On looking back to any given period of our life, we generally find that
the intervening time appears much shorter than it really is. We see at
once the starting-post and the terminus, and the mind takes in at one
view the entire space.
But this observation is more peculiarly applicable to a short passage
across the Atlantic. Knowing how great the distance is, and accustomed
to consider the voyage as the work of many weeks, we are so astonished
at finding ourselves transported in a few days, from one continent to
another, that we can hardly credit the evidence of our own senses.
Who is there that on landing has not asked himself the question, “Is it
possible that I am in England? It seems but as yesterday that I was in
America, to-day I am in Europe. Is it a dream, or a reality?”
The river and the docks--the country and the town--the people and their
accent--the verdure and the climate are all new to me. I have not been
prepared for this; I have not been led on imperceptibly, by travelling
mile after mile by land from my own home, to accustom my senses to the
gradual change of country. There has been no border to pass, where the
language, the dress, the habits, and outward appearances assimilate.
There has been no blending of colours--no dissolving views in the
retrospect--no opening or expanding ones in prospect. I have no
difficulty in ascertaining the point where one terminates and the other
begins.
The change is sudden and startling. The last time I slept on shore,
was in America--to-night I sleep in England. The effect is magical--one
country is withdrawn from view, and another is suddenly presented to my
astonished gaze. I am bewildered; I rouse myself, and rubbing my eyes,
again ask whether I am awake? Is this England? that great country, that
world of itself; Old England, that place I was taught to call home _par
excellence_, the home of other homes, whose flag, I called our flag?
(no, I am wrong, I have been accustomed to call our flag, the flag of
England; our church, not the Church of Nova Scotia, nor the Colonial nor
the Episcopal, nor the Established, but the Church of England.) Is
it then that England, whose language I speak, whose subject I am, the
mistress of the world, the country of Kings and Queens, and nobles and
prelates, and sages and heroes?
I have read of it, so have I read of old Rome; but the sight of Rome,
Caesar and the senate would not astonish me more than that of London,
the Queen and the Parliament. Both are yet ideal; the imagination has
sketched them, but when were its sketches ever true to nature? I have
a veneration for both, but, gentle reader, excuse the confessions of an
old man, for I have a soft spot in the heart yet, _I love Old England_.
I love its institutions, its literature, its people. I love its law,
because, while it protects property, it ensures liberty. I love its
church, not only because I believe it is the true church, but because
though armed with power, it is tolerant in practice. I love its
constitution, because it combines the stability of a monarchy, with the
most valuable peculiarities of a republic, and without violating nature
by attempting to make men equal, wisely follow its dictates, by securing
freedom to all.
I like the people, though not all in the same degree. They are not what
they were. Dissent, reform and agitation have altered their character.
It is necessary to distinguish. A _real_ Englishman is generous, loyal
and brave, manly in his conduct and gentlemanly in his feeling. When I
meet such a man as this, I cannot but respect him; but when I find that
in addition to these good qualities, he has the further recommendation
of being a churchman in his religion and a tory in his politics, I know
then that his heart is in the right place, and I love him.
The drafts of these chapters were read to Mr. Slick, at his particular
request, that he might be assured they contained nothing that would
injure his election as President of the United States, in the event of
the Slickville ticket becoming hereafter the favourite one. This, he
said, was on the cards, strange as it might seem, for making a fool of
John Bull and turning the laugh on him, would be sure to take and be
popular. The last paragraphs, he said, he affectioned and approbated
with all his heart.
“It is rather tall talkin’ that,” said he; “I like its patronisin’ tone.
