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[Illustration: _"This, with the antique kirtle and picturesque petticoat
is an Acadian portrait." PAGE 56._]
[Illustration: _"There is nothing modern in the face or drapery of this
figure. She might have stepped out of Normandy a century ago." PAGE
40._]
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 can
justly intrude upon the public without feeling that his writings may be of
some benefit to mankind, I beg leave to apologize for this little book. I
know, no critic can tell me better than I know myself, how much it falls
short of what might have been done by an abler pen. Yet it is
something--an index, I should say, to something better. The French in
America may sometime find a champion. For my own part, I would that the
gentler principles which governed them, and the English under William
Penn, and the Dutch under the enlightened rule of the States General, had
obtained here, instead of the narrower, the more penurious, and most
prescriptive policy of their neighbors.
I am indebted to Judge Haliburton's "History of Nova Scotia" for the main
body of historical facts in this volume. Let me acknowledge my
obligations. His researches and impartiality are most creditable, and
worthy of respect and attention. I have also drawn as liberally as time
and space would permit from chronicles contemporary with the events of
those early days, as well as from a curious collection of items relating
to the subject, cut from the London newspapers a hundred years ago, and
kindly furnished me by Geo. P. Putnam, Esq. These are always the surest
guides. To Mrs. Kate Williams, of Providence, R. I., I am indebted also.
Her story of the "Neutral French," no doubt, inspired the author of the
most beautiful pastoral in the language. The "Evangeline" of Longfellow,
and the "Pauline" of this lady's legend, are pictures of the same
individual, only drawn by different hands.
A word in regard to the two Acadian portraits. These are literal
ambrotypes, to which Sarony has added a few touches of his artistic
crayon. It may interest the reader to know that these are the first, the
only likenesses of the real Evangelines of Acadia. The women of
Chezzetcook appear at day-break in the city of Halifax, and as soon as the
sun is up vanish like the dew. They have usually a basket of fresh eggs, a
brace or two of worsted socks, a bottle of fir-balsam to sell. These
comprise their simple commerce. When the market-bell rings you find them
not. To catch such fleeting phantoms, and to transfer them to the
frontispiece of a book published here, is like painting the burnished
wings of a humming-bird. A friend, however, undertook the task. He rose
before the sun, he bought eggs, worsted socks, and fir-balsam of the
Acadians. By constant attentions he became acquainted with a pair of
Acadian 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 of
Chezzetcook, to explain the "what for," and the consequence was--these
portraits! But these women had a terrible time at the head of the first
flight of stairs. Not an inch would these shy creatures budge beyond. At
last, the wife of the operator induced them to rise to the high flight
that 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--Interesting
Sketch of the Atlantic--Halifax!--Determine to stay in the
Province--Province Building and Pictures--Coast Scenery--Liberty in
Language, and Aspirations of the People--Evangeline and Relics of
Acadia--Market-Place--The Encampment at Point Pleasant--Kissing
Bridge--The "Himalaya"--A Sabbath in a Garrison Town--Grand Celebration
of the Peace, and Natal Day of Halifax--And a Hint of a Visit to
Chezzetcook 13
CHAPTER II.
Fog clears up--The One Idea not comprehended by the American Mind--A
June Morning in the Province--The Beginning of the Evangeliad--Intuitive
Perception of Genius--The Forest Primeval--Acadian Peasants--A Negro
Settlement--Deer's Castle--The Road to Chezzetcook--Acadian Scenery--A
Glance at the Early History of Acadia--First Encroachments of the
English--The Harbor and Village of Chezzetcook, etc., etc. 34
CHAPTER III.
A Romp at Three Fathom Harbor--The Moral Condition of the Acadians--The
Wild Flowers of Nova Scotia--Mrs. Deer's Wit--No Fish--Picton--The
Balaklava Schooner--And a Voyage to Louisburgh 58
CHAPTER IV.
