LOST AT SEA.
“I believe, Doctor,” sais I, “we have seen all that is worth notice
here, let us go into one of their houses and ascertain if there is
anything for Sorrow’s larder; but, Doctor,” sais I, “let us first find
out if they speak English, for if they do we must be careful what we
say before them. Very few of the old people I guess know anything but
French, but the younger ones who frequent the Halifax market know more
than they pretend to if they are like some other _habitans_ I saw at
New Orleans. They are as cunning as foxes.”
Proceeding to one of the largest cottages, we immediately gained
admission. The door, unlike those of Nova Scotian houses, opened
outwards, the fastening being a simple wooden latch. The room into
which we entered was a large, dark, dingy, dirty apartment. In the
centre of it was a tub containing some goslins, resembling yellow balls
of corn-meal, rather than birds. Two females were all that were at
home, one a little wrinkled woman, whose age it would puzzle a
physiognomist to pronounce on, the other a girl about twenty-five years
old. They sat on opposite sides of the fire-place, and both were
clothed alike, in blue striped homespun, as previously described.
“Look at their moccasins,” said the doctor. “They know much more about
deer-skins than half the English settlers do. Do you observe, they are
made of carriboo, and not moose hide. The former contracts with wet and
the other distends and gets out of shape. Simple as that little thing
is, few people have ever noticed it.”
The girl, had she been differently trained and dressed, would have been
handsome, but spare diet, exposure to the sun and wind, and
field-labour, had bronzed her face, so that it was difficult to say
what her real complexion was. Her hair was jet black and very
luxuriant, but the handkerchief which served for bonnet and head-dress
by day, and for a cap by night, hid all but the ample folds in front.
Her teeth were as white as ivory, and contrasted strangely with the
gipsy colour of her cheeks. Her eyes were black, soft, and liquid, and
the lashes remarkably long, but the expression of her face, which was
naturally good, indicated, though not very accurately, the absence of
either thought or curiosity.
After a while objects became more distinct in the room, as we gradually
became accustomed to the dim light of the small windows. The walls were
hung round with large hanks of yarn, principally blue and white. An
open cupboard displayed some plain coarse cups and saucers, and the
furniture consisted of two rough tables, a large bunk,1 one or two
sea-chests, and a few chairs of simple workmanship. A large
old-fashioned spinning-wheel and a barrel-churn stood in one corner,
and in the other a shoemaker’s bench, while carpenter’s tools were
suspended on nails in such places as were not occupied by yarn. There
was no ceiling or plastering visible anywhere, the floor of the attic
alone separated that portion of the house from the lower room, and the
joice on which it was laid were thus exposed to view, and supported on
wooden cleets, leather, oars, rudders, together with some half-dressed
pieces of ash, snow-shoes, and such other things as necessity might
require. The wood-work, wherever visible, was begrimed with smoke, and
the floor, though doubtless sometimes swept, appeared as if it had the
hydrophobia hidden in its cracks, so carefully were soap and water kept
from it. Hams and bacon were nowhere visible. It is probable, if they
had any, they were kept elsewhere, but still more probable that they
had found their way to market, and been transmuted into money, for
these people are remarkably frugal and abstemious, and there can be no
doubt, the doctor says, that there is not a house in the settlement in
which there is not a supply of ready money, though the appearance of
the buildings and their inmates would by no means justify a stranger in
supposing so. They are neither poor nor destitute, but far better off
than those who live more comfortably and inhabit better houses.
1 Bunk is a word in common use, and means a box that makes a seat by
day and serves for a bedstead by night.
The only article of food that I saw was a barrel of eggs, most probably
accumulated for the Halifax market, and a few small fish on rods,
undergoing the process of smoking in the chimney corner.
The old woman was knitting and enjoying her pipe, and the girl was
dressing wool, and handling a pair of cards with a rapidity and ease
that would have surprised a Lancashire weaver. The moment she rose to
sweep up the hearth I saw she was an heiress. When an Acadian girl has
but her outer and under garment on, it is a clear sign, if she marries,
there will be a heavy demand on the fleeces of her husband’s sheep; but
if she wears four or more thick woollen petticoats, it is equally
certain her portion of worldly goods is not very small.
“Doctor,” sais I, “it tante every darnin’ needle would reach her
through them petticoats, is it?”
