[Illustration: _"This, with the antique kirtle and picturesque petticoatis an Acadian portrait. " PAGE 56. _]

[Illustration: _"There is nothing modern in the face or drapery of thisfigure. She might have stepped out of Normandy a century ago. " PAGE40. _]

 ACADIA;

 OR, A MONTH WITH THE BLUE NOSES. 

 BY

 FREDERIC S. COZZENS, AUTHOR OF "SPARROWGRASS PAPERS. "

 This is Acadia--this is the land That weary souls have sighed for; This is Acadia--this is the land Heroic hearts have died for: Yet, strange to tell, this promised land Has never been applied for!

 PORTER. 

 NEW YORK:

 DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU STREET. 

 1859. 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by

 FREDERIC S. COZZENS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. 

 W. H. TINSON, Stereotyper. 

 GEO. RUSSELL & Co. , Printers. 

PREFACE. 

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

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

A word in regard to the two Acadian portraits. These are literalambrotypes, to which Sarony has added a few touches of his artisticcrayon. It may interest the reader to know that these are the first, theonly likenesses of the real Evangelines of Acadia. The women ofChezzetcook appear at day-break in the city of Halifax, and as soon as thesun is up vanish like the dew. They have usually a basket of fresh eggs, abrace or two of worsted socks, a bottle of fir-balsam to sell. Thesecomprise their simple commerce. When the market-bell rings you find themnot. To catch such fleeting phantoms, and to transfer them to thefrontispiece of a book published here, is like painting the burnishedwings of a humming-bird. A friend, however, undertook the task. He rosebefore the sun, he bought eggs, worsted socks, and fir-balsam of theAcadians. By constant attentions he became acquainted with a pair ofAcadian women, niece and aunt. Then he proposed the matter to them:

"I want you to go with me to the daguerreotype gallery. "

"What for?"

"To have your portraits taken. "

"What for?"

"To send to a friend in New York. "

"What for?"

"To be put in a book. "

"What for?"

"Never mind 'what for, ' will you go?"

Aunt and niece--both together in a breath--"No. "

So my friend, who was a wise man, wrote to the priest of the settlement ofChezzetcook, to explain the "what for, " and the consequence was--theseportraits! But these women had a terrible time at the head of the firstflight of stairs. Not an inch would these shy creatures budge beyond. Atlast, the wife of the operator induced them to rise to the high flightthat led to the Halifax skylight, and there they were painted by the sun, as we see them now. 

Nothing more! Ring the bell, prompter, and draw the curtain. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 

Vague Rumors of Nova Scotia--A Fortnight upon Salt Water--InterestingSketch of the Atlantic--Halifax!--Determine to stay in theProvince--Province Building and Pictures--Coast Scenery--Liberty inLanguage, and Aspirations of the People--Evangeline and Relics ofAcadia--Market-Place--The Encampment at Point Pleasant--KissingBridge--The "Himalaya"--A Sabbath in a Garrison Town--Grand Celebrationof the Peace, and Natal Day of Halifax--And a Hint of a Visit toChezzetcook 13

CHAPTER II. 

Fog clears up--The One Idea not comprehended by the American Mind--AJune Morning in the Province--The Beginning of the Evangeliad--IntuitivePerception of Genius--The Forest Primeval--Acadian Peasants--A NegroSettlement--Deer's Castle--The Road to Chezzetcook--Acadian Scenery--AGlance at the Early History of Acadia--First Encroachments of theEnglish--The Harbor and Village of Chezzetcook, etc. , etc. 34

CHAPTER III. 

A Romp at Three Fathom Harbor--The Moral Condition of the Acadians--TheWild Flowers of Nova Scotia--Mrs. Deer's Wit--No Fish--Picton--TheBalaklava Schooner--And a Voyage to Louisburgh 58

CHAPTER IV. 

The Voyage of the "Balaklava"--Something of a Fog--A NovelSensation--Picton bursts out--"Nothing to do"--Breakfast under Way--APhantom Boat--Mackerel--Gone, Hook and Line--The Colonists--Sectionalismand Prejudices--Cod-fishing and an Unexpected Banquet--Past the oldFrench Town--A Pretty Respectable Breeze--We get past theRocks--Louisburgh 77

CHAPTER V. 

Louisburgh--The Great French Fortress--Incidents of the Old FrenchWar--Relics of the Siege--Description of the Town--The twoExpeditions--A Yankee _ruse de guerre_--The Rev. Samuel Moody'sGrace--Wolfe's Landing--The Fisherman's Hutch--The Lost Coaster--TheFisheries--Picton tries his hand at a Fish-pugh 102

CHAPTER VI. 

A most acceptable Invitation--An Evening in the Hutch--Old Songs--Pictonin High Feather--Wolfe and Montcalm--Reminiscences of theSiege--Anecdotes of Wolfe--A Touch of Rhetoric and its Consequences 121

CHAPTER VII. 

The other side of the Harbor--A Foraging Party--Disappointment--Twilightat Louisburgh--Long Days and Early Mornings--A Visit and View of anInterior--A Shark Story--Picton inquires about a Measure--Hospitalityand the Two Brave Boys--Proposals for a Trip Overland to Sydney 133

CHAPTER VIII. 

A Blue-Nosed Pair of the most Cerulean Hue--Prospects of a HardBargain--Case of Necessity--Romantic Lake with an Unromantic Name--TheDiscussion concerning Oatmeal--Danger of the Gasterophili--McGibbetmakes a Proposition--Farewell to the "Balaklava"--A MidnightJourney--Sydney--Boat Excursion to the Micmacs--Picton takes off hisMackintosh 154

CHAPTER IX. 

The Micmac Camp--Indian Church-warden and Broker--Interior of aWigwam--A Madonna--A Digression--Malcolm Discharged--An IndianBargain--The Inn Parlor, and a Comfortable Night's Rest 176

CHAPTER X. 

Over the Bay--A Gigantic Dumb Waiter--Erebus--Reflections--White andBlack Squares of the Chess-Board--Leave-taking--An Interruption--TheAibstract Preencipels of Feenance 185

CHAPTER XI. 

The Bras d'Or Road--Farewell to Picton--Home, Sweet Home--The Rob Roys ofCape Breton--Note and Query--Chapel Island--St. Peter's--Enterprise--TheStrait of Canseau--West River--The Last Out-post of the Scottish Chiefs 196

CHAPTER XII. 

The Ride from West River--A Fellow Passenger--Parallels of History--OneHundred Romances--Baron de Castine--His Character--Made Chief of theAbenaquis--Duke of York's Charter--Encroachments of thePuritans--Church's Indian Wars--False Reports--Reflections 212

CHAPTER XIII. 

Truro--On the Road to Halifax--Drive to the Left--A Member of theForeign Legion--Irish Wit at Government Expense--The first Battle of theLegion--Ten Pounds Reward--Sir John Gaspard's Revenge--The ShubenacadieLakes--Dartmouth Ferry, and the Hotel Waverley 224

CHAPTER XIV. 

Halifax again--Hotel Waverley--"Gone the Old Familiar Faces"--The Storyof Marie de la Tour 237

CHAPTER XV. 

Bedford Basin--Legend of the two French Admirals--An Invitation tothe Queen--Visit to the Prince's Lodge--A Touch of Old England--TheRuins 251

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Last Night--Farewell, Hotel Waverley--Friends Old and New--Whatfollowed the Marriage of La Tour le Borgne--Invasion of Col. Church 258

CHAPTER XVII. 

A few more Threads of History--Acadia again lost--The Oath ofAllegiance--Settlement of Halifax--The brave Three Hundred--Massacre atNorridgewoack--Le Père Ralle 269

CHAPTER XVIII. 

On the road to Windsor--The great Nova Scotia Railway--A FellowPassenger--Cape Sable Shipwrecks--Seals--Ponies--Windsor--Sam Slick--Alively Example 279

CHAPTER XIX. 

Windsor-upon-Avon--Ride to the Gasperau--The Basin ofMinas--Blomidon--This is the Acadian Land--Basil, theBlacksmith--A Yankee Settlement--Useless Reflections 293

CHAPTER XX. 

The Valley of Acadia--A Morning Ride to the Dykes--An unexpectedWild-duck Chase--High Tides--The Gasperau--Sunset--The Lamp ofHistory--Conclusion 302

APPENDIX 317

ACADIA. 

CHAPTER I. 

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

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

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

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

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

 "The still-vexed Bermoöthes. "

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

It would be presumptuous in me to speak of the Atlantic, from the limitedacquaintance I had with it. The note-book of an invalid for two days atsea, with a heavy ground swell, and the wind in the most favorablequarter, can scarcely be attractive. As the breeze freshened, and the tarsof old England ran aloft, to strip from the black sails the wrappers ofwhite canvas that had hid them when in port; and as these leathern, bat-like pinions spread out on each side of the funnel, there was amoment's glimpse of the picturesque; but it was a glimpse only, and nomore. One does not enjoy the rise and dip of the bow of a steamer, atfirst, however graceful it may be in the abstract. To be sure, there weresome things else interesting. For instance, three brides aboard! And oneof them lovely enough to awaken interest, on sea or land, in any body buta Halifax passenger. I hope those fair ladies will have a pleasant tour, one and all, and that the view they take of the great world, so early inlife, will make them more contented with that minor world, henceforth tobe within the limits of their dominion. Lullaby to the young wives! therewill be rocking enough anon!

But we coasted along pleasantly enough the next day, within sight of thebold headlands of Maine; the sky and sea clear of vapor, except the longreek from the steamer's pipe. And then came nightfall and the northernstars; and, later at night, a new luminary on the edge of thehorizon--Sambro' light; and then a sudden quenching of stars, and horizon, lighthouse, ropes, spars, and smoke stack; the sounds of hoarse voices ofcommand in the obscurity; a trampling of men; and then down went theanchor in the ooze, and the Canada was fog-bound in the old harbor ofChebucto for the night, within a few miles of the city. 

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

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

The plank was laid, and the passengers left the steamer. There were a fewvehicles on the wharf for the accommodation of strangers; square, black, funereal-like, wheeled sarcophagi, eminently suggestive of burials andcrape. Of course I did not ride in one, on account of unpleasantassociations; but, placing my trunk in charge of a cart-boy with along-tailed dray, and a diminutive pony, I walked through the silentstreets towards "The Waverley. "

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

But the "Merlin, " British mailer, is to sail at noon for the ShakspeareIsland, and breakfast must be discussed, and then once more I am with you, my anti-bilious ocean. It chanced, however, I heard at breakfast, that the"Curlew, " the mate of the "Merlin, " had been lost a short time before atsea, and as there was but one, and not two steamers on the route, so thatI would be detained longer with Prospero and Miranda than might becomfortable in the approaching hot weather, it came to pass that I hadreluctantly to forego the projected voyage, and anchor my trunk oftropical clothing in room Number Twenty, Hotel Waverley. It was a greatdisappointment, to be sure, after such brilliant anticipations--but whatis life without philosophy? When we cannot get what we wish, let us takewhat we may. Let the "Merlin" sail! I will visit, instead of those IslasEncantadas, "The Acadian land on the shore of the Basin of Minas. " Let the"Merlin" sail! I will see the ruined walls of Louisburgh, and the harborsthat once sheltered the Venetian sailor, Cabot. "Let her sail!" said I, and when the morn passed I saw her slender thread of smoke far off on theglassy ocean, without a sigh of regret, and resolutely turned my face fromthe promised palms to welcome the sturdy pines of the province. 

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

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

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

And now, after taking a look at Dalhousie College with the parade infront, and the square town-clock, built by his graceless Highness the Dukeof Kent, let us climb Citadel Hill, and see the formidable protector oftown and harbor. Lively enough it is, this great stone fortress, with itssoldiers, swarming in and out like bees, and the glimpses of country andharbor are surpassingly beautiful; but just at the margin of this slopebelow us, is the street, and that dark fringe of tenements skirting theedge of this green glacis is, I fear me, filled with vicious inmates. Yonder, where the blackened ruins of three houses are visible, a sailorwas killed and thrown out of a window not long since, and his shipmatesburned the houses down in consequence; there is something strikinglysuggestive in looking upon this picture and on that. 

But if you cast your eyes over yonder magnificent bay, where vesselsbearing flags of all nations are at anchor, and then let your vision sweeppast and over the islands to the outlets beyond, where the quiet oceanlies, bordered with fog-banks that loom ominously at the boundary-line ofthe horizon, you will see a picture of marvellous beauty; for the coastscenery here transcends our own sea-shores, both in color and outline. Andbehind us again stretch large green plains, dotted with cottages, andbounded with undulating hills, with now and then glimpses of blue water;and as we walk down Citadel Hill, we feel half-reconciled to Halifax, itsqueer little streets, its quaint, mouldy old gables, its soldiers andsailors, its fogs, cabs, penny and half-penny tokens, and all its little, odd, outlandish peculiarities. Peace be with it! after all, it has a quietcharm for an invalid!

The inhabitants of Halifax exhibit no trifling degree of freedom inlanguage for a loyal people; they call themselves "Halligonians. " Thistitle, however, is sometimes pronounced "'Alligonians, " by the more rigid, as a mark of respect to the old country. But innovation has been at workeven here, for the majority of Her Majesty's subjects aspirate the letterH. Alas for innovation! who knows to what results this trifling error maylead? When Mirabeau went to the French court without buckles in his shoes, the barriers of etiquette were broken down, and the Swiss Guards fought invain. 

There is one virtue in humanity peculiarly grateful to an invalid; to himmost valuable, by him most appreciated, namely, hospitality. And that the'Alligonians are a kind and good people, abundant in hospitality, let meattest. One can scarcely visit a city occupied by those whose grandsireswould have hung your rebel grandfathers (if they had caught them), withoutsome misgivings. But I found the old Tory blood of three Halifaxgenerations, yet warm and vital, happy to accept again a rebelliouskinsman, a real live Yankee, in spite of Sam Slick and the Revolution. 

Let us take a stroll through these quiet streets. This is the ProvinceHouse with its Ionic porch, and within it are the halls of Parliament, andoffices of government. You see there is a red-coat with his sentry-box ateither corner. Behind the house again are two other sentries on duty, allglittering with polished brass, and belted, gloved, and bayoneted, insplendid style. Of what use are these satellites, except to watch thebuilding and keep it from running away? On the street behind the ProvinceHouse is Fuller's American Book-store, which we will step into, and nowamong these books, fresh from the teeming presses of the States, we feelonce more at home. Fuller preserves his equanimity in spite of theblandishments of royalty, and once a year, on the Fourth of July, hoiststhe "stars and stripes, " and bravely takes dinner with the United StatesConsul, in the midst of lions and unicorns. Many pleasant hours I passedwith Fuller, both in town and country. Near by, on the next corner, is theprint-store of our old friends the Wetmores, and here one can see costlyengravings of Landseer's fine pictures, and indeed whole portfolios ofEnglish art. But of all the pictures there was one, the most touching, themost suggestive! The presiding genius of the place, the unsceptred Queenof this little realm was before me--Faed's Evangeline! And this remindedme that I was in the Acadian land! This reminded me of Longfellow'sbeautiful pastoral, a poem that has spread a glory over Nova Scotia, aromantic interest, which our own land has not yet inspired! I knew that Iwas in Acadia; the historic scroll unrolled and stretched its longperspective to earlier days; it recalled De Monts, and the la Tours; ViceAdmiral Destournelle, who ran upon his own sword, hard by, at BedfordBasin; and the brave Baron Castine. 

The largest settlement of the Acadians is in the neighborhood of Halifax. In the early mornings, you sometimes see a few of these people in thestreets, or at the market, selling a dozen or so of fresh eggs, or a pairor two of woollen socks, almost the only articles of their simplecommerce. But you must needs be early to see them; after eight o'clock, they will have all vanished. Chezzetcook, or, as it is pronounced by the'Alligonians, "Chizzencook, " is twenty-two miles from Halifax, and as theAcadian peasant has neither horse nor mule, he or she must be off betimesto reach home before mid-day nuncheon. A score of miles on foot is notrifle, in all weathers, but Gabriel and Evangeline perform it cheerfully;and when the knitting-needle and the poultry shall have replenished theirslender stock, off again they will start on their midnight pilgrimage, that they may reach the great city of Halifax before day-break. 

We must see Chezzetcook anon, gentle reader. 

Let us visit the market-place. Here is Masaniello, with his fish in greatprofusion. Codfish, three-pence or four-pence each; lobsters, a penny; andsalmon of immense size at six-pence a pound (currency), equal to a dime ofour money. If you prefer trout, you must buy them of these Micmac squawsin traditional blankets, a shilling a bunch; and you may also buy basketsof rainbow tints from these copper ladies for a mere trifle; and as everyrace has a separate vocation here, only of the negroes can you purchaseberries. "This is a busy town, " one would say, drawing his conclusion fromthe market-place; for the shifting crowd, in all costumes and in allcolors, Indians, negroes, soldiers, sailors, civilians, andChizzincookers, make up a pageant of no little theatrical effect andbustle. Again: if you are still strong in limb, and ready for a longerwalk, which I, leaning upon my staff, am not, we will visit the encampmentat Point Pleasant. The Seventy-sixth Regiment has pitched its tents hereamong the evergreens. Yonder you see the soldiers, looking like masses ofred fruit amidst the spicy verdure of the spruces. Row upon row of tents, and file upon file of men standing at ease, each one before his knapsack, his little leather household, with its shoes, socks, shirts, brushes, razors, and other furniture open for inspection. And there is Sir JohnGaspard le Marchant, with a brilliant staff, engaged in the pleasant dutyof picking a personal quarrel with each medal-decorated hero, and markingdown every hole in his socks, and every gap in his comb, for the honor ofthe service. And this Point Pleasant is a lovely place, too, with a broadlook-out in front, for yonder lies the blue harbor and the ocean deeps. Just back of the tents is the cookery of the camp, huge mounds of loosestones, with grooves at the top, very like the architecture of acranberry-pie; and if the simile be an homely one, it is the best thatcomes to mind to convey an idea of those regimental stoves, with theirseams and channels of fire, over which potatoes bubble, and roast andboiled scud forth a savory odor. And here and there, wistfully regardingthis active scene, amid the green shrubbery, stands a sentinel before hissentry-box, built of spruce boughs, wrought into a mimic military temple, and fanciful enough, too, for a garden of roses. And look you now! If herebe not Die Vernon, with "habit, hat, and feather, " cantering gayly downthe road between the tents, and behind her a stately groom in gold-laceband, top-boots, and buck-skins. A word in your ear--that pleasanthalf-English face is the face of the Governor's daughter. 

The road to Point Pleasant is a favorite promenade in the long Acadiantwilights. Mid-way between the city and the Point lies "Kissing Bridge, "which the Halifax maidens sometimes pass over. Who gathers toll nobodyknows, but I thought there was a mischievous glance in the blue eyes ofthose passing damsels that said plainly they could tell, "an' they would. "I love to look upon those happy, healthy English faces; those ruddycheeks, flushed with exercise, and those well-developed forms, not lessattractive because of the sober-colored dresses and brown flat hats, inwhich, o' summer evenings, they glide towards the mysterious precincts of"The Bridge. " What a tale those old arches could tell? _¿Quien sabe?_ Whoknows?

But next to "Kissing Bridge, " the prominent object of interest, now, toHalifax ladies, is the great steamer that lies at the Admiralty, theOriental screw-steamer Himalaya--the transport ship of two regiments ofthe heroes of Balaklava, and Alma, and Inkerman, and Sebastopol. A vastspecimen of naval architecture; an unusual sight in these waters; a marinevehicle to carry twenty-five hundred men! Think of this moving town; thisportable village of royal belligerents covered with glory and medals, breasting the billows! Is there not something glorious in such aspectacle? And yet I was told by a brave officer, who wore the decorationsof the four great battles on his breast, that of his regiment, theSixty-third, but thirty men were now living, and of the thirty, seventeenonly were able to attend drill. That regiment numbered a thousand at Alma!

No gun broke the silence of the Sabbath morning, as the giant ship movedfrom the Admiralty, on the day following our visit to Point Pleasant, andsilently furrowed her path oceanward on her return to Gibraltar. A longline of thick bituminous smoke, above the low house-tops, was the onlyhint of her departure, to the citizens. It was a grand sight to see hervast bulk moving among the islands in the harbor, almost as large as they. 

And now, being Sunday, after looking in at the Cathedral, which does notrepresent the usual pomp of the Romish Church, we will visit the GarrisonChapel. A bugle-call from barracks, or Citadel Hill, salutes us as westroll towards the chapel; otherwise, Halifax is quiet, as becomes theday. Presently we see the long scarlet lines approaching, and presentlythe men, with orderly step, file from the street through the porch intothe gallery and pews. Then the officers of field and line, of ordnance andcommissary departments, take their allotted seats below. Then the chimescease, and the service begins. Most devoutly we prayed for the Queen, andomitted the President of the United States. 

As the Crimeans ebbed from the church, and, floating off in the distance, wound slowly up Citadel Hill against the quiet clear summer sky, I couldnot but think of these lines from Thomas Miller's "Summer Morning:"

 "A troop of soldiers pass with stately pace, Their early music wakes the village street: Through yon turned blinds peeps many a lovely face, Smiling perchance unconsciously how sweet! One does the carpet press with blue-veined feet, Not thinking how her fair neck she exposes, But with white foot timing the drum's deep beat; And when again she on her pillow dozes, Dreams how she'll dance that tune 'mong summer's sweetest roses

 "So let her dream, even as beauty should! Let the while plumes athwart her slumbers away! Why should I steep their swaling snows in blood, Or bid her think of battle's grim array? Truth will too soon her blinding star display, And like a fearful comet meet her eyes. And yet how peaceful they pass on their way! How grand the sight as up the hill they rise! _I will not think of cities reddening in the skies. _"

It was my fate to see next day a great celebration. It was the celebrationof peace between England and Russia. Peace having been proclaimed, allHalifax was in arms! Loyalty threw out her bunting to the breeze, andfired her crackers. The civic authorities presented an address to theroyal representative of Her Majesty, requesting His Excellency to transmitthe same to the foot of the throne. Militia-men shot off municipal cannon;bells echoed from the belfries; the shipping fluttered with signals; andCitadel Hill telegraph, in a multitude of flags, announced that ships, brigs, schooners, and steamers, in vast quantities, "were below. " Nor wasthe peace alone the great feature of the holiday. The eighth of June, thenatal day of Halifax, was to be celebrated also. For Halifax was founded, so says the Chronicle, on the eighth of June, 1749, by the Hon. EdwardCornwallis (not our Cornwallis), and the 'Alligonians in consequence madea specialty of that fact once a year. And to add to the attraction, theBoard of Works had decided to lay the corner-stone of a Lunatic Asylum inthe afternoon; so there was no end to the festivities. And, to crown all, an immense fog settled upon the city. 

Leaning upon my friend Robert's arm and my staff, I went forth to see thegrand review. When we arrived upon the ground, in the rear of CitadelHill, we saw the outline of something glimmering through the fog, whichRobert said were shrubs, and which I said were soldiers. A few minutes'walking proved my position to be correct; we found ourselves in the centreof a three-sided square of three regiments, within which the civicauthorities were loyally boring Sir John Gaspard le Merchant and staff, tothe verge of insanity, with the Address which was to be laid at the footof the throne. Notwithstanding the despairing air with which HisExcellency essayed to reply to this formidable paper, I could not helpenjoying the scene; and I also noted, when the reply was over, and the fewragamuffins near His Excellency cheered bravely, and the band struck upthe national anthem, how gravely and discreetly the rest of the'Alligonians, in the circumambient fog, echoed the sentiment by asilence, that, under other circumstances, would have been disheartening. What a quiet people it is! As I said before, to make the festivitiescomplete, in the afternoon there was a procession to lay the corner-stoneof a Lunatic Asylum. But oh! how the jolly old rain poured down upon theluckless pilgrimage! There were the "Virgins" of Masonic Lodge No. --, theArmy Masons, in scarlet; the African Masons, in ivory and black; theScotch-piper Mason, with his legs in enormous plaid trowsers, defiant ofShakspeare's theory about the sensitiveness of some men, when the bag-pipesings i' the nose; the Clerical Mason in shovel hat; the municipalartillery; the Sons of Temperance, and the band. Away they marched, withdrum and banner, key and compasses, BIBLE and sword, to Dartmouth, ingreat feather, for the eyes of Halifax were upon them. 

CHAPTER II. 

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

The celebration being over, the fog cleared up. Loyalty furled her flags;the civic authorities were silent; the signal-telegraph was put upon shortallowance. But the 'Alligonian papers next day were loaded to the muzzlewith typographical missiles. From them we learned that there had been agreat amount of enthusiasm displayed at the celebration, and "everythinghad passed off happily in spite of the weather. " "Old Chebucto" was rightside up, and then she quietly sparkled out again. 

There is one solitary idea, and only one, not comprehensible by theAmerican mind. I say it feebly, but I say it fearlessly, there is an ideawhich does not present anything to the American mind but a blank. Everymetaphysical dog has worried the life out of every abstraction but this. Istrike my stick down, cross my hands, and rest my chin upon them, insupport of my position. Let anybody attempt to controvert it! "I say, thatin the American mind, there is no such thing as the conception even, of anidea of tranquillity!" I once for a little repose, went to a "quietNew-England village, " as it was called, and the first thing that attractedmy attention there was a statement in the village paper, that no less thantwenty persons in that quiet place had obtained patent-rights forinventions and improvements during the past year. They had been ateverything, from an apple-parer to a steam-engine. In the next column wasan article "on capital punishment, " and the leader was thoroughly fired upwith a bran-new project for a railroad to the Pacific. That day I dinedwith a member of Congress, a peripatetic lecturer, and the principalcitizens of the township, and took the return cars at night amid the glareof a torch-light procession. Repose, forsooth? Why, the great busy cityseemed to sing lullaby, after the shock of that quiet New-England village. 

But in this quaint, mouldy old town, one _can_ get an idea of the calm andthe tranquil--especially after a celebration. It has been said: "Halifaxis the only place that is finished. " One can readily believe it. Thepopulation has been twenty-five thousand for the last twenty-five years, and a new house is beyond the memory of the oldest inhabitant. 

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

The intuitive perception of genius is its most striking element. I wastold by a traveller and an artist, who had been for nearly twenty years onthe northwest coast, that he had read Irving's "Astoria" as a mereromance, in early life, but when he visited the place itself, he foundthat _he was reading the book over again_; that Irving's descriptions wereso minute and perfect, that he was at home in Astoria, and familiar, notonly with the country, but with individuals residing there; "for, " saidhe, "although many of the old explorers, trappers, and adventurersdescribed in the book were dead and gone, yet I found the descendants ofthose pioneers had the peculiar characteristics of their fathers; and thedaughter of Concomly, whom I met, was as interesting a historicalpersonage at home as Queen Elizabeth would have been in Westminster Abbey. At Vancouver's Island, " said the traveller, "I found an old dingy copy ofthe book itself, embroidered and seamed with interlineations and marginalnotes of hundreds of pens, in every style of chirography, yet allattesting the faithfulness of the narrative. I would have given anythingfor that copy, but I do not believe I could have purchased it with theprice of the whole island. "

What but that wonderful clement of genius, _intuitive perception_, couldhave produced such a book? Irving was never on the Columbia River, neversaw the northwest coast. "The materials were furnished him from thelog-books and journals of the explorers themselves, " says Dr. Dryasdust. True, my learned friend, but suppose I furnish you with pallet and colors, with canvas and brushes, the materials of art, will you paint me as I sithere, and make a living, breathing picture, that will survive my ashes forcenturies? "I have not the genius of the artist, " replies Dr. Dryasdust. Then, my dear Doctor, we will put the materials aside for the present, andventure a little farther with our theory of "intuitive perception. "

Longfellow never saw the Acadian Land, and yet thus his pastoral begins:

 "This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks. "

This is the opening line of the poem: this is the striking feature of NovaScotia scenery. The shores welcome us with waving masses of foliage, butnot the foliage of familiar woods. As we travel on this hilly road to theAcadian settlement, we look up and say, "This is the forest primeval, " butit is the forest of the poem, not that of our childhood. There is not, inall this vast greenwood, an oak, an elm, a chestnut, a beech, a cedar ormaple. For miles and miles, we see nothing against the clear blue sky butthe spiry tops of evergreens; or perhaps, a gigantic skeleton, "arampike, " pine or hemlock, scathed and spectral, stretches its gauntoutline above its fellows. Spruces and firs, such as adorn our gardens, cluster in never-ending profusion; and aromatic and unwonted odor pervadesthe air--the spicy breath of resinous balsams. Sometimes the sense istouched with a new fragrance, and presently we see a buckthorn, whitewith a thousand blossoms. These, however, only meet us at times. Thedistinct and characteristic feature of the forest is conveyed in that oneline of the poet. 

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

 ----"The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, _Bearded with moss_, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic, _Stand like harpers hoar with beards that rest on their bosoms_. "

We are re-reading Evangeline line by line. And here, at this turn of theroad, we encounter two Acadian peasants. The man wears an old tarpaulinhat, home-spun worsted shirt, and tarry canvas trowsers; innovation hascertainly changed him, in costume at least, from the Acadian of our fancy;but the pretty brown-skinned girl beside him, with lustrous eyes, and softblack hair under her hood, with kirtle of antique form, and petticoat ofholiday homespun, is true to tradition. There is nothing modern in theface or drapery of that figure. She might have stepped out of Normandy acentury ago, "Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the ear-rings Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an heir-loom, Handed down from mother to child, through long generations. "

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

 "Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers, Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn by the way-side: Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown shade of her tresses. "

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

"We are now approaching a Negro settlement, " said my _compagnon de voyage_after we had passed the Acadians; "and we will take a fresh horse atDeer's Castle; this is rough travelling. " In a few minutes we saw a loghouse perched on a bare bone of granite that stood out on a raggedhill-side, and presently another cabin of the same kind came in view. Thenother scare-crow edifices wheeled in sight as we drove along; all forlorn, all patched with mud, all perched on barren knolls, or gigantic bars ofgranite, high up, like ragged redoubts of poverty, armed at every windowwith a formidable artillery of old hats, rolls of rags, quilts, carpets, and indescribable bundles, or barricaded with boards to keep out the airand sunshine. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Now then, " said my companion, as this trite quotation was passing throughmy mind. The wagon had stopped in front of a little, weather-beaten housethat kept watch and ward over an acre of greensward, broken ever and anonwith a projecting bone of granite, and not only fenced with stone, butdotted also with various mounds of pebbles, some as large as apaving-stone, and some much larger. This was "Deer's Castle. " In front ofthe castle was a swing-sign with an inscription:

 "William Deer, who lives here, Keeps the best of wine and beer, Brandy, and cider, and other good cheer; Fish, and ducks, and moose, and deer. Caught or shot in the woods just here, With cutlets, or steaks, as will appear; If you will stop you need not fear But you will be well treated by WILLIAM DEER, And by Mrs. DEER, his dearest, deary dear!"

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

It was a little, weather-beaten shanty of boards, that clung like flakesto the frame-work. A show-box of a room, papered with select wood-cutsfrom _Punch_ and the _Illustrated London News_, was the grand banquet-hallof the castle. And indeed it was a castle compared with the wretchedredoubts of poverty around it. Here we changed horses, or rather weexchanged our horse, for a diminutive, bantam pony, that, under thesupervision of "Bill, " was put inside the shafts and buckled up to thevery roots of the harness. This Bill, the son and heir of the Castellen, was a good-natured yellow boy, about fifteen years of age, with such adevelopment of under-lip and such a want of development elsewhere, thathis head looked like a scoop. There was an infinite fund of humor inBilly, an uncontrollable sense of the comic, that would break out in spiteof his grave endeavors to put himself under guard. It exhibited itself inhis motions and gestures, in the flourish of his hands as he buckled upthe pony, in the looseness of his gait, the swing of his head, and theroll of his eyes. His very language was pregnant with mirth; thus:

"Bill!"

"Cheh, cheh, sir? cheh. "

"Is your father at home?"

"Cheh, cheh, father? cheh, cheh. "

"Yes, your father?"

"Cheh, cheh, at home, sah? cheh. "

"Yes, is your father at home?"

"I guess so, cheh, cheh. "

"What is the matter with you, Bill? what are you laughing about?"

"Cheh, cheh, I don't know, sah, cheh, cheh. "

"Well, take out the horse, and put in the pony; we want to go toChizzencook. "

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

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

"Yes, " he replied. 

"Are all the negro settlements in Nova Scotia as miserable, as this?"

"Yes, " he answered; "you can tell a negro settlement at once by itsappearance. "

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

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

"But you have plenty of trout here in these streams?"

"Oh! yes, plenty, sah. "

"Then let Bill catch some trout for us. "

And so the pony being strapped up and buckled to the wagon, we left thenegro settlement for the French settlement. They are all in "settlements, "here, the people of this Province. Centuries are mutable, but prejudicesnever alter in the Colonies. 

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

Now if it were not for Pony we should press on to the settlement, but wemust give Pony a respite. Pony is an enthusiastic little fellow, but hislungs are too much for him, they have blown him out like a bagpipe. A milefarther and then eleven miles back to Deer's Castle, is a greatundertaking for so small an animal. In the meanwhile, we will ourselvesrest and take some "home-brewed" with the landlord, who is harbor-master, inn-keeper, store-keeper, fisherman, shipper, skipper, mayor, andcorporation of Three Fathom Harbor, beside being father of the town, forall the children in it are his own. A draught of foaming ale, a whiff ortwo from a clay pipe, a look out of the window to be assured that Pony hadsubsided, and we take leave of the corporate authority of Three FathomHarbor, and are once more on the road. 