The Voyage of the "Balaklava"--Something of a Fog--A Novel
Sensation--Picton bursts out--"Nothing to do"--Breakfast under Way--A
Phantom Boat--Mackerel--Gone, Hook and Line--The Colonists--Sectionalism
and Prejudices--Cod-fishing and an Unexpected Banquet--Past the old
French Town--A Pretty Respectable Breeze--We get past the
Rocks--Louisburgh 77
CHAPTER V.
Louisburgh--The Great French Fortress--Incidents of the Old French
War--Relics of the Siege--Description of the Town--The two
Expeditions--A Yankee _ruse de guerre_--The Rev. Samuel Moody's
Grace--Wolfe's Landing--The Fisherman's Hutch--The Lost Coaster--The
Fisheries--Picton tries his hand at a Fish-pugh 102
CHAPTER VI.
A most acceptable Invitation--An Evening in the Hutch--Old Songs--Picton
in High Feather--Wolfe and Montcalm--Reminiscences of the
Siege--Anecdotes of Wolfe--A Touch of Rhetoric and its Consequences 121
CHAPTER VII.
The other side of the Harbor--A Foraging Party--Disappointment--Twilight
at Louisburgh--Long Days and Early Mornings--A Visit and View of an
Interior--A Shark Story--Picton inquires about a Measure--Hospitality
and 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 Hard
Bargain--Case of Necessity--Romantic Lake with an Unromantic Name--The
Discussion concerning Oatmeal--Danger of the Gasterophili--McGibbet
makes a Proposition--Farewell to the "Balaklava"--A Midnight
Journey--Sydney--Boat Excursion to the Micmacs--Picton takes off his
Mackintosh 154
CHAPTER IX.
The Micmac Camp--Indian Church-warden and Broker--Interior of a
Wigwam--A Madonna--A Digression--Malcolm Discharged--An Indian
Bargain--The Inn Parlor, and a Comfortable Night's Rest 176
CHAPTER X.
Over the Bay--A Gigantic Dumb Waiter--Erebus--Reflections--White and
Black Squares of the Chess-Board--Leave-taking--An Interruption--The
Aibstract Preencipels of Feenance 185
CHAPTER XI.
The Bras d'Or Road--Farewell to Picton--Home, Sweet Home--The Rob Roys of
Cape Breton--Note and Query--Chapel Island--St. Peter's--Enterprise--The
Strait 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--One
Hundred Romances--Baron de Castine--His Character--Made Chief of the
Abenaquis--Duke of York's Charter--Encroachments of the
Puritans--Church's Indian Wars--False Reports--Reflections 212
CHAPTER XIII.
Truro--On the Road to Halifax--Drive to the Left--A Member of the
Foreign Legion--Irish Wit at Government Expense--The first Battle of the
Legion--Ten Pounds Reward--Sir John Gaspard's Revenge--The Shubenacadie
Lakes--Dartmouth Ferry, and the Hotel Waverley 224
CHAPTER XIV.
Halifax again--Hotel Waverley--"Gone the Old Familiar Faces"--The Story
of Marie de la Tour 237
CHAPTER XV.
Bedford Basin--Legend of the two French Admirals--An Invitation to
the Queen--Visit to the Prince's Lodge--A Touch of Old England--The
Ruins 251
CHAPTER XVI.
The Last Night--Farewell, Hotel Waverley--Friends Old and New--What
followed 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 of
Allegiance--Settlement of Halifax--The brave Three Hundred--Massacre at
Norridgewoack--Le Pere Ralle 269
CHAPTER XVIII.
On the road to Windsor--The great Nova Scotia Railway--A Fellow
Passenger--Cape Sable Shipwrecks--Seals--Ponies--Windsor--Sam Slick--A
lively Example 279
CHAPTER XIX.
Windsor-upon-Avon--Ride to the Gasperau--The Basin of
Minas--Blomidon--This is the Acadian Land--Basil, the
Blacksmith--A Yankee Settlement--Useless Reflections 293
CHAPTER XX.