“Oh!” said he, “Mr Slick—oh!” and he rose as usual, stooped forward,
pressed his hands on his ribs, and ran round the room, if not at the
imminent risk of his life, certainly to the great danger of the
spinning wheel and the goslings. Both the females regarded him with
great surprise, and not without some alarm.
“He has the stomach-ache,” sais I, in French, “he is subject to it.”
“Oh! oh!” said he, when he heard that, “oh, Mr Slick, you will be the
death of me.”
“Have you got any peppermint?” sais I.
“No,” said she, talking in her own _patois;_ and she scraped a spoonful
of soot from the chimney, and putting it into a cup, was about pouring
hot water on it for an emetic, when he could stand it no longer, but
rushing out of the door, put to flight a flock of geese that were
awaiting their usual meal, and stumbling over a pig, fell at full
length on the ground, nearly crushing the dog, who went off yelling as
if another such blow would be the death of him, and hid himself under
the barn. The idea of the soot-emetic relieved the old lady, though it
nearly fixed the doctor’s flint for him. She extolled its virtues to
the skies; she saved her daughter’s life, she said, with it once, who
had been to Halifax, and was taken by an officer into a pastrycook’s
shop and treated. He told her if she would eat as much as she could at
once, he would pay for it all.
Well, she did her best. She eat one loaf of plumcake, three trays of
jellies, a whole counter of little tarts, figs, raisins, and oranges,
and all sorts of things without number. Oh! it was a grand chance, she
said, and the way she eat was a caution to a cormorant; but at last she
gave out she couldn’t do no more. The foolish officer, the old lady
observed, if he had let her fetch all them things home, you know we
could have helped her to eat them, and if we couldn’t have eat ’em all
in one day, surely we could in one week; but he didn’t think of that I
suppose. But her daughter liked to have died; too much of a good thing
is good for nothing. Well, the soot-emetic cured her, and then she told
me all its effects; and it’s very surprising, it didn’t sound bad in
French, but it don’t do to write it in English at all; it’s the same
thing, but it tells better in French. It must be a very nice language
that for a doctor, when it makes emetics sound so pretty; you might
hear of ’em while you was at dinner and not disturb you.
You may depend it made the old lady wake snakes and walk chalks talking
of physic. She told me if a man was dying or a child was born in all
that settlement, she was always sent for, and related to me some
capital stories; but somehow no English or Yankee woman could tell them
to a man, and a man can’t tell them in English. How is this, Squire, do
you know? Ah! here is the doctor, I will ask him by and by.
Women, I believe, are born with certain natural tastes. Sally was death
on lace, and old Aunt Thankful goes the whole figure for furs; either
on ’em could tell real thread or genuine sable clear across the church.
Mother was born with a tidy devil, and had an eye for cobwebs and
blue-bottle flies. She waged eternal war on ’em; while Phoebe Hopewell
beat all natur for bigotry and virtue as she called them _(bijouterie_
and _virtu)._ But most Yankee women when they grow old, specially if
they are spinsters, are grand at compoundin’ medicines and presarves.
They begin by nursin’ babies and end by nursin’ broughten up folks. Old
Mother Boudrot, now, was great on herbs, most of which were as simple
and as harmless as herself. Some of them was new to me, though I think
I know better ones than she has; but what made her onfallible was she
had faith. She took a key out of her pocket, big enough for a
jail-door, and unlocking a huge sailor’s chest, selected a box made by
the Indians of birch bark, worked with porcupine quills, which enclosed
another a size smaller, and that a littler one that would just fit into
it, and so on till she came to one about the size of an old-fashioned
coffee-cup. They are called a nest of boxes. The inner one contained a
little horn thing that looked like a pill-box, and that had a charm in
it.
It was a portion of the nail of St Francis’s big toe, which never
failed to work a cure on them who believed in it. She said she bought
it from a French prisoner, who had deserted from Melville Island, at
Halifax, during the last war. She gave him a suit of clothes, two
shirts, six pair of stockings, and eight dollars for it. The box was
only a bit of bone, and not worthy of the sacred relic, but she
couldn’t afford to get a gold one for it.
