"_Allons donc!_ Take your billets, and let us march."
We sallied forth into the street. It was about nine o'clock, and all
was quiet. The light from Crop's window shone brightly in the
distance, and invited us to our revenge.
The heavy falls of snow are a serious inconvenience in the narrow
streets of Montreal, and the manner in which it is disposed of, gives
to them a peculiar appearance. When a storm subsides, the whole town
is alive with the business of shovelling the snow from the side-walks
into the middle of the street, which in the course of a few weeks
after the winter sets in, is elevated several feet above its natural
level. On the top of this ridge vehicles of all descriptions are
forced to pass, and while guiding a _cariole_ along the height, you
nod to your pedestrian friends on the side-walks, many feet below you,
and peep, if you have any curiosity, into the windows of your
neighbor's second story. By gradual packing and freezing, this
_high_-road becomes a complete rampart of ice, along which _carioles_
and _traineaus_ are driven with alarming velocity--to a strange eye
presenting the constant prospect of their being hurled down to the
side-walk. But such accidents seldom happen. In their own awkward
fashion, the Canadian drivers are uncommonly expert, and their hardy
little horses are equally so.
We kept the side-walk until we reached the corner of St. Nicholas and
St. Paul streets, and here we stopped to confer.
"By the way," said I, "we had better decide upon the manner of running
away. Crop is a tall fellow and long in the legs. It will not do for
us to keep together. My plan is this--I will dive into the alley,
leading up to the city hotel, cross St. Peter's street and get into
the Jesuits's grounds.[3] You had better take to the opposite
side-walk, for you will be perfectly safe there, as you may turn the
left corner of St. Peter, and skim away towards the _Soeurs Gris_,
before Tim can climb to that side of the street. When we have
confounded the chase, we will rendezvous in front of the _Petit
Seminaire_, in College street. We shall be near the Mansion House,
where we may refresh ourselves with a bottle of Martinant's London
particular, and call at Fenella's on our way home."
[Footnote 3: These grounds have since been devoted to public use, and
are now intersected by Lemoine, St. Helen, and Recolet streets. They
were formerly attached to the religious establishment of the
brotherhood, the building of which faced upon Notre Dame street, and
were filled with noble elms, all of which have I believe fallen
beneath the axe. The accommodations were spacious; but the buildings,
with the exception of the Recolet church, which occupies nearly a
centre position, had been appropriated to other than monastic uses
long before my recollection. During and just after the last war they
were used as the barracks of a regiment of British infantry, and at
the grated windows which once let in the light upon the ascetic
pursuits and rigid ceremonials of these bigoted religionists--soldiers
were seen scouring their muskets or whitening their belts. More
recently, the southern portion has been occupied as a Young Ladies
Seminary, and the northern as the City Watch-house. The buildings had
become public property by the operation of some condition relative to
the decrease of the numbers of the order. One only was alive in my
time; and he was often seen in the streets, wearing a small black
skull cap, and a long black robe fastened around his body by a white
woollen girdle. The Recolet church is to this day a place of Catholic
worship, opened on stated days and uncommon occasions. Whether it has
been embellished or altered since I saw it, I know not--but at that
time it presented a melancholy appearance of decay and dilapidation.
It was remarkable for a rude carving over the entrance representing
two hands and arms issuing out of the sea, and crossing each other.
The carving was colored most unnaturally, and the waves of the sea
resembled a congregation of pewter platters.]
"I see no objection to your plan, Pertinax, only that your part of it
is the most hazardous. If Crop pursues, he will naturally stick to his
own side-walk, and you must leap in front of him from the street into
the alley."
"Oh, never fear for me--I shall be scudding through the old Jesuits's
elms, long before he will find the hole by which I make my escape.
Recollect the rendezvous at the College."
Our plan of retreat having been settled, we mounted into the middle of
the street, and were in two minutes opposite the devoted shop-window.
The lights burned brightly, and at a glance we saw that there was no
one within but Crop and a little boy. The window was filled with
bottles of _Eau de Cologne_, _Eau de jasmin_, _extrait de bergamotte_,
with pots of _pommade extraordinaire_, and the like; and there still
hung the offending caricatures. We were elevated some feet above the
window, and it presented the finest imaginable mark.
"Now," said Cleaveland, "let us separate a few paces, that we may give
our object a raking fire, and do the more execution."