One can scarcely draw near to a settlement of these poor refugees withouta feeling of pity for the sufferings they have endured; and this spark ofpity quickly warms and kindles into indignation when we think of the storyof hapless Acadia--the grievous wrong done those simple-minded, harmless, honest people, by the rapacious, free-booting adventurers of merryEngland, and those precious filibusters, our Pilgrim Fathers. 

The early explorations of the French in the young hemisphere whichColumbus had revealed to the older half of the world, have been almostentirely obscured by the greater events which followed. Nearly a centuryafter the first colonies were established in New France, New England wasdiscovered. I shall not dwell upon the importance of this event, as it hasbeen so often alluded to by historians and others; and, indeed, I believeit is generally acknowledged now, that the finding of the continent itselfwould have been a failure had it not been for the discovery ofMassachusetts. As this, however, happened long after the establishment ofAcadia, and as the Pilgrim Fathers did not interfere with their Frenchneighbors for a surprising length of time, it will be as well not toexpatiate upon it at present. In the course of a couple of centuries orso, I shall have occasion to allude to it, in connection with the story ofthe neutral French. 

In the year 1504, says the Chronicle, some fishermen from Brittanydiscovered the island that now forms the eastern division of Nova Scotia, and named it "Cape Breton. " Two years after, Dennys of Harfleur, made arude chart of the vast sheet of water that stretches from Cape Breton andNewfoundland to the mainland. In 1534, Cartier, sailing under the ordersof the French Admiral, Chabot, visited the coast of Newfoundland, crossedthe gulf Dennys had seen and described twenty-eight years before, and tookpossession of the country around it, in the name of the king, his master. As Cartier was recrossing the Gulf, on his return voyage, he named thewaters he was sailing upon "St. Lawrence, " in honor of that saint whoseday chanced to turn up on the calendar at that very happy time. Accordingto some accounts, Baron de Lery established a settlement here as early as1518. Some authorities state that a French colony was planted on the St. Lawrence as early as 1524, and soon after others were formed in Canada andNova Scotia. In 1535, Cartier again crossed the waters of the Gulf, andfollowing the course of the river, penetrated into the interior until hereached an island upon which was a hill; this he named "_Mont Real_. "Various adventurers followed these first discoverers and explorers, andthe coast was from time to time visited by French ships, in pursuit of thefisheries. 

Among these expeditions, one of the most eminent was that of Champlain, who, in the year 1609, penetrated as far south as the head waters of theHudson River; visited Lake George and the cascades of Ticonderoga; andgave his own name to the lake which lies between the proud shores of NewYork and New England. Thence le Sr. Champlain, "_Capitaine pour le Roy_, "travelled westward, as far as the country of the Hurons, giving to thediscovered territory the title of Nouvelle France; and to the lakesOntario, Erie, and Huron, the names of St. Louis, Mer Douce, and GrandLac; which any person can see by referring to the original chart in theState library of New York. But before these discoveries of Champlain, animportant step had been taken by the parent government. In the year 1603, an expedition, under the patronage of Henry IV. , sailed for the New World. The leader of this was a Protestant gentleman, by name De Monts. As thepeople under his command were both Protestants and Catholics, De Monts hadpermission given in his charter to establish, as one of the fundamentallaws of the Colony, the free exercise of "religious worship, " uponcondition of settling in the country, and teaching the Roman Catholicfaith to the savages. Heretofore, all the countries discovered by theFrench had been called New France, but in De Monts' Patent, that portionof the territory lying east of the Penobscot and embracing the presentprovinces of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and part of Maine was named"Acadia. "

The little colony under De Monts flourished in spite of the rigors of theclimate, and its commander, with a few men, explored the coast on the St. Lawrence and the bay of Fundy, as well as the rivers of Maine, thePenobscot, the Kennebec, the Saco and Casco Bay, and even coasted as farsouth as the long, hook-shaped cape that is now known in all parts of theworld as the famous Cape Cod. In a few years, the settlement began toassume a smiling aspect; houses were erected, and lands were tilled; thesettlers planted seeds and gathered the increase thereof; gardens sprangout of the wilderness, peace and order reigned everywhere, and the savagetribes around viewed the kind, light-hearted colonists with admiration andfraternal good-will. It is pleasant to read this part of thechronicle--of their social meetings in the winter at the banqueting hall;of the order of "_Le Bon Temps_, " established by Champlain; of the greatpomp and insignia of office (a collar, a napkin, and staff) of the grandchamberlain, whose government only lasted for a day, when he wassupplanted by another; of their dinners in the sunshine amid thecorn-fields; of their boats, banners, and music on the water; of theirgentleness, simplicity, and honest, hearty enjoyments. These halcyon dayssoon came to an end. The infamous Captain Argall, hearing that a number ofwhite people had settled in this hyperborean region, set sail fromJamestown for the colony, in a ship of fourteen guns, in the midst of aprofound peace, to burn, pillage, and slaughter the intruders upon theterritory of Virginia! Finding the people unprepared for defence, hisenterprise was successful. Argall took possession of the lands, in thename of the King of England, laid waste some of the settlements, burnedthe forts, and, under circumstances of peculiar perfidy, induced a numberof the poor Acadians to go with him to Jamestown. Here they were treatedas pirates, thrown into prison, and sentenced to be executed. Argall, whoit seems had some touch of manhood in his nature, upon this confessed tothe Governor, Sir Thomas Dale, that these people had a patent from theKing of France, which he had stolen from them and concealed, and that theywere not pirates, but simply colonists. Upon this, Sir Thomas Dale wasinduced to fit out an expedition to dislodge the rest of them from Acadia. Three ships were got ready, the brave Captain Argall was appointedCommander-in-chief, and the first colony was terminated by fire and swordbefore the end of the year. This was in 1613, ten years after the firstplanting of Acadia. 

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

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

A conspiracy of earth and air and ocean had certainly broken out thatmorning, for the ominous lines of Fog and Mist were hovering afar off uponthe boundaries of the horizon. Under the crystalline azure of a summersky, the water of the harbor had an intensity of color rarely seen, exceptin the pictures of the most ultra-marine painters. Here and there a greenisland or a fishing-boat rested upon the surface of the tranquil blue. Formiles and miles the eye followed indented grassy slopes, that rolled awayon either side of the harbor, and the most delicate pencil could scarcelyportray the exquisite line of creamy sand that skirted their edges andmelted off in the clear margin of the water. Occasional little cottagesnestle among these green banks, not the Acadian houses of the poem, "withthatched roofs, and dormer windows projecting, " but comfortable, homely-looking buildings of modern shapes, shingled and un-weather-cocked. No cattle visible, no ploughs nor horses. Some of the men are at work inthe open air; all in tarpaulin hats, all in tarry canvas trowsers. Theseare boat-builders and coopers. Simple, honest, and good-tempered enough;you see how courteously they salute us as we ride by them. In front ofevery house there is a knot of curious little faces; Young Acadia is outthis bright day, and although Young Acadia has not a clean face on, yetits hair is of the darkest and softest, and its eyes are lustrous andmost delicately fringed. Yonder is one of the veterans of the place, so wewill tie Pony to the fence, and rest here. 

"Fine day you have here, " said my companion. 

"Oh yes! oh yes!" (with great deference and politeness). 

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

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

"Can we sit down and rest in one of your houses?"

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

The little house is divided by a partition. The larger half is the hall, the parlor, kitchen, and nursery in one. A huge fire-place, an antiquespinning-wheel, a bench, and two settles, or high-backed seats, a table, acradle and a baby very wide awake, complete the inventory. In theapartment adjoining is a bin that represents, no doubt, a French bedsteadof the early ages. Everything is suggestive of boat-builders, of RobinsonCrusoe work, of undisciplined hands, that have had to do with ineffectualtools. As you look at the walls, you see the house is built of timbers, squared and notched together, and caulked with moss or oakum. 

"Very poor peep' here, " says the old man, with every finger on his handsstretched out to deprecate the fact. By the fire-side sits an old woman, in a face all cracked and seamed with wrinkles, like a picture by one ofthe old masters. "Yes, " she echoes, "very poor peep' here, and very cold, too, sometime. " By this time the door-way is entirely packed with little, black, shining heads, and curious faces, all shy, timid, and yet not theless good-natured. Just back of the cradle are two of the Acadian women, "knitters i' the sun, " with features that might serve for Palmer'ssculptures; and eyes so lustrous, and teeth so white, and cheeks so richwith brown and blush, that if one were a painter and not an invalid, hemight pray for canvas and pallet as the very things most wanted in thecritical moment of his life. Faed's picture does not convey the Acadianface. The mouth and chin are more delicate in the real than in the idealEvangeline. If you look again, after the first surprise is over, you willsee that these are the traditional pictures, such as we might have fanciedthey should be, after reading the idyl. From the forehead of each you seeat a glance how the dark mass of hair has been combed forward and over theface, that the little triangular Norman cap might be tied across the crownof the head. Then the hair is thrown back again over this, so as to form alarge bow in front, then re-tied at the crown with colored ribbons. Thenyou see it has been plaited in a shining mesh, brought forward again, andbraided with ribbons, so that it forms, as it were, a pretty coronet, well-placed above those brilliant eyes and harmonious features. This, withthe antique kirtle and picturesque petticoat, is an Acadian portrait. Suchis it now, and such it was, no doubt, when De Monts sailed from Havre deGrace, two centuries and a half ago. In visiting this kind and simplepeople, one can scarcely forget the little chapel. The young French priestwas in his garden, behind the little tenement, set apart for him by thepiety of his flock, and readily admitted us. A small place indeed was it, but clean and orderly, the altar decorated with toy images, that were nottoo large for a Christmas table. Yet I have been in the grandesttabernacles of episcopacy with lesser feelings of respect than those whichwere awakened in that tiny Acadian chapel. Peace be with it, and with itsgentle flock. 

"Pony is getting impatient, " said my companion, as we reverently steppedfrom the door-way, "and it is a long ride to Halifax. " So, with courteoussalutation on both sides, we take leave of the good father, and once moreare on the road to Deer's Castle. 

CHAPTER III. 

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

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

The corporate authority of Three Fathom Harbor has been improving his timeduring our absence. As we drive up we find him in high romp with a braceof buxom, red-cheeked, Nova Scotia girls, who have just alighted from awagon. The landlady of Three Fathom Harbor, in her matronly cap, issmiling over the little garden gate at her lord, who is pursuing hisDaphnes, and catching, and kissing, and hugging, first one and then theother, to his heart's content. Notwithstanding their screams, and slaps, and robust struggles, it is very plain to be seen that the skipper'sattentions are not very unwelcome. Leaving his fair friends, he catchesPony by the bridle and stops us with a hospitable--"Come in--you must comein; just a glass of ale, you'll want it;" and sure enough, we found whenwe came to taste the ale, that we did want it, and many thanks to him, thekind-hearted landlord of the Three Fathoms. 

"It is surprising, " said I to my companion, as we rolled again over theroad, "that these people, these Acadians, should still preserve theirlanguage and customs, so near to your principal city, and yet with no moreaffiliation than if they were on an island in the South Seas!"

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

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

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

"Your settlements here are somewhat novel to a stranger. That a merehandful of men should be so near your city, and yet so isolated: that thisvillage of a few hundred only, should retain its customs and language, intact, for generation after generation, within walking distance ofHalifax, seems to me unaccountable. But let me ask you, " I continued, "what is the moral condition of the Acadians?"

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

"That, " said I, "reminds one of the poem:

 'Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows, But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of their owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. '"

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

One thing Longfellow has certainly omitted in "Evangeline"--the wildflowers of Acadia. The roadside is all fringed and tasselled with white, pink, and purple. The wild strawberries are in blossom, whitening the turfall the way from Halifax to Chezzetcook. You see their starry settlementsthick in every bit of turf. These are the silver mines of poor Cuffee; hehas the monopoly of the berry trade. It is his only revenue. Then in theswampy grounds there are long green needles in solitary groups, surmountedwith snowy tufts; and here and there, clusters of light purple blossoms, called laurel flowers, but not like our laurels, spring up from the basesof grey rocks and boulders; sometimes a rich array of blood-red berriesgleams out of a mass of greenery; then again great floral white radii, tipped with snowy petals, rise up profuse and lofty; down by the ditcheshundreds of pitcher plants lift their veined and mottled vases, brimmingwith water, to the wood-birds who drink and perch upon their thick rims;May-flowers of delightful fragrance hide beneath those shining, tropical-looking leaves, and meadow-sweet, not less fragrant, but lessbeautiful, pours its tender aroma into the fresh air; here again we seethe buckthorn in blossom; there, scattered on the turf, the scarletpartridge berry; then wild-cherry trees, mere shrubs only, in full bud;and around all and above all, the evergreens, the murmuring pines, and thehemlocks; the rampikes--the grey-beards of the primeval forest; the spicybreath of resinous balsams; the spiry tops, and the serene heaven. Is thisfairy land? No, it is only poor, old, barren Nova Scotia, and yet I thinkFelix, Prince of Salerno, if he were here, might say, and say truly too, "In all my life I never beheld a more enchanting place;" but Felix, Princeof Salerno, must remember this is the month of June, and summer is notperpetual in the latitude of forty-five. 

We reach at last Deer's Castle. Pony, under the hands of Bill, seemsremarkably cheerful and fresh after his long travel up hill and down. Whenhe pops out of his harness, with his knock-knees and sturdy, stocky littleframe, he looks very like an animated saw-buck, clothed in seal-skin; andwith a jump, and snort, and flourish of tail, he escorts Bill to thestable, as if twenty miles over a rough road was a trifle not worthconsideration. 

A savory odor of frying bacon and eggs stole forth from the door as wesat, in the calm summer air, upon the stone fence. William Deer, Jr. , waswandering about in front of the castle, endeavoring to get control of hisunder lip and keep his exuberant mirth within the limits of decorum; butevery instant, to use a military figure, it would flash in the pan. Up onthe bare rocks were the wretched, woe-begone, patched, and ragged loghuts of poor Cuffee. The hour and the season were suggestive ofphilosophizing, of theories, and questions. 

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

"Why, " replied Mrs. Deer, an old tidy wench, of fifty, pretty well bent byrheumatism, and so square in the lower half of her figure, and so spare inthe upper, that she appeared to have been carved out of her own hips:"why, as to dat, he ain't good-looking to brag on, but I don't think helooks quite like a beast neither. "

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

"Mrs. Deer, " said I, "how long have you lived here?"

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

"Where did you reside before you came to Nova Scotia?"

"Sah?"

"Where did you live?"

"Oh, sah! I is from Maryland. " (William at it again. )

"Did you run away?"

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

"Were you married then--when you run away?"

"Oh yes, sah!" (a glance at Bill, who was off again). 

"And left your husband behind in Maryland?"

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

"And which place do you like the best--this or Maryland?"

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

"But which place do you like the best--Nova Scotia or Maryland?"

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

"But which place do you like the best?"

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

"But which place do you like the best?"

"And den dere's de rheumatiz. "

"But which place do you like the best, Mrs. Deer?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You have, no doubt, still many relatives left in Maryland?"

"Oh! yes, " replied Mrs. Deer, "_all_ of dem are dar. "

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

Mrs. Deer, at this, looked a long time at William, and William lookedearnestly at his parent. Then she cocked her head on the other side, totake a new view of the question. Then she gathered up mouth and eyebrows, in a puzzle, and again broadened out upon Bill in an odd kind of smile; atlast she doubled up one fist, put it against her cheek, glanced at Bill, and out came the answer: "Well, sah, I'd let 'em take dere _own_ heads fordat!" I must confess the philosophy of this remark awakened in me a trainof very grave reflections; but my companion burst into a most obstreperouslaugh. As for Mrs. Deer, she shook her old hips as long as she couldstand, and then sat down and continued, until she wiped the tears out ofher eyes with the corner of her apron. William cast himself down upon astrawberry bank, and gave way to the most flagrant mirth, kicking up hisold shoes in the air, and fairly wallowing in laughter and blossoms. Iendeavored to change the subject. "Bill, did you catch any trout?" It wassome time before William could control himself enough to say, "Not asingle one, sah;" and then he rolled over on his back, put his black pawsup to his eyes, and twitched and jingled to his heart's content. I did notask Mrs. Deer any more questions; but there is a moral in the story, enough for a day. 

As we rattled over the road, after our brief dinner at Deer's Castle, Icould not avoid a pervading feeling of gloom and disappointment, in spiteof the balmy air and pretty landscape. The old ragged abodes ofwretchedness seemed to be too clearly defined--to stand out toointrusively against the bright blue sky. But why should I feel so much forCuffee? Has he not enlisted in his behalf every philanthropist in England?Is he not within ten miles of either the British flag or Acadia? Does notthe Duchess of Sutherland entertain the authoress of Uncle Tom's Cabin, and the Black Swan? Why should I sorrow for Cuffee, when he is in themidst of his best friends? Why should I pretend to say that this appearsto be the raggedest, the meanest, the worst condition of humanity, whenthe papers are constantly lauding British philanthropy, and holding it upas a great example, which we must "bow down and worship?" For my own part, although the pleasant fiction of seeing Cuffee clothed, educated, andChristianized, seemed to be somewhat obscured in this glimpse of his realcondition, yet I hope he will do well under his new owners; at the veryleast, I trust his berry crop will be good, and that a benevolent Britishblanket or two may enable him to shiver out the winter safely, if notcomfortably. Poor William Deer, Sen'r, of Deer's Castle, was sufferingwith rheumatism in the next apartment, while we were at his eggs and baconin the banquet hall; but Deer of Deer's Castle is a prince to hisneighbors. I shall not easily forget the brightening eye, the swift glanceof intelligence in the face of another old negro, an hostler, in NovaScotia. He was from Virginia, and adopting the sweet, mellifluous languageof his own home, I asked him whether he liked best to stay where he was, or go back to "Old Virginny?" "O massa!" said he, with _such_ a look, "you_must know_ dat I has de warmest side for my own country!"

We rattled soberly into Dartmouth, and took the ferry-boat across the bayto the city. At the hotel there was no little questioning aboutChezzetcook, for some of the Halifax merchants are at the Waverley. "GOEDbless ye, what took ye to Chizzencook?" said one, "I never was there eenin my life; ther's no bizz'ness ther, noathing to be seen: ai doant thinkthere is a maen in Halifax scairsly, 'as ever seen the place. "

At the supper-table, while we were discussing, over the cheese and ale, the Chezzetcook and negro settlements, and exhibiting with no littlevainglory a gorgeous bunch of wild flowers (half of which vanity my_compagnon de voyage_ is accountable for), there was a young English-Irishgentleman, well built, well featured, well educated: by name--I shall callhim Picton. 

Picton took much interest in Deer's Castle and Chezzetcook, but slily andsatirically. I do not think this the best way for a young man to beginwith; but nevertheless, Picton managed so well to keep his sarcasms withinthe bounds of good humor, that before eleven o'clock we had become prettywell acquainted. At eleven o'clock the gas is turned off at HotelWaverley. We went to bed, and renewed the acquaintance at breakfast. Picton had travelled overland from Montreal to take the "Canada" forLiverpool, and had arrived too late. Picton had nearly a fortnight beforehim in which to anticipate the next steamer. Picton was terribly boredwith Halifax. Picton wanted to go somewhere--where?--"he did not carewhere. " The consequence was a consultation upon the best disposal of afortnight of waste time, a general survey of the maritime craft ofHalifax, the selection of the schooner "Balaklava, " bound for Sydney inballast, and an understanding with the captain, that the old French townof Louisburgh was the point we wished to arrive at, into which harbor weexpected to be put safely--three hundred and odd miles from Halifax, andthis side of Sydney about sixty-two miles by sea. To all this did captainCapstan "seriously incline, " and the result was, two berths in the"Balaklava, " several cans of preserved meats and soups, a hamper of ale, two bottles of Scotch whisky, a ramshackle, Halifax van for the luggage, ageneral shaking of hands at departure, and another set of white sailsamong the many white sails in the blue harbor of Chebucto. 

The "Balaklava" glimmered out of the harbor. Slowly and gently we sweptpast the islands and great ships; there on the shore is Point Pleasant infull uniform, its red soldiers and yellow tents in the thick of the pinesand spruces; yonder is the admiralty, and the "Boscawen" seventy-four, the receiving-ship, a French war-steamer, and merchantmen of all flags. Slowly and gently we swept out past the round fort and long barracks, pastthe lighthouse and beaches, out upon the tranquil ocean, with its ominousfog-banks on the skirts of the horizon; out upon the evening sea, with thesummer air fanning our faces, and a large white Acadian moon, faintlydefined overhead. 

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

The "Balaklava" was a fore-and-aft schooner in ballast, and very littleballast at that; easily handled; painted black outside, and pink inside;as staunch a craft as ever shook sail; very obedient to the rudder; ofsome seventy or eighty tons burden; clean and neat everywhere, except inthe cabin. As for her commander, he was a fine gentleman; true, honest, brave, modest, prudent and courteous. Sincerely polite, for if politenessbe only kindness mixed with refinement, then Captain Capstan was polite, as we understand it. The mate of the schooner was a cannie Scot; by name, Robert, Fitzjames, Buchanan, Wallace, Burns, Bruce; and Bruce was as jollya first-mate as ever sailed under the cross-bones of the British flag. Thecrew was composed of four Newfoundland sailor men; and the cook, whoseh'eighth letter of the h'alphabet smacked somewhat strongly of H'albion. As for the rest, there was Mrs. Captain Capstan, Captain and Mrs. CaptainCapstan's baby; Picton and myself. It is cruel to speak of a baby, exceptin terms of endearment and affection, and therefore I could not butcondemn Picton, who would sometimes, in his position as a traveller, allude to baby in language of most emphatic character. The fact is, Picton_swore_ at that baby! Baby was in feeble health and would sometimes bewailits fate as if the cabin of the "Balaklava" were four times the size ofbaby's misfortunes. So Picton got to be very nervous and uncharitable, andslept on deck after the first night. 

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

"Oh! very much; this lazy life will soon bring me up; how exhilarating theair is--how fresh and free!

 "'A life on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep. '"

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

"Ever been sea-sick?" said Picton, drily. 

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

"Likely, " replied Picton; "let us take a squint at the galley. "

To the galley we went, where we saw Cookey in great distress; for the windwould blow in at the wrong end of his stove-pipe, so as to reverse thedraft, and his stove was smoking at every seam. Poor Cookey's eyes werefull of tears. 

"Why don't you turn the elbow of the pipe the other way?" said Picton. 

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

"Then, take off the elbow, " said Picton. 

So Cookey did, and very soon tea was ready. Imagine a cabin, not muchlarger than a good-sized omnibus, and far less steady in its motion, choked up with trunks, and a table about the size of a wash-stand; imaginetwo stools and a locker to sit on: a canvas table-cloth in full blotch;three chipped yellow mugs by way of cups; as many plates, but of greatvariety of gap, crack, and pattern; pewter spoons; a blacking-bottle ofmilk; an earthen piggin of brown sugar, embroidered with a lively gang ofgreat, fat, black pismires; hard bread, old as Nineveh; and butter of amost forbidding aspect. Imagine this array set before an invalid, with anappetite of the most Miss Nancyish kind!

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

"Yes, ma'am, " said I, glancing again at the banquet. 

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

"And that, " said the captain, "is as bad as me forgetting the potatoes. "

Pic and I sat down, but we could neither eat nor drink; we were very soonon deck again, sucking away dolefully at two precious cigars. At last hebroke out:

"By gad, to think of it!"

"What is the matter?" said I. 

"Not a potato on board the 'Balaklava!'"

So we pulled away dolefully at our segars, in solemn silence. 

"Picton, " said I, "did you ever hear 'Annie Laurie?'"

"Yes, " replied Picton, "about as many times as I want to hear it. "

"Don't be impolite, Picton, " said I; "it is not my intention to sing itthis evening. Indeed, I never heard it before I heard it in Halifax. I hadthe good fortune to make one of a very pleasant company, at the house ofan old friend in the city, and I must say that song touched me, both thesong and the _singing_ of it. You know it was _the_ song in the Crimea?"

"Yes, " said Picton, smoking vigorously. 

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

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

 "Her voice is low and sweet, And she's all the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me down and dee. "

CHAPTER IV. 

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

"Picton!"

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

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

"Pooh!" replied Picton, "what do you want to be bothering with the sunfor?" And again Picton rolled himself up in his sheet-rubbertravelling-blanket, and stretched his long body out on the locker. I gotup, or rather got down, from my berth, and casting a bucket over theschooner's side soon made a sea-water toilet. I forgot to mention thesleeping arrangements of the "Balaklava. " There were two lower berths onone side the cabin, either of which was large enough for two persons; andtwo single upper berths on the other side, neither of which was largeenough for one person. At the proper hour for retiring, the captain's ladyshut the cabin-door to keep out intruders, deliberately arrayed herself indimity, turned in with baby in one of the large berths, and reöpened thedoor. There she lay, wide awake, with her bright eyes twinkling within thefolds of her night cap, unaffected, chatty, and agreeable; then thecaptain divested himself of boots and pea-jacket and turned in beside hislady (the mate slept, when off his watch, in the other double berth). Picton rolled himself up in his blanket and stretched out on his locker; Iclimbed into the narrow coop, over the salt beef and hard biscuitdepartment; and so we dozed and talked until sleep reigned over all. Inthe morning the ceremonies were reversed, with the exception of theCaptain, who was up first. "I never see a man sleep so little as thecaptain, " said Bruce; "about two hoors, an' that's aw. "

The sun was already risen when I came out on the deck of the "Balaklava;"but where _was_ the sun? Indeed, where was the ocean, or anything? Theschooner was barely making steerage-way, with a light head-wind, over asmall patch of water, not much larger apparently than the schoonerherself. The air was filled with a luminous haze that appeared to bepenetrable by the eye, and yet was not; that seemed at once open anddense; near yet afar off; close yet diffuse; contracted yet boundless. There was no light nor shade, no outline, distance, aërial perspective. There was no east and west, nor blushing Aurora, rising from old Tithonus'bed; nor blue sky, nor green sea, nor ship, nor shore, nor color, tint, hue, ray, or reflection. There was nothing visible except the sides of thevessel, a maze of dripping rigging, two sailors bristling with drops, andthe captain in a shiny sou-wester. The feeling of seclusion and securitywas complete, although we might have been run down by another vessel atany moment; the air was deliciously bland, invigorating, and pregnant withlife; to breathe it was a transport; you felt it in every globule ofblood, in every pore of the lungs. I could have hugged that fog, I was sohappy!

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

It was between four and five o'clock in the morning, and the "Balaklava"did not breakfast until eight. Reader, were you ever hungry _at sea_?Were you ever on deck, upon the measureless ocean, four hours earlier thanthe ring of the breakfast-bell? Were you ever awake on the briny deep, inadvance, when the cook had yet two hours to sleep; when the stove in thegalley was cold, and the kindling-wood unsplit; the coffee still in itstender, green, unroasted innocence? Were you ever upon "the blue, thefresh, the ever free, " under these circumstances? If so, I need not say to_you_ that the sentiment, then and there awakened, is stronger thanavarice, pride, ambition or, love. 

Presently Picton burst out like a flower on deck, in a mass of over-coats, with an India-rubber mackintosh by way of calyx. These were hisnight-clothes. Picton could do nothing except in full costume; he couldnot fish, in ever so small a stream, without being booted to the hips; norshoot, in ever so good a cover, without being jacketed above the hips. Heshaved himself in front of a silver-mounted dressing-case, wrote hisletters on a portable secretary, drew off his boots with a patentboot-jack, brewed his punch with a peripatetic kettle, and in fact carrieda little London with him in every quarter of the globe. "Well, " saidPicton, looking around at the fog with a low and expressive whistle, "this_is_ serene!"

Although Picton used the word "serene" ironically, just as a man riding inan omnibus and suddenly discovering that he was destitute of the needfulsixpence might exclaim, "This is pleasant, " yet the phrase was not out ofplace. The "Balaklava" was gliding lazily over the water, at the rate ofthree knots an hour, sometimes giving a little lurch by way of shaking thewet out of her invisible sails, for the fog obscured all her upper canvas, and the mind and body easily yielded to the lullaby movement of thevessel. Talk of lotus-eating; of Castles of Indolence; of the dreamy etherinhaled from amber-tubed narghilé; of poppy and mandragora, and all thedrowsy syrups of the world; of rain upon the midnight roof; the cooing ofdoves, the hush of falling snow, the murmur of brooks, the long summersong of grasshoppers in the field, the tinkling of fountains, andeverything else that can soothe, lull, or tranquillize; and what are theseto the serenity of this sail-swinging, ripple-stirring, gently-creakingcraft, in her veil of luminous vapor? "How delightful this is!" said I. 

The traveller eyed me with surprise, but at last comprehending the idea, admitted, that with the exception of the fog and the calm, the scarcity ofnews, the damp state of the decks, and the want of the morning papers, itwas very charming indeed. Then the traveller got a little restive, andbegan to peer closely into the fog, and look aloft to see if he could makeout the stay-sails, and then he entered into a long confidential talk withthe captain, in relation to the chances of "getting on, " of a fresh breezespringing up, and the fog lifting; whether we should make Louisburgh byto-morrow night, and if not, when; with various other salt-waterspeculations and problems. Then Picton climbed up on the patent-windlassto get a full view of the fog at the end of the bow-sprit, and tookanother survey of the buried stay-sails, and the flying-jib. Then he andthe Newfoundland sailor on the look-out, had a long consultation of greatgravity and importance; and finally he turned around and came up to theplace where I was standing, and broke out: "I say, what the devil are weto do with ourselves this morning?"

"What are we to do?" That eternal question. It instantly seemed to doublethe thickness of the fog, to arrest the slow movement of the vessel. Picton had nothing to do for a fortnight, and I had left home with thesole object of going somewhere where soul and body could rest. "Nothing todo, " was precisely the one thing needful. "Nothing to do, " is exquisitehappiness, for real happiness is but a negation. "Nothing to do, " isrepose for the body, respite for the mind. It is an ideal hammockswinging in drowsy tropical groves, apart from the roar of the busy, relentless world; away from the strife of faction, the toils of business, the restless stretch of ambition, wealth's tinsel pride, poverty's gallingharness. "Nothing to do, " is the phantom of young Imagination, theevanescent hope that promises to crown

 "A youth of labor with an age of ease. "

"Nothing to do, " was the charm that lured us on board the "Balaklava, " andnow "nothing to do, " was with us like the Bottle-Imp, an incubus, stillcrying out: "You may yet exchange me for a smaller coin, if such therebe!" "Nothing to do, " is an imposture. Something to do is the very life oflife, the beginning and end of being. "Picton, " said I, "one thing we mustdo, at least, this morning. "

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

"Taking into consideration the slow and sleepy nature of this climate, thethickness of the fog, the faint, thin air that impels the vessel, theearly time of day, and the regulations of the 'Balaklava, ' it seems to mewe shall have to be steadily occupied, for at least three hours, inwaiting for breakfast. "

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

At last a faint smell of coffee issued forth from the caboose, a littleArabia breathed through the humid atmosphere, and a sound, as if Cookeywere stirring the berries in a pan, was heard in the midst of the smoke. Meanwhile Picton descends in the hold with a bucket of salt-water to enjoythe luxury of a bath, and reappears in full toilet just as Cookey isgrinding the berries, burnt and green, with a hand-mill between his knees. The pan by this time is put to a new use; it is now lined with bacon infull frizzle; presently it will be turned to account as a bake-pan, forpearl-ash cakes of chrome-yellow complexion: everything must take itsturn; the pan is the actor of all work; it accepts coffee, cakes, pork, fish, pudding, besides being general dish-washer and soup-warmer, as wefound out before long. 

During the preparation of these successive courses, Picton and I sat ondeck in hungry silence. Now and then an anxious glance at the galley, or atormenting whiff of the savory viands, would give new life to the demonthat raged within us. I believe if Cookey had accidentally upset thecoffee tea-kettle, and put out the fire, his sanctuary would have beensacked instantly. Eight o'clock came, and yet we had not broken bread. Wewalked up and down the deck to relieve our appetites. At last we saw thethree cracked mugs, our tea-cups, which had been our ale-glasses of thenight before, brought up for a rinse, and then we knew that breakfast wasnot far off. The cloth was spread, the saffron cakes, ship's butter, yellow mugs, coffee, pork, and pismires temptingly arrayed. We did notwait to hear the cook ring the bell. We watched him as he came up with itin his hand, and squeezed past him before he shook out a single vibration. 

Then we made a MEAL!

Breakfast being over, the fog lightened a little. Our tiny horizon widenedits boundaries a few hundred feet, or so; we could see once more thetop-mast of the schooner. So we lazily swung along, with nothing to doagain. Sometimes a distant fog-bell; sometimes a distant sound across theface of the deep, like the falling of cataract waters. 

"What is that sound, Bruce?"

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

"Are we then so near shore?"

"About three miles aff, " replies the mate. 

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

"Where are we?" asks the captain. 

"Off St. Esprit, " answer the boatmen. 

"What are you after?" asks the captain. 

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

Lazily on we glide--nothing to do. Picton is reading a stunning book; thecaptain, his lady, the baby, and I making a small family circle around thewheel; the mate is on the look-out over the bows; all at once, he shoutsout: "_There they are! the nets!_" Down goes Picton's book on the deck;Bruce catches up a rope and fastens it to a large iron hook; the sailorsrun to the side of the vessel; captain releases his forefinger from baby'shand, and catches the wheel; all is excitement in a moment. "_Starboard!_"shouts the mate, as the nets come sweeping on, directly in front of thecut-water. The schooner obeys the wheel, sheers off, and now, as thefloats come along sidewise, Bruce has dropped his hook in the mesh--_ittakes hold!_ and the heavy mass is partially raised up in the water. "Thousands of them, " says Picton; sure enough, the whole net is alive withmackerel, splashing, quivering, glistening. "Catch hold here, I cannahold them; O the beauties!" says the mate. Some grasp at the rope, otherslook around for another hook. "Hauld 'em! hauld 'em!" shouts Bruce; butthe weighty piscatorial mass is too much for us, it will drag usdesperately along the deck to the stern of the vessel. The schooner isgoing slowly, but still she is going. Another hook is rigged and thrown atthe struggling mesh; but it breaks loose, the mackerel are dragging behindthe rudder; we are at our rope's end. At last, rope, hook, and nets areabandoned, and again we have nothing to do. 