The Valley of Acadia--A Morning Ride to the Dykes--An unexpected
Wild-duck Chase--High Tides--The Gasperau--Sunset--The Lamp of
History--Conclusion 302
APPENDIX 317
ACADIA.
CHAPTER I.
Vague Rumors of Nova Scotia--A Fortnight upon Salt Water--Interesting
Sketch of the Atlantic--Halifax!--Determine to stay in the
Province--Province Building and Pictures--Coast Scenery--Liberty in
Language, and Aspirations of the People--Evangeline and Relics of
Acadia--Market-Place--The Encampment at Point Pleasant--Kissing
Bridge--The "Himalaya"--A Sabbath in a Garrison Town--Grand Celebration
of the Peace, and Natal Day of Halifax--And a Hint of a Visit to
Chezzetcook.
It is pleasant to visit Nova Scotia in the month of June. Pack up your
flannels and your fishing tackle, leave behind you your prejudices and
your summer clothing, take your trout-pole in one hand and a copy of
Haliburton in the other, and step on board a Cunarder at Boston. In
thirty-six hours you are in the loyal little province, and above you
floats the red flag and the cross of St. George. My word for it, you
will not regret the trip. That the idea of visiting Nova Scotia ever
struck any living person as something peculiarly pleasant and cheerful,
is not within the bounds of probability. Very rude people are wont to
speak of Halifax in connection with the name of a place never alluded to
in polite society--except by clergymen. As for the rest of the Province,
there are certain vague rumors of extensive and constant fogs, but
nothing more. The land is a sort of terra incognita. Many take it to be
a part of Canada, and others firmly believe it is somewhere in
Newfoundland.
In justice to Nova Scotia, it is proper to state that the Province is a
province by itself; that it hath its own governor and parliament, and
its own proper and copper currency. How I chanced to go there was
altogether a matter of destiny. It was a severe illness--a gastric
disorder of the most obstinate kind, that cast me upon its balmy shores.
One day, after a protracted relapse, as I was creeping feebly along
Broadway, sunning myself, like a March fly on a window-pane, whom should
I meet but St. Leger, my friend. "You look pale," said St. Leger. To
which I replied by giving him a full, complete, and accurate history of
my ailments, after the manner of valetudinarians. "Why do you not try
change of air?" he asked; and then briskly added, "You could spare a
couple 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, but
do not go to the Springs. Spend your fortnight on the salt water--get
out of sight of land--that is the thing for you." And so, shaking my
hand 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 a
voice within me; "the enchanted Islands of Prospero, and Ariel, and
Miranda; 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, to
those neighboring isles; for the Curlew and the Merlin, British
mail-boats, leave Halifax fortnightly for the Bermudas. A thousand miles
of life-invigorating atmosphere--a week upon salt water, and you are
amid the magnificent scenery of the Tempest! And how often had the vague
desire impressed me--how often, indeed, had I visited, in imagination,
those beautiful scenes, those islands which have made Shakspeare our
near kinsman; which are part and parcel of the romantic history of Sir
Walter Raleigh! For, even if he do describe them, in his strong old
Saxon, as "the Bermudas, a hellish sea for Thunder, and Lightning, and
Storms," yet there is a charm even in this description, for doubtless
these very words gave a title to the great drama of William of
Stratford, and suggested the idea of
"The still-vexed Bermooethes."
Ah, yes! and who that has read Irving's "Three Kings of Bermuda" has not
felt the influence of those Islas Encantadas--those islands of palms and
coral, 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 the
date of his little prescription, I was bidding farewell to some dear
friends, from the deck of the "Canada," at East Boston wharf, as Captain
Lang, 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 limited
acquaintance I had with it. The note-book of an invalid for two days at
sea, with a heavy ground swell, and the wind in the most favorable
quarter, can scarcely be attractive. As the breeze freshened, and the tars
of old England ran aloft, to strip from the black sails the wrappers of
white 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 a
moment's glimpse of the picturesque; but it was a glimpse only, and no
more. One does not enjoy the rise and dip of the bow of a steamer, at
first, however graceful it may be in the abstract. To be sure, there were
some things else interesting. For instance, three brides aboard! And one
of them lovely enough to awaken interest, on sea or land, in any body but
a 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 in
life, will make them more contented with that minor world, henceforth to
be within the limits of their dominion. Lullaby to the young wives! there
will be rocking enough anon!
