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 Mic Macs--Picton takes off his
Mackintosh.
Some learned philosopher has asserted that when a person has become
accustomed to one peculiar kind of diet, it will be expressed in the
lineaments of his face. How much the constant use of oatmeal could produce
such an effect, was plainly visible in the countenances of McGibbet and
his lady-love. Both had an unmistakable equine cast; McGibbet, wild,
scraggy, and scrubby, with a tuft on his poll that would not have been out
of place between the ears of a plough-horse, stared at us, just as such an
animal would naturally over the top of a fence; while his gentle mate, who
had more of the amiable draught-horse in her aspect, winked at us with
both eyes from under a close-crimped frill, that bore a marvellous
resemblance to a head-stall. The pair had evidently just returned from
kirk. To say nothing of McGibbet's hat, and his wife's shawl, on a chair,
and his best boots on the hearth (for he was walking about in his
stockings), there was a dry _preceese_ air about them, which plainly
betokened they were newly stiffened up with the moral starch of the
conventicle, and were therefore well prepared to drive a hard bargain for
a horse and wagon to Sydney. But what surprised me most of all was the
imperturbable coolness of Picton. Without taking a look scarcely at the
persons he was addressing, the traveller stalked in with an--"I say, we
want a horse and wagon to Sydney; so look sharp, will you, and turn out
the best thing you have here?"
The moral starch of the conventicle stiffened up instantly. Like the
blacksmith of Cairnvreckan, who, as a _professor_, would drive a nail for
no man on the Sabbath or kirk-fast, unless in a case of absolute
necessity, and then always charged an extra saxpence for each shoe; so it
was plain to be seen that McGibbet had a conscience which required to be
pricked both with that which knows no law, and the saxpence extra. He
turned to his wife and addressed her in _Gaelic_! Then we knew what was
coming.
Mrs. McGibbet opened the subject by saying that they were both accustomed
to the observance of the Sabbath, and that "she didn't think it was right
for man to transgress, when the law was so plain"----
Here McGibbet broke in and said that--"He was free to confess he had
commeeted a grreat menny theengs kwhich were a grreat deal worse than
Sabbath-breaking."
Upon which Mrs. McG. interrupted him in turn with a few words, which,
although in Gaelic, a language we did not understand, conveyed the
impression that she was not addressing her liege lord in the language of
endearment, and again continued in English: "That it was held sinful in
the community to wark or do anything o' the sort, or to fetch or carry
even a sma bundle"----
"For kwich," said McGibbet, "is a fine to be paid to the meenister, of
five shillins currency"----
Here Picton stopped whistling a bar of "Bonny Doon," and observed to me:
"About a dollar of your money. We'll pay the fine."
"Yes," chimed in McGibbet, "a dollar"----and was again stopped by his
wife, who raised her eyebrows to the borders of her kirk-frill and brought
them down vehemently over her blue eyes at him.
"Or to travel the road," she said, "even on foot, to say nothing of a
wagon and horse."
"But," interrupted Picton, "my dear madam, we must get on, I tell you; I
must be in Sydney to-morrow, to catch the steamer for St. John's."
At this observation of the traveller the pair fell back upon their Gaelic
for a while, and in the meantime Picton whispered me: "I see; they want to
raise the price on us: but we won't give in; they'll be sharp enough after
the job by and by."
The pair turned towards us and both shook their heads. It was plain to be
seen the conference had not ended in our favor.
"Ye see," said the gude-wife, "we are accustomed to the observance of the
Sabbath, and would na like to break it, except"--
"In a case of necessity; you are perfectly right," chimed in Picton; "I
agree with you myself. Now this is a case of necessity; here we are; we
must get on, you see; if we don't get on we miss the steamer to-morrow for
St. John's--she only runs once a fortnight there--it's plain enough a
clear case of necessity; it's like," continued Picton, evidently trying to
corner some authority in his mind, "it's like--let me see--it's
like--a--pulling--a sheep out of a ditch--a--which they always do on the
Sabbath, you know, to a--get us on to Sydney."