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

High noon, and again hunger overtook us. Picton, by this time, had broughtout the cans of preserved meats, the curried tin chicken, the portablesoup, the ale and pickles. The cook was put upon duty; pot and pan werescoured for more delicate viands; Picton was _chef de cuisine_; we had amagnificent banquet that day on the "Balaklava. "

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

When we came on deck, after a repast that would have been perfect but forthe absence of potatoes, Bruce was marching up and down, dangling the babyin a way that made it appear all legs; "I doan't see, " said he, "hoo awummun can lug a baby all day aboot in her airms! I hae only carried thisone half an 'our, and boath airms is sore. But I suppose it's naturely, it's naturely--everything to its nature. "

The dinner having been a success, Picton was in great spirits for the restof the day. The fog spread its munificent halo around us, and beforenightfall broke into myriads of white rainbows--sea-dogs the sailors callthem--and finally lifted so high that we could see the spectral moonshining through the thin rack. Once more we sang "Annie Laurie;" thetraveller brought out his travelling blanket for a dewy slumber on deck;the lady of the "Balaklava" put on her night-cap and retired with baby tothe double berth: Bruce took the helm. As I was passing the light in thebinnacle, I looked in at the compass for a moment. "She's nailed there, "said the old mate. Nailed there, true to her course, as steadfast to theguiding rudder as truth is to religion. We were but a few miles from adangerous coast, in a vessel of the frailest kind, but she was "nailedthere, " obedient to man's intelligence, and that was security and safety. What a text to say one's prayers upon!

"Picton, " said I, the next morning, after the schooner-breakfast, "itseems to me the strangest thing that Mrs. Capstan should have the pureIrish pronunciation and the mate the thorough Scotch brogue, although bothwere born in Newfoundland, and of Newfoundland parents. I must confess tono small amount of surprise at the complete isolation of the people ofthese colonies; the divisions among them; the separate pursuits, prejudices, languages; they seem to have nothing in common; no aggregationof interests; it is existence without nationality; sectionalism withoutemulation; a mere exotic life with not a fibre rooted firmly in the soil. The colonists are English, Irish, Scotch, French, for generation aftergeneration. Why is this, O Picton? Why is it that the captain's lady hashigh cheek-bones, and speaks the pure Hibernise? why is the only railroadin the colony but nine and three-quarter miles long, and the greatShubenacadie Canal yet unfinished, although it was begun in the year1826; a canal fifty-three mortal miles in length, already engineered andlaid out by nature in a chain of lakes, most conveniently arranged withthe foot of each little lake at the head of the next one--like 'orientpearls at random strung'--requiring but a few locks to be complete: thehead of the first lake lying only twelve hundred and ten yards fromHalifax harbor, and the Shubenacadie River itself at the other end, emptying in the place of destination, namely, the Basin of Minas; a workthat, if completed, would cut off more than three hundred miles of outsidevoyaging around a stormy, foggy, dangerous coast; a work that wasestimated to cost but seventy-five thousand pounds, and for which fifteenthousand pounds had already been subscribed by the government; a work thatwould be the saving of so many vessels, crews, and cargoes of so muchvalue; a work that would traverse one of the most fertile countries inAmerica; a work that would bring the inland produce within a few hours ofthe seaboard; a work so necessary, so obvious, so easily completed, thatno Yankee could see it undone, if it were within the limits of his county, and have one single night's rest until the waters were leaping from lockto lock, from lake to lake in one continuous flood of prosperity fromMinas to Chebucto? Why is this, O traveller of the 'Balaklava?'"

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

"It does seem to me, Picton, this fostering, protecting, and paying thegovernmental expenses of the colonies, is very like pampering and amusinga child with sweetmeats and nick-nacks, and at the same time keeping it inleading-strings. It is very certain that these colonists would not be thesame people if their ancestors had been transplanted, a century or so ago, to our side of the Bay of Fundy; no, not even if they had pitched theirtents at the 'jumping-off place, ' as it is called--Eastport, for eventhere they would have produced a crop of pure Yankees, although grown fromdivers nations, religions, and tongues. "

Here Picton turned up his lip, and smiled out of a little battery ofsarcasm: "And you think, " said he, after a pause, "that these colonistswould no longer revel in those little prejudices and sectionalisms so dearto every American heart, if they were transplanted to your own favoredcoasts? Why, sir, there is more sectionalism in the country you wouldtransport these people to, than in any one nation I ever heard of; everyone of your States is a petty principality; it has its own separateinterests; its own bigoted boundaries; its conventionalisms; its pet laws;and as for its prejudices, I will just ask you, as a candid man, not as aYankee, but as a traveller like myself, a cosmopolite, if you please, whatyou think of the two great eternal States of Massachusetts and SouthCarolina, and whether prejudices and sectionalisms are to be fairlycharged upon these colonies, and upon them only?"

"Picton, I will be frank with you. The States you name are looked upon asthe great game-cocks of the Union, and we give them a tolerably largearena to fight their battles in. Either champion has flapped its wings andcrowed its loudest, and drawn in its local backers, but the great Statesof my country are not these two. I feel at this moment an almostirrepressible desire to instance a single one as an example; but insomuchas nobody has ever flapped wing or crowed because of it, I will not be thefirst to break the silence. This much I will say, there are some States, and those the very greatest in the Union, that neither claim to be, normake a merit of being _provincial_. "

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

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

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

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

"Then, " said Picton, "we can sleep while you struggle?"

"Yes, Picton, that is the question----

 'Whether 'tis best to roam or rest. The land's lap, or the water's breast?'

We think it is best to choose the active instead of the stagnant; if a mancannot take part in the great mechanism of humanity, better to die than tosleep. And Picton, so far as this is concerned, so far as the generalinterests of humanity are concerned, your colonists are only _dead men_, while our "stately" men are individually responsible, not only to theirown kind, but to all human kind, and herein each form of government tellsits own story. "

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

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

"Likely, " said Picton, sententiously. 

Meantime the schooner was lazily holding her course through the fog, whichwas now dense as ever. What an odd little bit of ocean this is to be on!"The sea, the sea, the open sea, " all your own, with a diameter of perhapsforty yards. Picton, who is full of activity, begins to unroll the logline; the captain turns the glass, away goes the log. "Stop, " "not threeknots!" and then comes the question again: "What shall we do?--we aregetting becalmed!"

"By Jove!" said Picton, slapping his thigh, "I have it--_cod-fish_!"

There are plenty of hooks on board the "Balaklava, " and unfortunately onlyone cod-line; but what with the deep-sea lead-and-line, and a roll of bluecord, with a spike for a sinker, and the hooks, we are soon in the midstof excitement. Now we almost pray for a calm; the schooner _will_ heaveahead, and leave the lines astern; but nevertheless, up come the finefish, and plenty of them, too; the deck is all flop and glister with cod, haddock, pollock; and Cookey, with a short knife, is at work with thelargest, preparing them for the banquet, according to the codeNewfoundland. Certainly the art of "cooking a cod-fish" is not quiteunderstood, except in this part of the world. The white flakes do notexhibit the true conchoidal fracture in such perfection elsewhere; norbreak off in such delicious morsels, edged with delicate brown. "Anotherbottle of ale, please, and a granitic biscuit, and a pickle, by way ofdessert. "

Lazily along swings the "Balaklava. " Picton brings up his travellingblanket, and we stretch out upon it on deck, basking in the warm, humidlight, and leisurely puffing away at our segars, for we have nothing elseto do. Towards evening it grows colder, very much colder; over-coats arein requisition; the captain says we are nearing some icebergs; the fogfolds itself up and hangs above us in strips of cloud, or rolls away involuminous masses to the edges of the horizon. The stars peep out betweenthe strips overhead, the moon sends forth her silver vapors and finallyemerges from the "crudded clouds;" the wake of the schooner is one longphosphoric trail of flame; the masts are creaking, sails stretching, thewaters pouring against the bows; out on the deep, white crests lift andbreak, the winds are loosened, and now good speed to the "Balaklava. "Meanwhile, the hitherto listless Newfoundland men are now wide awake, andbusy; the man at the wheel is on the alert; the captain is looking at hischarts; Picton and I walking the deck briskly, but unsteadily, to keep offthe cold; Mrs. Capstan has turned in with the baby. Blacker and largerwaves are rising, with whiter crests; on and on goes the schooner with dipand rise--tossing her yards as a stag tosses his antlers. On and on goesthe brave "Balaklava, " the captain at the bows on the look-out; the sky ismottled with clouds, but fortunately there is no fog; nine, ten o'clock, and at last a light begins to lift in the distance. "Is it Louisburghlight, captain?" "I don't make it out yet, " replies Captain Capstan, "butI think it is not. " After a pause, he adds: "Now I see what it is; it isScattarie light--we have passed Louisburgh. "

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

"Captain, " said we, after a brief consultation, "we will leave the matterentirely to you; although we had hoped to see Louisburgh this night, yetwe can visit it overland to-morrow; and as the wind is so favorable foryou, why, crack on to Sydney, if you like. "

With that we resumed our walk to keep up the circulation. 

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

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

"Did you see the light?" we asked. 

"Oh, yes; I can see it now, right astern of us. "

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

"There is the light, captain. "

"Where?"

"Right astern. "

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

"What now, captain?"

"Nothing, " said he, "only I am going to _about-ship_. "

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

The "Balaklava" had barely broadened out her sails to the fair wind, aftershe had been put about, when we were conscious of an increased strainingand chirping of the masts and sails, an uneasy, laborious motion of thevessel; of blacker and larger waves, of whiter and higher crests, thatsometimes broke over the bows, even, and made the deck wet and slippery. The moon was now rising high, but the clouds were rapidly thickening, andher majesty seemed to be reeling from side to side, as we bore on, withplunge and shudder, for the light ahead of us. Bruce had taken the wheel;all hands were on deck, and all busy, hauling upon this rope or that, taking in the stay-sails and flying-jib, as the captain shouted out fromtime to time; and looking ahead, with no little appearance of anxiety. 

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

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

"Is it a good harbor, Bruce?"

"_When ye get in_, " answered the mate; "but it's narrar, it's narrar; yecan pitch a biscuit ashore as ye go through; and inside o't is the 'Nag'sHead, ' a sunken bit o' rock, with about five feet water; if ye _miss_that, ye're aw right!" We were now rapidly approaching the beacon, andcould fairly see the rocks and beach in the track of its light. On theother side there were great masses of savage surf, whirling high up in thenight, the indications of the three islands on the west of the harbor. Thecaptain had climbed up in the rigging to keep a good look-out ahead; thelight of the beacon broadened on the deck; we were within the very jawsof the crags and surf; the wild ocean beating against the doors of theharbor; the churning, whirling, whistling danger on either side, lightedup by the glare of the beacon! past we go, and, with a sweep, the"Balaklava" evades the "Nag's Head, " and rounding too, drops sail andanchor beside the walls of Louisburgh. 

Then the thick fog, which had been pursuing us, came, and enveloped all inobscurity. 

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

CHAPTER V. 

Louisburgh--The Great French Fortress--Incidents of the Old FrenchWar--Relics of the Siege--Description of the Town--The two Expeditions--AYankee _ruse de guerre_--The Rev. Samuel Moody's Grace--Wolfe'sLanding--The Fisherman's Hutch--The Lost Coaster--The Fisheries--Pictontries his hand at a fish-pugh. 

Nearly a century has elapsed since the fall of Louisburgh. The greatAmerican fortress of Louis XV. Surrendered to Amherst, Wolfe, and Boscawenin 1758. A broken sea-wall of cut stone; a vast amphitheatre, inclosedwithin a succession of green mounds; a glacis; and some miles ofsurrounding ditch, yet remain--the relics of a structure for which thetreasury of France paid Thirty Millions of Livres!

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

A hundred years since, the very air of the spot where we now stand, vibrated with the chime of the church-bells and the roll of the statelyorgan, or wafted to devout multitudes the savor of holy incense. Here werecongregated the soldiers, merchants, artisans of old France; on these highwalls paced the solemn sentry; in these streets the nun stole past in hermodest hood; or the romantic damsel pressed her cheek to the latticedwindow, as the young officer rode by and, martial music filled the avenueswith its inspiring strains; in yonder bay floated the great war-ships ofLouis; and around the shores of this harbor could be counted battery afterbattery, with scores of guns bristling from the embrasures. 

The building of this stronghold was a labor of twenty-five years. Thestone walls rose to the height of thirty-six feet. In those broken arches, studded with stalactites, those casemates, or vaults of the citadel, youstill see some evidence of its former strength. You will know the citadelby them, and by the greater height of the mounds which mark the walls thatonce encompassed it. Within these stood the smaller military chapel. Thinkof looking down from this point upon those broad avenues, busy with life, a hundred years ago!

Neither roof nor spire remain now; nor square nor street; nor convent, church, or barrack. The green turf covers all: even the foundations of thehouses are buried. It is a city without an inhabitant. Dismantled cannon, with the rust clinging in great flakes; scattered implements of war;broken weapons, bayonets, gun-locks, shot, shell or grenade, unclaimed, untouched, corroded and corroding, in silence and desolation, with nosigns of life visible within these once warlike parapets except thepeaceful sheep, grazing upon the very brow of the citadel, are the onlyrelics of once powerful Louisburgh. 

Let us recall the outlines of its history. In the early part of the lastcentury, just after the death of Louis XIV. , these foundations were laid, and the town named in honor of the ruling monarch. Nova Scotia proper hadbeen ceded, by recent treaty, to the filibusters of Old and New-England, but the ancient Island of Cape Breton still owned allegiance to the liliesof France. Among the beautiful and commodious harbors that indent thesouthern coast of the island, this one was selected as being most easy ofaccess. Although naturally well adapted for defence, yet its fortificationcost the government immense sums of money, insomuch as all the materialsfor building had to be brought from a distance. Belknap thus describes it:"It was environed, two miles and a half in circumference, with a rampartof stone from thirty to thirty-six feet high, and a ditch eighty feetwide, with the exception of a space of two hundred yards near the sea, which was inclosed by a dyke and a line of pickets. The water in thisplace was shallow, and numerous reefs rendered it inaccessible toshipping, while it received an additional protection from the side-fire ofthe bastions. There were six-bastions and eight batteries, containingembrasures for one hundred and forty-eight cannon, of which forty-fiveonly were mounted, and eight mortars. On an island at the entrance of theharbor was planted a battery of thirty cannon, carrying twenty-eight poundshot; and at the bottom of the harbor was a grand, or royal battery, oftwenty-eight cannon, forty-two pounders, and two eighteen-pounders. On ahigh cliff, opposite to the island-battery, stood a light house, andwithin this point, at the north-east part of the harbor, was a careeningwharf, secure from all winds, and a magazine of naval stores. The town wasregularly laid out in squares; the streets were broad and commodious, andthe houses, which were built partly of wood upon stone foundations, andpartly of more durable materials, corresponded with the general appearanceof the place. In the centre of one of the chief bastions was a stonebuilding, with a moat on the side near the town, which was called thecitadel, though it had neither artillery nor a structure suitable toreceive any. Within this building were the apartments of the governor, thebarracks for the soldiers, and the arsenal; and, under the platform of theredoubt, a magazine well furnished with military stores. The parishchurch, also, stood within the citadel, and without was another, belongingto the hospital of St. Jean de Dieu, which was an elegant and spaciousstructure. The entrance to the town was over a drawbridge, near which wasa circular battery, mounting sixteen guns of fourteen-pound shot. "

This cannon-studded harbor was the naval dépôt of France in America, thenucleus of its military power, the protector of its fisheries, the key ofthe gulf of St. Lawrence, the Sebastopol of the New World. For a quarterof a century it had been gathering strength by slow degrees: Acadia, poorinoffensive Acadia, from time to time, had been the prey of its rapaciousneighbors; but Louisburgh had grown amid its protecting batteries, untilMassachusetts felt that it was time for the armies of Gad to go forth andpurge the threshing-floor with such ecclesiastical iron fans as they werewont to waft peace and good will with, wherever there was a fine openingfor profit and edification. 

The first expedition against Louisburgh was only justifiable upon theground that the wants of New England for additional territory werepressing, and immediate action, under the circumstances, indispensable. Levies of colonial troops were made, both in and out of the territories ofthe saints. The forces, however, actually employed, came fromMassachusetts, Connecticut, and New Hampshire; the first supplying threethousand two hundred, the second five hundred, the third three hundredmen. The coöperation of Commodore Warren, of the English West-Indianfleet, was solicited; but the Commodore declined, on the ground "that theexpedition was wholly a provincial affair, undertaken without the assent, and probably without the knowledge, of the ministry. " But Governor Shirleywas not a man to stop at trifles. He had a heart of lignum vitæ, a rigidanti-papistical conscience, beetle brows, and an eye to the cod-fisheries. Higher authority than international law was pressed into the service. George Whitefield, then an itinerant preacher in New-England, furnishedthe necessary warrant for the expedition, by giving a motto for itsbanner: "_Nil desperandum Christo duce_"--Nothing is to be despaired ofwith CHRIST for leader. The command was, however, given to WilliamPepperel, a fish and shingle merchant of Maine. One of the chaplains ofthe filibusters carried a hatchet specially sharpened, to hew down thewooden images in the churches of Louisburgh. Everything that was needed toencourage and cheer the saints, was provided by Governor Shirley, especially a goodly store of New England rum, and the Rev. Samuel Moody, the lengthiest preacher in the colonies. Louisburgh, at that time feeblygarrisoned, held out bravely in spite of the formidable array concentratedagainst it. In vain the Rev. Samuel Moody preached to its high stonewalls; in vain the iconoclast chaplain brandished his ecclesiasticalhatchet; in vain Whitefield's banner flaunted to the wind. The fortressheld out against shot and shell, saint, flag and sermon. New Englandingenuity finally circumvented Louisburgh. Humiliating as the confessionis, it must be admitted that our pious forefathers did actually abandon"CHRISTO duce, " and used instead a little worldly artifice. 

Commodore Warren, who had declined taking a part in the siege ofLouisburgh, on account of the regulations of the service, had received, after the departure of the expedition, instructions to keep a look-out forthe interests of his majesty in North America, which of course could bereadily interpreted, by an experienced officer in his majesty's service, to mean precisely what was meant to be meant. As a consequence, CommodoreWarren was speedily on the look-out, off the coast of Cape Breton, and inthe course of events fell in with, and captured, the "Vigilant, "seventy-four, commanded by Captain Stronghouse, or, as his title runs, "the Marquis de la Maison Forte. " The "Vigilant" was a store-ship, filledwith munitions of war for the French town. Here was a gloriousopportunity. If the saints could only intimate to Duchambon, the Governorof Louisburgh, that his supplies had been cut off, Duchambon might thinkof capitulation. But unfortunately the French were prejudiced against thesaints, and would not believe them under oath. But when probity fails, alittle ingenuity and artifice will do quite as well. The chief of theexpedition was equal to the emergency. He took the Marquis of Stronghouseto the different ships on the station, where the French prisoners wereconfined, and showed him that they were treated with great civility; thenhe represented to the Marquis that the New England prisoners were cruellydealt with in the fortress of Louisburgh; and requested him to write aletter, in the name of humanity, to Duchambon, Governor, in behalf ofthose suffering saints; "expressing his approbation of the conduct of theEnglish, and entreating similar usuage for those whom the fortune of warhad thrown in his hands. " The Marquis wrote the letter; thus it begins:"On board the 'Vigilant, ' _where I am a prisoner_, before Louisburgh, Junethirteen, 1745. " The rest of the letter is unimportant. The confession ofCaptain Stronghouse, that he was a prisoner, was the point; and theconsequences thereof, which had been foreseen by the filibusteringbesiegers, speedily followed. In three days Louisburgh capitulated. 

Then the Rev. Samuel Moody greatly distinguished himself. He was a painfulpreacher; the most untiring, persevering, long-winded, clamorous, pertinacious vessel at craving a blessing, in the provinces. There was agreat feast in honor of the occasion. But more formidable than the siegeitself, was the anticipated "grace" of Brother Moody. New England held itsbreath when he began, and thus the Reverend Samuel: "Good Lord, we have somany things to thank Thee for, that time will be infinitely too short todo it; we must therefore leave it for the work of eternity. "

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

In three years after its capture, Louisburgh was restored to the French bythe treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle. Ten years after its restoration, a heavierarmament, a greater fleet, a more numerous army, besieged its almostimpregnable walls. Under Amherst, Boscawen, and Wolfe, no less thantwenty-three ships of war, eighteen frigates, sixteen thousand landforces, with a proportionable train of cannon and mortars, were arrayedagainst this great fortress in the year 1758. Here, too, many of our ownancestral warriors were gathered in that memorable conflict; here Gridley, who afterwards planned the redoubt at Bunker Hill, won his first laurelsas an engineer; here Pomeroy distinguished himself, and others whose namesare not recorded, but whose deeds survive in the history of a republic. The very drum that beat to arms before Louisburgh was braced again whenthe greater drama of the Revolution opened at Concord and Lexington. 

The siege continued for nearly two months. From June 8th until July 26th, the storm of iron and fire--of rocket, shot, and shell--swept from yonderbatteries, upon the castellated city. Then when the King's, the Queen's, the Dauphin's bastions were lying in ruins, the commander, Le Chevalierde Drucour, capitulated, and the lilies of the Bourbon waved overLouisburgh no more. 

And here we stand nearly a century after, looking out from these war-worksupon the desolate harbor. At the entrance, the wrecks of three Frenchfrigates, sunk to prevent the ingress of the British fleet, yet remain;sometimes visited by our still enterprising countrymen, who come down incoasters with diving-bell and windlass, to raise again from the deep, imbedded in sea-shells, the great guns that have slept in the ooze solong. Between those two points lay the ships of the line, and frigates ofLouis; opposite, where the parapets of stone are yet visible, was thegrand battery of forty guns: at Lighthouse Point yonder, two thousandgrenadiers, under General Wolfe, drove back the French artillerymen, andtamed their cannon upon these mighty walls. Here the great seventy-fourblew up; there the English boats were sunk by the guns of the fortress;day and night for many weeks this ground has shuddered with the thundersof the cannonade. 

And what of all this? we may ask. What of the ships that were sunk, andthose that floated away with the booty? What of the soldiers that fell byhundreds here, and those that lived? What of the prisoners that mourned, and the captors that triumphed? What of the flash of artillery, and theshattered wall that answered it? Has any benefit resulted to mankind fromthis brilliant achievement? Can any man, of any nation, stand here andsay: "This work was wrought to my profit?" Can any man draw such a breathhere amid these buried walls, as he can upon the humblest sod that everwas wet with the blood of patriotism? I trow not. 

A second time in possession of this stronghold, England had not the meansto maintain her conquest; the fortification was too large for any but apowerful garrison. A hundred war-ships had congregated in that harbor:frigates, seventy-fours, transports, sloops, under the _Fleur-de-lis_. Although Louisburgh was the pivot-point of the French possessions, yet itwas but an outside harbor for the colonies. So the order went forth todestroy the town that had been reared with so much cost, and captured withso much sacrifice. And it took two solid years of gunpowder to blow upthese immense walls, upon which we now sadly stand, O gentle reader! Turf, turf, turf covers all! The gloomiest spectacle the sight of man can dwellupon is the desolate, but once populous, abode of humanity. Egypt itselfis cheerful compared with Louisburgh!

"It rains, " said Picton. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

To this the weather-beaten replied by winking twice with both eyes. 

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

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

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

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

It was strange to be seated in that old cottage, listening to so dreary astory, and watching the storm outside. There was a wonderful fascinationin it, nevertheless, and I was not a little loth to leave the brighthearth when the sailors from the schooner came for us and carried us onboard again to dinner. 

The storm continued; but Picton and I found plenty to do that day. Equipped with oil-skin pea-jackets and sou'-westers, with a couple of_fish-pughs_, or poles, pointed with iron, we started on a cruise afterlobsters, in a sort of flat-bottomed skiff, peculiar to the place, calleda _dingledekooch_. And although we did not catch one lobster, yet we didnot lose sight of many interesting particulars that were scattered aroundthe harbor. And first of the fisheries. All the people here are directlyor indirectly engaged in this business, and to this they devote themselvesentirely; farming being scarcely thought of. I doubt whether there is aplough in the place; certainly there was not a horse, in either the old ornew town, or a vehicle of any kind, as we found out betimes. 

The fishing here, as in all other places along the coast, is carried on insmall, clinker-built boats, sharp at both ends, and carrying two sails. Itis marvellous with what dexterity these boats are handled; they are out inall weathers, and at all times, night or day, as it happens, and althoughsometimes loaded to the gunwale with fish, yet they encounter the roughestgales, and ride out storms in safety, that would be perilous to thelargest vessels. 

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

And such, too, was the fact. These boats usually sail a few miles from theshore, rarely beyond twelve; the fish are taken with hand-lines generally, but sometimes a set line with buoys and anchors is used. The fish, arecured on _flakes_, or high platforms, raised upon poles from the beach, sothat one end of the staging is over the water. The cod are thrown up fromthe boat to the flake by means of the fish-pugh--a sort of one-pronged, piscatory pitchfork--and cleaned, salted, and cured there; then spread outto dry on the flake, or on the beach, and packed for market. _Nothing canbe neater and cleaner than the whole system of curing the fish!_ popularopinion to the contrary notwithstanding. The fishermen of Louisburgh are ahappy, contented, kind, and simple people. Living, as they do, far fromthe jarring interests of the busy world, having a common revenue, for theocean supplies each and all alike; pursuing an occupation which isconstant discipline for body and soul; brave, sincere, and hospitable bynature, for all of these virtues are inseparable from their relations toeach other; one can scarcely be with them, no matter how brief the visit, without feeling a kindred sympathy; without having a vague thought of"sometime I may be only too glad to escape from the world and accept thishumble happiness instead;" without a dreamy idea of "Perhaps _this_, afterall, is the real Arcadia!"

While I was indulging in these reflections, it was amusing to see Pictonat work! The heads and entrails of the cod-fish, thrown from the "flakes"into the water, attract thousands of the baser tribes, such as sculpins, flounders, and toad-fish, who feed themselves fat upon the offals, andenjoy a peaceful life under the clear waters of the harbor. As thedingledekooch floated silently over them, they lay perfectly quiet andunsuspicious of danger, although within a few feet of the fatal fish-pugh, and in an element almost as transparent as air. Lobster, during the storm, had gone off to other grounds; but here were great flat flounders andsculpin, within reach of the indefatigable Picton. Down went the fish-pughand up came the game! The bottom of the skiff was soon covered with thespearings of the traveller. Great flounders, those sub-marine buckwheatcakes; sculpins, bloated with rage and wind, like patriots out of office;toad-fish, savage and vindictive as Irishmen in a riot. Down went thefish-pugh! It was rare sport, and no person could have enjoyed it morethan Picton--except perhaps some of the veteran fishermen of Louisburgh, who were gathered on the beach watching the doings in the dingledekooch. 

CHAPTER VI. 

A most acceptable Invitation--- An Evening in the Hutch--Old Songs--Pictonin High Feather--Wolfe and Montcalm--Reminiscences of the Siege--Anecdotesof Wolfe--A Touch of Rhetoric and its Consequences. 

Quite a little crowd of fishermen gathered around us, as the dingledekoochran bows on the beach, and Picton, warm with exercise and excitement, leaped ashore, flourishing his piscatorial javelin with an air of triumph, which oddly contrasted with the faces of the Louisburghers, who looked athim and at his game, with countenances of great gravity--either real orassumed. Presently, another boat ran bows on the beach beside our own, andfrom this jumped Bruce, our jolly first mate, who had come ashore to spenda few hours with an old friend, at one of the hutches. To this we werehospitably invited also, and were right glad to uncase our limbs of stiffoil-skin and doff our sou'-westers, and sit down before the cheery fire, piled up with spruce logs and hackmatack; comfortable, indeed, was it tobe thus snugly housed, while the weather outside was so lowering, and theschooner wet and cold with rain. To be sure, our gay and festive hall wasnot so brilliant as some, but it was none the less acceptable on thataccount; and, before long, a fragrant rasher of bacon, fresh eggs, whitebread, and a strong cup of bitter tea made us feel entirely happy. Thenthese viands being removed, there came pipes and tobacco; and as somethingelse was needed to crown the symposium, Picton whispered a word in the earof Bruce, who presently disappeared, to return again after a briefabsence, with some of our stores from the schooner. Then the table wasdecked again, with china mugs of dazzling whiteness, lemons, hot water, and a bottle of old Glenlivet; and from the centre of this gallant show, the one great lamp of the hutch cast its mellow radiance around, andnursed in the midst of its flame a great ball of red coal that burned likea bonfire. Then, when our host, the old fisherman, brought out a bundle ofwarm furs, of moose and cariboo skins, and distributed them around on thesettles and broad, high-backed benches, so that we could loll at our ease, we began to realize a sense of being quite snug and cozy, and, indeed, gotused to it in a surprisingly short space of time. 

"Now, then, " said Picton, "this is what I call serene, " and the travellerrelapsed into his usual activity; after a brief respite--"I say, give usa song, will you, now, some of you; something about this jolly old place, now--'Brave Wolfe, ' or 'Boscawen, '" and he broke out--

 "'My name d'ye see's Tom Tough, I've seen a little sarvice, Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow; I've sailed with noble Howe, and I've sailed with noble Jarvis, And in Admiral Duncan's fleet I've sung yeo, heave, yeo! And more ye must be knowin', I was cox'son to Boscawen When our fleet attacked Louisburgh, And laid her bulwarks low. But push about the grog, boys! Hang care, it killed a cat, Push about the grog, and sing-- Yeo, heave, yeo!'"

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

But Picton had not another bit of it; so he called lustily for some oneelse to sing. "Hang it, sing something, " said the traveller. "'How standsthe glass around;' that, you know, was written by Wolfe; at least, it wassung by him the night before the battle of Quebec, and they call itWolfe's death song--

 'How stands the glass around? For shame, ye take no care, my boys! How stands the glass around?'"

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

 "'The trumpets sound; The colors flying are, my boys, To fight, kill, or wound'"----

Another slip of the memory [drink]:

 "'May we still be found, '"

He has found it, and repeats emphatically:

 "'May we still be found! Content with our hard fare, my boys, [all drink]

 On the cold ground!'

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

 "'He lifted up his head, While the cannons did rattle, To his aid de camp he said, 'How goes the battail?' The aid de camp, he cried, ''Tis in our favor;' 'Oh! then, ' brave Wolfe replied, 'I die with pleasure!'"

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

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

"What is that?" said the traveller. 

"Of course you will remember it. When Gray had completed the Elegy, hesent a copy of it to his friend, General Wolfe, in America; and the storygoes, that as the great hero was sitting, wrapped in his military cloak, on board the barge which the sailors were rowing up the St. Lawrence, towards Quebec, he produced the poem, and read it in silence by the waninglight of approaching evening, until he came to these lines, which herepeated aloud to his officers:

 'The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour'----"

Then pausing for a moment, he finished the stanza:

 "'The paths of glory lead but to the grave. '"

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

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

"What place?" said Picton, rousing up. 

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

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

"I thought he went from this place to Quebec, " said Picton. 

"No, sir, " replied the old man, "he went first to London, and came backagain, and then went to Canada. Well, " he continued, "my grandfatherserved under him, and was left here to get over his wownds, and so hemarried my grandmother, and lived in Louisburgh after the French were allsent away. " Here the veteran placed his paws on the table, and looked outinto the infinite. We could see we were in for a long story. "All theFrench soldiers and sailors, you see, were sent to England prisoners ofwar--and the rest of the people were sent to France; the governor of thishere place was named Drucour; he was taken to Southampton, and put inprison. Well now, as I was saying, this hutch of mine was built by myfather, just here by Wolfe's landing, for grandfather took a fancy to haveit built on this spot; you see, Wolfe rowed over one night in a boat allalone from Lighthouse point yonder, and stood on the beach right underthis here old wall, looking straight up at the French sentry over hishead, and taking a general look at the town on both sides. There wasn't aman in all his soldiers who would have stood there at that time for athousand pounds. "

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

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

"Two and thretty only, " said Bruce. 

"And a tall, elegant officer, too, " continued the ancient fisherman. "I've heard tell how the French governor's lady used to send himsweetmeats with a flag of truce, and he used to return his compliments anda pine apple, or something of that kind. Ah, he was a great favorite withthe ladies! I've heard say, he was much admired for his elegant style ofdancing, and always ambitious to have a tall and graceful lady for hispartner, and then he was as much pleased as if he was in the thick of thefight. He was a great favorite with the soldiers, too; very careful ofthem, to see they were well nursed when they were sick, and sharing theworst and the best with them; but my grandfather used to say, very strict, too. "

"Who was in command here, Wolfe or Amherst?"

"General Amherst was in command, and got the credit of it, too; but Wolfedid the fighting--so grandfather used to say. "

"What was the name of his leddy in the old country?" said Bruce. 

"I do not remember, " replied the ancient, "but I've heard it. You know hewas to be married, when he got back to England. And when the first shotstruck him in the wrist, at Quebec, he took out _her_ handkerchief fromhis breast-pocket, smiled, wrapped it about the place, and went on withthe battle as if nothing had happened. But, soon after he got anotherwound, and yet he wasn't disheartened, but waved his ratan over his head, for none of the officers carried swords there, and kept on, until thethird bullet went through and through his breast, when he fell back, andjust breathed like, till word was brought that the French were retreating, when he said, then 'I am content, ' and so closed his eyes and died. "

Here there was a pause. Our entertainer, waving his hand towards our mugsof Glenlivet, by way of invitation, lifted his own to his mouth by thehandle, and with a dexterous tilt that showed practice, turned its bottomtowards the beams of the hutch. 

