THE DEVIL’S HOLE; OR, FISH AND FLESH.
“Sorrow,” said the doctor, “seems to me to consider women, from the way
he flatters his mistress, as if she was not unlike the grupers at
Bermuda. There is a natural fish-pond there near Flats Village, in
which there is a great lot of these critters, which are about the size
of the cod. They will rise to the surface, and approach the bank for
you to tickle their sides, which seems to afford them particular
delight.”
“It is what you would call, I suppose, practical soft sawdering.”
“But it is an operation of which the rest are exceedingly jealous, and
while you are thus amusing one of them, you must take care others do
not feel offended, and make a dash at your fingers. With true feminine
jealousy too they change colour when excited, for envy seems to pervade
all animate nature.”
“It’s called the Devil’s Hole where they are, ain’t it?” sais I.
“Yes,” said he, “it is, and it is situated not far from Moore’s
favourite tree, under whose shade he used to recline while writing his
poetry, at a time when his deputy was equally idle, and instead of
keeping his accounts, kept his money. Bermuda is a fatal place to
poets. Moore lost his purse there, and Waller his favourite ring; the
latter has been recently found, the former was never recovered. In one
thing these two celebrated authors greatly resembled each other, they
both fawned and flattered on the great.”
“Yes,” said Cutler, “and both have met their reward. Everybody regrets
that anything was known of either, but his poetry—”
“Well,” sais I, “I am glad I am not an Englishman, or as true as the
world, a chap like Lord John Russell would ruin me for ever. I am not a
poet, and can’t write poetry, but I am a Clockmaker, and write common
sense. Now a biographer like that man, that knows as little of one as
he does of the other, would ruin me for everlastingly. It ain’t
pleasant to have such a burr as that stick on to your tail, especially
if you have no comb to get it off, is it? A politician is like a bee;
he travels a zig-zag course every way, turnin’ first to the right and
then to the left, now makin’ a dive at the wild honeysuckle, and then
at the sweet briar; now at the buck-wheat blossom, and then at the
rose; he is here and there and everywhere; you don’t know where the
plague to find him; he courts all and is constant to none. But when his
point is gained and he has wooed and deceived all, attained his object,
and his bag is filled, he then shows plain enough what he was after all
the time. He returns as straight as a chalk line, or as we say, as the
crow flies to his home, and neither looks to the right or to the left,
or knows or cares for any of them who contributed to his success. His
object is to enrich himself and make a family name. A politician
therefore is the last man in the world to write a biography. Having a
kind of sneakin’ regard for a winding, wavy way himself, he sees more
beauty in the in and out line of a Varginny fence, than the stiff
straight formal post and rail one of New England. As long as a partizan
critter is a thorn in the flesh of the adverse party, he don’t care
whether he is Jew or Gentile. He overlooks little peccadilloes, as he
calls the worst stories, and thinks everybody else will be just as
indulgent as himself. He uses romanists, dissenters, republicans, and
evangelicals at his own great log-rolling1 frollicks, and rolls for
them in return.
1 Log-rolling.—In the lumber regions of Maine, it is customary for men
of different logging camps to appoint days for helping each other in
rolling the logs to the river after they are felled and trimmed, this
rolling being about the hardest work incident to the business. Thus the
men of three or four different camps will unite, say on Monday, to roll
for camp No. 1, on Tuesday, for camp No. 2, on Wednesday, for camp No.
3, and so on through the whole number of camps within convenient
distance of each other. The term has been adopted in legislation to
signify a little system of mutual co-operation. For instance, a member
from St Lawrence has a pet bill for a plank-road which he wants pushed
through. He accordingly makes a bargain with a member from Onondaga,
who is coaxing along a charter for a bank, by which St Lawrence agrees
to vote for Onondaga’s bank if Onondaga will vote St Lawrence’s
plank-road. This is legislative log-rolling, and there is abundance of
it carried on at Albany every winter. Generally speaking, the subject
of the log-rolling is some merely local project, interesting only to
the people of a certain district; but sometimes there is party
log-rolling, where the Whigs, for instance, will come to an
understanding with the Democrats that the former shall not oppose a
certain democratic measure merely on party grounds, provided the
Democrats will be equally tender to some Whig measure in return.—J.