Both McGibbet and his wife smiled at Picton's ingenuity, but straightway
put on the equine look again. "It might be so; but it was clean contrary
to their preenciples."
"I'll be hanged," whispered Picton, "if I offer more than the usual price,
which I heard at Louisburgh was one pound ten, to Sydney, and the fine
extra. I see what they are after."
There was an awkward pause in the negotiations. McGibbet scratched his
poll, and looked wistfully at his wife, but the kirk-frill was stiffened
up with the moral starch, as aforesaid.
Suddenly, Picton looked out of the window. "By Jove!" said he, "I think
the wind is changed! After all, we may get around in the 'Balaklava.'"
McGibbet looked somewhat anxiously out of the window also, and grunted out
a little more Gaelic to his love. The kirk-frill relented a trifle.
"Perhaps the gentlemen wad like a glass of milk after thae long walk? and
Robert" (which she pronounced Robbut), "a bit o' the corn-cake."
Upon which Robbut, with great alacrity, turned towards the bed-room, from
whence he brought forth a great white disk, that resembled the head of a
flour-barrel, but which proved to be a full-grown griddle cake of
corn-meal. This, with the pure milk, from the cleanest of scoured pans,
was acceptable enough after the long walk.
We had observed some beautiful streams, and blue glimpses of lakes on the
road to McGibbet's, and just beyond his house was a larger lake, several
miles in extent, with picturesque hills on either side, indented-with
coves, and studded with islands, sometimes stretching away to distant
slopes of green turf, and sometimes reflecting masses of precipitous rock,
crowned with the spiry tops of spruces and firs. Indeed, all the country
around, both meadow and upland, was very pleasing to the sight. A low
range of hills skirted the northern part of what seemed to be a spacious,
natural amphitheatre, while on the south side a diversity of highlands and
water added to the whole the charm of variety.
"You have a fine country about you, Mr. McGibbet," said I.
"Ay," he replied.
"And what is it called here?"
"We ca' it Get-Along!" said Robbut, with an intensely Scotch accent on the
"Get."
"And yonder beautiful lake--what is the name of that?" said I, in hopes of
taking refuge behind something more euphonious.
"Oh! ay," replied he, "that's just Get-Along, too. We doan't usually speak
of it, but whan we do, we just ca' it Get-Along Lake, and it's not good
for much."
I thought it best to change the subject. "Do you like this as well as the
oat-cake?" said I, with my mouth full of the dry, husky provender.
"Nae," said McGibbet, with an equine shake of the head, "it's not sae
fellin."
Not so filling! Think of that, ye pampered minions of luxury, who live
only upon delicate viands; who prize food, not as it useful, but as it is
tasteful; who can even encourage a depraved, sensual appetite so far as to
appreciate flavor; who enjoy meats, fish, and poultry, only as they
minister to your palates; who flirt with spring-chickens and trifle with
sweet-breads in wanton indolence, without a thought of your cubic
capacity; without a reflection that you can live just as well upon so many
square inches of oatmeal a day as you can upon the most elaborate French
kickshaws; nay, that you can be elevated to the level of a scientific
problem, and work out your fillings, with nothing to guide you but a slate
and pencil!
"Then you like oatmeal better than this?" said Picton, soothing down a
husky lump, with a cup of milk.
"Ay," responded McGibbet.
"And you always eat it, whenever you can get it, I suppose?" continued
Picton, with a most innocent air.
"Ay," responded McGibbet.
"I should think some of you Scotchmen would be afraid of contracting a
disease that is engendered in the system by the use of this sort of grain.
I hope, Mr. McGibbet," said Picton, with imperturbable coolness, "you keep
clear of the bots, and that sort of thing, you know?"
"Kwat?" said Robbut, with the most startled, horse-like look he had yet
put on.
"The gasterophili," replied Picton, "which I would advise you to steer
clear of, if you want to live long."
As this was a word with too many gable-ends for Robbut's comprehension, he
only responded by giving such a smile as a man might be expected to give
who had his mouth full of aloes, and as the conversation was wandering off
from the main point, addressed himself to Mrs. McG. in the vernacular
again.