“Poor St Croix,” she said, “I shall never see him again. He had great
larning; he could both read and write. When he sold me that holy thing,
he said:
“‘Madam, I am afraid something dreadful will happen to me before long
for selling that relic. When danger and trouble come, where will be my
charm then?’
“Well, sure enough, two nights after (it was a very dark night) the
dogs barked dreadful, and in the morning Peter La Roue, when he got up,
saw his father’s head on the gate-post, grinnin’ at him, and his
daughter Annie’s handkerchief tied over his crown and down under his
chin. And St Croix was gone, and Annie was in a trance, and the
priest’s desk was gone, with two hundred pounds of money in it; and old
Jodrie’s ram had a saddle and bridle on, and was tied to a gate of the
widow of Justine Robisheau, that was drowned in a well at Halifax; and
Simon Como’s boat put off to sea of itself, and was no more heard of.
Oh, it was a terrible night, and poor St Croix, people felt very sorry
for him, and for Annie La Roue, who slept two whole days and nights
before she woke up. She had all her father’s money in her room that
night; but they searched day after day and never found it.”
Well, I didn’t undeceive her. What’s the use? Master St Croix was an
old privateers-man. He had drugged La Roue’s daughter to rob her of her
money; had stolen two hundred pounds from the priest, and Como’s boat,
and sold the old lady a piece of his toe-nail for eight or ten pounds’
worth in all. _I never shake the faith of an ignorant person. Suppose
they do believe too much, it is safer than believing too little. You
may make them give up their creed, but they ain’t always quite so
willing to take your’s. It is easier to make an infidel than a
convert._ So I just let folks be, and suffer them to skin their own
eels.
After that she took to paying me compliments on my French, and I
complimented her on her good looks, and she confessed she was very
handsome when she was young, and all the men were in love with her, and
so on. Well, when I was about startin’, I inquired what she had to sell
in the eatin’ line.
“Eggs and fish,” she said, “were all she had in the house.”
On examining the barrel containing the former, I found a white-lookin’,
tasteless powder among them.
“What’s that?” said I.
Well, she told me what it was (pulverised gypsum), and said, “It would
keep them sweet and fresh for three months at least, and she didn’t
know but more.”
So I put my hand away down into the barrel and pulled out two, and that
layer she said was three months old. I held them to the light, and they
were as clear as if laid yesterday.
“Boil them,” sais I, and she did so; and I must say it was a wrinkle I
didn’t expect to pick up at such a place as that, for nothing could be
fresher.
“Here is a dollar,” said I, “for that receipt, for it’s worth knowing,
I can tell you.”
“Now,” thinks I, as I took my seat again, “I will try and see if this
French gall can talk English.” I asked her, but she shook her head.
So to prove her, sais I, “Doctor, ain’t she a beauty, that? See what
lovely eyes she has, and magnificent hair! Oh, if she was well got up,
and fashionably dressed, wouldn’t she be a sneezer? What beautiful
little hands and feet she has! I wonder if she would marry me, seein’ I
am an orthodox man.”
Well, she never moved a muscle; she kept her eyes fixed on her work,
and there wasn’t the leastest mite of a smile on her face. I kinder
sorter thought her head was rather more stationary, if anything, as if
she was listening, and her eyes more fixed, as if she was all
attention; but she had dropped a stitch in her knitting, and was taking
of it up, so perhaps I might be mistaken. Thinks I, I will try you on
t’other tack.
“Doctor, how would you like to kiss her, eh? Ripe-looking lips them,
ain’t they? Well, I wouldn’t kiss her for the world,” said I; “I would
just as soon think of kissing a ham that is covered with creosote.
There is so much ile and smoke on ’em, I should have the taste in my
mouth for a week. Phew! I think I taste it now!”
She coloured a little at that, and pretty soon got up and went out of
the room; and presently I heard her washing her hands and face like
anything,
Thinks I, “You sly fox! you know English well enough to kiss in it
anyhow, if you can’t talk in it easy. I thought I’de find you out; for
a gall that won’t laugh when you tickle her, can’t help screamin’ a
little when you pinch her; that’s a fact.” She returned in a few
minutes quite a different lookin’ person, and resumed her usual
employment, but still persisted that she did not know English. In the
midst of our conversation, the master of the house, Jerome Boudrot,
came in. Like most of the natives of Chesencook, he was short in
stature, but very active, and like all the rest a great talker.