There is sunthin’ goodish in a colonist patronisin’ a Britisher. It’s
turnin’ the tables on ‘em; it’s sarvin’ ‘em out in their own way. Lord,
I think I see old Bull put his eye-glass up and look at you, with a dead
aim, and hear him say, ‘Come, this is cuttin’ it rather fat.’ Or, as
the feller said to his second wife, when she tapped him on the shoulder,
‘Marm, my first wife was a _Pursy_, and she never presumed to take that
liberty.’ Yes, that’s good, Squire. Go it, my shirt-tails! you’ll win if
you get in fust, see if you don’t. Patronizin’ a Britisher!!! A critter
that has Lucifer’s pride, Arkwright’s wealth, and Bedlam’s sense, ain’t
it rich? Oh, wake snakes and walk your chalks, will you! Give me your
figgery-four Squire, I’ll go in up to the handle for you. Hit or miss,
rough or tumble, claw or mud-scraper, any way, you damn please, I’m your
man.”
But to return to my narrative. I was under the necessity of devoting the
day next after our landing at Liverpool, to writing letters announcing
my safe arrival to my anxious friends in Nova Scotia, and in different
parts of England; and also some few on matters of business. Mr. Slick
was very urgent in his request, that I should defer this work till
the evening, and accompany him in a stroll about the town, and at last
became quite peevish at my reiterated refusal.
“You remind me, Squire,” said he, “of Rufus Dodge, our great ile
marchant of Boston, and as you won’t walk, p’raps you’ll talk, so I’ll
jist tell you the story.
“I was once at the Cataract House to Niagara. It is jist a short
distance above the Falls. Out of the winders, you have a view of the
splendid white waters, or the rapids of foam, afore the river takes its
everlastin’ leap over the cliff.
“Well, Rufus come all the way from Boston to see the Falls: he said he
didn’t care much about them hisself, seein’ that he warn’t in the mill
business; but, as he was a goin’ to England, he didn’t like to say he
hadn’t been there, especially as all the English knowed about America
was, that there was a great big waterfall called Niagara, an everlastin’
Almighty big river called Mississippi, and a parfect pictur of a wappin’
big man called Kentuckian there. Both t’other ones he’d seen over and
over agin, but Niagara he’d never sot eyes on.
“So as soon as he arrives, he goes into the public room, and looks at
the white waters, and, sais he, ‘Waiter,’ sais he, ‘is them the falls
down there?’ a-pintin’ by accident in the direction where the Falls
actilly was.
“‘Yes, Sir,’ sais the waiter.
“‘Hem!’ sais Rufe, ‘them’s the Falls of Niagara, eh! So I’ve seen the
Falls at last, eh! Well it’s pretty too: they ain’t bad, that’s a fact.
So them’s the Falls of Niagara! How long is it afore the stage starts?’
“‘An hour, Sir.’
“‘Go and book me for Boston, and then bring me a paper.’
“‘Yes, Sir.’
“Well he got his paper and sot there a readin’ of it, and every now
and then, he’d look out of the winder and say: ‘So them’s the Falls of
Niagara, eh? Well, it’s a pretty little mill privilege that too, ain’t
it; but it ain’t just altogether worth comin’ so far to see. So I’ve
seen the Falls at last!’
“Arter a while in comes a Britisher.
“‘Waiter,’ says he, ‘how far is it to the Falls?’
“‘Little over a half a mile, Sir.’
“‘Which way do you get there?’
“‘Turn to the right, and then to the left, and then go a-head.’
“Rufe heard all this, and it kinder seemed dark to him; so arter
cypherin’ it over in his head a bit, ‘Waiter,’ says he, ‘ain’t them the
Falls of Niagara, I see there?’
“‘No, Sir.’
“‘Well, that’s tarnation all over now. Not the Falls?’
“‘No, Sir.’
“‘Why, you don’t mean to say, that them are ain’t the Falls?’
“‘Yes, I do, Sir.’
“‘Heaven and airth! I’ve come hundreds of miles a puppus to see ‘em, and
nothin’ else; not a bit of trade, or speckelation, or any airthly thing
but to see them cussed Falls, and come as near as 100 cents to a dollar,
startin’ off without sein’ ‘em arter all. If it hadn’t a been for that
are Britisher I was sold, that’s a fact. Can I run down there and back
in half an hour in time for the stage?’
“‘Yes, Sir, but you will have no time to see them.’
