As he said this, a little flush pa.s.sed over his face, and he appeared for a moment as if surprised at his own enthusiasm; then shrinking under his big hat again, he relapsed into silence.
We rode on for some time without a word on either side, until I ventured to remark that I coincided with him in the belief that Acadia was the romantic ground of early discovery in America; and that even the fluent pen of Hawthorne had failed to lend a charm to the harsh, repulsive, acrimonious features of New England"s colonial history.
"I have read but one book of Hawthorne"s," said he--""The Scarlet Letter."
I do not coincide with you; I think that to be a remarkable instance of the triumph of genius over difficulties. By the way," said he, "speaking of authors, what an exquisite poem Tom Moore would have written, had he visited Chapel Island, which you have seen no doubt? (here he gave a little nod with the big hat) and what a rich volume would have dropped from the arabesque pen of your own Irving (another nod), had he written the life of the Baron de St. Castine, chief of the Abenaquis, as he did that of Philip of Pokanoket."
"Do you know the particulars of that history?" said I.
"I do not know the particulars," he replied, "only the outlines derived from chronicle and tradition. Imagination," he added, with a faint smile, "can supply the rest, just as an engineer pacing a bastion can draw from it the proportions of the rest of the fortress."
And then, from under the shelter of the big hat, there came low and sad tones of music, like a requiem over a bier, upon which are laid funeral flowers, and sword, and plume; a melancholy voice almost intoning the history of a Christian hero, who had been the chief of that powerful nation--the rightful owners of the fair lands around us. Even if memory could now supply the words, it would fail to reproduce the effect conveyed by the tones of _that voice_. And of the story itself I can but furnish the faint outlines:
FAINT OUTLINES.
Baron de St. Castine, chief of the Abenaquis, was a Frenchman, born in the little village of Oberon, in the province of Bearn, about the middle of the seventeenth century. Three great influences conspired to make him unhappy--first, education, which at that time was held to be a reputable part of the discipline of the scions of n.o.ble families; next, a delicate and impressible mind, and lastly, he was born under the shadow of the Pyrenees, and within sight of the Atlantic. He had also served in the wars of Louis XIV. as colonel of the Carrignan, Cavignon, or Corignon regiment; therefore, from his military education, was formed to endure, or to think lightly of hardships. Although not by profession a Protestant, yet he was a liberal Catholic. The doctrines of Calvin had been spread throughout the province during his youth, and John la Placette, a native of Bearn, was then one of the leaders of the free churches of Copenhagen, in Denmark, and of Utrecht, in Holland.
But, whatever his religious prejudices may have been, they do not intrude themselves in any part of his career; we know him only as a pure Christian, an upright man, and a faithful friend of humanity. Like many other Frenchmen of birth and education in those days, the Baron de St.
Castine had been attracted by descriptions of newly discovered countries in the western hemisphere, and fascinated by the ideal life of the children of nature. To a mind at once susceptible and heroic, impulsive by temperament, and disciplined to endure, such promptings have a charm that is irresistible. As the chronicler relates, he preferred the forests of Acadia, to the Pyrenian mountains that compa.s.sed the place of his nativity, and taking up his abode with the savages, on the first year behaved himself so among them as to draw from them their inexpressible esteem. He married a woman of the nation, and repudiating their example, did not change his wife, by which he taught his wild neighbors that G.o.d did not love inconstancy. By this woman, his first and only wife, he had one son and two daughters, the latter were afterwards married, "very handsomely, to Frenchmen, and had good dowries." Of the son there is preserved a single touching incident. In person the baron was strikingly handsome, a fine form, a well featured face, with a n.o.ble expression of candor, firmness and benevolence. Possessed of an ample fortune, he used it to enlarge the comforts of the people of his adoption; these making him a recompense in beaver skins and other rich furs, from which he drew a still larger revenue, to be in turn again devoted to the objects of his benevolence. It was said of him, "that he can draw from his coffers two or three hundred thousand crowns of good dry gold; but all the use he makes of it is to buy presents for his _fellow savages_, who, upon their return from hunting, present him with skins to treble the value."
