’t emancipate yourself. You are willing to give him the liberty of a +dog; he may sleep in your stable, exercise himself in the coachyard, and may +stand or run behind your carriage, but he must not enter the house, for he is +offensive, nor eat at your table, for the way he devours his food is wolfish; +you unchain him, and that is all. But before the collar was unfastened he was +well and regularly fed, now he has to forage for it; and if he can’t pay +for his grub, he can and will steal it. Abolition has done great things for +him. He was once a life-labourer on a plantation in the south, he is now a +prisoner for life in a penitentiary in the north, or an idle vagrant, and a +shameless, houseless beggar. The fruit of cant is indeed bitter. The Yankees +emancipated their niggers because it didn’t pay to keep slaves. They now +want the southern planters to liberate theirs for conscience sake. But here we +are on the beach; let us land.” +</p> + +<p> +After taking a survey of the scene from the sight of the old town, we sat down +on one of the eastern mounds, and the doctor continued his account of the +place. “It took the French twenty-fire years to erect Louisburg,” +he said, “and though not completed according to the original design, it +cost not less than thirty millions of livres. It was environed, two miles and a +half in circumference, with a stone wall from thirty to thirty-six feet high, +and a ditch eighty feet wide. There was, as you will see, six bastions and +eight batteries, with embrasures for 148 cannon. On the island at the entrance +of the harbour, which we just passed, was a battery of thirty twenty-eight +pounders, and at the bottom of the port another mounting thirty-eight heavy +guns. In 1745, a plan for taking it was conceived by a colonial-lawyer, a +Governor of Massachusetts, and executed by a body of New England volunteers, +led on by a country trader. History can hardly furnish such another instance of +courage and conduct in an undisciplined body, laying siege to a regular +constructed fortress like this. Commodore Warren, when first applied to for +assistance, declined to afford it, as well because he had no orders as that he +thought the enterprise a rash one. He was however at last instructed from home +to co-operate with the Yankee troops, and arrived in season to witness the +progress of the siege, and receive the whole of the honour which was so +exclusively due to the Provincials. This act of insolence and injustice on the +part of the British was never forgotten by your countrymen, but the memory of +favours is short-lived, and a similar distribution of rewards has lately +surprised and annoyed the Canadians. The colonist who raised the militia and +saved Canada, as you have justly remarked elsewhere, was knighted, while he who +did no more than his duty as an officer in the army, was compensated for two or +three little affairs in which the soldiers were engaged by a coronet and a +pension.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais I, “what’s sauce for the goose ought to +be sauce for the gander; but it seems English geese are all swans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in 1758, it was again taken by the English, who attacked it with +an immense and overpowering armament, consisting of 151 sail, and 14,000 men. +Profiting by the experience of the Provincials, they soon reduced the place, +which it is astonishing could have made any resistance at all against such an +overwhelming force. Still, this attack was mostly an English one; and though it +dwindles into utter insignificance when compared with the previous capture by +the colonists, occasioned a great outbreak of national pride. The French +colours were carried in pompous parade, escorted by detachments of horse and +foot-guards, with kettle-drums and trumpets, from the palace of Kensington to +St Paul’s Cathedral, where they were deposited as trophies, under a +discharge of cannon, and other noisy expressions of triumph and exultation. +Indeed, the public rejoicings for the conquest of Louisburg were diffused +through every part of the British dominions; and addresses of congratulation +were presented to the king by a great number of flourishing towns and +corporations.” +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-five years afterwards the colonists, who were denied the credit +of their gallant enterprise, made good their claim to it by conquering those +who boasted that they were the conquerors themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to hear you say so, Doctor,” said I, “for I concur +in it all. The English are liberal, but half the time they ain’t just. +Spendin’ money in colonies is one thing, but givin’ them fair play +is another. The army complains that all commendation and promotion is reserved +for the staff. Provincials complain of similar injustice, but there is this +wide difference, the one has the ‘Times’ for its advocate, the +other is unheard or unheeded. An <i>honest</i> statesman will not refuse to do +justice—a <i>willy</i> poilitician will concede with grace what he knows +he must soon yield to compulsion. The old Tory was a man after all, every inch +of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” sais the doctor, “that remark reminds me of what I +have long intended to ask you if I got a chance. How is it, Mr Slick, that you, +who are a republican, whenever you speak of England are so conservative? It +always seemed to me as if it warn’t quite natural. If I didn’t know +you, I should say your books were written by a colonist who had used your name +for a medium for giving his own ideas.