"Do you remember any farther particulars of the siege of Louisburgh?" Iasked. 

"Oh, yes, " replied the old man, "I remember grandfather telling us how hesaw the bodies of fifteen or sixteen deserters hanging over the walls;they were Germans that had been sold to the French, four years before thewar, by a Prussian colonel. Some of them got away, and came over to ourside. He used to say, the old town looked like a big ship when they cameup to it; it had two tiers of guns, one above the other, on thesouth--that is towards Gabarus bay, where our troops landed. And now Imind me of his telling that when they landed at Gabarus, they had a hardfight with the French and Indians, until Col. Fraser's regiment ofHighlanders jumped overboard, and swam to a point on the rocks, and drovethe enemy away with their broad-swords. "

"That was the 63d Highlanders, " said Bruce, with immense gravity. 

"Among the Indians killed at Gabarus, " continued our host, "they say therewas one Micmac chief, who was six feet nine inches high. The Frenchsoldiers were very much frightened when the Highland men climbed up on therocks; they called them English savages. "

"That showed, " said Bruce, "what a dommed ignorant set they were!"

"And, while I think of it, " added our host, rising from his seat, "I havea bit of the old time to show you, " and so saying, he retreated from thetable, and presently brought forth a curious oak box from a mysteriouscorner of the hutch, and after some difficulty in drawing out the slidingcover, produced a roll of tawny newspapers, tied up with rope yarn, acolored wood engraving in a black frame--a portrait, with the inscription, "James Wolfe, Esq'r, Commander in Chief of His Majesty's Forces in theExpedition to Quebec, " and on the reverse the following scrap from theLondon Chronicle of October 7, 1759:

 "Amidst her conquests let Britannia groan For Wolfe! her gallant, her undaunted son; For Wolfe, whose breast bright Honor did inspire With patriot ardor and heroic fire; For Wolfe, who headed that intrepid band, Who, greatly daring, forced Cape Breton's strand. For Wolfe, who following still where glory call'd, No dangers daunted, no distress appall'd; Whose eager zeal disasters could not check, Intent to strike the blow which gained Quebec. For Wolfe, who, like the gallant Theban, dy'd In th' arms of victory--his country's pride. "

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

"What a strange interest attaches itself to the memory of Wolfe! Ayouthful hero, who, under less happy auspices, might have been known onlyas the competent drill-master of regiments, elevated by the sagacity ofEngland's wisest statesman to a prominent position of command; there toexhibit his generalship; there to retrieve the long list of disasterswhich followed Braddock's defeat; there to annihilate forever everyvestige of French dominion in the Americas; to fulfill gloriously eachpoint of his mission; to achieve, not by long delays, but by rapidmovements, the conquest of two of the greatest fortresses in thepossession of the rival crown; to pass from the world amid the shouts ofvictory--content in the fullness of his fame, without outliving it! Hiswas a noble, generous nature; brave without cruelty; ardent and warlike, yet not insensible to the tenderest impulses of humanity. To die betrothedand beloved, yet wedded only to immortal honor; to leave a mother, with anation weeping at her feet; to serve his country, without having hispatriotism contaminated by titles, crosses, and ribbons; this was the mostfortunate fate of England's greatest commander in the colonies! No wonder, then, that with a grateful sympathy the laurels of his mother country werewoven with the cypress of her chivalric son; that hundreds of pens wereinspired to pay some tribute to his memory; that every branch ofrepresentative art, from stone to ink, essayed to portray his livinglikeness; that parliament and pulpit, with words of eloquence andgratitude, uttered the universal sentiment!

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

"I'll be dommed, " said he, "if some person isn't afire!"

Then I unclasped my hands, opened my eyes, and looked around me. 

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

"I say! wake up here!" said the jolly mate of the Balaklava; bringing hisfist down upon the table with an emphatic blow, that roused all thesleepers except the traveller. "I say, wake up!" reiterated Brace, shakingPicton by the shoulder. Then Picton raised himself from his couch, andyawned twice; walked to the table, seated himself on a bench, thrust hisfingers through his black hair, and instantly fell asleep again, aftershaking out into the close atmosphere of the hutch a stifling odor ofanimal charcoal. 

"A little straw makes a great reek, " said Bruce, laughing, "and when a mongives out before his pipe, he is like to be burnet, " and he pointed to along black and brown singe on the worsted comforter of the traveller, bywhich we understood that Picton had fallen asleep, pipe in mouth, and thendropped his lighted _dudeen_ just on the safest part of his neck. 

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

CHAPTER VII. 

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

To make use of a quaint but expressive phrase, "it is patent enough, " thattravellers are likely to consume more time in reaching a place than theyare apt to bestow upon it when found. And, I am ashamed to say, that evenLouisburgh was not an exception to this general truth; although perhapscertain reasons might be offered in extenuation for our somewhat speedydeparture from the precincts of the old town. First, then, the uncertaintyof a sailing vessel, for the "Balaklava" was coquettishly courting any andevery wind that could carry her out of our harbor of refuge. Next, thedesire of seeing more of the surroundings of the ancient fortress--thebatteries on the opposite side, the new town, the lighthouse, and the wildpicturesque coast. Add to these the wish of our captain to shift hisanchorage, to get on the side where he would have a better opening towardsthe ocean, "when the wind came on to blow, "--to say nothing of being inthe neighborhood of his old friends, whose cottages dotted the greenhill-sides across the bay, as you looked over the bows of the jolly littleschooner. And there might have been other inducements--such as the hope ofgetting a few pounds of white sugar, a pitcher of milk (delicious, lacteous fluid, for which we had yearned so often amid the briny waves);and last, but not least, a hamper of blue-nosed potatoes. So, when theshades of the second evening were gathering grandly and gloomily aroundthe dismantled parapets, and Louisburgh lay in all the lovely and romanticlight of a red and stormy sunset, it seemed but fitting that thecable-chain of the anchor should clank to the windlass, and the die-awaysong of the mariner should resound above the calm waters, and the canvasstretch towards the land opposite, that seemed so tempting and delectable. And presently the "Balaklava" bore away across the red and purple harborfor the new town, leaving in her wake the ruined walls of Louisburgh thatrose up higher the further we sailed from them. 

The schooner dropped anchor inside the little cove on the opposite side ofthe old town, which the reader will see by referring to the map; and theold battles of the years '45 and '58 were presently forgotten in the newaspects that were presented. The anchor was scarcely dropped fairly, before the yawl-boat was under the stroke of the oars, and Picton and I_en route_ for the store-house; the general, particular, and only exchangein the whole district of Louisburgh. It was a small wooden building with afair array of tarpaulin hats, oil-skin garments, shelves of dry-goods andcrockery, and boxes and barrels, such as are usually kept by countrytraders: on the beach before it were the customary flake for drying fish, the brown winged boats, and other implements of the fisheries. 

But alas! the new town, that looked so pastoral and pleasant, with itstender slopes of verdure, was not, after all, a Canaan, flowing with milkand blue-nosed potatoes. Neither was there white sugar, nor coffee, norgood black tea there; the cabin of the schooner being as well furnishedwith these articles of comfort as the store-house of McAlpin, towardswhich we had looked with such longing eyes. Indeed, I would not have caredso much about the disappointment myself, but I secretly felt sorry forPicton, who went rummaging about the barrels in search of something to eator to drink. "No white sugar?" said the traveller. "_We don't have whitesugar in this town_, " was the answer. "Nor coffee?" "No, Sir. " And the teahad the same flavor of musty hay, with which we were so well acquainted. At last Picton stumbled over a prize--a bushel-basket half-filled withpotatoes, whereat he raised a bugle-note of triumph. 

It may seem strange that a gentleman of fine education, a traveller, whohad visited the famous European capitals, London, Paris, Rome, Madrid, Vienna; who had passed between the Pillars of Hercules, and voyaged uponthe blue Mediterranean, far as the Greek Archipelago; who had wanderedthrough the galleries of the Vatican, and mused within the courts of theAlhambra; who had seen the fire-works on the carnival dome of St. Peter's, and the water-works of Versailles; the temples of Athens, and the Boboligardens of Florence; the sculptures of Praxiteles, and the frescoes ofRaphael; should exhibit such emotion as Picton exhibited, over abushel-basket only half-filled with small-sized blue-nosed tubers. ButPicton was only a man, and "_Homo sum_----" the rest of the sentence it isneedless to quote. I saw at a glance that the potatoes were cut in halvesfor planting; but Picton was filled with the divine idea of a feast. 

"I say, we want a peck of potatoes. "

"A peck?" was the answer. "Why, man, I wouldn't sell ye my seed-potatoesat a guinea apiece. "

Here was a sudden let-down; a string of the human violin snapped, just asit was keyed up to tuning point. Slowly and sorrowfully we regained theyawl after that brief and bitter experience, and a few strokes of the oarscarried us to the side of the "Balaklava. "

It may seem absurd and trifling to dwell upon such slight particulars inthis itinerary of a month among the Blue Noses (as our brothers of NovaScotia are called); but to give a correct idea of this rarely-visited partof the world, one must notice the salient points that present themselvesin the course of the survey. Louisburgh would speedly become rich from itsfisheries, if there were sufficient capital invested there and properlyused. Halifax is now the only point of contact between it and the outsideworld; Halifax supplies it with all the necessary articles of life, andHalifax buys all the produce of its fisheries. Therefore, Halifax reapsall the profits on either side, both of buying and selling, in all notamounting to much--as the matter now stands. But insomuch as the sluggishblood of the colonies will never move without some quickening impulse fromexterior sources, and as Louisburgh is only ten days' sail, under canvas, from New York, and as the fisheries there would rapidly grow by kindlynurture into importance, it does seem as if a moderate amount of capitaldiverted in that direction, would be a fortunate investment, both for theinvestor and hardy fishermen of the old French town. 

I have alluded before to the long Acadian twilights, the tender and lovingleave-takings between the day and his earth; just as two fond and foolishyoung people separate sometimes, or as the quaint old poet in Britannia'sPastorals describes it:

 "Look as a lover, with a lingering kiss, About to part with the best half that's his: Fain would he stay, but that he fears to do it, And curseth time for so fast hastening to it: Now takes his leave, and yet begins anew To make less vows than are esteemed true: Then says, he must be gone, and then doth find Something he should have spoke that's out of mind: _And while he stands to look for't in her eyes, Their sad, sweet glance so ties his faculties To think from what he parts that he is now As far from leaving her, or knowing how, As when he came_; begins his former strain, To kiss, to vow, and take his leave again; Then turns, comes back, sighs, pants, and yet doth go, Fain to retire, and loth to leave her so. "

Even so these fond and foolish old institutions part company in northernregions, and, at the early hour of two o'clock in the morning, the amoroustwilight reappears in his foggy mantle, to look at the fair face of hisancient sweetheart in the month of June. 

Tea being over, the "cluck" of the row-locks woke the echoes of thetwilight bay, as our little yawl put off again for the new town, with agay evening party, consisting of the captain, his lady, the baby, Pictonand myself, with a brace of Newfoundland oarsmen. If our galley was not astately one, it was at least a cheerful vessel, and as the keel grated onthe snow-white pebbles of the beach, Picton and I sprang ashore, with allthe gallantry of a couple of Sir Walter Raleighs, to assist the queen ofthe "Balaklava" upon _terra firma_. Her majesty being landed, we made aroyal procession to the largest hutch on the green slope before us, thecaptain carrying the insignia of his marital office (the baby) with greatpomp and awkward ceremony, in front, while his lady, Picton and I, loitered in the rear. We had barely crossed the sill of the hutch-door, before we felt quite at home and welcome. The same cheery fire in thechimney-place, the spotless floor, the tidy rush-bottomed chairs, and awhole nest of little white-heads and twinkling eyes, just on the border ofa bright patchwork quilt, was invitation enough, even if we had not beenmet at the threshold by the master himself, who stretched out his greatarms with a kind, "Come-in-and-how-are-ye-all. "

And what a wonderful evening we passed in that other hutch, before theblazing hearth-fire! What stories of wrecks and rescues, of icebergs andwhales, of fogs and fisheries, of domestic lobsters that brought up theirlittle families, in the mouths of the sunken cannon of the Frenchfrigates; of the great sharks that were sometimes caught in the meshes ofthe set-nets! "There was one shark, " said our host, another old fisherman, who, by the way, wore a red skull-cap like a cardinal, and had a habit ofbobbing his head as he spoke, so as to put one continually in mind of agigantic woodpecker--"there was one shark I mind particular. My two boysand me was hauling in the net, and soon as I felt it, says I, 'Boys, here's something more than common. ' So we all hauled away, and O my!didn't the water boil when he come up? Such a time! Fortnatly, he come uptail first. LORD, if he'd a come up head first he'd a bit the boat in twoat one bite! He was all hooked in, and twisted up with the net. I s'posehe had forty hooks in him; and when he got his head above water, he wastook sick, and such a time as he had! He must a' vomited up about twobarrels of bait--true as I set here. Well, as soon as he got over that, then he tried to get his head around to bite! LORD, if he'd got his headround, he'd a bit the boat in two, and we had it right full of fish, forwe'd been out all day with hand-lines. He had a nose in front of his gillsjust like a duck, only it was nigh upon six feet long. "

"It must have been a shovel-nose shark, " said Picton. 

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

"What prevented him getting his head around?" said Picton. 

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

Captain assented with a confirmatory nod. 

"What did you do then?" said Picton. "Did you get him ashore?"

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

"You might have rowed him ashore, " said Picton. 

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

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

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

"And what did you do?" said Picton, a little nettled. 

"Why, " said Red-Cap, "I had to let him go, but first I cut out his liver, and that I did bring ashore, although it filled my boat pretty well full. You can judge how big it was: after I brought it ashore I lay it out onthe beach and we measured it, Mr. McAlpin and me, and he'll tell you sotoo; we laid it out on the beach, that ere liver, and it measuredseventeen feet, and then we didn't measure all of it. "

"Why the devil, " said Picton, "didn't you measure all of it?"

"Well, " replied Red-Cap, "because we hadn't a measure long enough. "

Meantime the good lady of the hutch was busy arranging some tumblers onthe table, and to our great surprise and delight a huge yellow pitcher ofmilk soon made its appearance, and immediately after an old-fashioned ironbake-pan, with an upper crust of live embers and ashes, was lifted off thechimney trammel, and when it was opened, the fragrance of hot ginger-breadfilled the apartment. Then Red-Cap bobbed away at a corner cupboard, untilhe extracted therefrom a small keg or runlet of St. Croix rum of most ripeage and choice flavor, some of which, by an adroit and experienced crookof the elbow, he managed to insinuate into the milk, which, with a littlebrown sugar, he stirred up carefully and deliberately with a large spoon, Picton and I watching the proceedings with intense interest. Then thepunch was poured out and handed around; while the good wife made littletrips from guest to guest with a huge platter filled with the brown andfragrant pieces of the cake, fresh from the bake-pan. And so the babyhaving subsided (our baby of the "Balaklava"), and the twilight havinggiven place to a grand moonlight on the bay, and the fire sending out itsbeams of warmth and happiness, glittering on the utensils of the dresser, and tenderly touching with rosy light the cheeks of the small, white-headed fishermen on the margin of the patchwork quilt; while therewas no lack of punch and hospitality in the yellow pitcher, who shall saythat we were not as well off in the fisherman's hutch as in a grandsaloon, surrounded with frescoes and flunkeys, and served with thinlemonade upon trays of silver?

I do not know why it is, but there always has been something veryattractive to me in the faces of children; I love to read the physiognomyof posterity, and so get a history of the future world in miniature, before the book itself is fairly printed. And insomuch as Nova Scotia andNewfoundland are said to be the nurseries of England's seamen, it was withno little interest that I caught a glimpse of two boys, one thirteen, theother eleven years old, the eldest children of our friend Red-Cap. 

They came in just as we entered the hutch, and quietly seated themselvestogether by the corner of the fire-place, after modestly shaking handswith all the guests. They were dressed in plain home-spun clothes, withsomething of a sailor rig, especially the neat check shirts, andold-fashioned, little, low-quartered, round-toed shoes, such as are alwaysa feature in the melo-drama where Jack plays a part. It is not usual, too, to see such stocky, robust frames as these fisher-boys presented; and inall three, in the father and his two sons, was one general, pervadingidea of cleanliness and housewifery. And then, to notice the physiognomyagain, each small face, though modest as that of no girl which I couldrecall at the moment, had its own tale of hardihood to tell; there was asomething that recalled the open sea, written in either countenance;courage and endurance; faith and self-reliance; the compass and therudder; speaking plainly out under each little thatch of white hair. Andindeed, as we found out afterwards, those young countenances told thetruth; those fisher-boys were Red-Cap's only boat-crew. In all weathers, in all seasons, by night and by day, the three were together, the parentand his two children, upon the perilous deep. 

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

"Would ye?" said he, with a proud, fatherly glance towards them; "well, Ithought so once mysel'; it was when a schooner got ashore out there on therocks; and we could see her, just under the lights of the lighthouse, pounding away; and by reason of the ice, nobody would venture; so my boyssaid, says they, 'Father, we can go, any way. ' So I wouldn't stop whenthey said that, and so we laid beside the schooner and took off all hercrew pretty soon, and they mostly dead with the cold; but it was an awfulbad night, what with the darkness and the ice. Yes, " he added, after apause, "they are good boys now; but they won't be with me many years. "

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

"Because all our boys go to the States just as soon as they get oldenough. "

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

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

"The air of Cape Breton is certainly favorable to health, " said I, in awhisper, to Picton; "look, for example, at the mistress of the hutch!" andso surely as I have a love of womanity, so surely I intended to convey asentiment of admiration in the brief words spoken to Picton. The wife of_Bonnet Rouge_ was at least not young, but her cheek was smooth, andflushed with the glow of health; her eyes liquid and bright; her hairbrown, and abundant; her step light and elastic. Although neither Picton, captain, or anybody else in the hutch would remind one of the AngelRaphael, yet Mrs. Red-Cap, as

 ----"With dispatchful looks, in haste She turned, on hospitable thoughts intent, "

was somewhat suggestive of Eve; her movements were grand and simple; therewas a welcome in her face that dimpled in and out with every currenttopic; a Miltonic grandeur in her air, whether she walked or waited. Icould not help but admire her, as I do everything else noble and easilyunderstood. Mrs. Red-Cap was a splendid woman; the wife of a fisherman, with an unaffected grace beyond the reach of art, and poor old Louisburghwas something to speak of. Picton expressed his admiration in stronger andprofaner language. 

We were not the only guests at Red-Cap's. The lighthouse keeper, Mr. Kavanagh, a bachelor and scholar, with his sister, had come down to take amoonlight walk over the heather; for in new Scotland as in old Scotland, the bonny heather blooms, although not so much familiarized there by songand story. But we shall visit lighthouse Point anon, and spend some hourswith the two Kavanaghs. Forthright, into the teeth of the harbor, the windis blowing: "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou nearest the soundtherof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth. " Howlong the "Balaklava" may stay here is yet uncertain. So, with a good-nightto the Red-Caps and their guests, we once more bear away for the cabin ofthe schooner and another night's discomfort. 

As I have said before in other words, this province is nothing more than apiece of patchwork, intersected with petty boundary lines, so that everynation is stitched in and quilted in spots, without any harmony, orcoherence, or general design. The people of Louisburgh are a kind, hospitable, pleasant people, tolerably well informed for the inhabitantsof so isolated a corner of the world; but a few miles further off we comeupon a totally different race: a canting, covenanting, oat-eating, money-griping, tribe of second-hand Scotch Presbyterians: a transplanted, degenerate, barren patch of high cheek-bones and red hair, with nothingcleaving to them of the original stock, except covetousness and thatpeculiar cutaneous eruption for which the mother country is celebrated. But we shall soon have enough of these Scotsmen, good reader. Our presentvisit is to Lighthouse Point, to look out upon the broad Atlantic, therocky coast, and the island battery, which a century since gave so muchtrouble to our filibustering fathers of New England. As we walked towardsthe lighthouse over the pebbly beach that borders the green turf, Pictonsuddenly starts off and begins a series of great jumps on the turf, givingwith every grasshopper-leap a sort of interjectional "Whuh! whuh!" asthough the feat was not confined to the leg-muscles only, but includedalso a necessary exercise of the lungs. And although we shouted at thetraveller, he kept on towards the lighthouse, uttering with every jump, "Heather, heather. " At last he came to, beside a group of evergreens, andgrew rational. The springy, elastic sod, the heather of old Scotland, reproduced in new Scotland, had reminded him of reels and strathspeys, "for, " said he, "nobody can walk upon this sort of thing without feeling adesire to dance upon it. Thunder and turf! if we only had the pipes now!"

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

We had anticipated a fine marine view from the lighthouse, but in place ofit we could only see a sort of semi-luminous vapor, usually called a fog, which enveloped ocean, island, and picturesque coast. We could notdiscover the Island Battery opposite, which had bothered Sir William inthe siege of '45; but nevertheless, we could judge of the difficulty ofreaching it with a hostile force, screened as it was by its waves andvapors. The lighthouse is striped with black and white bars, like a zebra, and we entered it. One cannot help but admire such order and neatness, forthe lighthouse is a marvel of purity. We were everywhere--in thebed-rooms, in the great lantern with its glittering lamps, in the hall, the parlor, the kitchen; and found in all the same pervading virtue; asfresh and sweet as a bride was that old zebra-striped lighthouse. TheKavanaghs, brother and sister, live here entirely alone; what with booksand music, the ocean, the ships, and the sky, they have company enough. One could not help liking them, they have such cheerful faces, and are sokind and hospitable. Good bye, good friends, and peace be with you always!On our route schooner-ward we danced back over the heather, Picton withgreat joy carrying a small basket filled with his national fruit--apresent from the Kavanaghs. What a feast we shall have, fresh fish, lobster, and above all--potatoes!

It is a novel sight to see the firs and spruces on this stormy sea-coast. They grow out, and not up; an old tree spreading over an area of perhapstwenty feet in diameter, with the inevitable spike of green in its centre, and that not above a foot and a half from the ground. The trees in thisregion are possessed of extraordinary sagacity; they know how hard thewind blows at times, and therefore put forth their branches in full squat, just like country girls at a pic-nic. 

On Sunday the wind is still ahead, and Picton and I determine to abandonthe "Balaklava. " How long she may yet remain in harbor is a matter offate; so, with brave, resolute hearts, we start off for a five-mile walk, to McGibbet's, the only owner of a horse and wagon in the vicinity ofLouisburgh. Squirrels, robins, and rabbits appear and disappear in theroad as we march forwards. The country is wild, and in its pristine state;nature everywhere. Now a brook, now a tiny lake, and "the murmuring pinesand the hemlocks. " At last we arrive at the house of McGibbet, andencounter new Scotland in all its original brimstone and oatmeal. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

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

Some learned philosopher has asserted that when a person has becomeaccustomed to one peculiar kind of diet, it will be expressed in thelineaments of his face. How much the constant use of oatmeal could producesuch an effect, was plainly visible in the countenances of McGibbet andhis lady-love. Both had an unmistakable equine cast; McGibbet, wild, scraggy, and scrubby, with a tuft on his poll that would not have been outof place between the ears of a plough-horse, stared at us, just as such ananimal would naturally over the top of a fence; while his gentle mate, whohad more of the amiable draught-horse in her aspect, winked at us withboth eyes from under a close-crimped frill, that bore a marvellousresemblance to a head-stall. The pair had evidently just returned fromkirk. To say nothing of McGibbet's hat, and his wife's shawl, on a chair, and his best boots on the hearth (for he was walking about in hisstockings), there was a dry _preceese_ air about them, which plainlybetokened they were newly stiffened up with the moral starch of theconventicle, and were therefore well prepared to drive a hard bargain fora horse and wagon to Sydney. But what surprised me most of all was theimperturbable coolness of Picton. Without taking a look scarcely at thepersons he was addressing, the traveller stalked in with an--"I say, wewant a horse and wagon to Sydney; so look sharp, will you, and turn outthe best thing you have here?"

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

Mrs. McGibbet opened the subject by saying that they were both accustomedto the observance of the Sabbath, and that "she didn't think it was rightfor man to transgress, when the law was so plain"----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this observation of the traveller the pair fell back upon their Gaelicfor a while, and in the meantime Picton whispered me: "I see; they want toraise the price on us: but we won't give in; they'll be sharp enough afterthe job by and by. "

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

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

"In a case of necessity; you are perfectly right, " chimed in Picton; "Iagree with you myself. Now this is a case of necessity; here we are; wemust get on, you see; if we don't get on we miss the steamer to-morrow forSt. John's--she only runs once a fortnight there--it's plain enough aclear case of necessity; it's like, " continued Picton, evidently trying tocorner some authority in his mind, "it's like--let me see--it'slike--a--pulling--a sheep out of a ditch--a--which they always do on theSabbath, you know, to a--get us on to Sydney. "

Both McGibbet and his wife smiled at Picton's ingenuity, but straightwayput on the equine look again. "It might be so; but it was clean contraryto their preenciples. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

We had observed some beautiful streams, and blue glimpses of lakes on theroad to McGibbet's, and just beyond his house was a larger lake, severalmiles in extent, with picturesque hills on either side, indented-withcoves, and studded with islands, sometimes stretching away to distantslopes of green turf, and sometimes reflecting masses of precipitous rock, crowned with the spiry tops of spruces and firs. Indeed, all the countryaround, both meadow and upland, was very pleasing to the sight. A lowrange of hills skirted the northern part of what seemed to be a spacious, natural amphitheatre, while on the south side a diversity of highlands andwater added to the whole the charm of variety. 

"You have a fine country about you, Mr. McGibbet, " said I. 

"Ay, " he replied. 

"And what is it called here?"

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

"And yonder beautiful lake--what is the name of that?" said I, in hopes oftaking refuge behind something more euphonious. 

"Oh! ay, " replied he, "that's just Get-Along, too. We doan't usually speakof it, but whan we do, we just ca' it Get-Along Lake, and it's not goodfor much. "

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

"Nae, " said McGibbet, with an equine shake of the head, "it's not saefellin. "

Not so filling! Think of that, ye pampered minions of luxury, who liveonly upon delicate viands; who prize food, not as it useful, but as it istasteful; who can even encourage a depraved, sensual appetite so far as toappreciate flavor; who enjoy meats, fish, and poultry, only as theyminister to your palates; who flirt with spring-chickens and trifle withsweet-breads in wanton indolence, without a thought of your cubiccapacity; without a reflection that you can live just as well upon so manysquare inches of oatmeal a day as you can upon the most elaborate Frenchkickshaws; nay, that you can be elevated to the level of a scientificproblem, and work out your fillings, with nothing to guide you but a slateand pencil!

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

"Ay, " responded McGibbet. 

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

"Ay, " responded McGibbet. 

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

"Kwat?" said Robbut, with the most startled, horse-like look he had yetput on. 

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

As this was a word with too many gable-ends for Robbut's comprehension, heonly responded by giving such a smile as a man might be expected to givewho had his mouth full of aloes, and as the conversation was wandering offfrom the main point, addressed himself to Mrs. McG. In the vernacularagain. 

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

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

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

To this Picton shook his head. "Too late for the steamer. "

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

"That will do, " said Picton, slapping his thigh. "Lend us your horse andwagon to go down to the schooner and get our luggage; we will be back thisevening, and then go on to Sydney, eh? That will do; a ride by moonlight;"and the traveller jumped up from his seat, walked with great stridestowards the fire-place, turned his back to the blaze, hung a coat-tailover each arm, and whistled "Annie Laurie" at Mrs. McGibbet. 

The suggestion of Picton meeting the views of all concerned, the diplomacyended. Robbut put himself in his Sunday boots, and hitched up a spare ribof a horse before a box-wagon without springs, which he brought before thedoor with great complacency. The traveller and I were soon on theground-floor of the vehicle, seated upon a log of wood by way of cushion;and with a chirrup from McGibbet, off we went. At the foot of the firsthill, our horse stopped; in vain Picton jerked at the rein, and shouted athim: not a step further would he go, until Robbut himself came down to therescue. "Get along, Boab!" said his master; and Bob, with a mute, pitifulappeal in his countenance, turned his face towards salt-water. At thefoot of the next hill he stopped again, when the irascible Picton jumpedout, and with one powerful twitch of the bridle, gave Boab such a hint to"get on, " that it nearly jerked his head off. And Boab did get on, only tostop at the ascent of the next hill. Then we began to understand thetactics of the animal. Boab had been the only conveyance betweenLouisburgh and Sydney for many years, and, as he was usuallyover-burdened, made a point to stop at the up side of every hill on theroad, to let part of his freight get out and walk to the top of theacclivity with him. So, by way of compromise, we made a feint of gettingout at every rise of ground, and Boab, who always turned his head aroundat each stopping-place, seemed to be satisfied with the observance of theceremony, and trotted gaily forward. At last we came to a place we hadnamed Sebastopol in the morning--a great sharp edge of rock as high as aman's waist, that cut the road in half, over which we lifted the wagon, and were soon in view of the bright little harbor and the "Balaklava" atanchor. Mr. McAlpin kindly gave quarters to our steed in his out-house, and offered to raise a signal for the schooner to send a boat ashore. Ashe was Deputy United States Consul, and as I was tired of the red-cross ofSt. George, I asked him to hoist his consular flag. Up to the flag-stafftruck rose the roll of white and red worsted, then uncoiled, blew out, andthe blessed stars and stripes were waving over me. It is surprising tothink how transported one can be sometimes with a little bit of bunting!

And now the labor of packing commenced, of which Picton had the greatestshare by far; the little cabin of the schooner was pretty well spread outwith his traps on every side; and this being ended, Picton got out histravelling-organ and blazed away in a _finale_ of great tunes and small, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, as the humor took him. After all, weparted from the jolly little craft with regret: our trunks were loweredover the side; we shook hands with all on board; and were rowed in silenceto the land. 

I have had some experience in travelling, and have learned to bear withordinary firmness and philosophy the incidental discomforts one is certainto meet with on the road; but I must say, the discipline already acquiredhad not prepared me for the unexpected appearance of our wagon afterPicton's luggage was placed in it. First, two solid English trunks ofsole-leather filled the bottom of the vehicle; then the traveller'sMinié-rifle, life-preserver, strapped-up blankets, and hand-bag werestuffed in the sides: over these again were piled my trunk and thetraveller's valise (itself a monster of straps and sole-leather); thenagain his portable-secretary and the hand-organ in a box. These made sucha pyramid of luggage, that riding ourselves was out of the question. Whatwith the trunks and the cordage to keep them staid, our wagon looked likea ship of the desert. To crown all, it began to rain steadily. "Now, then, " said Picton, climbing up on his confounded travelling equipage, "let's get on. " With some difficulty I made a half-seat on the corner ofmy own trunk; Picton shouted out at Boab; the Newfoundland sailors who hadbrought us ashore, put their shoulders to the wheels, and away we went, waving our hats in answer to the hearty cheers of the sailors. It was downhill from McAlpin's to the first bridge, and so far we had nothing to carefor, except to keep a look-out we were not shaken off our high perch. Butat the foot of the first hill Boab stopped! In vain Picton shouted at himto get on; in vain he shook rein and made a feint of getting down from thewagon. Boab was not intractable, but he was sagacious; he had been fed onthat sort of chaff too long. Picton and I were obliged to humor hisprejudices, and dismount in the mud, and after one or two feeble attemptsat a ride, gave it up, walked down hill and up, lifted the wagon by inchesover Sebastopol, and finally arrived at McGibbet's, wet, tired, andhungry. That Sabbath-broker received us with a grim smile of satisfaction, put on the half-extinguished fire the smallest bit of wood he could findin the pile beside the hearth, and then went away with Boab to the stable. "Gloomy prospects ahead, Picton!" The traveller said never a word. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, then, " said Picton, "look sharp, will you?" and our host, withgreat swiftness, moved off to the wagon, and very soon returned with thetrunk on his shoulder, according to directions. 

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

"I've got one, " said the saint. 

"I thought it was likely, " quoth Picton, drily; "look sharp, will you?"

And Robbut did look sharp, and produced the identical instrument beforePicton and I had exchanged smiles. Then Robbut spread out three greentumblers on the table, and following Picton's lead, poured out a stouthalf-glass, at which I shouted out, "Hold up!" for I thought he wasfilling the tumbler for my benefit. It proved to be a mistake; Robbutstopped for a moment, but instantly recovering himself, covered thetumbler with his four fingers, and, to use a Western phrase, "got outsideof the contents quicker than lightning. " Then he brought from his bed-rooma coarse sort of worsted horse-blanket, and with a "Ye'll may-be like tosleep an hour or twa?" threw down his family-quilt and retired to the armsof Mrs. McG. Picton gave a great crunching blow with his boot-heel at theback-stick, and laid on a good supply of fuel. We were wet through andthrough, but we wrapped ourselves in our travelling-blankets like a braceof clansmen in their plaids, put our feet towards the niggardly blaze, andwere soon bound and clasped with sleep. 