INMAN.
“Who the plague hain’t done something, said something, or thought
something he is sorry for, and prays may be forgot and forgiven; big
brag as I am, I know I can’t say I haven’t over and over again
offended. Well, if it’s the part of a friend to go and rake all these
things up, and expose ’em to the public, and if it’s agreeable to my
wife, sposin’ I had one, to have ’em published because the stained
paper will sell, all I can sais is, I wish he had shown his regard for
me by running away with my wife and letting me alone. It’s astonishing
how many friends Moore’s disloyalty made him. A seditious song or a
treasonable speech finds more favour with some people in the old
country than building a church, that’s a fact. Howsomever, I think I am
safe from him, for first, I am a Yankee, secondly, I ain’t married,
thirdly, I am a Clockmaker, and fourthly, my biography is written by
myself in my book, fifthly, I write no letters I can help, and never
answer one except on business.”
“This is a hint father gave me: ‘Sam,’ said he, ‘never talk to a woman,
for others may hear you; only whisper to her, and never write to her,
or your own letters may rise up in judgment against you some day or
another. Many a man afore now has had reason to wish he had never seen
a pen in his life;’ so I ain’t afeard therefore that he can write
himself up or me down, and make me look skuywoniky, no how he can fix
it. If he does, we will declare war again England, and blow the little
darned thing out of the map of Europe; for it ain’t much bigger than
the little island Cronstadt is built on after all, is it? It’s just a
little dot and nothin’ more, dad fetch my buttons if it is.
“But to go back to the grupers and the devil’s hole; I have been there
myself and seen it, Doctor,” sais I, “but there is other fish besides
these in it; there is the parrot-fish, and they are like the feminine
gender too; if the grupers are fond of being tickled, parrots are fond
of hearing their own voices. Then there is the angel-fish, they have
fins like wings of a pale blue colour; but they must be fallen angels
to be in such a place as that hole too, musn’t they? and yet they are
handsome even now. Gracious! what must they have been before the fall!
and how many humans has beauty caused to fall, Doctor, hasn’t it? and
how many there are that the sound of that old song, ‘My face is my
fortune, Sir, she said,’ would make their hearts swell till they would
almost burst.
“Well, then there is another fish there, and those Mudians sartainly
must have a good deal of fun in them, to make such a capital and
comical assortment of queer ones for that pond. There is the
lawyer-fish—can anything under the sun be more appropriate than the
devil’s hole for a lawyer? What a nice place for him to hang out his
shingle in, ain’t it? it’s no wonder his old friend the landlord finds
him an office in it—rent free, is it? What mischief he must brood
there; bringing actions of slander against the foolish parrot-fish that
will let their tongues run, ticklin’ the grupers, and while they are
smirking and smiling, devour their food, and prosecute the fallen
angels for violating the Maine law and disturbing the peace. The
devil’s hole, like Westminster Hall, is a dangerous place for a fellow
of substance to get into, I can tell you; the way they fleece him is a
caution to sinners.
“My dog fell into that fish-pond, and they nearly fixed his flint
before I got him out, I tell you; his coat was almost stripped off when
I rescued him.”
“Why, Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “what in the world took you to
Bermuda?”
“Why,” sais I, “I had heard a great deal about it. It is a beautiful
spot and very healthy. It is all that has ever been said or sung of it,
and more too, and that’s sayin’ a great deal, for most celebrated
places disappoint you; you expect too much, and few crack parts of the
world come up to the idea you form of them beforehand. Well, I went
down there to see if there was anything to be done in the way of
business, but it was too small a field for me, although I made a spec
that paid me very well too. There is a passage through the reefs there,
and it’s not every pilot knows it, but there was a manuscript chart of
it made by a captain of a tradin’ vessel. When he died his widow
offered it to the government, but they hummed and hawed about the
price, and was for gitting it for half nothing, as they always do. So
what does I do, but just steps in and buys it, for in war time it is of
the greatest importance to know this passage, and I sold it to our
navy-board, and I think if ever we are at loggerheads with the British,
we shall astonish the weak nerves of the folks at the summer islands
some fine day.