"We would like to obleege ye," said the lady, "if it was not for the
transgression; and we do na like to break the Sabbath for ony man."
"Although," interposed Robbut, "I am free to confess that I have done a
great many things worse than breakin' the Sabbath."
"But if to-morrow would do as well," resumed his wife, "Robbut would take
ye to Sydney."
To this Picton shook his head. "Too late for the steamer."
"Or to-night; I wad na mind that," said the pious Robbut, "_if it was
after dark_, and that will bring ye to Sydney before the morn."
"That will do," said Picton, slapping his thigh. "Lend us your horse and
wagon to go down to the schooner and get our luggage; we will be back this
evening, and then go on to Sydney, eh? That will do; a ride by moonlight;"
and the traveller jumped up from his seat, walked with great strides
towards the fire-place, turned his back to the blaze, hung a coat-tail
over each arm, and whistled "Annie Laurie" at Mrs. McGibbet.
The suggestion of Picton meeting the views of all concerned, the diplomacy
ended. Robbut put himself in his Sunday boots, and hitched up a spare rib
of a horse before a box-wagon without springs, which he brought before the
door with great complacency. The traveller and I were soon on the
ground-floor of the vehicle, seated upon a log of wood by way of cushion;
and with a chirrup from McGibbet, off we went. At the foot of the first
hill, our horse stopped; in vain Picton jerked at the rein, and shouted at
him: not a step further would he go, until Robbut himself came down to the
rescue. "Get along, Boab!" said his master; and Bob, with a mute, pitiful
appeal in his countenance, turned his face towards salt-water. At the
foot of the next hill he stopped again, when the irascible Picton jumped
out, and with one powerful twitch of the bridle, gave Boab such a hint to
"get on," that it nearly jerked his head off. And Boab did get on, only to
stop at the ascent of the next hill. Then we began to understand the
tactics of the animal. Boab had been the only conveyance between
Louisburgh and Sydney for many years, and, as he was usually
over-burdened, made a point to stop at the up side of every hill on the
road, to let part of his freight get out and walk to the top of the
acclivity with him. So, by way of compromise, we made a feint of getting
out at every rise of ground, and Boab, who always turned his head around
at each stopping-place, seemed to be satisfied with the observance of the
ceremony, and trotted gaily forward. At last we came to a place we had
named Sebastopol in the morning--a great sharp edge of rock as high as a
man's waist, that cut the road in half, over which we lifted the wagon,
and were soon in view of the bright little harbor and the "Balaklava" at
anchor. Mr. McAlpin kindly gave quarters to our steed in his out-house,
and offered to raise a signal for the schooner to send a boat ashore. As
he was Deputy United States Consul, and as I was tired of the red-cross of
St. George, I asked him to hoist his consular flag. Up to the flag-staff
truck rose the roll of white and red worsted, then uncoiled, blew out, and
the blessed stars and stripes were waving over me. It is surprising to
think how transported one can be sometimes with a little bit of bunting!
And now the labor of packing commenced, of which Picton had the greatest
share by far; the little cabin of the schooner was pretty well spread out
with his traps on every side; and this being ended, Picton got out his
travelling-organ and blazed away in a _finale_ of great tunes and small,
sometimes fast, sometimes slow, as the humor took him. After all, we
parted from the jolly little craft with regret: our trunks were lowered
over the side; we shook hands with all on board; and were rowed in silence
to the land.
