A Yankee Handle for a Halifax Blade.
"I met a man this mornin'," said the Clockmaker, "from Halifax, a
real conceited lookin' critter as you e'enamost ever seed, all shines
and didoes. He looked as if he had picked up his airs arter some
officer of the regilars had worn 'em out and cast 'em off. They sot
on him like second-hand clothes, as if they hadn't been made for him
and didn't exactly fit. He looked fine, but awkward, like a captain
of militia when he gets his uniform on, to play sodger; a-thinkin'
himself mighty handSUM, and that all the world is a-lookin' at him.
He marched up and down afore the street door like a peacock, as large
as life and twice as natural; he had a riding whip in his hand and
every now and then struck it agin his thigh, as much as to say,
'Ain't that a splendid leg for a boot, now? Won't I astonish the
Amherst folks, that's all?' Thinks I, 'You are a pretty blade, ain't
you? I'd like to fit a Yankee handle on to you, that's a fact.' When
I came up, he held up his head near about as high as a shot factory,
and stood with his fists on his hips, and eyed me from head to foot,
as a shakin' quaker does a town lady; as much as to say, 'What a
queer critter you be, that's toggery I never seed afore; you're some
carnal-minded maiden, that's sartain.'
"'Well,' says he to me, with the air of a man that chucks a cent into
a beggar's hat, 'a fine day this, sir.' 'Do you actilly think so?'
said I, and I gave it the real Connecticut drawl. 'Why,' said he,
quite short, 'if I didn't think so, I wouldn't say so.' 'Well,' says
I, 'I don't know, but if I did think so, I guess I wouldn't say so.'
'Why not?' says he. 'Because, I expect,' says I, 'any fool could see
that as well as me;' and then I stared at him, as much as to say,
'Now if you like that 'ere swap, I am ready to trade with you agin as
soon as you like.' Well, he turned right round on his heel and walked
off, a-whistlin' Yankee Doodle to himself. He looked jist like a man
that finds whistlin' a plaguy sight easier than thinkin'.
"Presently, I heard him ax the groom who that 'ere Yankee lookin'
feller was. 'That?' said the groom, 'why, I guess it's Mr. Slick.'
'Sho!' said he, 'how you talk. What! Slick the Clockmaker? why it
ain't possible; I wish I had a known that 'ere afore, I declare,
for I have a great curiosity to see him; folks say he is an amazin'
clever feller that;' and he turned and stared, as if it was old
Hickory himself. Then he walked round and about like a pig round
the fence of a potato field, a-watchin' for a chance to cut in; so,
thinks I, I'll jist give him something to talk about, when he gets
back to the city; I'll fix a Yankee handle on to him in no time.
"'How's times to Halifax, sir,' said I. 'Better,' says he, 'much
better. Business is done on a surer bottom than it was, and things
look bright agin.' 'So does a candle,' says I, 'jist afore it goes
out; it burns up ever so high and then sinks right down, and leaves
nothin' behind but grease, and an everlastin' bad smell. I guess they
don't know how to feed their lamp, and it can't burn long on nothin'.
No, sir, the jig is up with Halifax, and it's all their own fault. If
a man sits at his door, and sees stray cattle in his field, a-eatin'
up of his crop, and his neighbours, a-eatin' off his grain, and won't
so much as go and drive 'em out, why I should say it sarves him
right.'