Is it then surprising that this man, so wise, so good, so faithful to his _fellow savages_, should, after twenty years, rise to the most eminent station in that unsophisticated nation? That indeed these simple Indians, who knew no arts except those of peace and war, should have looked up to him as their tutular G.o.d? By the treaty of Breda, the lands from the Pen.o.bscots to Nova Scotia had been ceded to France, in exchange for the island of St. Christopher. Upon these lands the Baron de St. Castine had peacefully resided for many years, until a new patent was granted to the Duke of York, the boundaries of which extended beyond the limits of the lands ceded by the treaty. Oh, those patents! those patents! What wrongs were perpetrated by those remorseless instruments; what evil councils prevailed when they were hatched; what corrupt, what base, what knavish hands formed them; what vile, what ign.o.ble, what ponderous lies has history a.s.sumed to maintain, or to excuse them, and the acts committed under them?
The first English aggression after the treaty, was but a trifling one in respect to immediate effects. A quant.i.ty of wine having been landed by a French vessel upon the lands covered by the patent, was seized by the Duke of York"s agents. This, upon a proper representation by the French amba.s.sador at the court of Charles II., was restored to the rightful owners. But thereupon a new boundary line was run, _and the whole of Castine"s plantations included within it_. Immediately after this, the Rose frigate, under the command of Captain Andross, sailed up the Pen.o.bscot, plundered and destroyed Castine"s house and fort, and sailed away with all his arms and goods. Not only this, intruders from other quarters invaded the lands of the Indians, took possession of the rivers, and spoiled the fisheries with seines, turned their cattle in to devour the standing corn of the Abenaquis, and committed other depredations, which, although complained of, were neither inquired into nor redressed.
Then came reprisals; and first the savages retaliated by killing the cattle of their enemies. Then followed those fearful and b.l.o.o.d.y campaigns, which, under the name of Church"s Indian Wars, disgrace the early annals of New England. Night surprises, butcheries that spared neither age nor s.e.x, prisoners taken and sold abroad into slavery, after the glut of revenge was satiated, these to return and bring with them an inextinguishable hatred against the English, and desire of revenge. Anon a conspiracy and the surprisal of Dover, accompanied with all the appalling features of barbaric warfare--Major Waldron being tied down by the Indians in his own arm-chair, and each one of them drawing a sharp knife across his breast, says with the stroke, "Thus I cross out my account;" these, and other atrocities, on either side, const.i.tute the princ.i.p.al records of a Christian people, who professed to be only pilgrims and sojourners in a strange land--the victims of persecution in their own.
Daring all this dark and b.l.o.o.d.y period, no name is more conspicuous in the annals than that of the Chief of the Abenaquis. Like a frightful ogre, he hovers in the background, deadly and ubiquitous--the terror of the colonies. It was he who had stirred up the Indians to do the work. Then come reports of a ma.s.sacre in some town on the frontier, and with it is coupled a whisper of "Castine!" a fort has been surprised, he is there!
Some of Church"s men have fallen in an ambuscade; the baron has planned it, and furnished the arms and ammunition by which the deed was consummated! Superst.i.tion invests him with imaginary powers; fanaticism exclaims, "tis he who had taught the savages to believe that we are the people who crucified the Saviour.
But in spite of all these stories, the wonderful Bernese is not captured, nor indeed seen by any, except that sometimes an English prisoner escaping from the enemy, comes to tell of his clemency and tenderness; he has bound up the wounds of these, he has saved the lives of those. At last a small settlement of French and Indians is attacked by Church"s men at Pen.o.bscot, every person there being either killed or taken prisoner; among the latter a daughter of the great baron, with her children, from whom they learn that her unhappy father, ruined and broken-hearted, had returned to France, the victim of persecutors, who, under the name of saints, exhibited a cruelty and rapacity that would have disgraced the reputation of a Philip or an Alva!