I have had some experience in travelling, and have learned to bear with
ordinary firmness and philosophy the incidental discomforts one is certain
to meet with on the road; but I must say, the discipline already acquired
had not prepared me for the unexpected appearance of our wagon after
Picton's luggage was placed in it. First, two solid English trunks of
sole-leather filled the bottom of the vehicle; then the traveller's
Minie-rifle, life-preserver, strapped-up blankets, and hand-bag were
stuffed in the sides: over these again were piled my trunk and the
traveller's valise (itself a monster of straps and sole-leather); then
again his portable-secretary and the hand-organ in a box. These made such
a pyramid of luggage, that riding ourselves was out of the question. What
with the trunks and the cordage to keep them staid, our wagon looked like
a ship of the desert. To crown all, it began to rain steadily. "Now,
then," said Picton, climbing up on his confounded travelling equipage,
"let's get on." With some difficulty I made a half-seat on the corner of
my own trunk; Picton shouted out at Boab; the Newfoundland sailors who had
brought us ashore, put their shoulders to the wheels, and away we went,
waving our hats in answer to the hearty cheers of the sailors. It was down
hill from McAlpin's to the first bridge, and so far we had nothing to care
for, except to keep a look-out we were not shaken off our high perch. But
at the foot of the first hill Boab stopped! In vain Picton shouted at him
to get on; in vain he shook rein and made a feint of getting down from the
wagon. Boab was not intractable, but he was sagacious; he had been fed on
that sort of chaff too long. Picton and I were obliged to humor his
prejudices, and dismount in the mud, and after one or two feeble attempts
at a ride, gave it up, walked down hill and up, lifted the wagon by inches
over Sebastopol, and finally arrived at McGibbet's, wet, tired, and
hungry. That Sabbath-broker received us with a grim smile of satisfaction,
put on the half-extinguished fire the smallest bit of wood he could find
in the pile beside the hearth, and then went away with Boab to the stable.
"Gloomy prospects ahead, Picton!" The traveller said never a word.
Now I wish to record here this, that there is no place, no habitation of
man, however humble, that cannot be lighted up with a smile of welcome,
and the good right-hand of hospitality, and made cheerful as a palace hung
with the lamps of Aladdin!
McGibbet, after leading his beast to the stable, returned, and warming his
wet hands at the fire, grunted out; "It rains the nigcht."
"Yes," answered Picton, hastily, "rains like blue blazes: I say, get us a
drop of whisky, will you?"
To this the equine replied by folding his hands one over the other with a
saintly look. "I never keep thae thing in the hoose."
"Picton," said I, "if we could only unlash our luggage, I have a bottle of
capital old brandy in my trunk, but it's too much trouble."
"Oh! na," quoth Robbut with a most accommodating look, "it will be nae
trooble to get to it."
"Well, then," said Picton, "look sharp, will you?" and our host, with
great swiftness, moved off to the wagon, and very soon returned with the
trunk on his shoulder, according to directions.
"But," said I, taking out the bottle of precious fluid, "here it is,
corked up tight, and what is to be done for a cork-screw?"
"I've got one," said the saint.
"I thought it was likely," quoth Picton, drily; "look sharp, will you?"
And Robbut did look sharp, and produced the identical instrument before
Picton and I had exchanged smiles. Then Robbut spread out three green
tumblers on the table, and following Picton's lead, poured out a stout
half-glass, at which I shouted out, "Hold up!" for I thought he was
filling the tumbler for my benefit. It proved to be a mistake; Robbut
stopped for a moment, but instantly recovering himself, covered the
tumbler with his four fingers, and, to use a Western phrase, "got outside
of the contents quicker than lightning." Then he brought from his bed-room
a coarse sort of worsted horse-blanket, and with a "Ye'll may-be like to
sleep an hour or twa?" threw down his family-quilt and retired to the arms
of Mrs. McG. Picton gave a great crunching blow with his boot-heel at the
back-stick, and laid on a good supply of fuel. We were wet through and
through, but we wrapped ourselves in our travelling-blankets like a brace
of clansmen in their plaids, put our feet towards the niggardly blaze, and
were soon bound and clasped with sleep.
At two o'clock our host roused us from our hard bed, and after a stretch,
to get the stiffness out of joints and muscles, we took leave of the
Presbyterian quarters. The day was just dawning: at this early hour, lake
and hill-side, tree and thicket, were barely visible in the grey twilight.