“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “you follow de sea, eh?”
“No,” sais I, “the sea often follows us, especially when the wind is
fair.”
“True, true,” he said; “I forget dat. It followed me one time. Oh, I
was wunst lost at sea; and it’s an awful feelin’. I was out of sight of
land one whole day, all night, and eetle piece of next day. Oh, I was
proper frightened. It was all sea and sky, and big wave, and no land,
and none of us knew our way back.” And he opened his eyes as if the
very recollection of his danger alarmed him. “At last big ship came by,
and hailed her, and ask:
“‘My name is Jerry Boudrot; where am I?’
“‘Aboard of your own vessel,’ said they; and they laughed like
anything, and left us.
“Well, towards night we were overtaken by Yankee vessel, and I say, ‘My
name is Jerry Boudrot; where am I?’
“‘_Thar_,’ said the sarcy Yankee captain, ‘and if you get this far, you
will be _here_;’ and they laughed at me, and I swore at them, and
called ’em all manner of names.
“Well, then I was proper frightened, and I gave myself up for lost, and
I was so sorry I hadn’t put my deed of my land on recor, and that I
never got pay for half a cord of wood I sold a woman, who nevare return
agin, last time I was to Halifax; and Esadore Terrio owe me two
shillings and sixpence, and I got no note of hand for it, and I lend my
ox-cart for one day to Martell Baban, and he will keep it for a week,
and wear it out, and my wife marry again as sure as de world. Oh, I was
very scare and propare sorry, you may depend, when presently great big
English ship come by, and I hail her.
“‘My name is Jerry Boudrot,’ sais I, ‘when did you see land last?’
“‘Thirty days ago,’ said the captain.
“‘Where am I?’ sais I.
“‘In 44° 40′ north,’ said he, ‘and 63° 40′ west,’ as near as I could
hear him.
“‘And what country is dat are?’ said I. ‘My name is Jerry Boudrot.’
“‘Where are you bound?’ said he.
“‘Home,’1 said I.
1 All colonists call England “home.”
“‘Well,’ said he, ‘at this season of the year you shall make de run in
twenty-five day. A pleasant passage to you!’ and away he went.
“Oh, I was plague scared; for it is a dreadful thing to be lost at sea.
“‘Twenty-five days,’ said I, ‘afore we get home! Oh, mon Dieu! oh dear!
we shall all starve to death; and what is worse, die first. What
provision have we, boys?’
“‘Well,’ sais they, ‘we counted, and we have two figs of tobacco, and
six loaf baker’s bread (for the priest), two feet of wood, three
matches, and five gallons of water, and one pipe among us all.’ Three
matches and five gallons of water! Oh, I was so sorry to lose my life,
and what was wus, I had my best clothes on bord.
“‘Oh, boys, we are out of sight of land now,’ sais I, ‘and what is wus,
may be we go so far we get out sight of de sun too, where is dark like
down cellar. Oh, it’s a shocking ting to be lost at sea. Oh, people
lose deir way dere so bad, sometimes dey nevare return no more. People
that’s lost in de wood dey come back if dey live, but them that’s lost
at sea nevare. Oh, I was damn scared. Oh, mon Dieu! what is 44° 40′
north and 63° 40′ west? Is dat de conetry were people who are lost at
sea go to? Boys, is there any rum on board?’ and they said there was a
bottle for the old lady’s rheumatis. ‘Well, hand it up,’ sais I, ‘and
if ever you get back tell her it was lost at sea, and has gone to 44°
40′ north and 63° 40′ west. Oh, dear, dis all comes from going out of
sight of land.’
“Oh, I was vary dry you may depend; I was so scared at being lost at
sea that way, my lips stuck together like the sole and upper-leather of
a shoe. And when I took down the bottle to draw breath, the boys took
it away, as it was all we had. Oh, it set my mouth afire, it was made
to warm outside and not inside. Dere was brimstone, and camphor, and
eetle red pepper, and turpentene in it. Vary hot, vary nasty, and vary
trong, and it made me sea-sick, and I gave up my dinner, for I could
not hole him no longer, he jump so in de stomach, and what was wus, I
had so little for anoder meal. Fust I lose my way, den I lose my sense,
den I lose my dinner, and what is wus I lose myself to sea. Oh, I
repent vary mush of my sin in going out of sight of land. Well, I
lights my pipe and walks up and down, and presently the sun comes out
quite bright.