“‘See ‘em, cuss ‘em, I don’t want to see ‘em, I tell you. I want to look
at ‘em, I want to say I was to the Falls, that’s all. Give me my hat,
quick! So them ain’t the Falls! I ha’n’t see’d the Falls of Niagara
arter all. What a devil of a take-in that is, ain’t it?’ And he dove
down stairs like a Newfoundland dog into a pond arter a stone, and out
of sight in no time.
“Now, you are as like Rufe, as two peas, Squire. You want to say, you
was to Liverpool, but you don’t want to see nothin’.’
“Waiter.”
“Sir.”
“Is this Liverpool, I see out of the Winder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Guess I have seen Liverpool then. So this is the great city of
Liverpool, eh? When does the train start for London?”
“In half an hour, Sir?”
“Book me for London then, for I have been to Liverpool and seen the
city. Oh, take your place, Squire, you have seen Liverpool; and if you
see as much of all other places, as you have of this here one, afore you
return home, you will know most as much of England as them do that never
was there at all.
“I am sorry too, you won’t go, Squire,” added he, “for minister seems
kinder dull.”
“Don’t say another word, Mr. Slick,” said I; “every thing shall give way
to him.” And locking up my writing-desk I said: “I am ready.”
“Stop, Squire,” said he, “I’ve got a favour to ask of you. Don’t for
gracious sake, say nothin’ before Mr. Hopewell about that ‘ere lark I
had last night arter landin’, it would sorter worry him, and set him off
a-preachin’, and I’d rather he’d strike me any time amost than lectur,
for he does it so tender and kindly, it hurts my feelins _like_, a
considerable sum. I’ve had a pretty how-do-ye-do about it this mornin’,
and have had to plank down handsum’, and do the thing genteel; but
Mister Landlord found, I reckon, he had no fool to deal with, nother. He
comes to me, as soon as I was cleverly up this mornin’, lookin’ as full
of importance, as Jube Japan did when I put the Legation button on him.
“‘Bad business this, Sir,’ says he; ‘never had such a scene in my house
before, Sir; have had great difficulty to prevent my sarvants takin’ the
law of you.’
“‘Ah,’ sais I to myself, ‘I see how the cat jumps; here’s a little tid
bit of extortion now; but you won’t find that no go, I don’t think.’
“‘You will have to satisfy them, Sir,’ says he, ‘or take the
consequences.’
“‘Sartainly,’ said I, ‘any thin’ you please: I leave it entirely to you;
jist name what you think proper, and I will liquidate it.’
“‘I said, I knew you would behave like a gentleman, Sir,’ sais he, ‘for,
sais I, don’t talk to me of law, name it to the gentleman, and he’ll do
what is right; he’ll behave liberal, you may depend.’
“‘You said right,’ sais I, ‘and now, Sir, what’s the damage?’
“‘Fifty pounds, I should think about the thing, Sir,’ said he.
“‘Certainly,’ said I, ‘you shall have the fifty pounds, but you must
give me a receipt in full for it.’
“‘By all means,’ said he, and he was a cuttin’ off full chisel to get a
stamp, when I sais, ‘Stop,’ sais I, ‘uncle, mind and put in the receipt,
the bill of items, and charge ‘em separate?’
“‘Bill of items? sais he.
“‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘let me see what each is to get. Well, there’s the
waiter, now. Say to knockin’ down the waiter and kicking him, so much;
then there’s the barmaid so much, and so on. I make no objection, I am
willin’ to pay all you ask, but I want to include all, for I intend to
post a copy of it in the elegant cabins of each of our splendid New York
Liners. This house convenes the Americans--they all know _me_. I want
them to know how their _Attache_ was imposed on, and if any American
ever sets foot in this cussed house agin I will pay his bill, and post
that up too, as a letter of credit for him.’
“‘You wouldn’t take that advantage of me, Sir?’ said he.
“‘I take no advantage,’ sais I. ‘I’ll pay you what you ask, but you
shall never take advantage agin of another free and enlightened American
citizen, I can tell you.’
“‘You must keep your money then, Sir,’ said he, ‘but this is not a fair
deal; no gentleman would do it.’