The wagon, with its pyramid of luggage, moved off in the rain, McGibbet
walking beside Boab, and Picton and I following after, with all the
gravity of chief mourners at a funeral. To give some idea of the road we
were upon, let it be understood, it had once been an old _French_ military
road, which, after the destruction of the fortress of Louisburgh, had been
abandoned to the British Government and the elements. As a consequence, it
was embroidered with the ruts and gullies of a century, the washing of
rains, and the tracks of wagons; howbeit, the only traverse upon it in
later years were the wagon of McGibbet and the saddle-horse of the
post-rider. "Get-Along" had a population of seven hundred Scotch
Presbyters, and therefore it will be easy to understand the condition of
its turnpike.
Up hill and down hill, through slough and over rock, we trudged, for mile
after mile. Sometimes beside Get-Along Lake, with its grey, spectral
islands and woodlands; sometimes by rushing brooks and dreary farm-fields;
now in paths close set with evergreens; now in more open grounds, skirted
with hills and dotted with silent, two-penny cottages. Sometimes Picton
mounted his pyramid of trunk-leather for a mile or so of nods; sometimes I
essayed the high perch, and holding on by a cord, dropped off in a
moment's forgetfulness, with the constant fear of waking up in a mud-hole,
or under the wagon-wheels. But even these respites were brief. It is not
easy to ride up hill and down by rock and rut, under such conditions. We
were very soon convinced it was best to leave the wagon to its load of
sole-leather, and walk through the mud to Sydney.
After mouldy Halifax, and war-worn Louisburgh, the little town of Sydney
is a pleasant rural picture. Everybody has heard of the Sydney coal-mines:
we expected to find the miner's finger-marks everywhere; but instead of
the smoky, sulphurous atmosphere, and the black road, and the sulky,
grimy, brick tenements, we were surprised with clean, white,
picket-fences; and green lawns, and clever, little cottages, nestled in
shrubbery and clover. The mines are over the bay, five miles from South
Sydney. Slowly we dragged on, until we came to a sleepy little one-story
inn, with supernatural dormer windows rising out of the roof, before
which Boab stopped. We _paid_ McGibbet's kirk-fine, wagon-fare, and his
unconscionable charge for his conscience, without parleying with him; we
were too sleepy to indulge in the luxury of a monetary skirmish. A pretty,
red-cheeked chambermaid, with lovely drooping eyes, showed us to our
rooms; it was yet very early in the morning; we were almost ashamed to get
into bed with such dazzling white sheets after the dark-brown
accommodations of the "Balaklava;" but we did get in, and slept; oh! how
sweetly! until breakfast at one!
"Twenty-four miles of such foot-travel will do pretty well for an invalid,
eh, Picton?"
"All serene?" quoth the traveller, interrogatively.
"Feel as well as ever I did in my life," said I, with great satisfaction.
"Then let's have a bath," and, at Picton's summons, the chambermaid
brought up in our rooms two little tubs of fair water, and a small pile of
fat, white napkins. The bathing over, and the outer men new clad, "from
top to toe," down we went to the cosy parlor to breakfast; and such a
breakfast!
I tell you, my kind and gentle friend; _you_, who are now reading this
paragraph, that here, as in all other parts of the world, there are a
great many kinds of people; only that here, in Nova Scotia, the
difference is in spots, not in individuals. And I will venture to say to
those philanthropists who are eternally preaching "of the masses," and "to
the masses," that here "masses" can be found--concrete "masses," not yet
individualized: as ready to jump after a leader as a flock of sheep after
a bell-wether; only that at every interval of five or ten miles between
place and place in Nova Scotia, they are apt to jump in contrary
directions. There are Scotch Nova Scotiaites even in Sydney. Otherwise the
place is marvellously pleasant.
I must confess that I had a romantic sort of idea in visiting Sydney; a
desire to return by way of the _Bras d'Or_ lake, the "arm of gold," the
inland sea of Cape Breton, that makes the island itself only a border for
the water in its interior. And as the navigation is frequently performed
by the Micmac Indians, in their birch-bark canoes, I determined to be a
_voyageur_ for the nonce, and engage a couple of Micmacs to paddle me
homewards, at least one day's journey. The wigwams of the tribe were
pitched about a mile from the town, and I proposed a visit to their camp
as an afternoon's amusement. Picton readily assented, and down we went to
the wharf, where the landlady assured us we would find some of the tribe.