“‘Well, dat sun,’ sais I, ‘boys, sets every night behind my barn in the
big swamp, somewhere about the Hemlock Grove. Well, dat is 63° 40′ west
I suppose. And it rises a few miles to the eastward of that barn,
sometimes out of a fog bank, and sometimes out o’ the water; well that
is 44° 40′ north, which is all but east I suppose. Now, if we steer
west we will see our barn, but steering east is being lost at sea, for
in time you would be behind de sun.’
“Well, we didn’t sleep much dat night, you may depend, but we prayed a
great deal, and we talked a great deal, and I was so cussed scared I
did not know what to do. Well, morning came and still no land, and I
began to get diablement feared again. Every two or tree minutes I run
up de riggin’ and look out, but couldn’t see notin’. At last I went
down to my trunk, for I had bottle there for my rheumatics too, only no
nasty stuff in it, that the boys didn’t know of, and I took very long
draught, I was so scared; and then I went on deck and up de riggin’
again.
“‘Boys,’ sais I, ‘there’s the barn. That’s 63° 40′ west. I tole you
so.’ Well, when I came down I went on my knees, and I vowed as long as
I lived I would hug as tight and close as ever I could.”
“Your wife?” sais I.
“Pooh, no,” said he, turning round contemptuously towards her; “hug
her, eh! why, she has got the rheumatiz, and her tongue is in mourning
for her teeth. No, hug the shore, man, hug it so close as posseeble,
and nevare lose sight of land for fear of being lost at sea.”
The old woman perceiving that Jerry had been making some joke at her
expense, asked the girl the meaning of it, when she rose, and seizing
his cap and boxing his ears with it, right and left, asked what he
meant by wearing it before gentlemen, and then poured out a torrent of
abuse on him, with such volubility I was unable to follow it.
Jerry sneaked off, and set in the corner near his daughter, afraid to
speak, and the old woman took her chair again, unable to do so. There
was a truce and a calm, so to change the conversation, sais I:
“Sorrow, take the rifle and go and see if there is a Jesuit-priest
about here, and if there is shoot him, and take him on board and cook
him.”
“Oh, Massa Sam,” said he, and he opened his eyes and goggled like an
owl awfully frightened. “Goody gracious me, now you is joking, isn’t
you? I is sure you is. You wouldn’t now, Massa, you wouldn’t make dis
child do murder, would you? Oh, Massa!! kill de poor priest who nebber
did no harm in all his born days, and him hab no wife and child to
follow him to—”
“The pot,” sais I, “oh, yes, if they ask me arter him I will say he is
gone to pot.”
“Oh, Massa, now you is funnin, ain’t you?” and he tried to force a
laugh. “How in de world under de canopy ob hebbin must de priest be
cooked?”
“Cut his head and feet off,” sais I, “break his thighs short, close up
to the stumps, bend ’em up his side, ram him into the pot and stew him
with ham and vegetables. Lick! a Jesuit-priest is delicious done that
way.”
The girl dropped her cards on her knees and looked at me with intense
anxiety. She seemed quite handsome, I do actilly believe if she was put
into a tub and washed, laid out on the grass a few nights with her face
up to bleach it, her great yarn petticoats hauled off and proper ones
put on, and her head and feet dressed right, she’d beat the Blue-nose
galls for beauty out and out; but that is neither here nor there, those
that want white faces must wash them, and those that want white floors
must scrub them, it’s enough for me that they are white, without my
making them so. Well, she looked all eyes and ears. Jerry’s under-jaw
dropped, Cutler was flabbergasted, and the doctor looked as if he
thought, “Well, what are you at now?” while the old woman appeared
anxious enough to give her whole barrel of eggs to know what was going
on.
“Oh, Massa,” said Sorrow, “dis here child can’t have no hand in it. De
priest will pyson you, to a dead sartainty. If he was baked he mout do.
In Africa dey is hannibals and eat dere prisoners, but den dey bake or
roast ’em, but stew him, Massa! by golly he will pyson you, as sure as
‘postles. My dear ole missus died from only eaten hogs wid dere heads
on.”
“Hogs!” said I.