“I had a charming visit. There are some magnificent caves there, and in
that climate they are grand places, I do assure you. I never saw
anything so beautiful. The ceiling is covered with splendiferous
spary-like icicles, or chandelier drops. What do you call that word,
Doctor?”
“Stalactites.”
“Exactly, that’s it, glorious stalactites reaching to the bottom and
forming fluted pillars. In one of those caves where the water runs, the
admiral floored over the bottom and gave a ball in it, and it was the
most Arabian Night’s entertainment kind of thing that I ever saw. It
looked like a diamond hall, and didn’t it show off the Mudian galls to
advantage, lick! I guess it did, for they are the handsomest Creoles in
all creation. There is more substance in ’em than in the tropical
ladies. I don’t mean worldly (though that ain’t to be sneered at,
neither, by them that ain’t got none themselves). When the people used
to build small clippers there for the West Indian trade, cedar was very
valuable, and a gall’s fortune was reckoned, not by pounds, but by so
many cedars. Now it is banana trees. But dear me, somehow or another we
have drifted away down to Bermuda, we must stretch back again to the
Nova Scotian coast east of Chesencook, or, like Jerry Boudrot, we shall
be out of sight of land, and lost at sea.”
On going up on the deck, my attention was naturally attracted to my new
purchase, the Canadian horse.
“To my mind,” said the doctor, “Jerry’s knee action does not merit the
extravagant praise you bestowed upon it. It is not high enough to
please me.”
“There you are wrong,” sais I, “that’s the mistake most people make. It
is not the height of the action, but the nature of it, that is to be
regarded. A high-stepping horse pleases the eye more than the judgment.
He seems to go faster than he does. There is not only power wasted in
it, but it injures the foot. My idea is this; you may compare a man to
a man, and a woman to a woman, for the two, including young and old,
make the world. You see more of them and know more about ’em than
horses, for you have your own structure to examine and compare them by,
and can talk to them, and if they are of the feminine gender, hear
their own account of themselves. They can speak, for they were not
behind the door when tongues were given out, I can tell you. The range
of your experience is larger, for you are always with them, but how few
hosses does a man own in his life. How few he examines, and how little
he knows about other folk’s beasts. They don’t live with you, you only
see them when you mount, drive, or visit the stable. They have separate
houses of their own, and pretty buildings they are too in general,
containin’ about as much space for sleepin’ as a berth on board a ship,
and about as much ventilation too, and the poor critters get about as
little exercise as passengers, and are just about worth as much as they
are when they land for a day’s hard tramp. Poor critters, they have to
be on their taps most all the time.1 The Arab and the Canadian have the
best horses, not only because they have the best breed, but because one
has no stalls, and t’other has no stable treatment.
1 On their feet.
“Now in judging of a horse’s action, I compare him not with other
horses, but with animals of a different species. Did you ever know a
fox stumble, or a cat make a false step? I guess not; but haven’t you
seen a bear when chased and tired go head over heels? A dog in a
general way is a sure-footed critter, but he trips now and then, and if
he was as big as a horse, would throw his rider sometimes. Now then I
look to these animals, and I find there are two actions to be combined,
the knee and the foot action. The fox and the cat bend the knee easy
and supply, but don’t arch ’em, and though they go near the ground,
they don’t trip. I take that then as a sort of standard. I like my
beast, especially if he is for the saddle, to be said to trot like a
fox. Now, if he lifts too high, you see, he describes half a circle,
and don’t go ahead as he ought, and then he pounds his frog into a sort
of mortar at every step, for the horny shell of a foot is just like
one. Well then, if he sends his fore leg away out in front, and his
hind leg away out behind like a hen scratchin’ gravel, he moves more
like an ox than anything else, and hainte sufficient power to fetch
them home quick enough for fast movement. Then the foot action is a
great point, I looked at this critter’s tracks on the pasture and asked
myself, Does he cut turf, or squash it flat? If he cuts it as a
gardener does weeds with his spade, then good bye, Mr Jerry, you won’t
suit me, it’s very well to dance on your toes, but it don’t convene to
_travel on ’em,_ or you’re apt to make somersets.