But we coasted along pleasantly enough the next day, within sight of the
bold headlands of Maine; the sky and sea clear of vapor, except the long
reek from the steamer's pipe. And then came nightfall and the northern
stars; and, later at night, a new luminary on the edge of the
horizon--Sambro' light; and then a sudden quenching of stars, and horizon,
lighthouse, ropes, spars, and smoke stack; the sounds of hoarse voices of
command in the obscurity; a trampling of men; and then down went the
anchor in the ooze, and the Canada was fog-bound in the old harbor of
Chebucto for the night, within a few miles of the city.
But with the early dawn, we awoke to hear the welcome sounds of the
engines in motion, and when we reached the deck, the mist was drifted with
sunlight, and rose and fell in luminous billows on water and shore, and
then lifted, lingered, and vanished!
"And this is Halifax?" said I, as that quaint, mouldy old town poked its
wooden gables through the fog of the second morning. "This is Halifax?
This the capital of Nova Scotia? This the city that harbored those loyal
heroes of the Revolution, who gallantly and gayly fought, and bled, and
ran for their king? Ah! you brave old Tories; you staunch upholders of the
crown; cavaliers without ringlets or feathers, russet boots or
steeple-crown hats, it seems as if you were still hovering over this
venerable tabernacle of seven hundred gables, and wreathing each
particular ridge-pole, pigeon-hole, and shingle with a halo of fog."
The plank was laid, and the passengers left the steamer. There were a few
vehicles on the wharf for the accommodation of strangers; square, black,
funereal-like, wheeled sarcophagi, eminently suggestive of burials and
crape. Of course I did not ride in one, on account of unpleasant
associations; but, placing my trunk in charge of a cart-boy with a
long-tailed dray, and a diminutive pony, I walked through the silent
streets towards "The Waverley."
It was an inspiriting morning, that which I met upon the well-docked
shores of Halifax, and although the side-walks of the city were neither
bricked nor paved with flags, and the middle street was in its original
and aboriginal clay, yet there was novelty in making its acquaintance.
Everybody was asleep in that early fog; and when everybody woke up, it was
done so quietly that the change was scarcely apparent.
But the "Merlin," British mailer, is to sail at noon for the Shakspeare
Island, 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 at
sea, and as there was but one, and not two steamers on the route, so that
I would be detained longer with Prospero and Miranda than might be
comfortable in the approaching hot weather, it came to pass that I had
reluctantly to forego the projected voyage, and anchor my trunk of
tropical clothing in room Number Twenty, Hotel Waverley. It was a great
disappointment, to be sure, after such brilliant anticipations--but what
is life without philosophy? When we cannot get what we wish, let us take
what we may. Let the "Merlin" sail! I will visit, instead of those Islas
Encantadas, "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 harbors
that 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 the
glassy ocean, without a sigh of regret, and resolutely turned my face from
the promised palms to welcome the sturdy pines of the province.
The city hill of Halifax rises proudly from its wharves and shipping in a
multitude of mouse-colored wooden houses, until it is crowned by the
citadel. As it is a garrison town, as well as a naval station, you meet in
the streets red-coats and blue-jackets without number; yonder, with a
brilliant staff, rides the Governor, Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, and
here, in a carriage, is Admiral Fanshawe, C.B., of the "Boscawen"
Flag-ship. Every thing is suggestive of impending hostilities; war, in
burnished trappings, encounters you at the street corners, and the air
vibrates from time to time with bugles, fifes, and drums. But oh! what a
slow place it is! Even two Crimean regiments with medals and decorations
could not wake it up. The little old houses seem to look with wondrous
apathy as these pass by, as though they had given each other a quiet nudge
with their quaint old gables, and whispered: "Keep still!"