“Yes, Massa, in course, hogs wid dere heads on. Oh, she was a most a
beautiful cook, but she was fizzled out by bad cookery at de last.”
“You black villain,” said I, “do you mean to say your mistress ever eat
whole hogs?”
“Yes, Massa, in course I do, but it was abbin’ dere heads on fixed her
flint for her.”
“What an awful liar you are, Sorrow!”
“‘Pon my sacred word and honour, Massa,” he said, “I stake my testament
oat on it; does you tink dis here child now would swear to a lie? true
as preachin’, Sar.”
“Go on,” said I, “I like to see a fellow go the whole animal while he
is about it. How many did it take to kill her?”
“Well, Massa, she told me herself, on her def bed, she didn’t eat no
more nor ten or a dozen hogs, but she didn’t blame dem, it was havin’
dere heads on did all the mischief. I was away when dey was cooked, or
it wouldn’t a happened. I was down to Charleston Bank to draw six
hundred dollars for her, and when I came back she sent for me.
‘Sorrow,’ sais she, ‘Plutarch has poisoned me.’
“‘Oh, de black villain’, sais I, ‘Missus, I will tye him to a tree and
burn him.’
“‘No, no,’ she said, ‘I will return good for ebil. Send for Rev. Mr
Hominy, and Mr Succatash, de Yankee oberseer, and tell my poor granny
Chloe her ole missus is dyin’, and to come back, hot foot, and bring
Plutarch, for my disgestion is all gone.’ Well, when Plutarch came she
said, ‘Plue, my child, you have killed your missus by cooking de hogs
wid dere heads on, but I won’t punish you, I is intendin’ to extinguish
you by kindness among de plantation niggers. I will heap coals of fire
on your head.’
“‘Dat’s right, Missus,’ sais I, ‘burn the villain up, but burn him with
green wood so as to make slow fire, dat’s de ticket, Missus, it sarves
him right.’
“Oh, if you eber heard yellin’, Massa, you’d a heard it den. Plue he
trowed himself down on de ground, and he rolled and he kicked and he
screamed like mad.
“‘Don’t make a noise, Plutarch,’ said she, ‘I can’t stand it. I isn’t a
goin’ to put you to def. You shall lib. I will gib you a wife.’
“‘Oh, tankee, Missus,’ said he, ‘oh, I will pray for you night and day,
when I ain’t at work or asleep, for eber and eber. Amen.’
“‘You shall ab Cloe for a wife.’
“Cloe, Massa, was seventy-five, if she was one blessed second old. She
was crippled with rheumatis, and walked on crutches, and hadn’t a tooth
in her head. She was just doubled up like a tall nigger in a short bed.
“‘Oh, Lord, Missus,’ said Plutarch, ‘hab mercy on dis sinner, O dear
Missus, O lubly Missus, oh hab mercy on dis child.’
“‘Tankee, Missus,’ said Cloe. ‘God bless you, Missus, I is quite appy
now. I is a leetle too young for dat spark, for I is cuttin’ a new set
o’ teeth now, and ab suffered from teethin’ most amazin’, but I will
make him a lubin’ wife. Don’t be shy, Mr Plue,’ said she, and she up
wid one ob her crutches and gub him a poke in de ribs dat made him
grunt like a pig. ‘Come, tand up,’ said she, ‘till de parson tie de
knot round your neck.’
“‘Oh! Lord, Missus,’ said he, ‘ab massy!’ But de parson married ’em,
and said, ‘Slute your bride!’ but he didn’t move.
“‘He is so bashful,’ said Cloe, takin’ him round de neck and kissin’ ob
him. ‘Oh, Missus!’ she said, ‘I is so proud ob my bridegroom—he do look
so genteel wid ole massa’s frill shirt on, don’t he?’
“When dey went out o’ de room into de entry, Cloe fotched him a crack
ober his pate with her crutch that sounded like a cocoa-nut, it was so
hollow.
“‘Take dat,’ said she, ‘for not slutin’ ob your bride, you
good-for-nottin’ onmanerly scallawag you.’
“Poor dear missus! she died dat identical night.”
“Come here, Sorrow,” said I; “come and look me in the face.”
The moment he advanced, Jerry slipt across the room, and tried to hide
behind the tongues near his wife. He was terrified to death. “Do you
mean to say,” said I, “she died of going the whole hog? Was it a
hog—tell me the truth?”