These Indians, often expert coopers, are employed to barrel up fish; the
busy wharf was covered with laborers, hard at work, heading and hooping
ship loads of salt mackerel; and among the workmen were some with the
unmistakable lozenge eyes, high cheek-bones, and rhubarb complexion of the
native American. Upon inquiry, we were introduced to one of the
Rhubarbarians. He was a little fellow, not in leggings and
quill-embroidered hunting-shirt, with belt of wampum and buckskin
moccasins; armed with bow and arrow, tomahawk and scalping-knife; such as
one would expect to navigate a wild, romantic lake with, in birch-bark
canoe; but a pinched-up specimen of a man, in a seedy black suit, out of
which rose a broad, flat face, like the orb of a sun-flower, bearing one
side the aboriginal black eye, and on the other the civilized, surrounded
with the blue and purple halo of battle. We had barely opened our business
with the Indian, when a bonny Scotchman, a fellow-cooper of salt mackerel,
introduced himself:
"Oh, ye visit the Micmacs the day?"
No answer.
"De'il a canoe has he to tak ye there" (the Indian slunk away), "but I'll
tak ye tull 'em for one and saxpence, in a gude boat."
The fellow had such an honest face, and the offer was so fair and
earnest, that Picton's and my own trifling prejudices were soon overcome,
and we directed Malcolm, for that was his name, to bring his boat under
the inn-windows after the dinner-hour. I regret to say that we found
Malcolm tolerably drunk after dinner, with a leaky boat, under the
inn-windows. And farther, I am pained to state the national characteristic
was developed in Malcolm drunk, from which there was no appeal to Malcolm
sober, for he insisted upon double fare, and time was pressing. To this we
assented, after a brief review of former prejudices. We got in the boat
and put off. We had barely floated away into the beautiful landscape when
a fog swept over us, and Malcolm's nationality again woke up. He would
have four times as much as he had charged in the first instance, or "he'd
tak us over, and land us on the ither side of the bay."
Then Picton's nationality woke up, and he unbuttoned his mackintosh. "Now,
sir," said he to Malcolm, as he rose from his seat in the boat, his head
gracefully inclined towards his starboard shirt-collar, and his two
tolerably large fists arrayed in order of battle within a few brief inches
of the delinquent's features, "did I understand you to say that you had
some idea of taking this gentleman and myself _to the other side of the
bay_?"
There was a boy in our boat--a fair-haired, blue-eyed representative of
Nova Scotia; a sea-boy, with a dash of salt-water in his ruddy cheeks, who
had modestly refrained from taking part in the dispute.
"Come, now," said he to Malcolm, "pull away, and let us get the gentlemen
up to the camp," and he knit his boy brow with determination, as if he
meant to have it settled according to contract.
"Yes," said Picton, nodding at the boy, "and if he don't"----
"I'm pullin' an't I?" quoth the descendant of King Duncan, a little
frightened, and suiting the action to the word; "I'm a-pewlin," and here
his oar missed the water, and over he tumbled with a great splash in the
bottom of the boat. "I'm a-pewlin," he whined, as he regained his seat and
the oar, "and all I want is to hae my honest airnins."
"Then pull away," said Picton, as he resumed his seat in the stern-sheets.
"Ay," quoth the Scotchman, "I know the Micmacs weel, and thae squaws too;
deil a one o' 'em but knows Malcolm"----
"Pull away," said the boy.
"They are guid-lookin', thae squaws, and I'm a bachelter; and I tell ye
when I tak ye tull em--for I know the hail o' em--if ye are gentlemen,
ye'll pay me my honest airnins."
"And I tell you," answered Picton, his fist clenched, his eye flashing
again, and his indignant nostrils expressing a degree of anger language
could not express; "I tell you, if you do not carry us to the Micmac camp
without further words, I'll pay you your honest earnings before you get
there: I'll punch that Scotch head of yours till it looks like a
photograph!"