At two o'clock our host roused us from our hard bed, and after a stretch, to get the stiffness out of joints and muscles, we took leave of thePresbyterian quarters. The day was just dawning: at this early hour, lakeand hill-side, tree and thicket, were barely visible in the grey twilight. The wagon, with its pyramid of luggage, moved off in the rain, McGibbetwalking beside Boab, and Picton and I following after, with all thegravity of chief mourners at a funeral. To give some idea of the road wewere upon, let it be understood, it had once been an old _French_ militaryroad, which, after the destruction of the fortress of Louisburgh, had beenabandoned to the British Government and the elements. As a consequence, itwas embroidered with the ruts and gullies of a century, the washing ofrains, and the tracks of wagons; howbeit, the only traverse upon it inlater years were the wagon of McGibbet and the saddle-horse of thepost-rider. "Get-Along" had a population of seven hundred ScotchPresbyters, and therefore it will be easy to understand the condition ofits turnpike. 

Up hill and down hill, through slough and over rock, we trudged, for mileafter mile. Sometimes beside Get-Along Lake, with its grey, spectralislands and woodlands; sometimes by rushing brooks and dreary farm-fields;now in paths close set with evergreens; now in more open grounds, skirtedwith hills and dotted with silent, two-penny cottages. Sometimes Pictonmounted his pyramid of trunk-leather for a mile or so of nods; sometimes Iessayed the high perch, and holding on by a cord, dropped off in amoment's forgetfulness, with the constant fear of waking up in a mud-hole, or under the wagon-wheels. But even these respites were brief. It is noteasy to ride up hill and down by rock and rut, under such conditions. Wewere very soon convinced it was best to leave the wagon to its load ofsole-leather, and walk through the mud to Sydney. 

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

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

"All serene?" quoth the traveller, interrogatively. 

"Feel as well as ever I did in my life, " said I, with great satisfaction. 

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

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

I must confess that I had a romantic sort of idea in visiting Sydney; adesire to return by way of the _Bras d'Or_ lake, the "arm of gold, " theinland sea of Cape Breton, that makes the island itself only a border forthe water in its interior. And as the navigation is frequently performedby the Micmac Indians, in their birch-bark canoes, I determined to be a_voyageur_ for the nonce, and engage a couple of Micmacs to paddle mehomewards, at least one day's journey. The wigwams of the tribe werepitched about a mile from the town, and I proposed a visit to their campas an afternoon's amusement. Picton readily assented, and down we went tothe wharf, where the landlady assured us we would find some of the tribe. These Indians, often expert coopers, are employed to barrel up fish; thebusy wharf was covered with laborers, hard at work, heading and hoopingship loads of salt mackerel; and among the workmen were some with theunmistakable lozenge eyes, high cheek-bones, and rhubarb complexion of thenative American. Upon inquiry, we were introduced to one of theRhubarbarians. He was a little fellow, not in leggings andquill-embroidered hunting-shirt, with belt of wampum and buckskinmoccasins; armed with bow and arrow, tomahawk and scalping-knife; such asone would expect to navigate a wild, romantic lake with, in birch-barkcanoe; but a pinched-up specimen of a man, in a seedy black suit, out ofwhich rose a broad, flat face, like the orb of a sun-flower, bearing oneside the aboriginal black eye, and on the other the civilized, surroundedwith the blue and purple halo of battle. We had barely opened our businesswith the Indian, when a bonny Scotchman, a fellow-cooper of salt mackerel, introduced himself:

"Oh, ye visit the Micmacs the day?"

No answer. 

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

The fellow had such an honest face, and the offer was so fair andearnest, that Picton's and my own trifling prejudices were soon overcome, and we directed Malcolm, for that was his name, to bring his boat underthe inn-windows after the dinner-hour. I regret to say that we foundMalcolm tolerably drunk after dinner, with a leaky boat, under theinn-windows. And farther, I am pained to state the national characteristicwas developed in Malcolm drunk, from which there was no appeal to Malcolmsober, for he insisted upon double fare, and time was pressing. To this weassented, after a brief review of former prejudices. We got in the boatand put off. We had barely floated away into the beautiful landscape whena fog swept over us, and Malcolm's nationality again woke up. He wouldhave four times as much as he had charged in the first instance, or "he'dtak us over, and land us on the ither side of the bay. "

Then Picton's nationality woke up, and he unbuttoned his mackintosh. "Now, sir, " said he to Malcolm, as he rose from his seat in the boat, his headgracefully inclined towards his starboard shirt-collar, and his twotolerably large fists arrayed in order of battle within a few brief inchesof the delinquent's features, "did I understand you to say that you hadsome idea of taking this gentleman and myself _to the other side of thebay_?"

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

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

"Yes, " said Picton, nodding at the boy, "and if he don't"----

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

"Then pull away, " said Picton, as he resumed his seat in the stern-sheets. 

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

"Pull away, " said the boy. 

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

"And I tell you, " answered Picton, his fist clenched, his eye flashingagain, and his indignant nostrils expressing a degree of anger languagecould not express; "I tell you, if you do not carry us to the Micmac campwithout further words, I'll pay you your honest earnings before you getthere: I'll punch that Scotch head of yours till it looks like aphotograph!"

CHAPTER IX. 

The Micmac Camp--Indian Church-warden and Broker--Interior of a Wigwam--AMadonna--A Digression--Malcolm discharged--An Indian Bargain--The InnParlor, and a Comfortable Night's Rest. 

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

It was a little cluster of birch-bark wigwams, pitched upon a carpet ofgreensward, just at the edge of one of the loveliest harbors in the world. The fog rolled away like the whiff of vapor from a pipe, and melted out ofsight. Before us were the blue and violet waters, tinged with the hues ofsunset, the rounded, swelling, curving shores opposite, dotted withcottages; the long, sweeping, creamy beaches, the distant shipping, and, beyond, the great waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Nearer at hand were"the murmuring pines and the hemlocks, " the tender green light seen invistas of firs and spruces, the thin smoke curling up from the wigwams, the birch-bark canoes, the black, bright eyes of the children, the sallowfaces of the men, and the pretty squaws, arrayed in blue broad-clothfrocks and leggings, and modesty, and moccasins. 

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

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

It was quite a picture, that of our oarsman, upon this summons to depart. He had just laid his hand upon the shoulder of a fat, good-natured lookingsquaw, to commence the introjewcing; one foot rested on the bottom of anoverturned canoe, in an attitude of command; his old battered tarpaulinhat, his Guernsey shirt, and salt-mackerel trowsers, finely relievedagainst the violet-tinted water; but oh! how chop-fallen were those ruggedfeatures under that old tarpaulin!

The scene had its effect; I am sure Picton and myself would gladly havepaid the quadruple sum on the spot--after all, it was but a trifle--for weboth drew forth a sovereign at the same moment. 

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

"And, " said Malcolm, in an unearthly whine that might have been heard allover the camp, "d' ye get me here to take advantage o' me, and no pay memy honest airnins?"

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

"I canna change a sovereign, I tell ye"----

"Then be off with you, and wait. "

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

Picton drew a little closer to Malcolm, with one fist carefully doubled upand put in ambush behind his back. But the boy interposed--"Perhaps theMicmac chief could change the sovereign. "

"Oh! ay, " quoth Malcolm, who had given an uneasy look at Picton as hestepped towards him; "Oh! ay; I'se tak ye tull 'im;" and without furtherado he stepped off briskly towards the centre of the camp, and we followedin his wake. When our file-leader reached the wigwam of the chief, hewent down on hands and knees, lifted up a little curtain or blanket infront of the low door of the tent, crawled in head first, and we followedclose upon his heels. 

As soon as the eye became accustomed to the dim and uncertain light of theinterior, we began to examine the curious and simple architecture of thishuman bee-hive. A circle of poles, say about ten feet in diameter at thebase, and tied together to an apex at the top, covered with the thin barkof the birch-tree, except a space above to let out the smoke, was all theprotection these people had against the elements in summer or winter. Thefloor, of course, was the primitive soil of Cape Breton; in the centre ofthe tent a few sticks were smouldering away over a little pile of ashes:the thin smoke lifted itself up in folds of blue vapor until it stoleforth into the evening air from the opening in the roof. Through thisaperture the light--the only light of the tent--fell down upon the groupbelow: the old chief with his great silver cross, and medal, andsnow-white hair; the young and beautiful squaw with her pappoose at thebreast, like a Madonna by Murillo; Malcolm's battered tarpaulin andGuernsey shirt; and the two unpicturesque objects of the party--Picton andmyself. Around the central fire a broad, green border of fragrant hemlocktwigs, extending to the skirts of the tent, was raised a few inches fromthe ground. Upon this couch we sat, and opened our business with the agedsagamore. 

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

No change for a sovereign!

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

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

As we walked through the Micmac camp we met our semi-civilized friend withthe lozenge eyes, and I made a contract with him for a brief voyage on leBras d'Or. But alas! Indian will sometimes take a lesson from his whitecomrades! Micmac's charge at first was one pound for a trip of twenty-fourmiles on the "Arm of Gold;" cheap enough. But before we left the camp itwas two pounds. That I agreed to pay. Then there was a portage of threemiles, over which the canoe had to be carried. "Well?" "And it would taketwo men to paddle. " "Well?" "And then the canoe had to be paddled back. ""Well?" "And then carried over the portage again. " "Well?" "And so itwould be four pounds!" Here the negotiations were broken off; how muchmore it would cost I did not ascertain. The rate of progression was toorapid for further inquiry. 

So we walked home again amid the fragrant resinous trees, until we gainedthe high road, and so by pretty cottages, and lawns, and picket fences;sometimes meeting groups of wandering damsels with their young and happylovers; sometimes twos and threes of horse-women, in habits, hats, andfeathers; now catching a glimpse of the broad, blue harbor; now lookingdown a green lane, bordered with turf and copse; until we reached ourcomfortable quarters at Mrs. Hearn's, where the pretty chambermaid, withdrooping eyes, welcomed us in a voice whose music was sweeter than thetea-bell she held in her hand. And here, too, we found Malcolm, waitingfor his pay, partially sober and quiet as a lamb. 

I trust the reader will not find fault with the writer for dwelling uponthese minute particulars. In this itinerary of the trip to the Acadianland, I have endeavored to portray, as faithfully as may be, the salientfeatures of the country, and particularly those contrasts visible in thesettlements; the jealous preservation of those dear, old, splendidprejudices, that separate tribe from tribe, clan from clan, sect fromsect, race from race. I wish the reader to see and know the country as itis, not for the purpose of arousing his prejudices against a neighboringpeople, but rather with the intent of showing to what result theseprejudices tend, in order that he may correct his own. A mere aggregationof tribes is not a great people. Take the human species in a state ofsectionalism, and it does not make much difference whether it is in theshape of the Indian, proud of the blue and red stripes on his face, or theScotchman, proud of the blue and red stripes on his plaid, the inferiorityof the human animal, with his tribal sheep-mark on him, is evident enoughto any person of enlarged understanding. Therefore I have been minute andfaithful in describing the species McGibbet and Malcolm, and incontrasting them with the hardy fisherman of Louisburgh, the Micmacs ofSydney, the negroes of Deer's Castle, the Acadians of Chizzetcook, and aswe shall see anon with other sectional specimens, just as they presenttheir kaleidoscopic hues in the local settlements of this colony. 

It is just a year since I was seated in that cosy inn-parlor at Sydney, andhow strangely it all comes back again: the little window overlooking theharbor, the lights on the twinkling waters; the old-fashioned house-clockin the corner of the room; the bright brass andirons; the cut paperchimney-apron; the old sofa; the cheerful lamp, and the well-polishedtable. And I remember, too, the happy, tranquil feeling of lying in thesnow-white sheets at night, and talking with Picton of our overland journeyfrom Louisburgh; of McGibbet and Malcolm; and then we branched out on thegreat subject of Indian rights, and Indian wrongs; of squaws and pappooses;of wigwams and canoes, until at last I dropped off in a doze, and heardonly a repetition of Micmac--Micmac--Micmac--Mic--Mac----Mic------Mac! Tothis day I am unable to say whether the sound I heard came from Picton, orthe great house-clock in the corner. 

CHAPTER X. 

Over the Bay--A Gigantic Dumb Waiter--Erebus--Reflections--White and BlackSquares of the Chess-board--Leave-taking--An Interruption--The AibstractPreencipels of Feenance. 

Bright and early next morning we arose for an expedition across the bay toNorth Sydney and the coal-mines. A fresh breakfast in a sunny room, abrisk walk to the breezy, grass-grown parapet, that defends the harbor; athought of the first expedition to lay down the telegraph line between theold and new hemispheres, for here lie the coils of the sub-marine cable, as they were left after the stormy essay of the steamer "James Adger, " ayear before--what a theme for a poet!

 "Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some spark, now dormant, of electric fire: News, that the board of brokers might have swayed, Or broke the banks that trembled with the wire. "

--and we take an airy seat on the poop-deck of the little English steamer, and are wafted across the harbor, five miles, to a small sea-port, wherecoal-schutes and railways run out over the wharfs, and coasters, bothfore-and-aft, and square-rigged, are gathered in profusion. A glass ofEnglish ale at a right salt-sea tavern, a bay horse, and two-wheeled"jumper" for the road, and away we roll towards the mines. Now up hill anddown; now passing another Micmac camp on the green margin of the beach;now by trim gardens without flowers; now getting nearer to the mines, which we know by the increasing blackness of the road; until at last webowl past rows of one story dingy tenements of brick, with miners' wivesand children clustered about them like funereal flowers; until we see theforges and jets of steam, and davits uplifted in the air; and hear therattle of the iron trucks and the rush of the coal as it runs through theschutes into the rail-cars on the road beneath. We tie our pony beside acinder-heap, and mount a ladder to the level of the huge platform abovethe shaft. A constant supply of small hand-cars come up with demoniacgroans and shrieks from the bowels of the earth through the shaft. Theseare instantly seized by the laborers and run over an iron floor to theschute, where they are caught in titantic trammels, and overturned intoharsh thunder. Meanwhile the demon car-bringer has sunk again on itserrand; the suspending rope wheeling down with dizzy swiftness. As onecar-bearer descends, another rises to the surface with its twinwheel-vessels of coal. 

"Would you like to go down?"

"How far down?"

"Sixty fathoms. "

Three hundred and sixty feet! Think of being suspended by a thread, from aheight twice that of Trinity's spire, and whirled into such a depth bysteam! We crawled into the little iron box, just large enough to allow usto sit up with our heads against the top, both ends of our parachute beingopen; the operator presses down a bar, and instantly the earth and skydisappear, and we are wrapt in utter darkness. Oh? how sickening is thissinking feeling! Down--down--down! What a gigantic dumb-waiter! Down, down, a hot gust of vapor--a stifling sensation--a concussion upon theiron floor at the foot of the shaft; a multitude of twinkling lamps, offiends, of grimy faces, and no bodies--and we are in a coal-mine. 

There was a black, bituminous seat for visitors, sculptured out of thecoal, just beyond the shaft, and to this we were led by the carboniferousfiends. My heart beat violently. I do not know how it went with Picton, but we were both silent. Oh! for a glimpse of the blue sky and wavingtrees above us, and a long breath of fresh air!

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

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

 ----"lately died, Gone to a _blacker pit_, for whom Grimy nakedness, dragging his trucks And laying his trams, _in a poisoned gloom_ Wrought, till he crept from a gutted mine Master of half a servile shire, And left his coal all turned into gold To a grandson, first of his noble line. "

Intermingled with these sounds were others, the jar and clash of gateways, the dripping and splashing of water, the rolling thunder of the ascendingand descending iron parachutes in the shaft, the trampling of horses, thedistant report of powder-blasts, and the shrill jargon of human speakers, near, yet only partially visible. 

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

Just think of it! We had only been divorced from the aërial blue of a Junesky a minute before. Our very horse was so high above us that we couldhave distinguished him only by the aid of a telescope--that is, if thesolid ribs of the globe were not between us and him. 

As soon as we became accustomed to the place, we moved off after theforeman of the mine. We walked through the miry tram-ways under the low, black arches, now stepping aside to let an invisible horse and car, "grating harsh thunder, " pass us in the murky darkness; now through adoor-way, momently closed to keep the foul and clear airs separate, untilwe came to the great furnace of the mine that draws off all the noxiousvapors from this nest of Beelzebub. Then we went to the stables wherecountless horses are stalled--horses that never see the light of dayagain, or if they do, are struck blind by the apparition; now in widergalleries, and new explorations, where we behold the busy miners, twinkling like the distant lights of a city, and hear the thunder-burst, as the blast explodes in the murky chasms. At last, tired, oppressed, andsickened with the vast and horrible prison, for such it seems, we retraceour steps, and once more enter the iron parachute. A touch of the magiclever, and again we fly away; but now upwards, upwards to the gloriousblue sky and air of mother earth. A miner with his lamp accompanies us. Byits dim light we see how rapidly we spin through the shaft. Our carclashes again at the top, and as we step forth into the clear sunshine, wethank GOD for such a bright and beautiful world up stairs!

"Do you know, " said I, "Picton, what we would do if we had such a devil'spit as that in the States?"

"Well?" answered the traveller, interrogatively. 

"We would make niggers work it. "

"I dare say, " replied Picton, drily and satirically; "but, sir, I am proudto say that our government does not tolerate barbarity; to consign aninoffensive fellow-creature to such horrible labor, merely because he isblack, is at variance with the well-known humanity of the whole Britishnation, sir. "

"But those miners, Picton, were black as the devil himself. "

"The miners, " replied Picton, with impressive gravity, "are black, but notnegroes. "

"Nothing but mere white people, Picton?"

"Eh?" said the traveller. 

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

"Why not?"

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

"I tell you what it is, " said Picton, "you are getting personal. "

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

 "To me there's something touching, I confess, In the grave look of early thoughtfulness, Seen often in some little childish face, Among the poor;"--

But these children's faces are not such. A child's face--God bless it!should always have a little sunshine in its glance; but these are merestaring faces, without expression, that make you shudder and feel sad. Miners by birth; human moles fitted to burrow in darkness for a life-time. Is it worth living for? No wonder those swart laborers underground are sogrim and taciturn: no wonder there was not a face lighted up by thosesmoky lamps in the pit, that had one line of human sympathy left in itsrigidly engraved features!

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

As Picton's steamer (probably fog-bound) had not yet arrived in Sydney, nor yet indeed the "Balaklava, " the traveller determined to take aNewfoundland brigantine for St. John's, from which port there are vesselsto all parts of the world. After leaving horse and jumper with theinn-keeper, we took a small boat to one of the many queer looking, high-pooped crafts in the harbor, and very soon found ourselves in a tinycabin, panelled with maple, in which the captain and some of the men werebusy over a pan of savory _lobscouse_, a salt-sea dish of greatreputation and flavor. Picton soon made his agreement with the captain fora four days' sail (or more) across to the neighboring province, and hisluggage was to be on board the next morning. Once more we sailed over thebay of Sydney, and regained the pleasant shelter of our inn. 

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

The traveller replied by a hearty, earnest grasp of the hand; and then, after this formal leave-taking, we became suddenly estranged, as it were, sad, and silent, and shy; the familiar tone of conversation lost itskey-note; Picton looked out of the inn window at the luminous moon-fog onthe bay, and I buried my reflections in an antiquated pamphlet of"Household Words. " We were soon interrupted by a stranger coming into theparlor, a chance visitor, another dry, preceese specimen of the land ofoat-cakes. 

After the usual salutations, the conversation floated easily on, uponindifferent topics, until Picton happened to allude, casually, to thegeneral banking system of England. This was enough for a text. Our visitorimmediately launched forth upon the subject, and gaed us a twa-hoursdiscourse on the system of banking in Scotland; wherein the superiority ofthe method adopted by his countrymen, to wring the last drop of interestout a shilling, was pertinaciously and dogmatically argued, upon the greatgroundwork of "the general and aibstract preencepels of feenance!"

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

But thus it is always, when you come in contact with people of "aibstractpreencepels. " All sweet and tender impulses, all generous and noblesuggestions, all light and shade, all warmth and color, must give place tothese dry husks of reason. 

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

CHAPTER XI. 

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

The road that skirts the Arm of Gold is about one hundred miles in length. After leaving Sydney, you ride beside the Spanish River a short distance, until you come to the portage, which separates it from the lake, and thenyou follow the delicious curve of the great beach until you arrive at St. Peter's. From St. Peter's you travel across a narrow strip of land untilyou reach the shore upon the extreme westerly end of the island of CapeBreton, where you cross the Strait of Canseau, and then you are upon themainland of Nova Scotia. I had fondly hoped to voyage upon the Bras d'Or, instead of beside it; but was obliged to forego that pleasure. Romance, atone dollar per mile, is a dear piece of extravagance, even in so ethereala vehicle as a birch-bark canoe. Therefore I engaged a seat in the CapeBreton stage, instead of the aboriginal conveyance, in which you have tosit or lie in the bottom, at the risk of an upset, and trust to fairweather and the dip of the paddle. 

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

The traveller stretched out a hand from the warm nest in which he wasburied. 

"Good bye, " he said, with a hearty hand-shake, and so we parted. 

It was painful to leave such an agreeable companion, but then what arelief it was to escape from the cannie Scots! The first inhalation of thefoggy air went tingling through every vein; the first movement of thestage, as we rolled westward, was indescribable happiness; I was at lasthomeward bound; in full health, in full strength; swift upon my sight camethe vision of the one familiar river; the cottage and the chestnuts; therolling greensward, and the Palisades; and there, too, was my _best_friend; and there--

 "My young barbarians all at play. "

Drive on, John Ormond!

Our Cape Breton stage is an easy, two-seated vehicle; a quiet, littlerockaway-wagon, with a top; and although H. B. M. Royal Mail Coach, entirely different from the huge musk-melon upon wheels with which we arefamiliar in the States. In it I am the only passenger. Thank Heaven forthat! I might be riding beside an aibstract preencepel. 

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

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

If I had formed some romantic ideas concerning the new and strange peoplewe found on the road we were now travelling, the Highlandmen, the Rob Roysand Vich Ian Vohrs of Nova Scotia, those ideas were soon dissipated. It istrue here were the Celts in their wild settlements, but without bagpipesor pistols, sporrans or philabegs; there was not even a solitary thistleto charm the eye; and as for oats, there were at least two Scotchmen toone oat in this garden of exotics. I have a reasonable amount of respectfor a Highlandman in full costume; but for a carrot-headed, freckled, high-cheeked animal, in a round hat and breeches, that cannot utter a wordof English, I have no sympathy. One fellow of this complexion, without ahat, trotted beside our coach for several miles, grunting forth hisinfernal Gaelic to John Ormond, with a hah! to every answer of the driver, that was really painful. When he disappeared in the woods his red headwent out like a torch. But we had scarcely gone by the first Highlandman, when another darted out upon us from a by-path, and again broke thesabbath of the woods and waters; and then another followed, so that themorning ride by the Bras d'Or was fringed with Gaelic. Now I have heardmany languages in my time, and know how to appreciate the luxurious Greek, the stately Latin, the mellifluous Chinese, the epithetical Sclavic, thesoft Italian, the rich Castilian, the sprightly French, sonorous German, and good old English, but candor compels me to say, that I do not thinkmuch of the Gaelic. It is not pleasing to the ear. 

Yet it was a stately ride, that by the Bras d'Or; in one's own coach, asit were, traversing such old historic ground. For the very name, and itsassociations, carry one back to the earliest discoveries in America, carryone back behind Plymouth Rock to the earlier French adventurers in thishemisphere; yea, almost to the times of Richard Crookback; for on theneighboring shores, as the English claim, Cabot first landed, and namedthe place _Prima Vista_, in the days of Henry the Seventh, the "Richmond"of history and tragedy. 

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

"'Deed does it, " answered John. 

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

Well, well, ancient or modern, there is not a lovelier ride bywhite-pebbled beach and wide stretch of wave. Now we roll along amidstprimeval trees, not the evergreens of the sea-coast, but familiar growthsof maple, beech, birch; and larches, juniper or hackmatack--imperishablefor ship craft. Now we cross bridges, over sparkling brooks, alive withtrout and salmon, and most surprising of all, pregnant with _water-power_. "Surprising, " because no motive-power can be presented to the eye of acitizen of the young republic without the corresponding thought of "Whynot use it?" And why not, when Bras d'Or is so near, or the sea-coasteither, and land at forty cents an acre, and trees as closely set, and aslofty, as ever nature planted them? Of a certainty, there would be athousand saw-mills screaming between this and Canseau if a drop of Yankeeblood had ever fertilized this soil. 

Well, well, perhaps it is well. But yet to ride through a hundred miles ofdenationalized, high-cheeked, red, or black-headed Highlandmen, withillustrious names, in breeches and round hats, without pistols orfeathers, is a sorry sight. Not one of these McGregors can earn more thanfive shillings a day, currency, as a laborer. Not a digger upon our canalsbut can do better than that; and with the chance of _rising_. But herethere seems be no such opportunity. The colonial system provides thatevery settler shall have a grant of about one hundred and twenty acres, infee, and free. What then? the Government fosters and protects him. Itsends out annually choice stocks of cattle, at a nominal price; itestablishes a tariff of duties on foreign goods, so low that the revenuederived therefrom is not sufficient to pay the salaries of its officers. What then? The colonist is only a parasite with all these advantages. Heis not an integral part of a nation; a citizen, responsible for hisfranchise. He is but a colonial Micmac, or Scotch-Mac; a meresub-thoughted, irresponsible exotic, in a governmental cold grapery. Bythe great forefinger of Tom Jefferson, I would rather be a citizen of theUnited States than _own_ all the five-shilling Blue Noses between Sydneyand Canseau!

As we roll along up hill and down, a startling flash of sunlight burstsforth from the dewy morning clouds, and touches lake, island, andpromontory, with inexpressible beauty. Stop, John Ormond, or drive slowly;let us enjoy _dolce far niente_. To hang now in our curricle upon thiswooded hill-top, overlooking the clear surface of the lake, with leafyisland, and peninsula dotted in its depths, in all its native grace, without a touch or trace of hand-work, far or near, save and except asingle spot of sail in the far-off, is holy and sublime. 

And there we rested, reverentially impressed with the week-day sabbath. Welingered long and lovingly upon our woody promontory, our eyrie among thespruces of Cape Breton. 

 "Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. "

Down hill go horses and mail-coach, and we are lost in a vast avenue oftwinkling birches. For miles we ride within breast-high hedges of sunnyshrubs, until we reach another promontory, where Bras d'Or again breaksforth, with bay, island, white beach, peninsula, and sparkling cove. Andbefore us, bowered in trees, lies Chapel Island, the Micmac Mecca, withits Catholic Church and consecrated ground. Here at certain seasons thered men come to worship the white CHRIST. Here the western descendants ofIshmael pitch their bark tents, and swing their barbaric censers beforethe Asiatic-born REDEEMER. "They that dwell in the wilderness shall bowbefore HIM. " That gathering must be a touching sermon to the heart offaith!

But we roll onwards, and now are again on the clearings, among thelog-cabins of the Highlandmen. Although every settler has his governmentalfarm, yet nearly the whole of it is still in forest-land. A log hut andcleared-acre lot, with Flora McIvor's grubbing, hoeing, or chopping, whiletheir idle lords and masters trot beside the mail-coach to hear the news, are the only results of the home patronage. At last we come to a gentledeclivity, a bridge lies below us, a wider brook; we cross over to find acosy inn and a rosy landlord on the other side; and John Ormond lays downthe ribbons, after a sixty-mile drive, to say: "This is St. Peter's. "

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

Here we change--driver, stage, and horses. Still no other passenger. Thenew whip is a Yankee from the State of Maine; a tall, black-eyed, taciturnfellow, with gold rings in his ears. Now we pass the narrow strip of landthat divides Bras d'Or from the ocean. It is only three-quarters of a milewide between water and water, and look at Enterprise digging out a canal!By the bronze statue of De Witt Clinton, if there are not three of thefive-shilling Rob Roys at work, with two shovels, a horse, and one cart!

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

And, indeed, Canseau can have my feeble testimony in confirmation. It is agrand marine highway, having steep hills on the Cape Breton Island side, and lofty mountains on the other shore; a full, broad, mile-wide spacebetween them; and reaching from end to end, fifteen miles, from theAtlantic to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. As I took leave of Ear-rings, atPlaister Cove, and wrapped myself up in my cloak in the stern-sheets ofthe row-boat to cross the strait, the full Acadian moon, larger than anyUnited States moon, rose out of her sea-fog, and touched mountain, height, and billow, with effulgence. It was a scene of Miltonic grandeur. Afterthe ruined walls of Louisburgh, and the dark caverns of Sydney, comesCanseau, with its startling splendors! Truly this is a wonderful country. 

Another night in a clean Nova-Scotian inn on the mountain-side, a deepsleep, and balmy awakening in the clear air. Yet some exceptions must betaken to the early sun in this latitude. To get up at two o'clock or four;to ride thirty or forty miles to breakfast, with a convalescent appetite, is painful. But yet, "to him, who in the love of Nature holds communionwith her visible forms, she speaks a various language. " Admiration andconvalescent hunger make a very good team in this beautiful country. Youlook out upon the unfathomable Gulf of St. Lawrence, and feel as if youwere an unfathomable gulf yourself. You ride through lofty woods, with atantalizing profusion of living edibles in your path; at every moment acock-rabbit is saying his prayers before the horses; at every bosk andbole a squirrel stares at you with unwinking eyes, and Robin Yellow-billhops, runs, and flies before the coach within reach of the driver's whip, _sans peur_! And this too is the land of moose and cariboo: here thehunters, on snow-shoes, track the huge animals in the season; and mooseand cariboo, in the Halifax markets, are cheaper than beef with us. And tothink this place is only a four days' journey from the metropolis, in thelanguid winter! By the ashes of Nimrod, I will launch myself on a pair ofsnow-shoes, and shoot a moose in the snow before I am twelve monthsolder, as sure as these ponies carry us to breakfast!

"How far are we from breakfast, driver?"

"Twenty miles, " quoth Jehu. 

Now I had been anxious to get a sight of our ponies, for the sake ofestimating their speed and endurance; but at this time they were not insight. For the coach we (three passengers) were in, was built like anomnibus-sleigh on wheels, with a high seat and "dasher" in front, so thatwe could not see what it was that drew our ark, and therefore I climbed upin the driver's perch to overlook our motors. There were four of them;little, shaggy, black ponies, with bunchy manes and fetlocks, not muchlarger than Newfoundland dogs. Yet they swept us along the road as rapidlyas if they were full-sized horses, up hill and down, without visible signsof fatigue. And now we passed through another French settlement, "Tracadie, " and again the Norman kirtle and petticoat of the pastoral, black-eyed Evangelines hove in sight, and passed like a day-dream. Andhere we are in an English settlement, where we enjoy a substantialbreakfast, and then again ride through the primeval woods, with anoccasional glimpse of the broad Gulf and its mountain scenery, until wecome upon a pretty inland village, by name Antigonish. 

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

I must say that the natural prejudices we have against Nova Scotia areill-placed, unjust, and groundless. The country itself is the greatredeeming feature of the province, and a very large portion of it isuninfested by Scotchmen. Take for instance the road we are now travelling. For hours we bowl along a smooth turnpike, in the midst of a deep forest:although scarce a week has elapsed since these gigantic trees wereleafless, yet the foliage has sprung forth as it were with a touch, andnow the canopy of leaves about us, and overhead, is so dense as scarcelyto afford a twinkle of light from the sun. Sometimes we ride by startlingprecipices and winding streams; sometimes overlook an English settlement, with its rolling pasture-lands, bare of trees and rich in verdure. At lastwe approach the precincts of Northumberland Strait, and are cleverlycarried into New Glasgow. It is fast-day, and the shops are closed inSabbath stillness; but on the sign-boards of the village one reads thehistoric names of "Ross" and "Cameron;" and "Graham, " "McGregor" and"McDonald. " What a pleasant thing it must be to live in that village!Here too I saw for the first time in the province a thistle! But it was asilver-plated one, in the blue bonnet of a "pothecary's boy. " A metalliceffigy of the ORIGINAL PLANT, that had bloomed some generations ago innative land. There was poetry in it, however, even on the brow of anincipient apothecary. 

When we had put New Glasgow behind us, we felt relieved, and rode alongthe marshes on the border of the strait that divides the Province fromPrince Edward's Island, so named in honor of his graceless highness theDuke of Kent, Edward, father of our Queen Victoria. Thence we came forthupon higher ground, the coal-mines of Pictou; and here is the great Pictourailway, from the mines to the town, six miles in length. Then by rollinghill and dale down to West River, where John Frazer keeps the Twelve-MileHouse. This inn is clean and commodious; only twelve miles from Pictou;and, reader, I would advise you, as twelve miles is but a short distance, to go to Pictou without stopping at West River. For John Frazer's is ahouse of petty annoyances. From the moment you enter, you feel theinsolence of the surly, snarling landlord, and his no less gifted lady;the same old greed which has no eye except for money; the miserly table, for which you are obliged to pay before hand; the lack of attendance; theabundance of impertinence. Just as you are getting into bed you areperemptorily called to the door to pay for your room, which haply you hadforgotten; if you want your boots brushed the answer is, "Perhaps"--if yourequest them to call you in the morning, for the only stage, they say, "Just as it happens;" (indeed, it was only by accident that thestage-driver discovered he had one more trunk than his complement ofpassengers, and so awoke me just as the coach was on the point ofdeparture;) if you can submit to all this, then, reader, go to Twelve-MileHouse, at West River. 

We left this last outpost of the Scotch settlements with pleasure. Afterall, there is a secret feeling of joy in contrasting one's self with suchwretched, penurious, mis-made specimens of the human animal. And from thistime henceforth I shall learn to prize my own language, and not be carriedaway by any catch-penny Scotch synonyms, such as the _lift_ for the sky, and the _gloamin_ for twilight. And as for _poortith cauld_, and _paukychiel_, I leave them to those who can appreciate them:

 "Farewell, farewell, beggarly Scotland, Cold and beggarly poor countrie; If ever I cross thy border again, The muckle deil maun carry me. "

CHAPTER XII. 