“Well, Massa,” said he, “I don’t know to a zact sartainty, for I was
not dere when she was tooked ill,—I was at de bank at de time,—but I
will take my davy it was hogs or dogs. I wont just zackly sartify
which, because she was ‘mazin’ fond of both; but I will swear it was
one or toder, and dat dey was cooked wid dere heads on—dat I will
stificate to till I die!”
“Hogs or dogs,” said I, “whole, with their heads on—do you mean that?”
“Yes, Massa, dis here child do, of a sartainty.”
“Hogs like the pig, and dogs like the Newfoundlander at the door?”
“Oh, no, Massa, in course it don’t stand to argument ob reason it was.
Oh, no, it was quadogs and quahogs—clams, you know. We calls ’em down
South, for shortness, hogs and dogs. Oh, Massa, in course you knows
dat—I is sure you does—you is only intendin’ on puppose to make game of
dis here nigger, isn’t you?”
“You villain,” said I, “you took a rise out of me that time, at any
rate. It ain’t often any feller does that, so I think you deserve a
glass of the old Jamaiky for it when we go on board. Now go and shoot a
Jesuit-priest if you see one.”
The gall explained the order to her mother.
“Shoot the priest?” said she, in French.
“Shoot the priest,” said Jerry; “shoot me!” And he popped down behind
his wife, as if he had no objection to her receiving the ball first.
She ran to her chest, and got out the little horn box with the nail of
St Francis, and looked determined to die at her post. Sorrow deposited
the gun in the corner, hung down his head, and said:
“Dis here child, Massa Slick, can’t do no murder.”
“Then I must do it myself,” said I, rising and proceeding to get my
rifle.
“Slick,” said the doctor, “what the devil do you mean?”
“Why,” says I, a settin’ down again, “I’ll tell you. Jesuit-priests
were first seen in Spain and Portugal, where they are very fond of
them. I have often eaten them there.”
“First seen in Spain and Portugal!” he replied. “You are out there—but
go on.”
“There is a man,” said I, “in Yorkshire, who says his ancestor brought
the first over from America, when he accompanied Cabot in his voyages,
and he has one as a crest. But that is all bunkum. Cabot never saw
one.”
“What in the world do you call a Jesuit-priest?”
“Why a turkey to be sure,” said I; “that’s what they call them at
Madrid and Lisbon, after the Jesuits who first introduced them into
Europe.”
“My goody gracious!” said Sorrow, “if that ain’t fun alive it’s a pity,
that’s all.”
“We’ll,” said Jerry, “I was lost at sea that time; I was out of sight
of land. It puzzled me like 44° north, and 63° 40′ west.”
“Hogs, dogs, and Jesuit-priests!” said the doctor, and off he set
again, with his hands on his sides, rushing round the room in
convulsions of laughter.
“The priest,” said I to the old woman, “has given him a pain in his
stomach,” when she ran to the dresser again, and got the cup of soot
for him which had not yet been emptied.
“Oh dear!” said he, “I can’t stand that; oh, Slick, you will be the
death of me yet,” and he bolted out of the house.
Having purchased a bushel of clams from the old lady, and bid her and
her daughter good-bye, we _vamosed the ranche_.1 At the door I saw a
noble gobbler.
1 One of the numerous corruptions of Spanish words introduced into the
States since the Mexican war, and signifies to quit the house or
shanty. Rancho designates a hut, covered with branches, where herdsmen
temporarily reside.
“What will you take for that Jesuit-priest,” said I, “Jerry?”
“Seven and sixpence,” said he.
“Done,” said I, and his head was perforated with a ball in an instant.
The dog unused to such a sound from his master’s house, and
recollecting the damage he received from the fall of the doctor, set
off with the most piteous howls that ever were heard, and fled for
safety—the pigs squealed as if they had each been wounded—and the geese
joined in the general uproar—while old Madam Boudrot and her daughter
rushed screaming to the door to ascertain what these dreadful men were
about, who talked of shooting priests, and eating hogs and dogs entire
with their heads on. It was some time before order was restored, and
when Jerry went into the house to light his pipe and deposit his money,
I called Cutler’s attention to the action and style of a horse in the
pasture whom my gun had alarmed.