We were just about to proceed to business, when the sharp sound of a
horse's hoofs rang upon the ice near the corner of St. Peter's street.
We drew back from the glare of the window to allow the horse and his
rider to pass--when, as they approached us, we perceived Marryatt,
mounted on his shaggy Shetland pony.
"Hey dey," said he, as we made our appearance--"what mischief is in
the wind now?"
"Stay a moment," said I, "and see us demolish Crop's bow window."
"Oh ho, is that the project? Well I will witness the crash, as I have
especial means of escape. I cannot say as much for you or Cleaveland.
Crop will catch one or both of you to a certainty."
"That is our own concern--but he shall have a race for it. Stay where
you are Marryatt, and witness the performance."
Cleaveland and I then approached the window, and levelling our billets
simultaneously, they fell with unerring aim in the centre of the
window, scattering pictures, pomatum and perfumery in every direction.
A second billet from each of us completed the work of destruction, and
we took to our heels. Cleaveland slipped down to the pavement on the
opposite side, and vanished in an instant. I was about ten paces from
the alley, (which entered St. Paul street on the same side with the
barber's shop,) but before I had cleared that short distance, I was
sensible that Crop was in pursuit. From the high ridge of ice on which
I stood, to the pavement was at least five feet, and on coming
opposite the alley I made a flying leap across the side-walk into its
entrance. But alas for human hopes!--I had neglected to substitute a
pair of shoes for my boots on coming out, and my boot heels were
covered with plates of brass, in conformity to a very ridiculous
fashion. I cleared the side-walk in gallant style; but I alighted on
my heels in a spot covered with the smoothest ice. The consequence
was, that my feet flew from under me, and I fell prostrate. But this
was not the worst--I struck my knee upon the ice with a force which
might have broken a joint of iron. I made an effort to rise, which was
at first ineffectual. The sound of Timothy's feet struck on my ear as
he turned the corner. He was within two paces of me, and in a second
more would have stumbled over me in the dark. But the idea of being
captured gave me sudden vigor, and overcame the pain of my bruised
knee. I sprang upon my feet, and bounded away towards the entrance of
the City Hotel, turned short to the left, and crossing St. Peter's
street by another alley, kept on under the wall of Thatcher's livery
stables.
Rapidly as I had taken leave of Timothy, he had not lost sight of me
for a second, until I turned the farther corner of the stables. At
this point there had been, a few weeks previous, a gap in the
enclosure of the Jesuits's grounds, through which I had often passed;
and by means of this opening I had intended to lead the chase into
those grounds, with all the turnings of which I was well acquainted,
and where a number of old elms would serve to cover my retreat.
What was my consternation on reaching the spot, to find that the
opening had been closed! I was completely cornered, without means of
escape, except by the steep path up which I had come. Along that path
I heard the footsteps of my pursuer, as he picked his way in the dark.
Not a moment was to be lost, and my determination was instantly taken.
I again turned the corner of the stables, and ran down the path with
my utmost speed, intending to overthrow Timothy by running against
him. As I approached him, he stopped, and seeming to comprehend my
object, veered a little from the path, so as to break the force of the
shock, and grasped at me with both his hands.
And here but for my boot heels I might have escaped; but again they
failed me, I slipped, and Timothy and I were rolling on the ground
together--he clutching to hold me fast, and I struggling to get away.
By mutual consent we soon rose upon our feet--he still holding on with
the tenacity of a bull-dog, upon the collar and breast of my clothing.
I had not lived five years in Montreal without becoming sensible of
the value of _science_ in the use of the fist, and I had taken a
series of rude lessons from an Irish sergeant--Fuller not having then
appeared in Canada to teach the 'manly art of self-defence.' The
moment that we were on our feet, I attacked Timothy, in hopes that he
would loosen his hold in showing fight, and give me another
opportunity of escape. But he was a philosopher in his way, and did
not regard pugilistic _punishment_ so much as the retention of his
prisoner. He allowed me therefore to _mill_ him without mercy, dodging
to avoid my blows, but making no offensive demonstration. I pommelled
him severely, and might possibly have broken his hold by my repeated
attacks, but for the slippery place on which we stood. Several times I
lost my footing and came to the ground. At last yielding to necessity,
I relinquished the contest and walked quietly with him to the street,
determined when on better ground, to make another effort for liberty.