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

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

My companion was shy, but not taciturn; on the contrary, he could talkwell enough after the ice was broken, and long enough, too, for thatmatter. I found that he was a Church of England clergyman by profession, and a Welshman by birth. He was well versed in the earlier history of thecolony--that portion of it which is by far the most interesting--I meanits French or Acadian period. "There are in the traditions and scatteredfragments of history that yet survive in this once unhappy land, " he said, in a peculiarly low and mellifluous voice, "much that deserves to beembalmed in story and in poetry. Your Longfellow has already preserved oneof the most touching of its incidents; but I think I am safe in assertingthat there yet remain the materials of one hundred romances. Take thewhole history of Acadia during the seventeenth century--the almostpatriarchal simplicity of its society, the kindness, the innocence, thevirtues of its people; the universal toleration which prevailed amongthem, in spite of the interference of the home government; look, " saidhe, "at the perfect and abiding faith which existed between them and theIndians! Does the world-renowned story of William Penn alone merit ourencomiums, except that we have forgotten this earlier but not lessbeautiful example? And with the true spirit of Christianity, when theyrefused to take up arms in their own defence, preferring rather to die bytheir faith than shed the blood of other men; to what parallel in historycan we turn, if not to the martyred Hussites, for whom humanity has notyet dried all its tears?"

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

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

"I have read but one book of Hawthorne's, " said he--"'The Scarlet Letter. 'I do not coincide with you; I think that to be a remarkable instance ofthe triumph of genius over difficulties. By the way, " said he, "speakingof authors, what an exquisite poem Tom Moore would have written, had hevisited Chapel Island, which you have seen no doubt? (here he gave alittle nod with the big hat) and what a rich volume would have droppedfrom the arabesque pen of your own Irving (another nod), had he writtenthe life of the Baron de St. Castine, chief of the Abenaquis, as he didthat of Philip of Pokanoket. "

"Do you know the particulars of that history?" said I. 

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

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

 FAINT OUTLINES. 

Baron de St. Castine, chief of the Abenaquis, was a Frenchman, born in thelittle village of Oberon, in the province of Bearn, about the middle ofthe seventeenth century. Three great influences conspired to make himunhappy--first, education, which at that time was held to be a reputablepart of the discipline of the scions of noble families; next, a delicateand impressible mind, and lastly, he was born under the shadow of thePyrenees, and within sight of the Atlantic. He had also served in the warsof Louis XIV. As colonel of the Carrignan, Cavignon, or Corignon regiment;therefore, from his military education, was formed to endure, or to thinklightly of hardships. Although not by profession a Protestant, yet he wasa liberal Catholic. The doctrines of Calvin had been spread throughout theprovince during his youth, and John la Placette, a native of Bearn, wasthen one of the leaders of the free churches of Copenhagen, in Denmark, and of Utrecht, in Holland. 

But, whatever his religious prejudices may have been, they do not intrudethemselves in any part of his career; we know him only as a pureChristian, an upright man, and a faithful friend of humanity. Like manyother Frenchmen of birth and education in those days, the Baron de St. Castine had been attracted by descriptions of newly discovered countriesin the western hemisphere, and fascinated by the ideal life of thechildren of nature. To a mind at once susceptible and heroic, impulsive bytemperament, and disciplined to endure, such promptings have a charm thatis irresistible. As the chronicler relates, he preferred the forests ofAcadia, to the Pyrenian mountains that compassed the place of hisnativity, and taking up his abode with the savages, on the first yearbehaved himself so among them as to draw from them their inexpressibleesteem. He married a woman of the nation, and repudiating their example, did not change his wife, by which he taught his wild neighbors that Goddid not love inconstancy. By this woman, his first and only wife, he hadone son and two daughters, the latter were afterwards married, "veryhandsomely, to Frenchmen, and had good dowries. " Of the son there ispreserved a single touching incident. In person the baron was strikinglyhandsome, a fine form, a well featured face, with a noble expression ofcandor, firmness and benevolence. Possessed of an ample fortune, he usedit to enlarge the comforts of the people of his adoption; these making hima recompense in beaver skins and other rich furs, from which he drew astill larger revenue, to be in turn again devoted to the objects of hisbenevolence. It was said of him, "that he can draw from his coffers two orthree hundred thousand crowns of good dry gold; but all the use he makesof it is to buy presents for his _fellow savages_, who, upon their returnfrom hunting, present him with skins to treble the value. "

Is it then surprising that this man, so wise, so good, so faithful to his_fellow savages_, should, after twenty years, rise to the most eminentstation in that unsophisticated nation? That indeed these simple Indians, who knew no arts except those of peace and war, should have looked up tohim as their tutular god? By the treaty of Breda, the lands from thePenobscots to Nova Scotia had been ceded to France, in exchange for theisland of St. Christopher. Upon these lands the Baron de St. Castine hadpeacefully resided for many years, until a new patent was granted to theDuke of York, the boundaries of which extended beyond the limits of thelands ceded by the treaty. Oh, those patents! those patents! What wrongswere perpetrated by those remorseless instruments; what evil councilsprevailed when they were hatched; what corrupt, what base, what knavishhands formed them; what vile, what ignoble, what ponderous lies hashistory assumed to maintain, or to excuse them, and the acts committedunder them?

The first English aggression after the treaty, was but a trifling one inrespect to immediate effects. A quantity of wine having been landed by aFrench vessel upon the lands covered by the patent, was seized by the Dukeof York's agents. This, upon a proper representation by the Frenchambassador at the court of Charles II. , was restored to the rightfulowners. But thereupon a new boundary line was run, _and the whole ofCastine's plantations included within it_. Immediately after this, theRose frigate, under the command of Captain Andross, sailed up thePenobscot, plundered and destroyed Castine's house and fort, and sailedaway with all his arms and goods. Not only this, intruders from otherquarters invaded the lands of the Indians, took possession of the rivers, and spoiled the fisheries with seines, turned their cattle in to devourthe standing corn of the Abenaquis, and committed other depredations, which, although complained of, were neither inquired into nor redressed. 

Then came reprisals; and first the savages retaliated by killing thecattle of their enemies. Then followed those fearful and bloody campaigns, which, under the name of Church's Indian Wars, disgrace the early annalsof New England. Night surprises, butcheries that spared neither age norsex, prisoners taken and sold abroad into slavery, after the glut ofrevenge was satiated, these to return and bring with them aninextinguishable hatred against the English, and desire of revenge. Anon aconspiracy and the surprisal of Dover, accompanied with all the appallingfeatures of barbaric warfare--Major Waldron being tied down by the Indiansin his own arm-chair, and each one of them drawing a sharp knife acrosshis breast, says with the stroke, "Thus I cross out my account;" these, and other atrocities, on either side, constitute the principal records ofa Christian people, who professed to be only pilgrims and sojourners in astrange land--the victims of persecution in their own. 

Daring all this dark and bloody period, no name is more conspicuous in theannals than that of the Chief of the Abenaquis. Like a frightful ogre, hehovers in the background, deadly and ubiquitous--the terror of thecolonies. It was he who had stirred up the Indians to do the work. Thencome reports of a massacre in some town on the frontier, and with it iscoupled a whisper of "Castine!" a fort has been surprised, he is there!Some of Church's men have fallen in an ambuscade; the baron has plannedit, and furnished the arms and ammunition by which the deed wasconsummated! Superstition invests him with imaginary powers; fanaticismexclaims, 'tis he who had taught the savages to believe that we are thepeople who crucified the Saviour. 

But in spite of all these stories, the wonderful Bernese is not captured, nor indeed seen by any, except that sometimes an English prisoner escapingfrom the enemy, comes to tell of his clemency and tenderness; he has boundup the wounds of these, he has saved the lives of those. At last a smallsettlement of French and Indians is attacked by Church's men at Penobscot, every person there being either killed or taken prisoner; among the lattera daughter of the great baron, with her children, from whom they learnthat her unhappy father, ruined and broken-hearted, had returned toFrance, the victim of persecutors, who, under the name of saints, exhibited a cruelty and rapacity that would have disgraced the reputationof a Philip or an Alva!

"It is a matter of surprise to the historical student, " said the littleman, "that with a people like yours, so conspicuous in many rare examplesof erudition, that the history of Acadia has not merited a closerattention, throwing as it does so strong a reflective light upon yourown. Such a task doubtless does not present many inviting features, especially to those who would preserve, at any sacrifice of truth, theearlier pages of discovery in America, pure, spotless, and unsullied. ButI think this dark, tragic background would set off all the brighter thecharacters of those really good men who flourished in that period, of whomthere were no doubt many, although now obscured by the dull, deadmoonshine of indiscriminate forefathers' flattery. I know very well thatin some regards we might copy the example of a few of the first plantersof New England, but for the rest I believe with Adam Clark, that for thesake of humanity, it were better that such ages should never return. "

"We talk much, " says he, "of ancient manners, their _simplicity andingenuousness_, and say that _the former days were better than these_. Butwho says this who is a judge of the times? In those days of celebratedsimplicity, there were not so _many_ crimes as at present, I grant; butwhat they wanted in _number_, they made up in _degree_; _deceit_, _cruelty_, _rapine_, _murder_, and _wrong_ of almost every kind, thenflourished. _We_ are _refined_ in our vices, they were _gross_ and_barbarous_ in theirs. They had neither so many _ways_ nor so many _means_of sinning; but the _sum_ of their moral turpitude was greater than ours. We have a sort of _decency_ and good _breeding_, which lay a certainrestraint on our passions; they were boorish and beastly, and their badpassions ever in full play. Civilization prevents barbarity and atrocity;mental cultivation induces decency of manners--those primitive times weregenerally without these. Who that knows them would wish such ages toreturn?"[A]

[A] Adam Clark's "Commentary on Book of Kings. " II. Samuel, chap. Iii. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

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

Pleasant Truro! At last we regain the territories of civility andcivilization! Here is the honest little English inn, with its cheerfuldining-room, its clean spread, its abundant dishes, its glass of ripe ale, its pleased alacrity of service. After our long ride from West River, weenjoy the best inn's best room, the ease, the comfort, and the fair aspectof one of the prettiest towns in the province. Truro is situated on thehead waters of the Basin of Minas, or Cobequid Bay, as it is denominatedon the map, between the Shubenacadie and Salmon rivers. Here we are withinfifty miles of the idyllic land, the pastoral meadows of Grand-Pré! But, alas! there is yet a long ride before us; the path from Truro to Grand-Prébeing in the shape of an acute angle, of which Halifax is the apex. Asyet there is no direct road from place to place, but by the shores of theBasin of Minas. Let us look, however, at pleasant Truro. 

One of the striking features of this part of the country is thepeculiarity of the rivers; these are full or empty, with every flux andreflux of the tide; for instance, when we crossed the Salmon, we saw onlya high, broad, muddy ditch, drained to the very bottom. This is owing tothe ocean tides, which, sweeping up the Bay of Fundy, pour into the Basinof Minas, and fill all its tributary streams; then, with prodigalreaction, sweeping forth again, leave only the vacant channels of therivers--if they may be called by that name. This peculiar feature ofhydrography is of course local--limited to this section of theprovince--indeed if it be not to this corner of the world. The countrysurrounding the village is well cultivated, diversified with rolling hilland dale, and although I had not the opportunity of seeing much of it, yetthe mere description of its natural scenery was sufficiently tempting. Here, too, I saw something that reminded me of home--a clump ofcedar-trees! These of course were exotics, brought, not without expense, from the States, planted in the courtyard of a little aristocraticcottage, and protected in winter by warm over-coats of wheat straw. So wego! Here they grub up larches and spruces to plant cedars. 

The mail coach was soon at the door of our inn, and after taking leave ofmy fellow-traveller with the big hat, I engaged a seat on the stage-boxbeside Jeangros, a French Canadian, or Canuck--one of the best whips onthe line. Jeangros is not a great portly fellow, as his name would seem toindicate, but a spare, small man--nevertheless with an air of greatcourage and command. Jeangros touched up the leaders, the mail-coachrattled through the street of the town, and off we trotted from Truro intothe pleasant road that leads to Halifax. 

One thing I observed in the province especially worthy of imitation--theold English practice of turning to the _left_ in driving, instead of tothe _right_, as we do. Let me exhibit the merits of the respective systemsby a brief diagram. By the English system they drive thus:

[Illustration]

The arrows represent the drivers, as well as the directions of thevehicles; of course when two vehicles, coming in opposite directions, pass each other on the road, each driver is nearest the point of contact, and can see readily, and provide against accidents. Now contrast oursystem with the former:

[Illustration]

no wonder we have so many collisions. 

 "The rule of the road is a paradox quite, In driving your carriage along, If you keep to the left, you are sure to go right, If you keep to the right, you go wrong. "

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

When I took leave of my native country for a short sojourn in thisprovince, the great question then before the public was the invasion ofinternational law, by the British minister and a whole solar system ofBritish consuls. I had the pleasure of being a fellow exile on the Canadawith Mr. Crampton, Mr. Barclay, and Mr. ----, Her British Majesty'srepresentatives, and of course felt no little interest to know the fate ofthe _Foreign Legion_. 

Before I left Halifax, I learned some particulars of that famous flock ofjail birds. All that we knew, at home, was that a number of recruits forthe Crimea had been picked up in the streets and alleys of Columbia, andcarried, at an enormous expense, to Halifax, there to be enrolled. Andalso, that as a mere cover to this infraction of the law of Neutrality, the men were engaged as laborers, to work upon the public improvements ofNova Scotia. The sequel of that enterprise remained to be told. A majorityof these recruits were Irishmen--some of them not wanting in the motherwit of the race. So when they were gathered in the great province buildingat Halifax, and Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, in chapeau, feather andsword, came down to review his levies, with great spirit and militarypomp, "Well, my men, " said he, "you are here to enlist, eh, and serve HerMajesty?" To which the spokesman of the Foreign Legion, fullyunderstanding the beauty of his position, replied, with a sly twinkle ofthe eye, "We didn't engage to 'list at all, at all, but to wurruk on therailroad. " Upon which Sir John Gaspard, seeing that Her Majesty had beenimposed upon, politely told the legion to go to----Dante's Inferno. 

Now whether the place to which the Foreign Legion was consigned by SirJohn Gaspard, possessed even less attractions than Halifax, or fromwhatever reason soever, it chanced that the jolly boys, raked from ouralleys and jails, never stirred a foot out of the province; and while thepeace of the whole world was endangered by their abduction, as that ofGreece and Troy had been by the rape of Helen, they were quietly enlistingin less warlike expeditions--in fact, engaging themselves to work uponthat great railroad, of which mention has been made heretofore. 

Now we have seen something of the clannish propensities of the people ofthe colonies, and the contractors knew what sort of material they had todeal with. And, inasmuch as there was a pretty large group offive-shilling Highlandmen, grading, levelling, and filling in one end of asection of the road, the gang of Irishmen was placed at the opposite end, as far from them as possible, which no doubt would have preserved peacefulrelations between the two, but for the fact, that as the work progressedthe hostile forces naturally approached each other. It was towards theclose of a summer evening, that the ground was broken by the gentlemen ofthe shamrock, within sight of the shanties decorated with the honorableorder of the thistle. A lovely evening in the month of June! Not withspumy cannon and prickly bayonets, but with peaceful spade and mattock, advanced the sons of St. Patrick towards the children of a sister isle. Then did Roderick Dhu step forth from his shanty, and inquire, in choiceGaelic, if a person named Brian Borheime was in the ranks of theapproaching forces. Then then did Brian Borheime advance, spade in hand, and with a single spat of his implement level Roderick, as though he hadbeen a piece of turf. Then was Brian flattened out by the spade of VichIan Vohr; and Vich Ian Vohr, by the spade of Captain Rock. Then fellCaptain Rock by the spade of Rob Roy; and Rob Roy smelt the earth underthe spade of Handy Andy. In a word, the fight became general--the bagpipeblew to arms--Celt joined Celt, there was the tug of war; but the sun setupon the lowered standard of the thistle, and victory proclaimed Shamrockthe conqueror. Several of the natives were left for dead upon the field ofbattle, the triumphant Irish ran away, to a man, to avoid theconsequences, and I blush to say it, as I do to record any act ofheartless ingratitude, handbills were speedily posted up by the order ofgovernment, offering a reward of ten pounds apiece for the capture ofcertain members of the Foreign Legion, who had been the ringleaders in theriot, which handbill was not only signed by that seducer of soldiers, SirJohn Gaspard le Marchant, but also ornamented with the horn of the unicornand the claws of the British lion. 

But there is a Nemesis even in Nova Scotia, for this riot producedeffects, unwonted and unlooked for. One of the prominent leaders in theNova Scotia Parliament, a gentleman distinguished both as an orator and asa poet--the Hon. Joseph Howe, who had signalized himself as an advocate ofthe right of Her Majesty to recruit for the Crimea in the streets ofColumbia, and was ready to pit the British Lion against the American Eaglein support of that right, fell by the very legion he had been so zealousto create. The Hon. Joseph Howe, M. P. , by the support of the Irishpopulation, could always command a _popular_ majority and keep his seat inthe house, so long as he maintained his loyalty to this votive class ofcitizens. But, unfortunately, Hon. Joseph Howe, in alluding to the riot, took the Scotch side of the broil. This was sufficient. At the electionfollowing he was a defeated candidate, and politely advised to retire toprivate life. Thus was the Hon. J. H. "hoist by his own petard, " the firstman to fall by this expensive military company. 

An adventure upon the Shubenacadie brought one of these heroes intoprominent relief. After we had parted from pleasant Truro, at every nookand corner of the road, there seemed to be a passenger waiting for theHalifax coach. So that the top of the vehicle was soon filled with dustyfellow-travellers, and Jeangros was getting to be a little impatient. Justas we turned into the densest part of the forest, where the evening sunwas most obscured by the close foliage, we saw two men, one decorated witha pair of handcuffs, and the other armed with a brace of pistols. Thelatter hailed the coach. 

"What d'ye want?" quoth Jeangros, drawing up by the roadside. 

"Government prisoner, " said the man with the pistols. 

"What the ---- is government prisoner to me?" quoth Jeangros. 

"I want to take him to Dartmouth, " said the tall policeman. 

"Then take him there, " said our jolly driver, shaking up the leaders. 

"Hold up, " shouted out the tall policeman, "I will pay his fare. "

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

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

The pair had scarcely crawled up among the luggage upon the stage-top, before there was an outcry from the passengers on the box infront--"Uncock your pistols! uncock your pistols!" for the officer haddropped his fire-arms, cocked and capped, upon the top of our coach, withthe muzzles pointed towards us. And indeed I may affirm here, that I neversaw metallic cylinders with more menacing aspect, than those which layquietly behind us, ready to explode--unconscious instruments as theywere--and carry any of the party into the next world upon the slightestlurch of the stage-coach. 

"Uncock your pistols, " said the passengers. 

But the officer, in the mellifluous dialect of his mother country, repliedthat "He'd be ---- if he would. Me prishner, " said he, "me prishner mightescape; or, the divil knows but there might be a rescue come to him, forthere's a good many of the same hereabouts. "

It struck me that no person upon the top of the stage-coach was soparticularly interested in this dispute as the member of the ForeignLegion, who was on his way either to the gallows or a perpetual prison. Iobserved that he nervously twitched at his handcuffs, perhaps--as Ithought--to prepare for escape in case of an explosion; or else to beready for the rescue; or else to take advantage of his captor, the tallpoliceman--jump from the stage, and run for dear life and liberty. Neverwas I more mistaken. True to his race, and to tradition, Pat was onlystriving to free himself from the leather shackles, in order to fight anyman who was an enemy to his friend the policeman, and the pistols, thatwere cocked to shoot himself. But had not poor Paddy made such blunders inall times? The hubbub increased, a terrific contest was impending; thetravellers below poked their heads out of the windows; there was everyprospect of a catastrophe of some kind, when suddenly Jeangros rose to hisfeet, and said, in a voice clear and sharp through the tumult as anelectric flash through a storm, "_Uncock those pistols, or I will throwyou from the top of the coach!_"

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

It is quite interesting to ride fellow-passenger with a person who hasplayed a part in the national drama, but more villainous face I never saw. Mr. Crampton, with whom I sailed on the Canada, had a much more amiableexpression; indeed I think we should all be obliged to him for ridding usof at least a portion of his fellow-countrymen. 

But now we ride by the Shubenacadie lakes, a chain--a bracelet--bindingthe province from the Basin of Minas to the seaboard. The eye never tiresof this lovely feature of Acadia. Lake above lake--the division, theisthmus between, not wider than the breadth of your India shawl, my lady!I must declare that, all in all, the scenery of the province issurpassingly beautiful. As you ride by these sparkling waters, through theflowery, bowery, woods, you feel as if you like to pitch tent here--atleast for the summer. 

And now we approach a rustic inn by the roadside, rich in shrubbery beforeit, and green moss from ridge-pole to low drooping eaves, where we changehorses. And as we rest here upon the wooden inn-porch, dismounted from ourhigh perch on the stage-coach, we see right above us against the clearevening sky, Her Majesty's _ci-devant_ partisan, now prisoner--by meritraised to that bad eminence. The officer hands him a glass of brandy, tokeep up his spirits. The prisoner takes it, and, lifting the glass high inair, shouts out with the exultation of a fiend:

 "Here's to the hinges of liberty--may they never want oil, Nor an Orangeman's bones in a pot for to boil. "

Once more upon the stage to Dartmouth, where we deposit our preciousfellow-travellers, and then to the ferry, and look you! across the harbor, the twinkling lights of dear old mouldy Halifax. And now we are crossingChebucto, and the cab carries us again to our former quarters in the HotelWaverley. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Halifax again--Hotel Waverley--"Gone the Old Familiar Faces"--The Story ofMarie de la Tour. 

Again in old quarters! It is strange how we become attached to a place, beit what it may, if we only have known it before. The same old room weoccupied years ago, however comfortless then, has a familiar air ofwelcome now. There is surely some little trace of self, some unseenspider-thread of attachment clinging to the walls, the old chair, theforlorn wash-stand, and the knobby four-poster, that holds the hardest ofbeds, the most consumptive of pillows, and a bolster as round, as white, and as hard, as a cathedral mass-candle. Heigho, Hotel Waverley! Here am Iagain; but where are the familiar faces? Where the brave soldier ofInkerman and Balaklava? Where the jolly old Captain of the native rifles?Where the Colonel, with his little meerschaum pipe he was so intent uponcoloring? Where the party of salmon-fishermen, the Solomons ofpiscatology? Where the passengers by the "Canada?" And where is Picton?Gone, like last year's birds!

"A glass of ale, Henry, and one cigar, only _one_; I wish to be solitary. "

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

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

 "Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. "

Of such, many have lived and died, to live again only in fiction; whereastheir own true histories would have been greater than the inventions ofauthors. We read of heroes laden with the "glittering spoils of empire, "but the heroic deeds of woman are oftentimes, all in all, as great, without the glitter; without the pomp and pageantry of triumphalprocessions; without the pealing trumpet of renown. Boadicea, chained tothe car of Suetonius, is the too common memorial of heroic womanity. 

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

 MARIE DE LA TOUR. 

In the year 1621, Sir William Alexander, afterwards Earl of Sterling, [B] aromantic poet, and favorite of King James I. , was presented by thatmonarch with a patent to all the land known as Acadia, in the Americas. Royalty in those days made out its parchment deeds for a province, withouttaking the trouble to search the record office, to see if there were anyprior liens upon the territory. The good old rule obtained thus--

 "That they may take who have the power, And they may keep who can. "

or, to quote the words of another writer--

 "For the time once was here, to all be it known, That all a man sailed by or saw was his own. "

It is due to Sir William Alexander to say that he gave the province theproud name which at present it enjoys, of Nova Scotia, or New Scotland, atitle much more appropriate than that of "Acadia, "[C] which to us meansnothing. 

[B] This William Alexander, Earl of Sterling, was the ancestor ofGeneral Lord Sterling, one of the most distinguished officers in theAmerican Revolution. 

[C] The name "Acadia, " is, no doubt, a primitive word, from the Abenaquitongue--we find it repeated in _Tracadie_, _Shubenacadie_, and elsewherein the province. 

At this time the French Colony was slowly recovering from the effects ofthe Argall expedition, that eight years before had laid waste its fairpossessions. Among a number of emigrants from the Loire and the Seine, twogentlemen of birth and education, La Tour by name, father and son, set outto seek their fortunes in the New World. It must be remembered that in theoriginal patent of Acadia, given by Henry IV. To De Monts, freedom ofreligious opinion was one of the conditions of the grant, and thereforethe fact, that both the La Tours were Huguenots, did not prevent themholding commissions under the French crown, the father having in charge asmall fleet of transports then ready to sail from the harbor of Brest; theson, being the commander of a fort and garrison at Cape Sable, upon thewestern end of Acadia. 

Affairs being in this condition, it chanced that the English and Frenchships set sail for the same port, at about the same time; and it sohappened that Sir William Alexander's fleet running afoul of the elder LaTour's in a fog, not only captured that gallant chieftain but also histransports, munitions of war, stores, artillery, etc. Etc. , and sailedback with the prizes to England. I beg you to observe, my dear reader, that occurrences of this kind were common enough at this period even intimes of peace, and not considered piracy either, the ocean was lookedupon as a mighty chessboard, and the game was won by those who couldcommand the greatest number of pieces. 

Claude de la Tour, not as a prisoner of war, but as an enforced guest ofSir William, was carried to London; and there robbed of his goods, buttreated like a gentleman; introduced at Court, although deprived of hispurse and liberty, and in a word, found himself surrounded with the mosthostile and hospitable conditions possible in life. It is not surprisingthen that with true French philosophy he should have made the best of it;gained the good will of the queen, played off a little _badinage_ with theladies of the court, and forgetting the late Lady de la Tour, asleep inthe old graveyard in the city of Rochelle, essayed to wear his widowerweeds with that union of grace and sentiment for which his countrymen areso celebrated. The consequence was one of her majesty's maids of honorfell in love with him; the queen encouraged the match; the king had justinstituted the new order of Knights Baronet, of Nova Scotia; La Tour, nowin the way of good fortune, was the first to be honored with the noveltitle, and at the same time placed the matrimonial ring upon the finger ofthe love-sick maid of honor. Indeed Charles Etienne de la Tour, commandantof the little fort at Cape Sable, had scarcely lost a father, before hehad gained a step-mother. 

That the French widower should have been so captivated by these marks ofroyal favor as to lose his discretion, in the fullness of his gratitude;and, that after receiving a grant of land from his patron, as a furtherincentive, he should volunteer to assist in bringing Acadia under theBritish Crown, and as a primary step, undertake to reduce the Fort at CapeSable; I say, that when I state this, nobody will be surprised, except achosen few, who cherish some old-fashioned notions, in these days moreromantic than real. "Two ships of war being placed under his command, " heset sail, with his guns and a Step-mother, to attack the Fort at CapeSable. The latter was but poorly garrisoned; but then it contained aDaughter-in-law! Under such circumstances, it was plain to be seen thatthe contest would be continued to the last ounce of powder. 

Opening the trenches before the French fort, and parading his Scotchtroops in the eyes of his son, the elder La Tour attempted to capture thegarrison by argument. In vain he "boasted of the reception he had met within England, of his interest at court, and the honor of knighthood whichhad been conferred upon him. " In vain he represented "the advantages thatwould result from submission, " the benefits of British patronage; andparaded before the eyes of the young commander the parchment grant, theseal, the royal autograph, and the glittering title of Knight Baronet, which had inspired his perfidy. His son, shocked and indignant, declinedthe proffered honors and emoluments that were only to be gained by an actof treason; and intimated his intention "to defend the Fort with his life, sooner than deliver it up to the enemies of his country. " The father usedthe most earnest entreaties, the most touching and parental arguments. Charles Etienne was proof against these. The Baronet alluded to the largeforce under his command, and deplored the necessity of making an assault, in case his propositions were rejected. Charles Etienne only doubled hissentinels, and stood more firmly intrenched upon his honor. Then the elderLa Tour ordered an assault. For two days the storm continued; sometimesthe Mother-in-law led the Scotch soldiers to the breach, but the Frenchsoldiers, under the Daughter-in-law, drove them back with such bitterfury, that of the assailants it was hard to say which numbered most, theliving or the dead. At last, La Tour the elder abandoned the siege; and"ashamed to appear in England, afraid to appear in France, " accepted thehumiliating alternative of requesting an asylum from his son. Permissionto reside in the neighborhood was granted by Charles Etienne. The Scotchtroops were reëmbarked for England; and the younger and the elder Mrs. Dela Tour smiled at each other grimly from the plain and from the parapet. Further than this there was no intercourse between the families. WheneverMarie de la Tour sent the baby to grandmother, it went with a troop ofcavalry and a flag of truce; and whenever Lady de la Tour left her card atthe gate, the drums beat, and the guard turned out with fixed bayonets. 

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

At this time the French Governor of Acadia, Razillia, died. CharlesEtienne la Tour as a subordinate officer, had full command of the easternpart of the province, as the Chevalier d'Aulney de Charnisé, had of thewestern portion, extending as far as the Penobscot. As for the Sterlingpatent, Sir William, finding it of little value, had sold it to the elderLa Tour, but the defeated adventurer of Cape Sable by the treaty of St. Germains in 1632, was stripped of his new possessions by King Charles I. , who conveyed the whole of the territory again to Louis XIII. Of France. Thus it will be seen, that two claimants only were in possession ofAcadia; namely, the younger La Tour and D'Aulney. The elder La Tour nowretires from the scene, goes to England with his wife, and is heard of nomore. 

Between the rival commanders in Acadia, there were certain points ofresemblance--both were youthful, both were brave, enterprising andambitious, both the happy husbands of proud and beautiful wives. OtherwiseLa Tour was a Huguenot and D'Aulney a Catholic--thus it will be seen thatthe latter had the most favor at the French court, while the former couldmore securely count upon the friendship of the English of MassachusettsBay--no inconsiderable allies as affairs then stood. Under suchcircumstances, it is not to be wondered at that there was a constant feudbetween the two young officers, and their young wives. The chronicles ofthe Pilgrims, the records of Bradford, Winthrop, Mather, and Hutchinson, are full of the exploits of these pugnacious heroes. At one time La Tourappears in person at Boston, to beat up recruits, as more than two hundredyears after, another power attempted to raise a foreign legion, and, although the pilgrim fathers do not officially sanction the proceeding, yet they connive at it, and quote Scripture to warrant them. Close uponthis follows a protest of D'Aulney, and with it the exhibition of awarrant from the French king for the arrest of La Tour. Upon this thereis a meeting of the council and a treaty, offensive and defensive, madewith D'Aulney. 

Meanwhile, Marie de la Tour arrived at Boston from England, where she hadbeen on a visit to her mother-in-law. The captain of the vessel upon whichshe had reëmbarked for the new world, having carried her to this cityinstead of to the river St. John, according to the letter of the charter, was promptly served with a summons by that lady to appear before themagistrates to show cause why he did it; and the consequence was, madamerecovered damages to the amount of two thousand pounds in the Marine Courtof the Modern Athens. With this sum in her pocket, she chartered a vesselfor the river St. John, and arrived at a small fort belonging to herhusband, on its banks, just in time to defend it against D'Aulney, who hadrallied his forces for an attack upon it, during the absence of CharlesEtienne. 

Marie de la Tour at this time was one of the most beautiful women in thenew world. She was not less than twenty, nor more than thirty years ofage; her features had a charm beyond the limits of the regular; her eyeswere expressive; her mouth intellectual; her complexion brown and clear, could pale or flush with emotions either tender or indignant. Before sucha commandress D'Aulney de Charnisé set down his forces in the year 1644. 

The garrison was small--the brave Charles Etienne absent in a distant partof the province. But the unconquerable spirit of the woman prevailed overthese disadvantages. At the first attack by D'Aulney, the guns of the fortwere directed with such consummate skill that every shot told. Thebesieger, with twenty killed and thirteen wounded, was only too happy towarp his frigate out of the leach of this lovely lady's artillery, andretire to Penobscot to refit for further operations. Again D'Aulney sailedup the St. John, with the intention of taking the place by assault. Byland as by water, his forces were repulsed with great slaughter. A host ofCatholic soldiers fell before a handful of Protestant guns, which was notsurprising, as the cannon were well pointed, and loaded with grape andcanister. For three days the French officer carried on the attack, andthen again retreated. On the fourth day a Swiss hireling deserted to theenemy and betrayed the weakness of the garrison. D'Aulney, now confidentof success, determined to take the fort by storm; but as he mounted thewall, the lovely La Tour, at the head of her little garrison, met thebesiegers with such determined bravery, that again they were repulsed. That evening D'Aulney hung the traitorous Swiss, and proposed honorableterms, if the brave commandress would surrender. To these terms Marieassented, in the vain hope of saving the lives of the brave men who hadsurvived; the remnants of her little garrison. But the perfidiousD'Aulney, who, from the vigorous defence of the fort, had supposed thenumber of soldiers to have been greater, instead of feeling thatadmiration which brave men always experience when acts of valor arepresented by an enemy, lost himself in an abyss of chagrin, to find he hadbeen thrice defeated by a garrison so contemptible in numbers, and led bya _female_. To his eternal infamy let it be recorded, that pretending tohave been deceived by the terms of capitulation, D'Aulney hanged the bravesurvivors of the garrison, and even had the baseness and cruelty to paradeMadame de la Tour herself on the same scaffold, with the ignominious cordaround her neck, as a reprieved criminal. 

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

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

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

CHAPTER XV. 