I wandered up and down those old streets in search of something
picturesque, but in vain; there was scarcely any thing remarkable to
arrest or interest a stranger. Such, too, might have been the appearance
of other places I wot of, if those staunch old loyalists had had their way
in the days gone by!
But the Province House, which is built of a sort of yellow sand-stone,
with pillars in front, and trees around it, is a well-proportioned
building, with an air of great solidity and respectability. There are in
it very fine full-lengths of King George II. and Queen Caroline, and two
full-lengths of King George III. and Queen Charlotte; a full-length of
Chief-Justice Haliburton, and another full-length, by Benjamin West, of
another chief-justice, in a red robe and a formidable wig. Of these
portraits, the two first-named are the most attractive; there is something
so gay and festive in the appearance of King George II. and Queen
Caroline, so courtly and sprightly, so graceful and amiable, that one is
tempted to exclaim: "Bless the painter! what a genius he had!"
And now, after taking a look at Dalhousie College with the parade in
front, and the square town-clock, built by his graceless Highness the Duke
of Kent, let us climb Citadel Hill, and see the formidable protector of
town and harbor. Lively enough it is, this great stone fortress, with its
soldiers, swarming in and out like bees, and the glimpses of country and
harbor are surpassingly beautiful; but just at the margin of this slope
below us, is the street, and that dark fringe of tenements skirting the
edge of this green glacis is, I fear me, filled with vicious inmates.
Yonder, where the blackened ruins of three houses are visible, a sailor
was killed and thrown out of a window not long since, and his shipmates
burned the houses down in consequence; there is something strikingly
suggestive in looking upon this picture and on that.
But if you cast your eyes over yonder magnificent bay, where vessels
bearing flags of all nations are at anchor, and then let your vision sweep
past and over the islands to the outlets beyond, where the quiet ocean
lies, bordered with fog-banks that loom ominously at the boundary-line of
the horizon, you will see a picture of marvellous beauty; for the coast
scenery here transcends our own sea-shores, both in color and outline. And
behind us again stretch large green plains, dotted with cottages, and
bounded with undulating hills, with now and then glimpses of blue water;
and as we walk down Citadel Hill, we feel half-reconciled to Halifax, its
queer little streets, its quaint, mouldy old gables, its soldiers and
sailors, its fogs, cabs, penny and half-penny tokens, and all its little,
odd, outlandish peculiarities. Peace be with it! after all, it has a quiet
charm for an invalid!
The inhabitants of Halifax exhibit no trifling degree of freedom in
language for a loyal people; they call themselves "Halligonians." This
title, however, is sometimes pronounced "'Alligonians," by the more rigid,
as a mark of respect to the old country. But innovation has been at work
even here, for the majority of Her Majesty's subjects aspirate the letter
H. Alas for innovation! who knows to what results this trifling error may
lead? When Mirabeau went to the French court without buckles in his shoes,
the barriers of etiquette were broken down, and the Swiss Guards fought in
vain.
There is one virtue in humanity peculiarly grateful to an invalid; to him
most valuable, by him most appreciated, namely, hospitality. And that the
'Alligonians are a kind and good people, abundant in hospitality, let me
attest. One can scarcely visit a city occupied by those whose grandsires
would have hung your rebel grandfathers (if they had caught them), without
some misgivings. But I found the old Tory blood of three Halifax
generations, yet warm and vital, happy to accept again a rebellious
kinsman, a real live Yankee, in spite of Sam Slick and the Revolution.