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “Doctor, I am glad you asked me, for I have +thought myself it wasn’t unlikely some folks would fall into that +mistake. I’ll tell you how this comes, though I wouldn’t take the +trouble to enlighten others, for it kinder amuses me to see a fellow find a +mare’s nest with a tee-hee’s egg in it. First, I believe that a +republic is the only form of government suited to us, or practicable in North +America. A limited monarchy could not exist in the States, for royalty and +aristocracy never had an original root there. A military or despotic one could +be introduced, because a standing army can do anything, but it couldn’t +last long. Liberty is too deeply seated, and too highly prized, to be +suppressed for any length of time. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I like a republic, but I hate a democracy. The wit of man never +could have devised anything more beautiful, better balanced, and more skilfully +checked, than our constitution is, or rather was; but every change we make is +for the worse. I am therefore a conservative at home. On the other hand, the +English constitution is equally well suited to the British. It is admirably +adapted to the genius, traditions, tastes, and feelings of the people. They are +not fitted for a republic. They tried it once, and it failed; and if they were +to try it again it would not succeed. Every change <i>they</i> make is also for +the worse. In talking therefore as I do, I only act and talk consistently, when +I say I am a conservative abroad also. +</p> + +<p> +“Conservatism, both in the States and in Great Britain, when rightly +understood, has a fixed principle of action, which is to conserve the +constitution of the country, and not subvert it. Now, liberalism everywhere is +distinguished by having no principle. In England it longs for office, and +sacrifices everything to it. It does nothing but pander. It says religion is a +matter of taste, leave it to itself and it will take care of itself; now that +maxim was forced on us by necessity, for at the Revolution we scarcely had an +Episcopal church, it was so small as hardly to deserve the name. But in England +it is an unconstitutional, irrational, and monstrous maxim. Still it suits the +views of Romanists (although they hold no such doctrine themselves), for it is +likely to hand over the church revenues in Ireland to them. It also suits +Dissenters, for it will relieve them of church rates; and it meets the wishes +of the republican party, because they know no church and no bishop will soon +lead to no monarch. Again, it says, enlarge the franchise, so as to give an +increase of voters; that doctrine suits all those sections also, for it weakens +both monarchy and aristocracy. Then again, it advocates free-trade, for that +weakens the landed interest, and knocks from under nobility one of its best +pillars. To lower the influence of the church pleases all political +Come-outers, some for one, and some for another reason. Their views are not +identical, but it is for their interest to unite. One advocates it because it +destroys Protestantism as a principle of the constitution, another because the +materials of this fortress, like those of Louisburg, may be useful for erecting +others, and among them conventicles. +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is no truth in liberalism. When Irish emancipation was +discussed, it was said, Pass that and you will hear no more grievances, it will +tend to consolidate the church and pacify the people. It was no sooner granted, +than ten bishopricks were suppressed, and monster meetings paraded through and +terrified the land. One cardinal came in place of ten Protestant prelates, and +so on. So liberalism said Pass the Reform Bill, and all England will be +satisfied; well, though it has not worked well for the kingdom, it has done +wonders for the radical party, and now another and more extensive one is +promised. The British Lion has been fed with living raw meat, and now roars for +more victims. It ain’t easy to onseat liberals, I tell you, for they know +how to pander. If you promise power to those who have none, you must have the +masses with you. I could point you out some fellows that are sure to win the +dead<sup>1</sup> heads, the dough<sup>2</sup> boys, the numerous body that is +on the fence,<sup>3</sup> and political come-outers.<sup>4</sup> There is at +this time a postponed Reform Bill. The proposer actually cried when it was +deferred to another session. It nearly broke his heart. He couldn’t bear +that the public should have it to say, ‘They had seen the +elephant.’” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Dead heads may perhaps be best explained by substituting the words +“the unproductive class of operatives,” such as spend their time in +ale-houses; demagogues, the men who, with free tickets, travel in steam-boats, +frequent theatres, tavern-keepers, &c. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>2</sup> Pliable politicians, men who are accessible to personal influences +or considerations. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>3</sup> A man is said <i>to be on a fence</i> who is ready to join the +strongest party because he who sits on a fence is in a position to jump down, +with equal facility, on either side of it. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>4</sup> “Political come-outers” are the loose fish of all +parties. Dissenters from their own side.—See Bartlett’s +definitions. +</p> + +<p> +“Seeing the elephant,” said the doctor, “was he so large a +man as that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord bless you,” sais I, “no, he is a man that thinks he +pulls the wires, like one of Punch’s small figures, but the wires pull +him and set him in motion. It is a cant term we have, and signifies +‘going out for wool and coming back shorn.’ Yes, he actually shed +tears, like a cook peelin’ onions. He reminded me of a poor fellow at +Slickville, who had a family of twelve small children. His wife took a day, and +died one fine morning, leaving another youngster to complete the baker’s +dozen, and next week that dear little innocent died too. He took on dreadfully +about it. He boo-hooed right out, which is more than the politicioner did over +his chloroformed bill. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ sais I, ‘Jeddediah, you ought to be more of a +man than to take on that way. With no means to support your family of poor +helpless little children, with no wife to look after them, and no airthly way +to pay a woman to dry-nurse and starve the unfortunate baby, it’s a mercy +it did die, and was taken out of this wicked world.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I know it and feel it, Mr Sam,’ said he, lookin’ up +in a way that nobody but him could look, ‘but—’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘But what?’ sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why,’ says he, ‘but it don’t do to say so, you +know.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Jist then some of the neighbours came in, when he burst out wuss than +before, and groaned like a thousand sinners at a camp-meetin’. +</p> + +<p> +“Most likely the radical father of the strangled Reform Bill comforted +himself with the same reflection, only he thought <i>it wouldn’t do to +say so.</i> Crocodiles can cry when they are <i>hungry,</i> but when they do +it’s time to vamose the poke-loken,<sup>1</sup> that’s a fact. Yes, +yes, they understand these things to England as well as we do, you may depend. +They warn’t born yesterday. But I won’t follow it out. Liberalism +is playing the devil both with us and the British. Change is going on with +railroad haste in America, but in England, though it travels not so fast, it +never stops, and like a steam-packet that has no freight, it daily increases +its rate of speed as it advances towards the end of the voyage. Now you have my +explanation, Doctor, why I am a conservative on principle, both at home and +abroad.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> Poke-loken, a marshy place, or stagnant pool, connected with a +river. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the doctor,” that is true enough as far as +England is concerned, but still I don’t quite understand how it is, as a +republican, you are so much of a conservative at home, for your reasons appear +to me to be more applicable to Britain than to the United States.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais I, “my good friend, liberalism is the same thing +in both countries, though its work and tactics may be different. It is +destructive but not creative. It tampers with the checks and balances of our +constitution. It flatters the people by removing the restraints they so wisely +placed on themselves to curb their own impetuosity. It has shaken the stability +of the judiciary by making the experiment of electing the judges. It has +abolished equity, in name, but infused it so strongly in the administration of +the law, that the distinctive boundaries are destroyed, and the will of the +court is now substituted for both. In proportion as the independence of these +high officers is diminished, their integrity may be doubted. Elected, and +subsequently sustained by a faction, they become its tools, and decide upon +party and not legal grounds. In like manner, wherever the franchise was +limited, the limit is attempted to be removed. We are, in fact, fast merging +into a mere pure democracy,<sup>1</sup> for the first blow on the point of the +wedge that secures the franchise, weakens it so that it is sure to come out at +last. Our liberals know this as well your British Gerrymanderers do.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> De Tocqueville, who has written incomparably the best work that +has ever appeared on the United States, makes the following judicious remarks +on this subject: “Where a nation modifies the elective qualification, it +may easily be foreseen, that sooner or later that qualification will be +abolished. There is no more invariable rule in the history of society. The +further electoral rights are extended, the more is felt the need of extending +them; for after each concession, the strength of the democracy increases, and +its demands increase with its strength. The ambition of those who are below the +appointed rate is irritated, in exact proportion of the number of those who are +above it. The exception at last becomes the rule, concession follows +concession, and no step can be made, short of universal suffrage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Genymanderers,”<sup>1</sup> he said, “who in the world are +they? I never heard of them before.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> This term came into use in the year 1811, in Massachusetts, where, +for several years previous, the federal and democratic parties stood nearly +equal. In that year, the democratic party, having a majority in the +Legislature, determined so to district the State anew, that those sections +which gave a large number of federal votes might be brought into one district. +The result was, that the democratic party carried everything before them at the +following election, and filled every office in the State, although it appeared +by the votes returned, that nearly two-thirds of the votes were Federalists. +Elridge Gerry, a distinguished politician at that period, was the inventor of +that plan, which was called Gerrymandering, after him.—Glossary of +Americanisms. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” sais I, “skilful politicians, who so arrange the +electoral districts of a State, that in an election one party may obtain an +advantage over its opponent, even though the latter may possess a majority of +the votes in the State; the truth is, it would be a long story to go through, +but we are corrupted by our liberals with our own money, that’s a fact. +Would you believe it now, that so long ago as six years, and that is a great +while in our history seein’ we are growing at such a rate, there were +sixty thousand offices in the gift of the general government, and patronage to +the extent of more than forty million of dollars, besides official pickings and +parquisites, which are nearly as much more in the aggregate? Since then it has +grown with our growth. Or would you believe that a larger sum is assessed in +the city of <i>New York,</i> than would cover the expenses of the general +government at <i>Washington?</i> Constructive mileage may be considered as the +principle of the party, and literally runs through everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“What strange terms you have, Mr Slick,” said he; “do pray +tell me what that is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Snooping and stool-pidgeoning,” sais I. +</p> + +<p> +“Constructive mileage, snooping and stool-pidgeoning!” said he, and +he put his hands on his ribs, and running round in a circle, laughed until he +nearly fell on the ground fairly tuckered out, “what <i>do</i> you +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Constructive mileage,” says I, “is the same allowance for +journeys <i>supposed</i> to be performed as for those that are <i>actually</i> +made, to and from the seat of government. When a new president comes into +office, Congress adjourns of course on the third of March, and his inauguration +is made on the fourth; the senate is immediately convened to act on his +nominations, and though not a man of them leaves Washington, each is +<i>supposed</i> to go home and return again in the course of the ten or twelve +hours that intervene between the adjournment and their reassembling. For this +ideal journey the senators are allowed their mileages, as if the journey was +actually made. In the case of those who come from a distance, the sum often +amounts, individually, to one thousand or fifteen hundred dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr Slick,” said he, “that ain’t honest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Honest,” said I, “who the plague ever said it was? but what +can you expect from <i>red</i> republicans? Well, snooping means taking things +on the sly after a good rumage; and stool-pidgeoning means plundering under +cover of law; for instance, if a judge takes a bribe, or a fellow is seized by +a constable, and the stolen property found on him is given up, the merciful +officer seizes the goods and lets him run, and that is all that ever is heard +of it—that is stool-pidgeoning. But now,” sais I, +“sposin’ we take a survey of the place here, for in a general way I +don’t affection politics, and as for party leaders, whether English +reformers or American democrats, critters that are dyed in the wool, I hate the +whole caboodle of them. Now, having donated you with my reasons for being a +conservative, sposin’ you have a row yourself. What do you consider best +worth seeing here, if you can be said to see a place when it don’t exist? +for the English did sartainly deacon the calf<sup>1</sup> here, that’s a +fact. They made them smell cotton, and gave them partikilar Moses, and no +mistake.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<sup>1</sup> To deacon a calf, is to knock a thing on the head as soon as born +or finished. +</p> + +<p> +“Of the doings of the dead,” he said, “all that is around us +has a melancholy interest; but of the living there is a most extraordinary old +fellow that dwells in that white house on the opposite side of the harbour. He +can tell us all the particulars of the two sieges, and show us the site of most +of the public buildings; he is filled with anecdotes of all the principal +actors in the sad tragedies that have been enacted here; but he labours under a +most singular monomania. Having told these stories so often he now believes +that he was present at the first capture of the fortress, under Colonel +Pepperal and the New England militia in 1745, and at the second in 1754, when +it was taken by Generals Amherst and Wolfe. I suppose he may be ninety years of +age; the first event must have happened therefore nineteen and the other six +years before he was born; in everything else his accuracy of dates and details +is perfectly astonishing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Massa,” said Sorrow, “I don’t believe he is +nuffin’ but a reeblushionary suspensioner (a revolutionary pensioner), +but it peers to me dem folks do libb for ebber. My poor old missus used to call +’em King George’s hard bargains, yah, yah, yah. But who comma dere, +Massa?” said he, pointing to a boat that was rapidly approaching the spot +where we stood. +</p> + +<p> +The steersman, who appeared to be the skipper of a vessel, inquired for Cutler, +and gave him a letter, who said as soon as he had read it, “Slick, our +cruise has come to a sudden termination. Blowhard has purchased and fitted out +his whaler, and only awaits my return to take charge of her and proceed to the +Pacific. With his usual generosity, he has entered my name as the owner of one +half of the ship, her tackle and outfit. I must go on board the ‘Black +Hawk’ immediately, and prepare for departing this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +It was agreed that he should land the doctor at Ship Harbour, who was anxious +to see Jessie, which made him as happy as a clam at high-water, and put me +ashore at Jordan, where I was no less in a hurry to see a fair friend whose +name is of no consequence now, for I hope to induce her to change it for one +that is far