“That animal,” said I, “must have dropped from the clouds. If he is
young and sound, and he moves as if he were both, he is worth six
hundred dollars. I must have him; can you give him a passage till we
meet one of our large coal ships coming from Pictou?”
“Certainly,” said he.
“Jerry,” sais I, when he returned, “what in the world do you keep such
a fly-away devil as that for? why don’t you sell him and buy cattle?
Can’t you sell him at Halifax?”
“Oh”, said he, “I can’t go there now no more, Mr Slick. The boys call
after me and say: Jerry, when did you see land last? My name is Jerry
Boudrot, where am I? Jerry, I thought you was lost at sea! Jerry, has
your colt got any slippares on yet (shoes)? Jerry, what does 44—40
mean? Oh! I can’t stand it!”
“Why don’t you send him by a neighbour?”
“Oh! none o’ my neighbours can ride him. We can’t break him. We are
fishermen, not horsemen.”
“Where did he come from?”
“The priest brought a mare from Canada with him, and this is her colt.
He gave it to me when I returned from being lost at sea, he was so glad
to see me. I wish you would buy him, Mr Slick; you will have him cheap;
I can’t do noting with him, and no fence shall stop him.”
“What the plague,” sais I, “do you suppose I want of a horse on board
of a ship? do you want me to be lost at sea too? and besides, if I did
try to oblige you,” said I, “and offered you five pounds for that devil
nobody can ride, and no fence stop, you’d ask seven pound ten right
off. Now, that turkey was not worth a dollar here, and you asked at
once seven and sixpence. Nobody can trade with you, you are so
everlasting sharp. If you was lost at sea, you know your way by land,
at all events.”
“Well,” sais he, “say seven pounds ten, and you will have him.”
“Oh! of course,” said I, “there is capital pasture on board of a
vessel, ain’t there? Where am I to get hay till I send him home?”
“I will give you tree hundredweight into the bargain.”
“Well,” sais I, “let’s look at him; can you catch him?”
He went into the house, and bringing out a pan of oats, and calling
him, the horse followed him into the stable, where he was secured. I
soon ascertained he was perfectly sound, and that he was an uncommonly
fine animal. I sent Sorrow on board for my saddle and bridle, whip and
spurs, and desired that the vessel might be warped into the wharf. When
the negro returned, I repeated the terms of the bargain to Jerry, which
being assented to, the animal was brought out into the centre of the
field, and while his owner was talking to him, I vaulted into the
saddle. At first he seemed very much alarmed, snorting, and blowing
violently; he then bounded forward and lashed out with his hind feet
most furiously, which was succeeded by alternate rearing, kicking, and
backing. I don’t think I ever see a critter splurge so badly; at last
he ran the whole length of the field, occasionally throwing up his
heels very high in the air, and returned unwillingly, stopping every
few minutes and plunging outrageously. On the second trial he again
ran, and for the first time I gave him both whip and spur, and made him
take the fence, and in returning I pushed him in the same manner,
making him take the leap as before. Though awkward and ignorant of the
meaning of the rein, the animal knew he was in the hands of a power
superior to his own, and submitted far more easily than I expected.
When we arrived at the wharf, I removed the saddle, and placing a
strong rope round his neck, had it attached to the windlass, not to
drag him on board, but to make him feel if he refused to advance that
he was powerless to resist, an indispensable precaution in breaking
horses. Once and once only he attempted escape; he reared and threw
himself, but finding the strain irresistible, he yielded and went on
board quietly. Jerry was as delighted to get rid of him as I was to
purchase him, and though I knew that seven pounds ten was as much as he
could ever realize out of him, I felt I ought to pay him for the hay,
and also that I could well afford to give him a little conciliation
present; so I gave him two barrels of flour in addition, to enable him
to make his peace with his wife, whom he had so grossly insulted by
asserting that his vow to heaven was to hug the shore hereafter, and
had no reference to her. If I ain’t mistaken, Jerry Boudrot, for so I
have named the animal after him, will astonish the folks to Slickville;
for of all the horses on this continent, to my mind, the real genuine
Canadian is the best by all odds.
“Ah! my friend,” said Jerry, addressing the horse, “you shall soon be
out of sight of land, like your master; but unlike him, I hope you
shall never be lost at sea.”