Let us take a stroll through these quiet streets. This is the Province
House with its Ionic porch, and within it are the halls of Parliament, and
offices of government. You see there is a red-coat with his sentry-box at
either corner. Behind the house again are two other sentries on duty, all
glittering with polished brass, and belted, gloved, and bayoneted, in
splendid style. Of what use are these satellites, except to watch the
building and keep it from running away? On the street behind the Province
House is Fuller's American Book-store, which we will step into, and now
among these books, fresh from the teeming presses of the States, we feel
once more at home. Fuller preserves his equanimity in spite of the
blandishments of royalty, and once a year, on the Fourth of July, hoists
the "stars and stripes," and bravely takes dinner with the United States
Consul, in the midst of lions and unicorns. Many pleasant hours I passed
with Fuller, both in town and country. Near by, on the next corner, is the
print-store of our old friends the Wetmores, and here one can see costly
engravings of Landseer's fine pictures, and indeed whole portfolios of
English art. But of all the pictures there was one, the most touching, the
most suggestive! The presiding genius of the place, the unsceptred Queen
of this little realm was before me--Faed's Evangeline! And this reminded
me that I was in the Acadian land! This reminded me of Longfellow's
beautiful pastoral, a poem that has spread a glory over Nova Scotia, a
romantic interest, which our own land has not yet inspired! I knew that I
was in Acadia; the historic scroll unrolled and stretched its long
perspective to earlier days; it recalled De Monts, and the la Tours; Vice
Admiral Destournelle, who ran upon his own sword, hard by, at Bedford
Basin; 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 the
streets, or at the market, selling a dozen or so of fresh eggs, or a pair
or two of woollen socks, almost the only articles of their simple
commerce. 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 the
Acadian peasant has neither horse nor mule, he or she must be off betimes
to reach home before mid-day nuncheon. A score of miles on foot is no
trifle, in all weathers, but Gabriel and Evangeline perform it cheerfully;
and when the knitting-needle and the poultry shall have replenished their
slender 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 great
profusion. Codfish, three-pence or four-pence each; lobsters, a penny; and
salmon of immense size at six-pence a pound (currency), equal to a dime of
our money. If you prefer trout, you must buy them of these Micmac squaws
in traditional blankets, a shilling a bunch; and you may also buy baskets
of rainbow tints from these copper ladies for a mere trifle; and as every
race has a separate vocation here, only of the negroes can you purchase
berries. "This is a busy town," one would say, drawing his conclusion from
the market-place; for the shifting crowd, in all costumes and in all
colors, Indians, negroes, soldiers, sailors, civilians, and
Chizzincookers, make up a pageant of no little theatrical effect and
bustle. Again: if you are still strong in limb, and ready for a longer
walk, which I, leaning upon my staff, am not, we will visit the encampment
at Point Pleasant. The Seventy-sixth Regiment has pitched its tents here
among the evergreens. Yonder you see the soldiers, looking like masses of
red 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 John
Gaspard le Marchant, with a brilliant staff, engaged in the pleasant duty
of picking a personal quarrel with each medal-decorated hero, and marking
down every hole in his socks, and every gap in his comb, for the honor of
the service. And this Point Pleasant is a lovely place, too, with a broad
look-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 loose
stones, with grooves at the top, very like the architecture of a
cranberry-pie; and if the simile be an homely one, it is the best that
comes to mind to convey an idea of those regimental stoves, with their
seams and channels of fire, over which potatoes bubble, and roast and
boiled scud forth a savory odor. And here and there, wistfully regarding
this active scene, amid the green shrubbery, stands a sentinel before his
sentry-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 here
be not Die Vernon, with "habit, hat, and feather," cantering gayly down
the road between the tents, and behind her a stately groom in gold-lace
band, top-boots, and buck-skins. A word in your ear--that pleasant
half-English face is the face of the Governor's daughter.
The road to Point Pleasant is a favorite promenade in the long Acadian
twilights. Mid-way between the city and the Point lies "Kissing Bridge,"
which the Halifax maidens sometimes pass over. Who gathers toll nobody
knows, but I thought there was a mischievous glance in the blue eyes of
those passing damsels that said plainly they could tell, "an' they would."
I love to look upon those happy, healthy English faces; those ruddy
cheeks, flushed with exercise, and those well-developed forms, not less
attractive because of the sober-colored dresses and brown flat hats, in
which, o' summer evenings, they glide towards the mysterious precincts of
"The Bridge." What a tale those old arches could tell? _?Quien sabe?_ Who
knows?