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

The harbor of Chebucto, after stretching inland far enough to make acommodious and beautiful site for the great city of Halifax, true to thefine artistic taste peculiar to all bodies of water in the province, penetrates still further in the landscape, and broadens out into a superbland-locked lake, called Bedford Basin. The entrance to this basin is verynarrow, and it has no other outlet. Oral tradition maintains that about acentury ago a certain French fleet, lying in the harbor, surprised by theapproach of a superior body of English men-of-war in the offing, weighedanchor and sailed up through this narrow estuary into the basin itself, deceived by seeing so much water there, and believing it to be but a twinharbor through which they could escape again to the open sea. And further, that the French Admiral finding himself caught in this net with no chanceof escape, drew his sword, and placing the hilt upon the deck of hisvessel, fell upon the point of the weapon, and so died. 

This tradition is based partly upon fact; its epoch is one of the mostinteresting in the history of this province, and probably the turningpoint in the affairs of the whole northern continent. The suicide was anofficer high in rank, the Duke d'Anville, who in 1746, after the firstcapture of Louisburgh, sailed from Brest with the most formidable fleetthat had ever crossed the Atlantic, to re-take this famous fortress; thento re-take Annapolis, next to destroy Boston, and finally to _visit_ theWest Indies. But his squadron being dispersed by tempestuous weather, hearrived in Chebucto harbor with but a few ships, and not finding any ofthe rest of his fleet there, was so affected by this and other disasterson the voyage, that he destroyed himself. So says the _London Chronicle_of August 24th, 1758, from which I take this account. The French say hedied of apoplexy, the English by poison. At all events, he was buried in alittle island in the harbor, after a defeat by the elements of as great anarmament as that of the Spanish Armada. Some idea of the disasters of thisvoyage may be formed from one fact, that from the time of the sailing ofthe expedition from Brest until its arrival at Chebucto, no less than1, 270 men died on the way from the plague. Many of the ships arrivingafter this sad occurrence, Vice-Admiral Destournelle endeavored to fulfillthe object of the mission, and even with his crippled forces essay torestore the glory of France in the western hemisphere. But he beingoverruled by a council of war, plucked out his sword, and followed hiscommander, the Duke d'Anville. What might have come of it, had eitheradmiral again planted the _fleur de lis_ upon the bastions of Louisburgh?

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

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

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

The article in the newspaper reminded me that somewhere upon Bedford Basinwere the remains of the "Prince's Lodge;" so one afternoon, accompanied bya dear old friend, I paid this royal bower by Bendemeer's stream, a visit. Rattling through the unpaved streets of Halifax in a one horse vehicle, called, for obvious reasons, a "jumper, " we were soon on the high-roadtowards the basin. Water of the intensest blue--hill-slopes, nowcultivated, and anon patched with evergreens that look as black as squaresupon a chess board, between the open, broken grounds--a fine road--asummer sky--an atmosphere spicy with whiffs of resinous odors, and nofog, --these are the features of our ride. Yonder is a red building, reflected in the water like the prison of Chillon, where some of ourcitizens were imprisoned during the war of 1812--ship captives doubtless!And here is the customary little English inn, where we stop our steed tolet him cool, while the stout landlord, girt with a clean white apron, brings out to his thirsty travellers a brace of foaming, creamy glasses of"right h'English h'ale. " Then remounting the jumper, we skirt the edge ofthe basin again, until a stately dome rises up before us on the road, which, as we approach, we see is supported by columns, and based upon agentle promontory overhanging the water. This is the "Music House, " wherethe Prince's band were wont to play in days "lang syne. " Here we stop, andleaving our jumper in charge of a farmer, stroll over the grounds. 

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

Proceeding up the gentle slope that led from the gate, a number ofcolumbines and rose-bushes scattered in wild profusion, indicated whereonce had been the Prince's garden. These, although now in bloom andteeming with flowers, have a vagrant, neglected air, like beauties thathad ran astray, never to be reclaimed. A little further we come upon theruins of a spacious mansion, and beyond these the remains of the library, with its tumbled-down bricks and timbers, choking up the stream that woundthrough the vice-regal domains: and here the bowling-green, yet fresh withverdure; here the fishing pavilion, leaning over an artificial lake, withan artificial island in the midst; and here are willows, and deciduoustrees, planted by the Prince; and other rose-bushes and columbinesscattered in wild profusion. I could not but admire the elegance andgrace, which, even now, were so apparent, amid the ruins of the lodge, norcould I help recalling those earlier days, when the red-coats clusteredaround the gates, and the grounds were sparkling with lamps at night; whenthe band from the music-house woke the echoes with the clash of martialinstruments, and the young Prince, with his gay gallants, and hispowdered, patched, and painted Jezebels, held his brilliant court, withbanner, music, and flotilla; with the array of soldiery, and the pageantryof ships-of-war, on Bedford Basin. 

I stood by the ruins of a little stone bridge, which had once spanned thesparkling brook, and led to the Prince's library; I saw, far and near, theflaunting flowers of the now abandoned garden, and the distant columns ofthe silent music house, and I felt sad amid the desolation, although Iknew not why. For wherefore should any one feel sad to see the temples ofdissipation laid in the dust? For my own part, I am a poor casuist, butnevertheless, I do not think my conscience will suffer from this feeling. There is a touch of humanity in it, and always some germ of sympathy willbourgeon and bloom around the once populous abodes of men, whether theywere tenanted by the pure or by the impure. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

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

Faint nebulous spots in the air, little red disks in a halo of fog, acquaint us that there are gas-lights this night in the streets ofHalifax. Something new, I take it, this illumination? Carbonated hydrogenis a novelty as yet in Chebucto. But in this soft and pleasant atmosphere, I cannot but feel some regret at leaving my old quarters in the HotelWaverley. If I feel how much there is to welcome me elsewhere, yet I donot forsake this queer old city--these strange, dingy, weather-beatenstreets, without reluctance; and chiefly I feel that now I must separatefrom some old friends, and from some new ones too, whom I can ill spare. And if any of these should ever read this little book, I trust they willnot think the less of me because of it. If the salient features of theprovince have sometimes appeared to me, a stranger, a trifle distorted, it may be that my own stand-point is defective. And so farewell! To-morrowI shall draw nearer homeward, by Windsor and the shores of the Gasperau, by Grand-Pré and the Basin of Minas. Candles, Henry! and books!

The marriage of La Tour to the widow of his deceased rival, for a timeenabled that brave young adventurer to remain in quiet possession of theterritory. But to the Catholic Court of France, a suspected although notan avowed Protestant, in commission, was an object of distrust. No matterwhat might have been his former services, indeed, his defence of CapeSable had saved the French possessions from the encroachments of theSterling patent, yet he was heretic to the true faith, and thereforedefenceless in an important point against the attacks of an enemy. Such aone was La Tour le Borgne, who professed to be a creditor of D'Aulney, andpressing his suit with all the ardor of bigotry and rapacity, easilysucceeded in "obtaining a decree by which he was authorized to enter uponthe possessions of his _deceased debtor_!" But the adherents of CharlesEtienne did not readily yield to the new adventurer. They had tasted thesweets of religious liberty, and were not disposed to come within thearbitrary yoke without a struggle. Disregarding the "decree, " they stoodout manfully against the forces of Le Borgne. Again were Catholic Frenchand Protestant French cannon pointed against each other in unhappy Acadia. But fort after fort fell beneath the new claimant's superior artillery, until La Tour le Borgne himself was met by a counter-force of bigotry, before which his own was as chaff to the fanning-mill. The man of England, Oliver Cromwell, had his little claim, too, in Acadia. Against his forcesboth the French commanders made but ineffectual resistance. Acadia for thethird time fell into the hands of the English. 

Now in the history of the world there is nothing more patent than this:that persecution in the name of religion, is only a ring of calamities, which ends sooner or later where it began. And this portion of its historycan be cited as an example. Charles Etienne de la Tour, alienated by theunjust treatment of his countrymen, decided to accept the protection ofhis national enemy. As the heir of Sir Claude de la Tour, he laid claim tothe Sterling grants (which it will be remembered had been ceded to hisfather by Sir William Alexander after the unsuccessful attack upon CapeSable, ) and in conjunction with two English Puritans obtained a new patentfor Acadia from the Protector, under the great seal, with the title of SirCharles La Tour. Then Sir Thomas Temple (one of the partners in theCromwell patent) purchased the interest of Charles Etienne in Acadia. Thencame the restoration, and again Acadia was restored to France by CharlesII. In 1668. But Sir Thomas having embarked all his fortune in theenterprise, was not disposed to submit to the arbitrary disposal of hisproperty by this treaty; and therefore endeavored to evade its articles bymaking a distinction between such parts of the province as were supposedto constitute Acadia proper, and the other portions of the territorycomprehended under the title of Nova Scotia. "This distinction beingdeemed frivolous, " Sir Thomas was ordered to obey the letter of thetreaty, and accordingly the _whole of Nova Scotia_ was delivered up to theChevalier de Grande Fontaine. During twenty years succeeding this event, Acadia enjoyed comparative repose, subject only to occasional visits offilibusters. At the expiration of that time, a more serious invasion wasmeditated. Under the command of Sir William Phipps, a native of NewEngland, three ships, with transports and soldiers, appeared before PortRoyal, and demanded an unconditional surrender. Although the fort waspoorly garrisoned, this was refused by Manivel, the French governor, butfinally terms of capitulation were agreed upon: these were, that theFrench troops should be allowed to retain their arms and baggage, and becarried to Quebec; that the inhabitants should be maintained in thepeaceable possession of their property, and in the exercise of theirreligion; and that the honor of the women should be observed. Sir Williamagreed to the conditions, but declined signing the articles, pompouslyintimating that the "word of a general was a better security than anydocument whatever. " The French governor, deceived by this specious paradeof language, took the New England filibuster at his word, and formallysurrendered the keys of the fortress, according to the verbal contract. Again was poor Acadia the victim of her perfidious enemy. Sir William, disregarding the terms of the capitulation, and the "word of a general, "violated the articles he had pledged his honor to maintain, disarmed andimprisoned the soldiers, sacked the churches, and gave the place up to allthe ruthless cruelties and violences of a general pillage. Not only this, the too credulous Governor, Manivel, was himself imprisoned, plundered ofmoney and clothes, and carried off on board the conqueror's frigate, withmany of his unfortunate companions, to view the further spoliations of hiscountrymen. Many a peaceful Acadian village expired in flames during thatcoasting expedition, and to add to the miseries of the defencelessAcadians, two _piratical_ vessels followed in the wake of the pious SirWilliam, and set fire to the houses, slaughtered the cattle, hanged theinhabitants, and deliberately burned up one whole family, whom they hadshut in a dwelling-house for that purpose. 

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

Now let it be remembered that in these expeditions, very little, if any, attempt was made by the invaders to colonize or reside on the lands theywere so ready to lay waste and destroy. The mind of the species "Puritan, "by rigid discipline hardened against all frivolous amusements, andinsensible to the charms of the drama, and the splendors of the mimicspectacle, with its hollow shows of buckram, tinsel, and pasteboard, seemsto have been peculiarly fitted to enjoy these more substantialenterprises, which, owing to the defenceless condition of the Frenchprovince, must have appeared to the rigid Dudleys and Endicotts merely asa series of light and elegant pastimes. 

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

Villabon, in a series of petty skirmishes, soon recovered the rest of theterritory, which was only occupied at a few points by feeble New Englandgarrisons, and, in conjunction with a force of Abenaqui Indians, laidsiege to the fort at Pemaquid, on the Penobscot, and captured it. In thisaffair, as we have seen, the famous Baron Castine was engaged. 

The capture of the fort at Pemaquid, led to a train of reprisals, conspicuous in which was an actor in the theatre of events who heretoforehad not appeared upon the Acadian stage. This was Col. Church, acelebrated bushwhacker and Indian-fighter, of memorable account in theKing Philip war. 

In order to estimate truly the condition of the respective parties, wemust remember the severe iron and gunpowder nature of the Puritan of NewEngland, his prejudices, his dyspepsia; his high-peaked hat and ruff; histroublesome conscience and catarrh; his natural antipathies to Papists andIndians, from having been scalped by one, and roasted by both; hisEnglish insolence; and his religious bias, at once tyrannic andterritorial. 

Then, on the other, we must call to view the simple Acadian peasant, Papist or Protestant, just as it happened; ignorant of the great events ofthe world; a mere offshoot of rural Normandy; without a thought of otherpossessions than those he might reclaim from the sea by his dykes;credulous, pure-minded, patient of injuries; that like the swallow in thespring, thrice built the nest, and when again it was destroyed, ----"found the ruin wrought, But, not cast down, forth from the place it flew, And with its mate fresh earth and grasses brought, And built the nest anew. "

Against such people, the expedition of Col. Church, fresh from theslaughter of Pequod wars, bent its merciless energies. Regardless of thefacts that the people were non-resistants; that the expeditions of theFrench had been only feeble retaliations of great injuries; and always bylevies from the mother country, and not from the colonists; that Villabon, at the capture of Pemaquid, had generously saved the lives of the soldiersin the garrison from the fury of the Mic-Macs, who had just grounds ofretribution for the massacres which had marked the former inroads ofthese ruthless invaders; the wrath of the Pilgrim Fathers fell upon theunfortunate Acadians as though they had been a nation of Sepoys. [D]

[D] One incident will suffice to show the character of these forays. Asmall island on Passamaquoddy Bay was invaded by the forces under Col. Church, at night. The inhabitants made no resistance. All gave up;"but, " says Church in his dispatch to the governor, "looking over alittle run, I saw something look black just by me: stopped and heard atalking; stepped over and saw a little hut, or wigwam, with a crowd ofpeople round about it, which was contrary to my former directions. Iasked them what they were doing? They replied, 'there were some of theenemy in a house, and would not come out. ' I asked what house? Theysaid, 'a bark house' I hastily bid them pull it down, _and knock them onthe head, never asking whether they were French or Indians, they beingall enemies alike to me_. " Such was the merciless character of theseearly expeditions to peaceful Acadia. 

 "Herod of Galilee's babe-butchering deed Lives not on history's blushing page alone; Our skies, it seems, have seen like victims bleed, And our own Ramahs echoed groan for groan; The fiends of France, whose cruelties decreed Those dexterous drownings in the Loire and Rhone, Were, at their worst, but copyists, second-hand, Of our shrined, sainted sires, the Plymouth Pilgrim band. "

One of the severest cruelties practised upon these inoffensive people, wasthat of requiring them to betray their friends, the Indians, under theheaviest penalties. In Acadia, the red and the white man were as brothers;no treachery, no broken faith, no over-reaching policy had severed theslightest fibre of good fellowship on either side. But the Abenaqui racewas a warlike people. At the first invasion, under Argall, the red man hadseen with surprise a mere handful of white men disputing for a territoryto which neither could offer a claim; so vast as to make either occupationor control by the adventurers ridiculous; and therefore, with good-naturedzeal, he had hastened to put an end to the quarrel, as though the whitepeople had only been fractious but not irreconcilable kinsmen. But as thepower of New England advanced more and more in Acadia, the first generousdesire of the red man had merged into suspicion, and finally hatred of thepeaked hat and ruff of Plymouth. In all his dealings with the Acadians, the Indian had found only unimpeachable faith and honor; but with thecolonist of Massachusetts, there had been nothing but over-reaching andtreachery: intercourse with the first had not led to a scratch, or asingle drop of blood; while on the other hand a bounty of "one hundredpounds was offered for each male of their tribe if over twelve years ofage, if scalped; one hundred and five pounds if taken prisoner; fiftypounds for each _woman and child scalped_, and fifty pounds when broughtin alive. "

The Abenaqui tribes therefore, first, to avenge the injuries of theirunresisting friends, the Acadians, and after to avenge their own, wagedwar upon the invaders with all the severities of an aggrieved andbarbarous people. And, as I have said before, the severest crueltyinflicted upon the Acadian colonist, was to oblige him to betray his bestfriend and protector, the painted heathen, with whom he struck hands andplighted faith. To the honor of these colonists, be it said, that althoughthey saw their long years' labor of dykes broken down, the sea sweepingover their farms, the fire rolling about their homesteads, their cattleand sheep destroyed, their effects plundered, and wanton and namelessoutrages committed by the English and Yankee soldiery, yet in no instancedid they purchase indemnity from these, by betraying a single Indian. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

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

During the invasion of Col. Church, the inhabitants of Grand-Pré wereexposed to such treatment as may be conceived of. The smoke from theborders of the five rivers, overlooked by Blomidon, rose in the stillyair, and again the sea rolled past the broken dykes, which for nearly acentury had kept out its desolating waters between the Cape and theGasperau. Driven to despair, a few of the younger Acadians took up arms todefend their hearthstones, but the great body of the people submittedwithout resistance. A brief stand was made at Port Royal, but this lastoutpost finally capitulated. By the terms of the articles agreed upon, theinhabitants were to have the privilege of remaining upon their estates fortwo years, upon taking an oath of allegiance to remain faithful to hermajesty, Queen Anne, during that period. Upon that consideration, thosewho lived _within cannon-shot_ of the fort, were to be protected in theirrights and properties. This was but a piece of _finesse_ on the part ofthe invaders, an entering wedge, as it were, of a novel kind of tyranny, namely, that inasmuch as those within cannon-shot had taken the oath ofallegiance, those without the reach of artillery, at Port Royal, also, were bound to do the same. And a strong detachment of New England troops, under Captain Pigeon, was sent upon an expedition to enforce the arbitraryoath. But Captain Pigeon, in the pursuit of his duty, fell in with anenemy of a less gentle nature than the Acadians. A body of Abenaqui camedown upon him and his men, and smote them hip and thigh, even as the threehundred warriors of Israel smote the Midianites in the valley of Moreh. Then was there temporary relief in the land until the year 1713, when by atreaty Acadia was formally surrendered to England. The weight of the oathof allegiance now fell heavily upon the innocent colonists. We canscarcely appreciate the abhorrence of a people, so conscientious as this, to take an oath of fidelity to a race that had only been known to them byits rapacity. But partly by persuasion, partly by menace, a majority ofthe Acadians took the oath, which was as follows:

"_Je promets et jure sincèrement, en foi de Chrétien, que je seraientièrement fidèle et obéirai vraiment sa Majesté le roi George, que jereconnaias pour le Souverain seigneur de l'Acadie, ou Nouvelle Ecosse, ainsi Dieu me soit en aide_. "

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

Meantime the walls of Louisburgh were rising on the island of Cape Breton, which, with Canada, still remained under the sovereign rule of the French. The Acadians were invited to remove within the protection of thisformidable fortress, but they preferred remaining intrenched behind theirdykes, firmly believing that the only invader they had now to dread wasthe sea, inasmuch as they had accepted the oath of fidelity, in which, andin their inoffensive pursuits, they imagined themselves secure fromfarther molestation. Some of their Indian neighbors, however, accepted theinvitation of the Cape Breton French, and removed thither. These simplesavages, notwithstanding the changes in the government, still regarded theAcadians as friends, and the English as enemies. They could not comprehendthe nature of a treaty by which their own lands were ceded to a hostileforce; a treaty in which they were neither consulted nor considered. [E]They had their own injuries to remember, which in no wise had beenbalanced in the compact of the strangers. The rulers in New France (sosays the chronicler) "affected to consider the Indians as an independentpeople. " At Canseau, at Cape Sable, at Annapolis, and Passamaquoddy, English forts, fishing stations, and vessels were attacked and destroyedby the savages with all the circumstances that make up the hideousfeatures of barbaric reprisal. Unhappy Acadia came in for her share ofcondemnation. Although her innocent people had no part in thesetransactions, yet her missionaries had converted the Abenaqui to faith inthe symbol of the crucifixion, and it was currently reported and creditedin New England, that they had taught the savages to believe also theEnglish were the people who had crucified our Saviour. To complicatematters again, the Chevalier de St. George (of whom there is norecollection except that he was anonymous, both as a prince, and as a man)sent his son, the fifth remove in stupidity, of the most stupid line ofmonarchs (not even excepting the Georges) that ever wore crowns, to stirup an insurrection among the most obtuse race of people that ever wore, orwent without, breeches. A war between France and England followed thedescent of the Pretender. A war naturally followed in the Colonies. 

[E] In the treaty of Utrecht, no mention was made either of the Indiansor of their lands. 

Again the ring of fire and slaughter met and ended in a treaty; the treatyof Aix la Chapelle, by which Cape Breton was ceded to France, and NovaScotia, or Acadia, to England. Up to this time no attempt at colonizingthe fertile valleys of Acadia, by its captors, had been attempted. Atlast, under large and favorable grants from the Crown, a colony wasestablished by the Hon. Edward Cornwallis, at a place now known asHalifax. No sooner was Halifax settled, than sundry tribes of red men madepredatory visits to the borders of the new colony. Reprisals followedreprisals, and it is not easy to say on which side lay the largest amountof savage fury. At the same time, the Acadians remained true to the spiritand letter of the oath they had taken. "They had relapsed, " says thechronicler, "into a sort of sullen neutrality. " This was considered justcause of offence. The oath which had satisfied Governor Phipps, did notsatisfy George II. A new oath of allegiance was tendered, by which theAcadians were required to become loyal subjects of the English Crown, tobear arms against their countrymen, and the Indians to whom the poorcolonists were bound by so many ties of obligation and affection. Theconsciences of these simple people revolted at a requisition "so repugnantto the feelings of human nature. " Three hundred of the younger and braverAcadians took up arms against their oppressors. This overt act was justwhat was desired by the wily Puritans. Acadia, with its twenty thousandinhabitants, was placed under the ban of having violated the oath ofneutrality in the persons of the three hundred. In vain the great body ofthe people protested that this act was contrary to their wishes, theirpeaceful habits, and beyond their control. At the fort of Beau Séjour, thebrave three hundred made a gallant stand, but were defeated. Would therehad been a Leonidas among them! Would that the whole of their kinsmen haderected forts instead of dykes, and dropped the plough-handles to pressthe edge of the sabre against the grindstone! Sad indeed is the fate ofthat people who make any terms with such an enemy, except such as may begranted at the bayonet's point. Sad indeed is the condition of that peoplewho are wrapt in security when Persecution steals in upon them, hiding itsbloody hands under the garments of sanctity. 

Among the many incidents of these cruel wars, the fate of a Jesuit priestmay stand as a type of the rest. Le Père Ralle had been a missionary forforty years among the various tribes of the Abenaqui. "His literaryattainments were of a high order;" his knowledge of modern languagesrespectable; "his Latin, " according to Haliburton, "was pure, classicaland elegant;" and he was master of several of the Abenaqui dialects;indeed, a manuscript dictionary of the Abenaqui languages, in hishandwriting, is still preserved in the library of the Harvard University. Of one of these tribes--the Norridgewoacks--Father Ralle was the pastor. Its little village was on the banks of the Kennebeck; the roof of its tinychapel rose above the pointed wigwams of the savages; and a huge cross, the emblem of peace, lifted itself above all, the conspicuous feature ofthe settlement in the distance. By the tribe over which he had exercisedhis gentle rule for so many years, Le Père Ralle was regarded withsuperstitious reverence and affection. 

It does not appear that these people had been accused of any overt acts;but, nevertheless, the village was marked out for destruction. Two hundredand eight Massachusetts men were dispatched upon this errand. Thesettlement was surprised at night, and a terrible scene of slaughterensued. Ralle came forth from his chapel to save, if possible, the livesof his miserable parishioners. "As soon as he was seen, " says thechronicler, [F] "he was saluted with a great shout and a shower of bullets, and fell, together with seven Indians, who had rushed out of their tentsto defend him with their bodies; and when the pursuit ceased, the Indianswho had fled, returned to weep over their beloved missionary, and foundhim dead at the foot of the cross, his body perforated with balls, hishead scalped, his skull broken with blows of hatchets, his mouth and eyesfilled with mud, the bones of his legs broken, and his limbs dreadfullymangled. After having bathed his remains with their tears, they buried himon the site of the chapel, that had been hewn down with its crucifix, withwhatever else remained of the emblems of idolatry. " Such was the mercilesscharacter of the invasion of Acadia; such the looming phantom of thegreater crime which was so speedily to spread ruin over her fair valleys, and scatter forever her pastoral people. 

[F] Charlevoix. 

The tranquillity of entire subjugation followed these events in theprovince. The New Englander built his menacing forts along the rivers, andpressed into his service the labors of the neutral French. "Therequisitions which were made of them were not calculated to conciliateaffection, " says the chronicler; the poor Acadian peasant was informed, ifhe did not supply the garrison fuel, his own house would be used for thatpurpose, and that neglect to furnish timber for the repairs of a fort, would be followed by drum-head courts martial, and "military execution. "

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

CHAPTER XVIII. 

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

A dewy, spring-like morning is all I remembered of my farewell to Halifax. A very sweet and odorous air as I rode towards the railway station in thefunereal cab; a morning without fog, a sparkling freshness that twinkledin the leaves and crisped the waters. 

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

 "A captain bold in Halifax, who lived in country quarters, Seduced a maid, who hung herself next morning in her garters; His wicked conscience smoted him, he lost his spirits daily, He took to drinking ratifia, and thought upon Miss Bailey. "

While the psychological features of the case were puzzling his brain andkeeping him wide awake--

 "The candles blue, at XII. O'clock, began to burn quite paley, A ghost appeared at his bedside, and said-- behold, Miss Bailey!!!"

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

 "'You'll find, ' says he, 'a five-pound note in my regimental small-clothes; 'T will bribe the sexton for your grave, ' the ghost then vanished gaily, Saying, 'God bless you, wicked Captain Smith, although you've ruined Miss Bailey. '"

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

[G] Since my visit this work has actually commenced. At the close of thelegislative session of 1857, the Hon. Joseph Howe moved, and the Hon. Attorney-General seconded, and the House, after some demur, resolved, that his Excellency be requested to appoint a commission for examiningand arranging the records of the Province. Dining the recess the officewas instituted, and Thomas B. Akins, Esq. , a gentleman distinguished forantiquarian taste and research, was appointed commissioner. It was knownthat in the garrets or cellars of the Province Building were heaps ofmanuscript records, of various kinds; but their exact nature and valuewere only surmised. Some of these had vanished, it is said, by theagency of rats and mice; and moth and mold were doing their work onother portions. To stay the waste, to ascertain what the heapscontained, and to arrange documents at all worthy of preservation, thecommission was appointed. Mr. Akins has been for some months at thesuperintendence of the work, helped by a very industrious assistant, Mr. James Farquhar. Very pleasing results indeed have been realized. Severalboxes of documents, arranged and labelled, have been packed, and fifteenor twenty volumes of interesting manuscripts have been prepared. Some ofthese are of great interest, relative to the history of the Province, and of British America generally, being original papers concerning theconquest and settling of the Provinces, and having reference to theAcadian French, the Indians, the taking of Louisburgh, of Quebec, andother matters of historic importance connected with the suppression ofFrench dominion in America. We understand some of these documents prove, as many previously believed, that what appeared to be a stern necessity, and not wanton oppression or tyranny, caused the painful dispersion ofthe former French inhabitants of the more poetic and pastoral parts ofAcadia. If this be so, some excellent sentiment and eloquent romancewill have to be taken with considerable modification. A few of the mostindignant bursts (?) in Longfellow's fine poem of "Evangeline" may be inthis predicament; and may have to be read, not exactly as so muchgospel, but rather as rhetorical extremes, unsubstantial, but tooelegant to be altogether discarded. In volumes alluded to, of the recordcommission, the dispatches, and letters, and other documents of a formerage, and in the handwriting, or from the immediate dictation, of eminentpersonages, will present very attractive material for those who finddeep interest in such venerable inquiries; who obtain from this kind oflore a charming renewal of the past, a clearing up of local history, andan almost face-to-face conference with persons whose names are landmarksof national annals. The commission not only examines and arranges, butforms copious characteristic "contents" of the volumes, and an index foreasy reference; it also keeps a journal of each day's proceedings. The"contents" tell the nature and topics of each document, and will thusfacilitate research, and prevent much injurious turning over of themanuscripts. The work, too long delayed, has been happily commenced. Itsneglect was felt to be a fault and a reproach, and serious loss wasknown to impend; but still it was put off, and spoken lightly of, andsneered at, and a very mistaken economy pretended, until lastlegislative session, when it was adopted by accident apparently, and isnow in successful operation. The next questions are, how will thearranged documents be preserved? who will have them in charge? will theybe allowed to be scattered about in the hands of privileged persons, tobe lost wholesale? or will they, as they should, be sacredly conserved, a store to which all shall have a common but well-guarded light ofaccess and research. --_Halifax Sun_, _Dec. 9, 1857_. 

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

My fellow-passenger on the stage-top was a pony! Yes, a real pony! notbigger, however, than a good sized pointer dog, although his head was ofmost preposterous horse-like length. This equine Tom Thumb, was one of themustangs, or wild horses of Sable Island, some little account of whichhere may not be uninteresting. But first let me say, in order not to taxthe credulity of my reader too much, that pony did not stand upright uponthe roof of the coach, as may have been surmised, but was very cleverlylaid upon his side, with his four legs strapped in the form of a saw-buck, precisely as butchers tie the legs of calves or of sheep together, fortransportation in carts to the shambles, only pony's fetters were not socruel--indeed he seemed to be quite at his ease--like the member of theforeign legion on the road to Dartmouth. 

Now then, pony's birth-place is one of the most interesting upon ourcoast. Do you remember it, my transatlantic traveller? The little yellowspot that greets you so far out at sea, and bids you welcome to thewestern hemisphere? I hope you have seen it in fine weather; many a goodlyship has left her bones upon that yellow island in less auspiciousseasons. The first of these misadventurers was Sir Humphrey Gilbert, whowas lost in a storm close by; the memorable words with which he hailed hisconsort are now familiar to every reader: "Heaven, " said he, "is as nearby sea as by land, " and so bade the world farewell in the tempest. Legendsof wrecks of buccaneers, of spectres, multiply as we penetrate into themysterious history of the yellow island. And its present aspect issufficiently tempting to the adventurous, for whom--

 "If danger other charms have none, Then danger's self is lure alone. "

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

"Should any one be visiting the island now, he might see, about ten miles'distance, looking seaward, half a dozen low, dark hummocks on the horizon. As he approaches, they gradually resolve themselves into hills fringed bybreakers, and by and by the white sea beach with its continued surf--thesand-hills, part naked, part waving in grass of the deepest green, unfoldthemselves--a house and a barn dot the western extremity--here and therealong the wild beach lie the ribs of unlucky traders half-buried in theshifting sand. By this time a red ensign is waving at its peak, and from atall flag-staff and crow's nest erected upon the highest hill midway ofthe island, an answering flag is waving to the wind. Before the anchor islet go, and the cutter is rounding to in five fathoms of water, men andhorses begin to dot the beach, a life-boat is drawn rapidly on a boat-cartto the beach, manned, and fairly breasting the breakers upon the bar. Itmay have been three long winter months that this boat's crew have had notidings of the world, or they may have three hundred emigrants and wreckedcrews, waiting to be carried off. The hurried greetings over, news toldand newspapers and letters given, the visitor prepares to return with themto the island. Should it be evening, he will see the cutter already underweigh and standing seaward; but, should it be fine weather, plenty ofday, and wind right off the shore, even then she lies to the wind anchorapeak, and mainsail hoisted, ready to run at a moment's notice, so suddenare the shifts of wind, and so hard to claw off from those treacherousshores. But the life-boat is now entering the perpetual fringe of surf--afew seals tumble and play in the broken waters, and the stranger draws hisbreath hard, as the crew bend to their oars, the helmsman standing high inthe pointed stern, with loud command and powerful arm keeping her true, the great boat goes riding on the back of a huge wave, and is carried highup on the beach in a mass of struggling water. To spring from their seatsinto the water, and hold hard the boat, now on the point of being sweptback by the receding wave, is the work of an instant. Another moment theyare left high and dry on the beach, another, and the returning wave and avigorous run of the crew has borne her out of all harm's way. 

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

"Nearly the first thing the visitor does is to mount the flag-staff, andclimbing into the crow's nest, scan the scene. The ocean bounds himeverywhere. Spread east and west, he views the narrow island in form of abow, as if the great Atlantic waves had bent it around, nowhere much abovea mile wide, twenty-six miles long, including the dry bars, and holding ashallow late thirteen miles long in its centre. 