“Now, a neck is a valuable thing. We have two legs, two eyes, two
hands, two ears, two nostrils, and so on, but we have only one neck,
which makes it so easy to hang a fellow, or to break it by a chuck from
your saddle; and besides, we can’t mend it, as we do a leg or an arm.
When it’s broken it’s done for; and what use is it if it’s insured? The
money don’t go to you, but to your heirs, and half the time they
wouldn’t cry, except for decency sake, if you did break it. Indeed, I
knew a great man once, who got his neck broke, and all his friends
said, for his own reputation, it was a pity he hadn’t broke it ten
years sooner. The Lord save me from such friends, I say. Fact is, a
broken neck is only a nine days’ wonder after all, and is soon
forgotten.
“Now, the fox has the right knee action, and the leg is ‘thar.’ In the
real knee movement, there is a peculiar spring, that must be seen to be
known and valued, words don’t give you the idea of it. It’s like the
wire end of a pair of galluses—oh, it’s charming. It’s down and off in
a jiffy, like a gall’s finger on a piano when she is doin’ chromatic
runs. Fact is, if I am walking out, and see a critter with it, I have
to stop and stare; and, Doctor, I will tell you a queer thing. Halt and
look at a splendid movin’ hoss, and the rider is pleased; he thinks
half the admiration is for him, as rider and owner, and t’other half
for his trotter. The gony’s delighted, chirups his beast, gives him a
sly touch up with the off heel, and shows him off to advantage. But
stop and look at a woman, and she is as mad as a hatter. She don’t care
how much you look at her, as long as you don’t stand still or turn your
head round. She wouldn’t mind slackin’ her pace if you only attended to
that.
“Now the fox has that special springy movement I speak of, and he puts
his foot down flat, he bends the grass rather to him, than from him, if
anything, but most commonly crumples it flat; but you never see it
inclinin’ in the line of the course he is runnin’—never. Fact is, they
never get a hoist, and that is a very curious word, it has a very
different meanin’ at sea from what it has on land. In one case it means
to haul up, in the other to fall down. The term ‘look out’ is just the
same.
“A canal boat was once passing through a narrow lock on the Erie line,
and the captain hailed the passengers and said, ‘Look out.’ Well, a
Frenchman thinking something strange was to be seen, popt his head out,
and it was cut off in a minute. ‘Oh, mon Dieu!’ said his comrade, ‘dat
is a very _striking_ lesson in English. On land, look out means, open
de window and see what you will see. On board canal boat it means, haul
your head in, and don’t look at nothin’.’
“Well, the worst hoist that I ever had was from a very high-actioned
mare, the down foot slipped, and t’other was too high to be back in
time for her to recover, and over both of us went kerlash in the mud. I
was skeered more about her than myself, lest she should git the skin of
her knee cut, for to a knowing one’s eye that’s an awful blemish. It’s
a long story to tell how such a blemish warn’t the hoss’s fault, for
I’d rather praise than apologize for a critter any time. And there is
one thing few-people knows. _Let the cut come which way it will, the
animal is never so safe afterwards. Nature’s bandage, the skin, is
severed, and that leg is the weakest._
“Well, as I was a sayin’, Doctor, there is the knee action and the foot
action, and then there is a third thing. The leg must be just _thar_.”
“Where?” said the doctor.
“_Thar_,” said I, “there is only one place for that, and that is
‘thar,’ well forward at the shoulder-point, and not where it most
commonly is, too much under the body—for if it’s too far back he
stumbles, or too forward he can’t ‘pick chips quick stick.’ Doctor, I
am a borin’ of you, but the fact is, when I get a goin’ ‘talkin’ hoss,’
I never know where to stop. How much better tempered they are than half
the women in the world, ain’t they? and I don’t mean to undervally the
dear critters neither by no manner of means, and how much more sense
they have than half the men either, after all their cracking and
bragging! How grateful they are for kindness, how attached to you they
get. How willin’ they are to race like dry dust in a thunder squall,
till they die for you! I do love them, that is a fact, and when I see a
feller a ill-usin’ of one of ’em, it makes me feel as cross as two
crooked gate-posts, I tell you.