"I don't exactly understand, sir,' said he. Thinks I, it would be
strange if you did, for I never see one of your folks yet that could
understand a hawk from a handsaw. 'Well,' says I, 'I will tell you
what I mean: draw a line from Cape Sable to Cape Cansoo, right
through the Province, and it will split it into two, this way;' and I
cut an apple into two halves; 'now,' says I, 'the worst half, like
the rotten half of the apple, belongs to Halifax, and the other and
sound half belongs to St. John. Your side of the province on the sea
coast is all stone; I never seed such a proper sight of rocks in my
life; it's enough to starve a rabbit. Well, t'other side on the Bay
of Fundy, is a superfine country; there ain't the beat of it to be
found anywhere. Now, wouldn't the folks living away up to the Bay, be
pretty fools to go to Halifax, when they can go to St. John with half
the trouble. St. John is the natural capital of the Bay of Fundy;
it will be the largest city in America next to New York. It has an
immense back country as big as Great Britain, a first chop river, and
amazin' sharp folks, most as cute as the Yankees; it's a splendid
location for business. Well, they draw all the produce of the Bay
shores, and where the produce goes the supplies return; they will take
the whole trade of the Province. I guess your rich folks will find
they've burnt their fingers; they've put their foot in it, that's
a fact. Houses without tenants, wharves without shipping, a town
without people--what a grand investment! If you have any loose
dollars, let 'em out on mortgage in Halifax, that's a security; keep
clear of the country for your life; the people may run, but the town
can't. No, take away the troops, and you're done; you'll sing the
dead march folks did at Louisburg and Shelburne. Why you hain't got
a single thing worth havin', but a good harbour, and as for that the
coast is full of 'em. You havn't a pine log, a spruce board or a
refuse shingle; you neither raise wheat, oats, or hay, nor never can;
you have no staples on airth, unless it be them iron ones for the
padlocks in Bridewell. You've sowed pride and reaped poverty; take
care of your crop, for it's worth harvestin'. You have no river and
no country, what in the name of fortin' have you to trade on?
"'But,' said he (and he showed the whites of his eyes like a
wall-eyed horse), 'but,' said he, 'Mr. Slick, how is it then, Halifax
ever grew at all! Hasn't it got what it always had? It's no worse
than it was.' 'I guess,' said I, 'that pole ain't strong enough to
bear you, neither; if you trust to that, you'll be into the brook, as
sure as you are born; you once had the trade of the whole Province,
but St. John has run off with that now; you've lost all but your
trade in blueberries and rabbits with the niggers at Hammond Plains.
You've lost your customers; your rivals have a better stand for
business--they've got the corner store; four great streets meet
there, and it's near the market slip.'
"Well, he stared; says he, 'I believe you're right, but I never
thought of that afore.' Thinks I, nobody'd ever suspect you of the
trick of thinkin' that ever I heerd tell of. 'Some of our great men,'
said he, 'laid it all to your folks' selling so many clocks and
Polyglot Bibles; they say you have taken off a horrid sight of
money.' 'Did they, indeed?' said I; 'well, I guess it ain't pins and
needles that's the expense of house-keepin', it is something more
costly than that.' 'Well, some folks say it's the banks,' says
he. 'Better still,' says I; 'perhaps you've hearn tell, too, that
greasin' the axle, makes a gig harder to draw, for there's jist
about as much sense in that.' 'Well then,' says he, 'others say it's
smugglin' has made us so poor.' 'That guess,' said I, 'is most as
good as t'other one; whoever found out that secret ought to get a
patent for it, for it's worth knowin'. Then the country has grown
poorer, hasn't it, because it has bought cheaper this year, than it
did the year before? Why, your folks are cute chaps, I vow; they'd
puzzle a Philadelphia lawyer, they are so amazin' knowin'.' 'Ah,'
said he, and he rubb'd his hands and smiled, like a young doctor,
when he gets his first patient; 'ah,' said he, 'if the timber duties
are altered, down comes St. John, body and breeches; it's built on
a poor foundation--it's all show; they are speculatin' like mad;
they'll ruin themselves.' Says I, 'if you wait till they're dead for
your fortin', it will be one while, I tell you, afore you pocket the
shiners. It's no joke waitin' for a dead man's shoes. Suppose an old
feller of eighty was to say, "When that 'ere young feller dies, I'm
to inherit his property," what would you think? Why, I guess you'd
think he was an old fool. No sir, if the English don't want their
timber we do want it all; we have used our'n up, we hain't got a
stick even to whittle. If the British don't offer we will, and St.
John, like a dear little weepin' widow, will dry up her tears, and
take to frolickin' agin and accept it right off.