Instead of returning towards his shop, as I supposed he would have
done, he turned up St. Peter's street, and led the way towards Notre
Dame. I did not then perceive his object--perhaps I was too much
flurried to think of it. We paced along in a very friendly manner,
until we reached the corner of St. Sacrament street, running midway
between and parallel with St. Paul's and Notre Dame. Here the snow was
firm, and the spot inviting to my purpose, for St. Sacrament offered
me a number of places of retreat, where I might have defied the scent
of my antagonist.
At this corner therefore I made a halt, and while Timothy was
endeavoring to force me forward, I struck him a right handed blow in
the face, which made him bound from his feet and brought him down like
a shot. But true to his object he still held to my coat with his right
hand, and while I was endeavoring to disengage his grasp, he rose
again to his feet, and matters assumed their former aspect. Grown
desperate by my disappointment, I fell upon Timothy without mercy,
hitting right and left whenever I could bring him within the range of
my blows--for he avoided many of them by leaping aside. At length a
chance blow took effect on his throat and I was momentarily freed from
his hold, but I was so weakened by my exertions that I stumbled, and
again measured my length on the snow. Before I could recover myself,
Timothy had as firm a grasp upon me as ever.
Up to this time, not a syllable had passed the lips of either: but at
this juncture, Timothy opened his mouth, and to some purpose,
bellowing "Watch!" at the top of his voice. Instantly the rattles were
heard at no great distance; and Timothy repeating the call, we were
soon surrounded by half a dozen watchmen, with staves, rattles and
lanterns.
I saw plainly that the game was up with me, and yielding with a good
grace, I followed them in silence. I was much surprised to find that
we had turned the left corner of Notre Dame Street, and were entering
the decayed gate of a building which was once an appendage of the
Recolet Church, and part of the establishment of the decayed
brotherhood of Loyola. This building had recently been occupied as a
watchhouse; a fact of which I was ignorant, or master Timothy Crop
would not have led me so easily into the lion's den.
We entered the building, and found ourselves in a rude barrack-like
room, around which were the "guardians of the night," as they are
poetically termed, sitting, standing, and lying--eating, drinking, and
smoking. They were nearly all Canadians; and in their blue and grey
_capots_ with the addition of slouched hats, they might have been
taken for a gang of banditti in their cavern.
When the door closed upon us, and not 'till then, Timothy Crop
loosened his hold upon my raiment. I turned to look at him, and saw
sufficient proof that my blows, although aimed in the dark, had not
been made in vain. His visage exhibited various contusions, and
streams of _claret_ were trickling from his nostrils. But Timothy, to
do him justice, was true _game_; and he returned the smile which his
pickle brought into my face, with a triumphant expression that raised
him much in my estimation.
While we were eyeing each other an inner door opened, and the captain
of the watch made his appearance. Timothy gave me in charge, and the
man of authority conducted me with all due ceremony into his innermost
den, where he invited me to take a seat by the stove, and pointing to
a dirty straw pallet in a corner of the room, gave me to understand
that upon it I was to spend my first night in a watch-house.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
The following translations pretend to no other merit than fidelity.
The only aim of the translator has been to give as literal a version
as the genius of the languages would permit. He has not presumed to
blend his own with the pure conception of his author, or to obscure
with ornament the inimitable beauty of his chaste, unaffected
expression; he regrets that the necessity of a measure has obliged him
more than once perhaps, to expand a thought whose concentration he
admired:--the sin, however, was involuntary.
Lib. 1. Ode v. AD PYRRHAM.
Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ
Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?
Cui flavam religas comam,
Simplex munditiis? heu! quoties fidem,
Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspera
Nigris æquora ventis
Emirabitur insolens,
Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ:
Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem
Sperat, nescius auræ
Fallacis! miseri, quibus
Intenta nites. Me tabulâ sacer
Votivâ paries indicat uvida
Suspendisse potenti
Vestimenta maris Deo.
Translation.
What slender youth whom liquid odors lave,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave
Pyrrha?--for whom with care
Bind'st thou thy yellow hair
Plain in thy neatness? Oft alas! shall he
On faith and changed Gods complain, and sea
Rough with black tempests ire
Unwonted shall admire!
Who now enjoys thee credulous--all gold--
For him still vacant, lovely to behold
Hopes thee: of treacherous breeze
Unmindful. Hapless these
To whom untried thou shinest dazzling fair.
Me Neptune's walls, with tablet vowed, declare
My shipwrecked weeds unwrung
To the sea's potent God to have hung.
* * * * *