“‘What’s fair, I am willin’ to do,’ sais I; ‘what’s onfair, is what
you want to do. Now, look here: I knocked the waiter down; here is two
sovereigns for him; I won’t pay him nothin’ for the kickin’, for that
I give him out of contempt, for not defendin’ of himself. Here’s three
sovereigns for the bar-maid; she don’t ought to have nothin’, for she
never got so innocent a kiss afore, in all her born days I know, for
I didn’t mean no harm, and she never got so good a one afore nother,
that’s a fact; but then _I_ ought to pay, I do suppose, because I hadn’t
ought to treat a lady that way; it was onhansum’, that’s fact; and
besides, it tante right to give the galls a taste for such things. They
come fast enough in the nateral way, do kisses, without inokilatin’
folks for ‘em. And here’s a sovereign for the scoldin’ and siscerarin’
you gave the maid, that spilt the coals and that’s an eend of the
matter, and I don’t want no receipt.’
“Well, he bowed and walked off, without sayin’ of a word.”
Here Mr. Hopewell joined us, and we descended to the street, to commence
our perambulation of the city; but it had begun to rain, and we were
compelled to defer it until the next day.
“Well, it ain’t much matter, Squire,” said Mr. Slick: “ain’t that
Liverpool, I see out of the winder? Well, then I’ve been to Liverpool.
Book me for London. So I have seen Liverpool at last, eh! or, as Rufus
said, I have felt it too, for this wet day reminds me of the rest of his
story.
“In about a half hour arter Rufus raced off to the Falls, back he
comes as hard as he could tear, a-puffing and a blowin’ like a sizeable
grampus. You never seed such a figure as he was, he was wet through and
through, and the dry dust stickin’ to his clothes, made him look like a
dog, that had jumped into the water, and then took a roll in the road to
dry hisself; he was a caution to look at, that’s a fact.
“‘Well,’ sais I, ‘Stranger, did you see the Falls?’
“‘Yes,’ sais he, ‘I have see’d ‘em and felt ‘em too; them’s very wet
Falls, that’s a fact. I hante a dry rag on me; if it hadn’t a been for
that ere Britisher, I wouldn’t have see’d ‘em at all, and yet a thought
I had been there all the time. It’s a pity too, that that winder don’t
bear on it, for then you could see it without the trouble of goin’
there, or gettin’ ducked, or gettin’ skeered so. I got an awful fright
there--I shall never forget it, if I live as long as Merusalem. You know
I hadn’t much time left, when. I found out I hadn’t been there arter
all, so I ran all the way, right down as hard as I could clip; and,
seein’ some folks comin’ out from onder the Fall, I pushed strait in,
but the noise actilly stunned me, and the spray wet me through and
through like a piece of sponged cloth; and the great pourin’, bilin’
flood, blinded me so I couldn’t see a bit; and I hadn’t gone far in,
afore a cold, wet, clammy, dead hand, felt my face all over. I believe
in my soul, it was the Indian squaw that went over the Falls in the
canoe, or the crazy Englisher, that tried to jump across it.
“‘Oh creation, how cold it was! The moment that spirit rose, mine fell,
and I actilly thought I should have dropt lumpus, I was so skeered. Give
me your hand, said Ghost, for I didn’t see nothin’ but a kinder dark
shadow. Give me your hand. I think it must ha’ been the squaw, for it
begged for all the world, jist like an Indgian. I’d see you hanged fust,
said I; I wouldn’t touch that are dead tacky hand o’ yourn’ for half a
million o’ hard dollars, cash down without any ragged eends; and with
that, I turned to run out, but Lord love you I couldn’t run. The stones
was all wet and slimy, and onnateral slippy, and I expected every
minute, I should heels up and go for it: atween them two critters the
Ghost and the juicy ledge, I felt awful skeered I tell _you_. So I
begins to say my catechism; what’s your name, sais I? Rufus Dodge. Who
gave you that name? Godfather and godmother granny Eells. What did
they promise for you? That I should renounce the devil and all his
works--works--works--I couldn’t get no farther, I stuck fast there, for
I had forgot it.