“Indeed, a man that don’t love a hoss is no man at all. I don’t think
he can be religious. A hoss makes a man humane and tender-hearted,
teaches him to feel for others, to share his food, and be unselfish; to
anticipate wants and supply them; to be gentle and patient. Then the
hoss improves him otherwise. He makes him rise early, attend to meal
hours, and to be cleanly. He softens and improves the heart. Who is
there that ever went into a stable of a morning, and his critter
whinnered to him and played his ears back and forward, and turned his
head affectionately to him, and lifted his fore-feet short and moved
his tail, and tried all he could to express his delight, and say,
‘Morning to you, master,’ or when he went up to the manger and patted
his neck, and the lovin’ critter rubbed his head agin him in return,
that didn’t think within himself, well, after all, the hoss is a noble
critter? I do love him. Is it nothin’ to make a man love at all? How
many fellers get more kicks than coppers in their life—have no home,
nobody to love them and nobody to love, in whose breast all the
affections are pent up, until they get unwholesome and want
ventilation. Is it nothin’ to such an unfortunate critter to be made a
stable help? Why, it elevates him in the scale of humanity. He
discovers at last he has a head to think and a heart to feel. He is a
new man. Hosses warn’t given to us, Doctor, to ride steeple-chases, or
run races, or brutify a man, but to add new powers and lend new speed
to him. He was destined for nobler uses.
“Is it any wonder that a man that has owned old Clay likes to talk
hoss? I guess not. If I was a gall I wouldn’t have nothin’ to say to a
man that didn’t love a hoss and know all about him. I wouldn’t touch
him with a pair of tongs. I’d scorn him as I would a nigger. Sportsmen
breed pheasants to kill, and amature huntsmen shoot dear for the
pleasure of the slaughter. The angler hooks salmon for the cruel
delight he has in witnessing the strength of their dying struggles. The
black-leg gentleman runs his hoss agin time, and wins the race, and
kills his noble steed, and sometimes loses both money and hoss, I wish
to gracious he always did; but the rail hossman, Doctor, is a rail
_man,_ every inch of him, stock, lock, and barrel.”
“Massa,” said Sorrow, who stood listenin’ to me as I was warmin’ on the
subject. “Massa, dis hoss will be no manner of remaginable use under de
blessed light ob de sun.”
“Why, Sorrow?”
“Cause, Massa, he don’t understand one word of English, and de French
he knows no libbin’ soul can understand but a Cheesencooker, yah, yah,
yah! Dey called him a ‘_shovel_,’ and his tail a ‘_queue_.’ “
“What a goose you are, Sorrow,” sais I.
“Fac, Massa,” he said, “fac I do ressure you, and dey called de little
piggy doctor fell over, ‘_a coach_.’ Dod drat my hide if they didn’t
yah, yah, yah!”
“The English ought to import, Doctor,” sais I, “some of these into
their country, for as to ridin’ and drivin’ there is nothin’ like them.
But catch Britishers admitting there is anything good in Canada, but
the office of Governor-General, the military commands, and other pieces
of patronage, which they keep to themselves, and then say they have
nothing left. Ah me! times is altered, as Elgin knows. The pillory and
the peerage have changed places. Once, a man who did wrong was first
elevated, and then pelted. A peer is now assailed with eggs, and then
exalted.”
“_Palmam qui meruit ferat_,” said the doctor.
“Is that the Latin for how many hands high the horse is?” sais I.
“Well, on an average, say fifteen, perhaps oftener less than more. It’s
the old Norman horse of two centuries ago, a compound of the Flemish
stock and the Barb, introduced into the Low Countries by the Spaniards.
Havin’ been transported to Canada at that early period, it has remained
unchanged, and now may be called a distinct breed, differing widely in
many respects from those found at the present day in the locations from
which they originally came. But look at the amazin’ strength of his
hip, look at the lines, and anatomical formation (as you would say) of
his frame, which fit him for both a saddle and a gig hoss. Look at his
chest, not too wide to make him paddle in his gait, nor too narrow to
limit his wind. Observe all the points of strength. Do you see the bone
below the knee and the freedom of the cord there. Do you mark the eye
and head of the Barb. Twig the shoulder, the identical medium for a
hoss of all work, and the enormous power to shove him ahead. This
fellow is a picture, and I am glad they have not mutilated or broken
him. He is just the hoss I have been looking for, for our folks go in
to the handle for fast trotters, and drive so much and ride so little,
it ain’t easy to get the right saddle beast in our State. The Cape
Breton pony is of the same breed, though poor feed, exposure to the
weather, and rough usage has caused him to dwindle in size; but they
are the toughest, hardiest, strongest, and most serviceable of their
inches, I know anywhere.”