"'There isn't at this moment such a location hardly in America, as
St. John; for beside all its other advantages, it has this great one:
its only rival, Halifax, has got a dose of opium that will send it
snoring out of the world, like a feller who falls asleep on the ice
of a winter's night. It has been asleep so long, I actilly think it
never will wake. It's an easy death too; you may rouse them up if you
like, but I vow I won't. I once brought a feller to that was drowned,
and one night he got drunk and quilted me; I couldn't walk for a
week. Says I, "You're the last chap I'll ever save from drowning in
all my born days, if that's all the thanks I get for it." No sir,
Halifax has lost the run of its custom. Who does Yarmouth trade with?
St. John. Who does Annapolis County trade with? St. John. Who do all
the folks on the Basin of Mines, and Bay shore, trade with? St. John.
Who does Cumberland trade with? St. John. Well Pictou, Lunenburg and
Liverpool, supply themselves, and the rest that ain't worth havin',
trade with Halifax. They take down a few half-starved pigs, old
viteran geese, and long legged fowls, some ram mutton and tough beef;
and swap them for tea, sugar, and such little notions for their old
women to home; while the railroads and canals of St. John are goin'
to cut off your Gulf Shore trade to Miramichi, and along there. Flies
live in the summer and die in winter, you're jist as noisy in war as
those little critters, but you sing small in peace.
"'No, you're done for; you are up a tree, you may depend; pride must
fall. Your town is like a ballroom arter a dance. The folks there eat,
drank, and frolicked, and left an empty house; the lamps and hangings
are left, but the people are gone.'
"'Is there no remedy for this?' said he; and he looked as wild as a
Cherokee Indian. Thinks I, the handle is fitted on proper tight now.
'Well,' says I, 'when a man has a cold, he had ought to look out
pretty sharp, afore it gets seated on his lungs; if he don't, he gets
into a gallopin' consumption, and it's gone goose with him. There is
a remedy, if applied in time: make a railroad to the Minas Basin, and
you have a way for your customers to get to you, and a conveyance for
your goods to them. When I was in New York last, a cousin of mine,
Hezekiah Slick, said to me, "I do believe Sam, I shall be ruined;
I've lost all my custom; they are widening and improving the streets,
and there's so many carts and people to work in it, folks can't come
to my shop to trade; what on airth shall I do? and I'm payin' a
dreadful high rent too?" "Stop Ki," says I, "when the street is all
finished off and slicked up, they'll all come back agin, and a whole
raft more on 'em too, you'll sell twice as much as ever you did;
you'll put off a proper swad of goods next year, you may depend;" and
so he did, he made money, hand over hand. A railroad will bring back
your customers, if done right off; but wait till trade has made new
channels, and fairly gets settled in them, and you'll never divart it
agin to all etarnity. When a feller waits till a gal gets married, I
guess it will be too late to pop the question then.
"'St. John MUST go ahead, at any rate; you MAY, if you choose, but
you must exert yourselves, I tell you. If a man has only one leg, and
wants to walk, he must get an artificial one. If you have no river,
make a railroad, and that will supply its place.'
"'But,' says he, 'Mr. Slick, people say it never will pay in the
world; they say it's as mad a scheme as the canal. 'Do they indeed?'
says I; 'send them to me then, and I'll fit the handle on to them in
tu tu's. I say it will pay, and the best proof is, our folks will
take tu thirds of the stock. Did you ever hear any one else but your
folks, ax whether a dose of medicine would pay when it was given to
save life? If that everlastin' long Erie canal can secure to New York
the supply of that far off country, most t'other side of creation,
surely a railroad of forty-five miles can give you the trade of the
Bay of Fundy. A railroad will go from Halifax to Windsor, and make
them one town, easier to send goods from one to t'other than from
Governor Campbell's House to Admiral Cockburn's. A bridge makes a
town, a river makes a town, a canal makes a town; but a railroad is
bridge, river, thoroughfare, canal, all in one; what a whappin' large
place that would make, wouldn't it? It would be the dandy, that's
a fact. No, when you go back, take a piece of chalk, and the first
dark night, write on every door in Halifax, in large letters--a
railroad--and if they don't know the meanin' of it, says you "It's a
Yankee word; if you'll go to Sam Slick, the Clockmaker" (the chap
that fixed a Yankee handle on to a Halifax blade'--and I made him a
scrape of my leg, as much as to say, That's you!) '"every man that
buys a clock shall hear all about a railroad."'"