“‘The moment I stopt, ghost kinder jumped forward, and seized me by my
mustn’t-mention’ems, and most pulled the seat out. Oh dear! my heart
most went out along with it, for I thought my time had come. You black
she-sinner of a heathen Indgian! sais I; let me go this blessed minite,
for I renounce the devil and all his works, the devil and all his
works--so there now; and I let go a kick behind, the wickedest you ever
see, and took it right in the bread basket. Oh, it yelled and howled
and screached like a wounded hyaena, till my ears fairly cracked agin.
I renounce you, Satan, sais I; I renounce you, and the world, and the
flesh and the devil. And now, sais I, a jumpin’ on terry firm once more,
and turnin’ round and facin’ the enemy, I’ll promise a little dust more
for myself, and that is to renounce Niagara, and Indgian squaws, and
dead Britishers, and the whole seed, breed and generation of ‘em from
this time forth, for evermore. Amen.
“‘Oh blazes! how cold my face is yet. Waiter, half a pint of clear
cocktail; somethin’ to warm me. Oh, that cold hand! Did you ever touch a
dead man’s hand? it’s awful cold, you may depend. Is there any marks on
my face? do you see the tracks of the fingers there?’
“‘No, Sir,’ sais I,’ I can’t say I do.’
“‘Well, then I feel them there,’ sais he, ‘as plain as any thing.’
“‘Stranger,’ sais I, ‘it was nothin’ but some poor no-souled critter,
like yourself, that was skeered a’most to death, and wanted to be helped
out that’s all.”
“‘Skeered!’ said he, ‘sarves him right then; he might have knowed how to
feel for other folks, and not funkify them so peskily; I don’t keer if
he never gets out; but I have my doubts about its bein’ a livin’ human,
I tell _you_. If I hadn’t a renounced the devil and all his works that
time, I don’t know what the upshot would have been, for Old Scratch was
there too. I saw him as plain as I see you; he ran out afore me, and
couldn’t stop or look back, as long as I said catekism. He was in his
old shape of the sarpent; he was the matter of a yard long, and as thick
round as my arm and travelled belly-flounder fashion; when I touched
land, he dodged into an eddy, and out of sight in no time. Oh, there is
no mistake, I’ll take my oath of it; I see him, I did upon my soul. It
was the old gentleman hisself; he come there to cool hisself. Oh, it was
the devil, that’s a fact.’
“‘It was nothin’ but a fresh water eel,’ sais I; ‘I have seen thousands
of ‘em there; for the crevices of them rocks are chock full of ‘em.
How can you come for to go, for to talk arter that fashion; you are
a disgrace to our great nation, you great lummokin coward, you. An
American citizen is afeerd of nothin’, but a bad spekilation, or bein’
found oat.’
“Well, that posed him, he seemed kinder bothered, and looked down.
“‘An eel, eh! well, it mought be an eel,’ sais be, ‘that’s a fact.
I didn’t think of that; but then if it was, it was god-mother granny
Eells, that promised I should renounce the devil and all his works, that
took that shape, and come to keep me to my bargain. She died fifty years
ago, poor old soul, and never kept company with Indgians, or niggers,
or any such trash. Heavens and airth! I don’t wonder the Falls wakes the
dead, it makes such an everlastin’ almighty noise, does Niagara. Waiter,
more cocktail, that last was as weak as water.’
“‘Yes, Sir,’ and he swallered it like wink.
“‘The stage is ready, Sir.’
“‘Is it?’ said he, and he jumped in all wet as he was; for time is money
and he didn’t want to waste neither. As it drove off, I heerd him say,
‘Well them’s the Falls, eh! So I have seen the Falls of Niagara and felt
‘em too, eh!’
“Now, we are better off than Rufus Dodge was, Squire; for we hante got
wet, and we hante got frightened, but we can look out o’ the winder and
say, ‘Well, that’s Liverpool, eh! so I have--seen Liverpool.’”