I always feel scared when I git on the subject of hosses for fear I
should ear-wig people, so I stopt short; “And,” sais I, “Doctor, I
think I have done pretty well with the talking tacks, spose you give me
some of your experience in the trapping line, you must have had some
strange adventures in your time.”
“Well, I have,” said he, “but I have listened with pleasure to you, for
although I am not experienced in horses, performing most of my journeys
on foot, I see you know what you are talking about, for I am familiar
with the anatomy of the horse. My road is the trackless forest, and I
am more at home there than in a city. Like you I am fond of nature, but
unlike you I know little of human nature, and I would rather listen to
your experience than undergo the labour of acquiring it. Man is an
artificial animal, but all the inhabitants of the forest are natural.
The study of their habits, propensities, and instincts is very
interesting, and in this country the only one that is formidable is the
bear, for he is not only strong and courageous, but he has the power to
climb trees, which no other animal will attempt in pursuit of man in
Nova Scotia. The bear therefore is an ugly customer, particularly the
female when she has her cubs about her, and a man requires to have his
wits about him when she turns the table on him and hunts him. But you
know these things as well as I do, and to tell you the truth there is
little or nothing that is new to be said on the subject; one bear hunt
is like another. The interest of these things is not so much in their
incidents or accidents, as in the mode of telling them.”
“That’s a fact,” sais I, “Doctor. But what do you suppose was the
object Providence had in view in filling the world with beasts of prey?
The east has its lions, tigers, and boa-constrictors; the south its
panthers and catamounts; the north its bears and wolves; and the west
its crocodiles and rattle-snakes. We read that dominion was given over
the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, and the beast of the forest,
and yet no man in a state of nature scarcely is a match for any one of
these creatures; they don’t minister to his wants, and he can’t tame
them to his uses.”
“I have often asked myself, Slick,” said he, “the same question, for
nothing is made in vain, but it is a query not easy to answer. My own
opinion is, they were designed to enforce civilisation. Without these
terrors attending a sojourn in the wilderness, man would have wandered
off as they do, and lived alone; he would have made no home, dwelt with
no wife, and nurtured no children. His descendants would have done the
same. When he encountered another male, he would have given him battle,
perhaps killed and eat him. His very language would have perished, if
ever he had any, and he would have been no better than an
ourang-outang. The option was not given him. He was so constructed and
so situated, he could not live alone. Individual strength was
insufficient for independent existence. To preserve life he had to herd
with his kind. Thus tribes were first formed, and to preserve one tribe
from the violence of another, they again united and formed nations.
This combination laid the foundation of civilisation, and as that
extended, these beasts of prey retired to the confines of the country,
enforcing while they still remain the observance of that law of nature
which assigned to them this outpost duty.
“Where there is nothing revealed to us on the subject, all is left to
conjecture. Whatever the cause was, we know it was a wise and a
necessary one; and this appears to me to be the most plausible reason I
can assign. Perhaps we may also trace a further purpose in their
creation, in compelling by the terror they inspire the inferior animals
to submit themselves to man, who is alone able to protect them against
their formidable enemies, or to congregate, so that he may easily find
them when he requires food; and may we not further infer that man also
may by a similar sense of weakness be led to invoke in like manner the
aid of Him who made all things and governs all things? Whatever is, is
right,” and then he quoted two Latin lines.
I hate to have a feller do that, it’s like throwin’ an apple into the
water before a boy. He either has to lose it and go off disappointed,
wonderin’ what its flavour is, or else wade out for it, and like as not
get out of his depth afore he knows where he is. So I generally make
him first translate it, and then write it down for me. He ain’t likely
after that to do it a second time. Here are the words:
“Siquid novisti rectius istis
Candidas imperti, si non his utere mecum.”