"There it all lies spread like a map at his feet--grassy hill and sandyvalley fading away into the distance. On the foreground the outpost mengalloping their rough ponies into head-quarters, recalled by the flagflying above his head; the West-end house of refuge, with bread andmatches, firewood and kettle, and directions to find water, andhead-quarters with flag-staff on the adjoining hill. Every sandy peak orgrassy knoll with a dead man's name or old ship's tradition--Baker's Hill, Trott's Cove, Scotchman's Head, French Gardens--traditionary spot wherethe poor convicts expiated their social crimes--the little burial-groundnestling in the long grass of a high hill, and consecrated to the reposeof many a sea-tossed limb; and two or three miles down the shallow lake, the South-side house and barn, and staff and boats lying on the lakebeside the door. Nine miles further down, by the help of a glass, he mayview the flag-staff at the foot of the lake, and five miles further theEast-end look-out, with its staff and watch-house. Herds of wild poniesdot the hills, and black duck and sheldrakes are heading their youngbroods on the mirror-like ponds. Seals innumerable are basking on thewarm sands, or piled like ledges of rock along the shores. The Glascow'sbow, the Maskonemet's stern, the East Boston's hulk, and the grinning ribsof the well-fastened Guide are spotting the sands, each with its tale oflast adventure, hardships passed, and toil endured. The whole picture isset in a silver-frosted frame of rolling surf and sea-ribbed sand. "

The patrol duty of the hardy islander is thus described:

"Mounted upon his hardy pony, the solitary patrol starts upon his lonelyway. He rides up the centre valleys, ever and anon mounting a grassy hillto look seaward, reaches the West-end bar, speculates upon perchance abroken spar, an empty bottle, or a cask of beef struggling in theland-wash--now fords the shallow lake, looking well for his land-range, toescape the hole where Baker was drowned; and coming on the breeding-groundof the countless birds, his pony's hoof with a reckless smash goescrunching through a dozen eggs or callow young. He fairly puts his pony toher mettle to escape the cloud of angry birds which, arising in countlessnumbers, dent his weather-beaten tarpaulin with their sharp bills, andsnap his pony's ears, and confuse him with their sharp, shrill cries. Tenminutes more, and he is holding hard to count the seals. There they lie, old ocean flocks, resting their wave-tossed limbs--great ocean bulls, andcows, and calves. He marks them all. The wary old male turns his broadmoustached nostrils to the tainted gale of man and horse sweeping downupon them, and the whole herd are simultaneously lumbering a retreat. Andnow he goes, plying his little short whip, charging the whole herd to cutoff their retreat for the pleasure and fun of galloping in and over andamongst fifty great bodies, rolling and tumbling and tossing, andsplashing the surf in their awkward endeavors to escape. "

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

"When the present breed of wild ponies was introduced, there is no record. In an old print, seemingly a hundred years old, they are depicted as beinglassoed by men in cocked hats and antique habiliments. At present, threeor four hundred are their utmost numbers, and it is curious to observehow in their figures and habits they approach the wild races of Mexico orthe Ukraine. They are divided into herds or gangs, each having a separatepasture, and each presided over by an old male, conspicuous by the lengthof his mane, rolling in tangled masses over eye and ear down to his forearm. Half his time seems taken up in tossing it from his eyes as hecollects his out-lying mares and foals on the approach of strangers, andkeeping them well up in a pack boldly faces the enemy whilst they retreatat a gallop. If pressed, however, he, too, retreats on their rear. Hebrooks no undivided allegiance, and many a fierce battle is waged by thecontending chieftains for the honor of the herd. In form they resemble thewild horses of all lands: the large head, thick, shaggy neck of the male, low withers, paddling gait, and sloping quarters, have all theircounterparts in the mustang and the horse of the Ukraine. There seems aremarkable tendency in these horses to assume the Isabella colors, thelight chestnuts, and even the piebalds or paint horses of the Indianprairies or the Mexican Savannah. The annual drive or herding, usuallyresulting in the whole island being swept from end to end, and a kicking, snorting, half-terrified mass driven into a large pound, from which twoor three dozen are selected, lassoed, and exported to town, affords finesport, wild riding, and plenty of falls. "

Thus much for Sable Island. 

 "Dark isle of mourning! aptly art thou named, For thou hast been the cause of many a tear; For deeds of treacherous strife too justly famed, The Atlantic's charnel--desolate and drear; A thing none love, though wand'ring thousands fear-- If for a moment rest the Muse's wing Where through the waves thy sandy wastes appear, 'Tis that she may one strain of horror sing, Wild as the dashing waves that tempests o'er thee fling. "[H]

[H] Poem by the Hon. Joseph Howe. 

And now pony we must part. Windsor approaches! Yonder among the emboweringtrees is the residence of Judge Halliburton, the author of "Sam Slick. "How I admire him for his hearty hostility to republican institutions! Itis natural, straightforward, shrewd, and, no doubt, sincere. At the sametime, it affords an example of how much the colonist or satellite form ofgovernment tends to limit the scope of the mind, which under happier skiesand in a wider intelligence might have shone to advantage. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

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

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

I cannot recall a prettier village than this. If you doubt my word, comeand see it. Yonder we discern a portion of the Basin of Minas; around usare the rich meadows of Nova Scotia. Intellect has here placed a crowningcollege upon a hill; opulence has surrounded it with picturesque villas. Aride into the country, a visit to a bachelor's lodge, studded with hornsof moose and cariboo, with woodland scenes and Landseer's pictures, andthen--over the bridge, and over the Avon, towards Grand-Pré and theGasperau! I suppose, by this time, my dear reader, you are tired ofsketches of lake scenery, mountain scenery, pines and spruces, strawberryblossoms, and other natural features of the province? For my part, I rodethrough a strawberry-bed three hundred miles long--from Sydney toHalifax--diversified by just such patches of scenery, and was not tired ofit. But it is a different matter when you come to put it on paper. So Iforbear. 

Up hill we go, soon to approach the tragic theatre. A crack of the whip, astretch of the leaders, and now, suddenly, the whole valley comes in view!Before us are the great waters of Minas; yonder Blomidon bursts upon thesight; and below, curving like a scimitar around the edge of the Basin, and against the distant cliffs that shut out the stormy Bay of Fundy, isthe Acadian land--the idyllic meadows of Grand-Pré lie at our feet. 

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

"Hunting and fishing, which had formerly been the delight of the colony, and might have still supplied it with subsistence, had no furtherattraction for a simple and quiet people, and gave way to agriculture, which had been established in the marshes and low lands, by repelling withdykes the sea and rivers which covered these plains. These grounds yieldedfifty for one at first, and afterwards fifteen or twenty for one atleast; wheat and oats succeeded best in them, but they likewise producedrye, barley and maize. There were also potatoes in great plenty, the useof which was become common. At the same time these immense meadows werecovered with numerous flocks. They computed as many as sixty thousand headof horned cattle; and most families had several horses, though the tillagewas carried on by oxen. Their habitations, which were constructed of wood, were extremely convenient, and furnished as neatly as substantial farmer'shouses in Europe. They reared a great deal of poultry of all kinds, whichmade a variety in their food, at once wholesome and plentiful. Theirordinary drink was beer and cider, to which they sometimes added rum. Their usual clothing was in general the produce of their own flax, or thefleeces of their own sheep; with these they made common linens and coarsecloths. If any of them had a desire for articles of greater luxury, theyprocured them from Annapolis or Louisburg, and gave in exchange corn, cattle or furs. The neutral French had nothing else to give theirneighbors, and made still fewer exchanges among themselves; because eachseparate family was able, and had been accustomed to provide for its ownwants. They therefore knew nothing of paper currency, which was so commonthroughout the rest of North America. Even the small quantity of gold andsilver which had been introduced into the colony, did not inspire thatactivity in which consists its real value. Their manners were of courseextremely simple. There was seldom a cause, either civil or criminal, ofimportance enough to be carried before the Court of Judication, established at Annapolis. Whatever little differences arose from time totime among them, were amicably adjusted by their elders. All their publicacts were drawn by their pastors, who had likewise the keeping of theirwills; for which, and their religious services, the inhabitants paid atwenty-seventh part of their harvest, which was always sufficient toafford more means than there were objects of generosity. 

"Real misery was wholly unknown, and benevolence anticipated the demandsof poverty. [I] Every misfortune was relieved, as it were, before it couldbe felt, without ostentation on the one hand, and without meanness on theother. It was, in short, a society of brethren; every individual of whichwas equally ready to give, and to receive, what he thought the commonright of mankind. So perfect a harmony naturally prevented all thoseconnections of gallantry which are so often fatal to the peace offamilies. This evil was prevented by early marriages, for no one passedhis youth in a state of celibacy. As soon as a young man arrived to theproper age, the community built him a house, broke up the lands about it, and supplied him with all the necessaries of life for a twelvemonth. Therehe received the partner whom he had chosen, and who brought him herportion in flocks. This new family grew and prospered like the others. In1755, all together made a population of eighteen thousand souls. Such isthe picture of these people, as drawn by the Abbé Reynal. By many, it isthought to represent a state of social happiness totally inconsistent withthe frailties and passions of human nature, and that it is worthy ratherof the poet than the historian. In describing a scene of rural felicitylike this, it is not improbable that his narrative has partaken of thewarmth of feeling for which he was remarkable; but it comes much nearerthe truth than is generally imagined. Tradition is fresh and positive inthe various parts of the United States where they were located respectingtheir guileless, peaceable, and scrupulous character; and the descendantsof those, whose long cherished and endearing local attachment induced themto return to the land of their nativity, still deserve the name of a mild, frugal, and pious people. "

[I] At the present moment, the poor in the Township of Clare aremaintained by the inhabitants at large; and being members of one greatfamily, spend the remainder of their days in visits from house to house. An illegitimate child is almost unknown in the settlements. 

As we rest here upon the summit of the Gasperau Mountain, and look down onyonder valley, we can readily imagine such a people. A pastoral people, rich in meadow-lands, secured by laborious dykes, and secluded from thestruggling outside world. But we miss the thatch-roof cottages, byhundreds, which should be the prominent feature in the picture, the vastherds of cattle, the belfries of scattered village chapels, the murmur ofevening fields, "Where peace was tinkling in the shepherd's bell, And singing with the reapers. "

These no longer exist:

 "Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré. "

I sank back in the stage as it rolled down the mountain-road, and fairlycovered my eyes with my hands, as I repeated Webster's boast: "Thank God!I too am an American. " "But, " said I, recovering, "thank God, I belong toa State that has never bragged much of its great moral antecedents!" andin that reflection I felt comforted, and the load on my back a littlelightened. 

A few weeping willows, the never-failing relics of an Acadian settlement, yet remain on the roadside; these, with the dykes and Great Prairieitself, are the only memorials of a once happy people. The sun was justsinking behind the Gasperau mountain as we entered the ancient village. There was a smithy beside the stage-house, and we could see the dusky glowof the forge within, and the swart mechanic

 "Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, Nailing the shoe in its place. "

But it was not Basil the Blacksmith, nor one of his descendants, that heldthe horse-hoof. The face of the smith was of the genuine New England type, and just such faces as I saw everywhere in the village. In the shiftingpanorama of the itinerary I suddenly found myself in a hundred-year-oldcolony of genuine Yankees, the real true blues of Connecticut, quilted inamidst the blue noses of Nova Scotia. 

But of the poor Acadians not one remains now in the ancient village. It isa solemn comment upon their peaceful and unrevengeful natures, that twohundred settlers from Hew England remained unmolested upon their lands, and that the descendants of those New England settlers now occupy them. Asolemn comment upon our history, and the touching epitaph of anexterminated race. 

Much as we may admire the various bays and lakes, the inlets, promontories, and straits, the mountains and woodlands of thisrarely-visited corner of creation--and, compared with it, we can boast ofno coast scenery so beautiful--the valley of Grand-Pré transcends all therest in the Province. Only our valley of Wyoming, as an inland picture, may match it, both in beauty and tradition. One has had its Gertrude, theother its Evangeline. But Campbell never saw Wyoming, nor has Longfellowyet visited the shores of the Basin of Minas. And I may venture to say, neither poet has touched the key-note of divine anger which either storymight have awakened. 

But let us be thankful for those simple and beautiful idyls. After all, itis a question whether the greatest and noblest impulses of man are notawakened rather by the sympathy we feel for the oppressed, than by thehatred engendered by the acts of the oppressor?

I wish I could shake off these useless reflections of a bygone period. Butwho can help it?

 "This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe when it hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman? Where is the thatch-roof village, the home of Acadian farmers-- Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands? Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!"

CHAPTER XX. 

The Valley of Acadia--A Morning Ride to the Dykes--An unexpected Wild-duckChase--High Tides--The Gasperau--Sunset--The Lamp of History--Conclusion. 

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

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

A morning ride across the Grand-Pré convinced me that the natural opulenceof the valley had not been exaggerated. These once desolate and bittermarshes, reclaimed from the sea by the patient labor of the Frenchpeasant, are about three miles broad by twenty miles long. The prairiegrass, even at this time of year, is knee-deep, and, as I was informed, yields, without cultivation, from two to four tons to the acre. Thefertility of the valley in other respects is equally great. The dyke landsare intersected by a network of white causeways, raised above the level ofthe meadows. We passed over these to the outer edge of the dykes. "Theselands, " said my young companion, "are filled in this season with immenseflocks of all kinds of feathered game. " And I soon had reason to beconvinced of the truth of it, for just then we started up what seemed tobe a wounded wild-duck, upon which out leaped my companion from the wagonand gave chase. A bunch of tall grass, upon the edge of a little pool, lay between him and the game; he brushed hastily through this, and out ofit poured a little feathered colony. As these young ones were not yet ableto fly, they were soon captured--seven little black ducks safely nestledtogether under the seat of the wagon, and poor Niobe trailed her brokenwing within a tempting distance in vain. 

We were soon upon the dykes themselves, which are raised upon the edge ofthe meadows, and are quite insignificant in height, albeit of great extentotherwise. But from the bottom of the dykes to the edge of yondersparkling water, there is a bare beach, full three miles in extent. Whatdoes this mean? What are these dykes for, if the enemy is so far off? Theanswer to this query discloses a remarkable phenomenon. The tide in thispart of the world rises sixty or seventy feet every twelve hours. Atpresent the beach is bare; the five rivers of the valley--the Gasperau, the Cornwallis, the Canard, the Habitant, the Perot--are empty. Betimesthe tide will roll in in one broad unretreating wave, surging andshouldering its way over the expanse, filling all the rivers, and dashingagainst the protecting barriers under our feet; but before sunset therivers will be emptied again, the bridges will uselessly hang in the airover the deserted channels, the beach will yawn wide and bare where aship of the line might have anchored. Sometimes a stranger schooner fromNew England, secure in a safe distance from shore, drops down in six orseven fathom. Then, suddenly, the ebb sweeps off from the intruder, andleaves his two-master keeled over, with useless anchor and cable exposed, "to point a moral and adorn a tale. " Sometimes a party will take boat fora row upon the placid bosom of this bay; but woe unto them if they consultnot the almanac! A mistake may leave them high and dry on the beach, milesfrom the dykes, and as the tide comes in with a _bore_, a sudden influx, wave above wave, the risk is imminent. 

I passed two days in this happy valley, sometimes riding across to thedykes, sometimes visiting the neighboring villages, sometimes wandering onfoot over the hills to the upper waters of the rivers. And the Gasperau inparticular is an attractive little mountain sylph, as it comes skippingdown the rocks, breaking here and there out in a broad cascade, orrippling and singing in the heart of the grand old forest. I think myfriend Kensett might set his pallet here, and pitch a brief tent by Minasand the Gasperau to advantage. For my own part, I would that I had mytrout-pole and a fly!

But now the sun sinks behind the cliffs of Blow-me-down. To-morrow I musttake the steamer for home, "sweet home!" What shall I say in conclusion?Shall I stop here and write _finis_, or once more trim the lamp ofhistory? I feel as it were the whole wrongs of the French Provinceconcentrated here, as in the last drop of its life blood, no tender dreamof pastoral description, no clever veil of elaborate verse, can concealthe hideous features of this remorseless act, this wanton and useless deedof New England cruelty. Do not mistake me, my reader. Do not think that Iam prejudiced against New England. But I hate tyranny--under whateverdisguise, or in whatever shape--in an individual, or in a nation--in astate, or in a congregation of states; so do you; and of course you willagree with me, that so long as the maxim obtains, "that the objectjustifies the means, " certain effects must follow, and this maxim was theguiding star of our forefathers when they marched into the Frenchprovince. 

The peculiar situation of the Acadians, embarrassed the colonists ofMassachusetts. The French _neutrals_, had taken the oath of fidelity, butthey refused to take the oath of allegiance which compelled them to beararms against their countrymen, and the Indians, who from first to last hadbeen their constant and devoted friends. The long course of persecution, for a century and a half, had struck but one spark of resistance fromthis people--the stand of the three hundred young warriors at Fort Séjour. Upon this act followed the retaliation of the Pilgrim Fathers. Theydetermined to remove and disperse the Acadians among the British colonies. To carry out this edict, Colonel Winslow, with five transports and asufficient force of New England troops, was dispatched to the Basin ofMinas. At a consultation, held between Colonel Winslow and Captain Murray, it was agreed that a proclamation should be issued at the differentsettlements, requiring the attendance of the people at the respectiveposts on the same day; which proclamation would be so ambiguous in itsnature, that the object for which they were to assemble could not bediscerned, and so peremptory in its terms, as to insure implicitobedience. This instrument having been drafted and approved, wasdistributed according to the original plan. That which was addressed tothe people inhabiting the country now comprised within the limit of King'sCounty, was as follows:

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

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

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

"'GENTLEMEN: I have received from his Excellency, Governor Lawrence, theKing's commission, which I have in my hand; and by his orders you areconvened together, to manifest to you his Majesty's final resolution tothe French inhabitants of this his province of Nova Scotia; who, foralmost half a century, have had more indulgence granted them than any ofhis subjects in any part of his dominions; what use you have made of ityou yourselves best know. The part of duty I am now upon, thoughnecessary, is very disagreeable to my natural make and temper, as I knowit must be grievous to you, who are of the same species; but it is not mybusiness to animadvert, but to obey such orders as I receive, andtherefore, without hesitation, shall deliver you his Majesty's orders andinstructions, namely, that your lands and tenements, cattle of all kindsand live stock of all sorts, are forfeited to the Crown; with all otheryour effects, saving your money and household goods, and you yourselves tobe removed from this his province. 

"'Thus it is peremptorily his Majesty's orders, that the whole Frenchinhabitants of these Districts be removed; and I am, through his Majesty'sgoodness, directed to allow you liberty to carry off your money andhousehold goods, as many as you can without discommoding the vessels yougo in. I shall do everything in my power that all those goods be securedto you, and that you are not molested in carrying them off; also thatwhole families shall go in the same vessel, and make this remove, which Iam sensible must give you a great deal of trouble, as easy as hisMajesty's service will admit: and hope that, in whatever part of the worldyou may fall, you may be faithful subjects, a peaceable and happy people. I must also inform you that it is his Majesty's pleasure that you remainin security under the inspection and direction of the troops I have thehonor to command. '

"The poor people, unconscious of any crime, and full of concern for havingincurred his Majesty's displeasure, petitioned Colonel Winslow for leaveto visit their families, and entreated him to detain a part only of theprisoners as hostages; urging with tears and prayers their intention tofulfill their promise of returning after taking leave of their kindred andconsoling them in their distresses and misfortunes. The answer of ColonelWinslow to this petition was to grant leave of absence to twenty only, fora single day. This sentence they bore with fortitude and resignation, butwhen the hour of embarkation arrived, in which they were to part withtheir friends and relatives without a hope of ever seeing them again, andto be dispersed among strangers, whose language, customs, and religion, were opposed to their own, the weakness of human nature prevailed, andthey were overpowered with the sense of their miseries. The young men werefirst ordered to go on board of one of the vessels. This they instantlyand peremptorily refused to do, declaring that they would not leave theirparents; but expressed a willingness to comply with the order, providedthey were permitted to embark with their families. The request wasrejected, and the troops were ordered to fix bayonets and advance towardthe prisoners, a motion which had the effect of producing obedience on thepart of the young men, who forthwith commenced their march. The road fromthe chapel to the shore--just one mile in length--was crowded with womenand children; who, on their knees, greeted them as they passed, with theirtears and their blessings; while the prisoners advanced with slow andreluctant steps, weeping, praying, and singing hymns. This detachment wasfollowed by the seniors, who passed through the same scene of sorrow anddistress. In this manner was the whole male part of the population of theDistrict of Minas put on board the five transports stationed in the riverGasperau. "

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

 "Rock of ages cleft for me, Let me to thy bosom flee;"

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

Gentle reader, as we sit in this little inn-room, and see the ragged edgeof the moon shimmering over the meadows of Grand-Pré, do we not feel atouch of the sin that soiled her garments a hundred years ago? Had we notbetter abstain from blowing our Puritan trumpets so loudly, and wreathewith crape our banners for a season? Let us rather date from more recentachievements. Let us take a fresh start in history and brag of nothingthat antedates Bunker Hill. Here everybody has a hand to applaud. But forthe age that preceded it, the least said about it the better! There, outlamp! and good night! to-morrow "Home, sweet Home!" But I love thisprovince!

APPENDIX. 

Peccavi! I hope the reader will forgive me for my luckless description ofthe procession to lay the corner stone of the Halifax Lunatic Asylum, inChapter I. No person can trifle or jest with the _object_ of so noble acharity. But the procession itself was pretty much as I have described it;indeed, pretty much like all the civic processions I have ever witnessedin any country. The following account of the results of that good work mayinterest the reader:

"A visit to the LUNATIC ASYLUM building, on the eastern side of theharbor, furnishes some notes of interest. The walk from the ferry has verypleasing features of village, farming and woodland character. The buildingstands on a rising ground, which commands a noble view of the western bankof the harbor opposite; northward, of the Narrows and Basin; andsouthward, of the islands, headlands and ocean. The medical superintendentof the institution is actively engaged carrying out plans toward thecompletion of the building, and gives very courteous facilities tovisitors. The part of the Asylum which now appears of such respectabledimensions is just one-third part of the intended building. It is expectedto accommodate ninety patients; the completed building, two hundred andfifty. The private and public rooms, cooking, serving, heating and otherapartments appear to be very judiciously arranged, with an eye to goodorder, cheerfulness and thorough efficiency. The building is well drained, defective mason-work has been remedied, and all appears steadily advancingtowards the consummation of wishes long entertained by its philanthropicprojectors. The building is to be lighted with gas manufactured on thepremises; all the apartments are to be heated by steam; and the waterrequired for various purposes of the establishment, after being conveyedfrom the lakes, is to be raised to the loft immediately under the roof, and there held in tanks, ready for demand. The roofing we understand to bea model for lightness of material and firmness of construction. Theheating apparatus occupies the underground floor. It consists of numerouscoils of metal tubes, to which the steam is conveyed from an out-building, which contains the furnace and other apparatus. From the hot-air apartmentthe warm air is conveyed, by means of flues, to the various rooms of thebuilding, each flue being under the immediate control of the officers ofthe institution. Ventilation is obtained by flues communicating with thespace just below the roof; and the impure air is expected to pass offthrough openings in the cupola which rises above the roof ridges. By theheating apparatus the danger and trouble consequent on numerous fires areavoided, at about the same expense which the common mode would cause. Veryjudicious arrangements for drainage, laying off the grounds, etc. , appearto have been adopted, and are in progress. The building is to beapproached by a gracefully curved carriage road. The grounds are to besurrounded by a hawthorn fence, immediately within which will be a shaded, thoroughly drained path for walking. The slopes of the hill in front arein course of levelling, and will soon present a scene of lawn and grainfield; while a southwest area is laid off as an extensive garden andnursery of trees and shrubs. This important appendage to such aninstitution is charmingly situated, as regards scenery; and, with itsterraces, plantation, vegetable and flower departments, etc. , will soon bea very admirable place of resort for purposes of sanitary toil, orretirement and rest. We rejoice that, altogether, the establishmentpromises to be a very decided proof of provincial advance, and a credit tothe country. After all the difficulties, delays and doubts that haveoccurred, this is a very gratifying result. The building is expected to beready for reception of patients sometime in September, or the early partof October. "--_Halifax Morning Sun_, _June 14, 1858_. 

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HALIFAX. --The following letter of a correspondent of the _New York Times_may interest the reader. It is a very fair account of the aspect of thechief city of this Province:

"The Lieutenant-Governor, Sir J. Gaspard le Marchant, is said to be asevere disciplinarian. He served in the wars of the Peninsula, and is nowbeing rewarded for his distinguished services as Governor of thisProvince. He reviews the troops twice a week upon the Common, and is verystrict. The evolutions of the rank and file are the most perfectexhibitions of the kind I have ever witnessed. During one of these reviewsI took occasion to remark to a citizen that they were _almost_ equal tothe Seventh Regiment of New York. The bystanders laughed incredulously. The bands are as perfect in movement as the troops. The whole affairpasses off literally like clock-work, a pendulum being kept in sight ofthe reviewing officers, by which to measure the music of the bands, andstep of the soldiers. Each review concludes with a presentation of theroyal standard--the identical colors which were first unfurled upon theRedan by this regiment at the fall of Sebastopol. The ceremony isimpressive, an almost superstitious reverence being paid to the triumphantbunting. The review ended, the band remains for a half hour to play forthe entertainment of the citizens, who generally attend in large numbers. 

"There are among the officers and soldiers of the 62d and 63d many bearingupon their left breasts the Victoria medal, and other decorations bestowedfor distinguished bravery at Sebastopol. The most eminent of these isColonel Ingall, who has both breasts covered with these testimonials ofbravery. They are not, however, confined to the officers, but many of therank and file are favored in like manner. 

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

"Upon entering this harbor from the sea the principal objects of interestto a stranger are the fortifications which line its two sides, the firstthree or four being round castles pierced for two tiers of guns, andhaving temporary wooden roofs thrown over them to protect the works; theyare situated upon prominent points and islands commanding both entrances. The first principal fort is that situated at the junction of the'northwest arm' with the harbor. This is a granite structure of somepretensions, and during the past season was, with the high, level landswhich surround it, made the head-quarters or camping-ground for thetroops. Tents here covered all the hill-side, presenting a verypicturesque appearance; camp life was adopted in all its details, and themost thorough drilling was gone through with, including the digging oftrenches, throwing up earth-works, etc. The fortifications upon George'sIsland, just below the town, are being extended and strengthened, and whencompleted, will be the principal defence of the harbor. The Citadel orFort George, occupies the high, round hill which rises directly back ofthe town, to about three hundred feet above the tide, and perfectlycommands the town and adjacent harbor. There is said to be room enoughwithin its walls for all the inhabitants of the town, to which they couldretreat in case of a siege. From a personal inspection, however, I judgethey would have to pack them pretty closely. The works cover an area ofabout six acres, there being a double line of forts, composed of massivegranite, and presenting every variety of angle. A ditch twenty-five feetdeep and sixty feet wide surrounds it on all sides, with a single entranceor bridgeway, on the east aide, which could be removed in an hour. Tworavelins, which have been lately completed within the walls, are elegantspecimens of masonry. The whole hill is being rounded off, and a line ofearth-works are to be constructed at its base at every salient angle. Theparapet is now covered at wide intervals, with 32-pounders, mounted uponiron carriages. Extensive changes and improvements are being adopted, andwhen the present plans are complete, this fort, it is said, will mountover 400 guns. The cast-iron swivel carriages are condemned as being tooliable to injury from cannon-shots, and are all to be replaced by othersmade of teak-wood. 

"There exists, evidently, some reluctance among the officers in command toa close inspection of these works by foreigners. An instance in pointoccurred to-day. There were two young men, Americans, looking at the fort. They had obtained permission, which is given in writing by theQuartermaster-General, to inspect the Signal-Station, etc. , but they wereobserved with paper and pencil in hand, taking down particular memorandaof the fortification, the size of guns, their number, the positions of theravelins and what not. As this was considered a palpable breach ofcourtesy, a sergeant tapped them on the shoulder and led them out of thegate, with a reprimand for what he called their want of good manners. Itis a long time since anything of the kind has occurred. 

"This Citadel is the place from which all vessels are signalled to thetown. The signal stations are four in number; the first being at theCitadel, the second at 'York Redcut, ' five miles down the harbor, thethird, 'Camperdown, ' some ten miles further, and the fourth, with whichthis last signals, is the island of 'Sambro, ' ten miles south of theentrance to the harbor. The system is carried on by means of a series ofblack balls, which are hoisted in different positions upon two yard-arms, a long and a short one, placed one above the other on a tall flag-staff. The communication is very rapid, and is exempt from liability to mistakes. A sentence transmitting an order of any kind from one of the lowerstations is sent and received in less than two minutes. The distance from'Sambro, ' the outer station, is about twenty miles from the Citadel. Maryatt's code of marine signals is in use here. The new marine code, lately issued under the auspices of the London Board of Trade, 'for allnations, ' is pronounced by the operator as too complicated to become ofany practical use, necessitating, as it would, the employment of a'flag-lieutenant' on board every ship, who should do nothing but thesignalling, since not one captain in a hundred would ever have the time orpatience to acquaint himself with its mysteries. 

"Some works of internal improvement are in progress, which will beimportant in promoting the prosperity and in developing the resources ofthis Province. A railroad across the Isthmus to Truro, with a branch-roadto Windsor, will connect the interior towns with Halifax, and furnish_modern_ facilities for communication with the other Provinces and withthe States. Twenty-two miles of the road are already completed, and theremainder will be finished soon. A canal is also in progress from the headof Halifax harbor (north side) in the direction of Truro, which is toconnect a remarkable chain of lakes with the Shubenacadie River, whichempties into Minas' Basin at the head of the Bay of Fundy. Great resultsare anticipated in favor of the farming and other interests along itsroute. The work is in an advanced stage towards completion. 

"There is, it is said, no portion of the American Continent so abundantlysupplied with water communication as Nova Scotia. The whole interior is acontinuous chain of lakes. The coast is rocky and most unpromising, butthe interior is said to contain some of the best farming land east ofIllinois. Hon. Albert Pillsbury, the American Consul, who is thoroughlyconversant with the resources of the Province, declares it, in hisopinion, the richest portion of the American Continent--richest in coal, minerals and agricultural resources. Mr. Pillsbury takes advantage of hiswell-deserved popularity in the Province to tell the Blue Noses some hometruths. On one occasion he told them it was evident the Lord knew theywere the laziest people on the earth, and had, therefore, taken pity onthem, and given them more facilities for transacting their business thanwere possessed by any other people under the sun. 

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

"_Tri-Weeklies. _--Morning Journal, Morning Chronicle, Morning Advertiser, the Sun, and British Colonist. 

"_Weeklies. _--Acadian Recorder, Nova Scotian, Weekly Sun, and WeeklyColonist. 

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

"_Temperance. _--The Abstainer. 

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

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

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

"Government lands are to be purchased in any quantity at $1 per acre, andby an act of the Provincial Legislature, aliens are as free to purchase asnative citizens or residents. Several American capitalists have availedthemselves of the opening, and invested largely in the 'timber and farminglands of Nova Scotia, and an infusion of this element is all that isrequired to develop a prosperous future for this Province. ' "SAILE. "

"TORIES. --The number of loyalists who arrived in Nova Scotia was verygreat. They constituted a large proportion of the original settlers inalmost every section of the colony. So termed because of their loyalty tothe sovereign, and unwillingness to remain in the revolted and independentStates, they found their way hither chiefly in the years 1783-4. Sometimestermed refugees, because of their seeking refuge on British soil fromthose with whom they had contended in the great Revolutionary struggle, the names are often interchanged, whilst sometimes they are joinedtogether in the title of 'Loyalist Refugees. ' No less than 20, 000 arrivedprior to the close of the year in which the Independence of the UnitedStates was acknowledged. These chose spots suited to their inclinations, if not always adapted to their wants, in the counties of Digby, Annapolis, Guysboro', Shelburne, and Hants. In these five counties, for the mostpart, are resident the children of the loyalists, though, as hinted, theyare to be met with in smaller companies elsewhere. 

"We cannot doubt that the purest motives and highest sense of dutyactuated very many, though not all, of this vast number, when they turnedtheir backs upon the houses and farms, the pursuits and business, thefriends and relations of past years. To this may, in some measure, beattributed the marked loyalty of this province. Principles of obedience tothe laws, and allegiance to the crown, were instilled into the minds oftheir children, who in their turn handed down the sentiments of theirancestors until the good leaven spread, and tended to strengthen thatloyalty which already existed in the hearts of the people. More than oncehas this trait been manifested by our countrymen in town and country. Whenthe first blood of the rebellion in Canada was shed in 1837, meetingswere held in every village and settlement in the province, eachproclaiming in fervent language the deepest attachment to the sovereignand the government, while in Halifax the people determined to support thewives and children of the absent troops. When two years later theinhabitants of the State of Maine prepared to invade New Brunswick, theannouncement was received with intense feelings of regard for the honor ofthe British Crown. The House, which was then sitting, voted £100, 000, and8, 000 men to aid the New Brunswickers in repelling the invaders, andrising in a body gave three cheers for the queen, and three for theirloyal brethren of the sister province. Long may the feeling continue toexist, and grow within our borders! long may we remain beneath the mildaway of that gracious queen, whose virtues shed lustre on the crown shewears! long may every Nova Scotian's voice exclaim, 'God save our nobleQueen. '"--_Nova Scotia and Nova Scotians, by_ REV. GEO. W. HILL, A. M. 

"NEGROES. --There are to be found in the colony some five thousand negroes, whose ancestors came to the province in four distinct bodies, and atdifferent times. The first class were originally slaves, who accompaniedtheir masters from the older colonies; but as the opinion prevailed thatthe courts would not recognize a state of slavery, they were liberated. Onreceiving their freedom they either remained in the employment of theirformer owners, or obtaining a small piece of land in the neighborhood, eked out a miserable existence, rarely improving their condition, bodilyor mental. 

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

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

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

"But little changed in any respect--their persons and their property--theyhave passed through much wretchedness during the last half century. Theirnatural indolence and love of ease being ill suited to our latitude, inwhich a long and severe winter demands unceasing diligence, and more thanordinary prudence, in those who depend upon manual labor for their meansof subsistence. Amongst them, however, are to be found a few who areprudent, diligent and prosperous. These are worthy of the more esteem, inproportion as they have met with greater obstacles, and happily havesurmounted them. "--_Ibid. _

EMINENT MEN. --Besides many gentlemen of rare talents, distinguished in theannals of the province, the following Nova Scotians have won a moreextended reputation: Sir EDWARD BELCHER, the famous Arctic navigator;Rear-Admiral PROVO WALLIS, who captured our own vessel the Chesapeake, after the death of his superior, Captain Brooke. The words of Lawrence, "Don't give up the ship, " record the memorable achievement of this navalofficer. DONALD MCKAY, who after perfecting his education in New York as aship-builder, removed to Boston, Massachusetts, and there has won for thatcity distinguished honors; THOMAS C. HALIBURTON, the author of "SamSlick, " and a great number of other clever books; SAMUEL CUNARD, thefather of the Cunard line! who does not know him? General BECKWITH, notless known in the annals of philanthropy; GILBERT STUART NEWTON, artist;General Inglis, the defender of Lucknow, and General William FenwickWilliams, the hero of Kars. The mere mention of such names issufficient--their eulogy suggests itself. 

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Transcriber's note: For clarity, changes have been applied to the textas follows:

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26. Closing quotation marks added after ... A halo of fog. 

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