But next to "Kissing Bridge," the prominent object of interest, now, to
Halifax ladies, is the great steamer that lies at the Admiralty, the
Oriental screw-steamer Himalaya--the transport ship of two regiments of
the heroes of Balaklava, and Alma, and Inkerman, and Sebastopol. A vast
specimen of naval architecture; an unusual sight in these waters; a marine
vehicle to carry twenty-five hundred men! Think of this moving town; this
portable village of royal belligerents covered with glory and medals,
breasting the billows! Is there not something glorious in such a
spectacle? And yet I was told by a brave officer, who wore the decorations
of the four great battles on his breast, that of his regiment, the
Sixty-third, but thirty men were now living, and of the thirty, seventeen
only 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 moved
from the Admiralty, on the day following our visit to Point Pleasant, and
silently furrowed her path oceanward on her return to Gibraltar. A long
line of thick bituminous smoke, above the low house-tops, was the only
hint of her departure, to the citizens. It was a grand sight to see her
vast 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 not
represent the usual pomp of the Romish Church, we will visit the Garrison
Chapel. A bugle-call from barracks, or Citadel Hill, salutes us as we
stroll towards the chapel; otherwise, Halifax is quiet, as becomes the
day. Presently we see the long scarlet lines approaching, and presently
the men, with orderly step, file from the street through the porch into
the gallery and pews. Then the officers of field and line, of ordnance and
commissary departments, take their allotted seats below. Then the chimes
cease, and the service begins. Most devoutly we prayed for the Queen, and
omitted 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 could
not 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 celebration
of peace between England and Russia. Peace having been proclaimed, all
Halifax was in arms! Loyalty threw out her bunting to the breeze, and
fired her crackers. The civic authorities presented an address to the
royal representative of Her Majesty, requesting His Excellency to transmit
the same to the foot of the throne. Militia-men shot off municipal cannon;
bells echoed from the belfries; the shipping fluttered with signals; and
Citadel Hill telegraph, in a multitude of flags, announced that ships,
brigs, schooners, and steamers, in vast quantities, "were below." Nor was
the peace alone the great feature of the holiday. The eighth of June, the
natal 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. Edward
Cornwallis (not our Cornwallis), and the 'Alligonians in consequence made
a specialty of that fact once a year. And to add to the attraction, the
Board of Works had decided to lay the corner-stone of a Lunatic Asylum in
the 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 the
grand review. When we arrived upon the ground, in the rear of Citadel
Hill, we saw the outline of something glimmering through the fog, which
Robert said were shrubs, and which I said were soldiers. A few minutes'
walking proved my position to be correct; we found ourselves in the centre
of a three-sided square of three regiments, within which the civic
authorities were loyally boring Sir John Gaspard le Merchant and staff, to
the verge of insanity, with the Address which was to be laid at the foot
of the throne. Notwithstanding the despairing air with which His
Excellency essayed to reply to this formidable paper, I could not help
enjoying the scene; and I also noted, when the reply was over, and the few
ragamuffins near His Excellency cheered bravely, and the band struck up
the national anthem, how gravely and discreetly the rest of the
'Alligonians, in the circumambient fog, echoed the sentiment by a
silence, that, under other circumstances, would have been disheartening.
What a quiet people it is! As I said before, to make the festivities
complete, in the afternoon there was a procession to lay the corner-stone
of a Lunatic Asylum. But oh! how the jolly old rain poured down upon the
luckless pilgrimage! There were the "Virgins" of Masonic Lodge No.--, the
Army Masons, in scarlet; the African Masons, in ivory and black; the
Scotch-piper Mason, with his legs in enormous plaid trowsers, defiant of
Shakspeare's theory about the sensitiveness of some men, when the bag-pipe
sings i' the nose; the Clerical Mason in shovel hat; the municipal
artillery; the Sons of Temperance, and the band. Away they marched, with
drum and banner, key and compasses, BIBLE and sword, to Dartmouth, in
great feather, for the eyes of Halifax were upon them.