shorter, easier to write and remember, and, though I say it that +shouldn’t say it, one that I consait she needn’t be ashamed of +neither. +</p> + +<p> +On our way back, sais the doctor to me: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Slick, will you allow me to ask you another question?” +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred,” sais I, “if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais he, “I have inquired of you what you think of +state affairs; will you tell me what you think about the Church? I see you +belong to what we call the Establishment, and what you denominate the American +Episcopal Church, which is very nearly the same thing. What is your opinion, +now, of the Evangelical and Puseyite parties? Which is right and which is +wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sais I, “coming to me about theology is like going to +a goat’s house for wool. It is out of my line. My views on all subjects +are practical, and not theoretical. But first and foremost, I must tell you, I +hate all nick-names. In general, they are all a critter knows of his own side, +or the other either. As you have asked me my opinion, though, I will give it. I +think both parties are wrong, because both go to extremes, and therefore are to +be equally avoided. Our Articles, as dear old Minister used to say, are very +wisely so worded as to admit of some considerable latitude of opinion; but that +very latitude naturally excludes anything ultra. The Puritanical section, and +the Newmanites (for Pusey, so far, is stedfast), are not, in fact, real +churchmen, and ought to leave us. One are Dissenters and the other Romanists. +The ground they severally stand on is slippery. A false step takes one to the +conventicle and the other to the chapel. If I was an Evangelical, as an honest +man, I would quit the Establishment as Baptist Noel did, and so I would if I +were a Newmanite. It’s only rats that consume the food and undermine the +foundations of the house that shelters them. A traitor within the camp is more +to be dreaded than an open enemy without. Of the two, the extreme low-churchmen +are the most dangerous, for they furnish the greatest number of recruits of +schism, and, strange to say, for popery too. Search the list of those who have +gone over to Rome, from Ahab Meldrum to Wilberforce, and you will find the +majority were originally Puritans or infidels—men who were restless, and +ambitious of notoriety, who had learning and talent, but wanted common sense. +They set out to astonish the world, and ended by astonishing themselves. They +went forth in pursuit of a name, and lost the only one they were known by. Who +can recognise Newman in Father Ignatius, who, while searching for truth, +embraced error? or Baptist Noel in the strolling preacher, who uses a +horse-pond instead of a font, baptizes adults instead of infants, and, unlike +his Master, ‘will not suffer little children to come unto him?’ Ah, +Doctor, there are texts neither of these men know the meaning of, ‘Vanity +of vanities, all is vanity.’ One of them has yet to learn that pictures, +vestments, music, processions, candlesticks, and confessionals are not +religion, and the other that it does not consist in oratory, excitement, +camp-meetings, rant, or novelties. There are many, very many, unobtrusive, +noiseless, laborious, practical duties which clergymen have to perform; what a +pity it is they won’t occupy themselves in discharging them, instead of +entangling themselves in controversies on subjects not necessary to salvation! +But, alas! the Evangelical divine, instead of combating the devil, occupies +himself in fighting his bishop, and the Newmanite, instead of striving to save +sinners, prefers to ‘curse and quit’ his church. Don’t ask me +therefore which is <i>right;</i> I tell you, they are both <i>wrong</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” sais he. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“In medio tutissimus ibis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” sais I, “there are five languages spoke on the Nova +Scotia coast already: English, Yankee, Gaelic, French, and Indian; for goodness +gracious sake don’t fly off the handle that way now and add Latin to +them! But, my friend, as I have said, you have waked up the wrong passenger, if +you think I am an ecclesiastical Bradshaw. I know my own track. It is a broad +gauge, and a straight line, and I never travel by another, for fear of being +put on a wrong one. Do you take? But here is the boat alongside;” and I +shook him by the hand, and obtained his promise at parting that he and Jessie +would visit me at Slickville in the autumn. +</p> + +<p> +And now, Squire, I must write finis to the cruise of the “Black +Hawk,” and close my remarks on “Nature and Human Nature,” or, +“Men and Things,” for I have brought it to a termination, though it +is a hard thing to do, I assure you, for I seem as if I couldn’t say +Farewell. It is a word that don’t come handy, no how I can fix it. +It’s like Sam’s hat-band which goes nineteen times round, and +won’t tie at last. I don’t like to bid good-bye to my Journal, and +I don’t like to bid good-bye to you, for one is like a child and the +other a brother. The first I shall see again, when Hurst has a launch in the +spring, but shall you and I ever meet again, Squire? that is the question, for +it is dark to me. If it ever does come to pass, there must be a considerable +slip of time first. Well, what can’t be cured must be endured. So here +goes. Here is the last fatal word, I shut my eyes when I write it, for I +can’t bear to see it. Here it is— +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Ampersand.</i> +</p> + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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