"It is a matter of surprise to the historical student," said the little man, "that with a people like yours, so conspicuous in many rare examples of erudition, that the history of Acadia has not merited a closer attention, throwing as it does so strong a reflective light upon your own. Such a task doubtless does not present many inviting features, especially to those who would preserve, at any sacrifice of truth, the earlier pages of discovery in America, pure, spotless, and unsullied. But I think this dark, tragic background would set off all the brighter the characters of those really good men who flourished in that period, of whom there were no doubt many, although now obscured by the dull, dead moonshine of indiscriminate forefathers" flattery. I know very well that in some regards we might copy the example of a few of the first planters of New England, but for the rest I believe with Adam Clark, that for the sake of humanity, it were better that such ages should never return."
"We talk much," says he, "of ancient manners, their _simplicity and ingenuousness_, and say that _the former days were better than these_. But who says this who is a judge of the times? In those days of celebrated simplicity, there were not so _many_ crimes as at present, I grant; but what they wanted in _number_, they made up in _degree_; _deceit_, _cruelty_, _rapine_, _murder_, and _wrong_ of almost every kind, then flourished. _We_ are _refined_ in our vices, they were _gross_ and _barbarous_ in theirs. They had neither so many _ways_ nor so many _means_ of sinning; but the _sum_ of their moral turpitude was greater than ours.
We have a sort of _decency_ and good _breeding_, which lay a certain restraint on our pa.s.sions; they were boorish and beastly, and their bad pa.s.sions ever in full play. Civilization prevents barbarity and atrocity; mental cultivation induces decency of manners--those primitive times were generally without these. Who that knows them would wish such ages to return?"[A]
[A] Adam Clark"s "Commentary on Book of Kings." II. Samuel, chap. iii.
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.
Pleasant Truro! At last we regain the territories of civility and civilization! Here is the honest little English inn, with its cheerful dining-room, its clean spread, its abundant dishes, its gla.s.s of ripe ale, its pleased alacrity of service. After our long ride from West River, we enjoy the best inn"s best room, the ease, the comfort, and the fair aspect of one of the prettiest towns in the province. Truro is situated on the head waters of the Basin of Minas, or Cobequid Bay, as it is denominated on the map, between the Shubenacadie and Salmon rivers. Here we are within fifty miles of the idyllic land, the pastoral meadows of Grand-Pre! But, alas! there is yet a long ride before us; the path from Truro to Grand-Pre being in the shape of an acute angle, of which Halifax is the apex. As yet there is no direct road from place to place, but by the sh.o.r.es of the Basin of Minas. Let us look, however, at pleasant Truro.
One of the striking features of this part of the country is the peculiarity of the rivers; these are full or empty, with every flux and reflux of the tide; for instance, when we crossed the Salmon, we saw only a high, broad, muddy ditch, drained to the very bottom. This is owing to the ocean tides, which, sweeping up the Bay of Fundy, pour into the Basin of Minas, and fill all its tributary streams; then, with prodigal reaction, sweeping forth again, leave only the vacant channels of the rivers--if they may be called by that name. This peculiar feature of hydrography is of course local--limited to this section of the province--indeed if it be not to this corner of the world. The country surrounding the village is well cultivated, diversified with rolling hill and dale, and although I had not the opportunity of seeing much of it, yet the mere description of its natural scenery was sufficiently tempting.
Here, too, I saw something that reminded me of home--a clump of cedar-trees! These of course were exotics, brought, not without expense, from the States, planted in the courtyard of a little aristocratic cottage, and protected in winter by warm over-coats of wheat straw. So we go! Here they grub up larches and spruces to plant cedars.
The mail coach was soon at the door of our inn, and after taking leave of my fellow-traveller with the big hat, I engaged a seat on the stage-box beside Jeangros, a French Canadian, or Canuck--one of the best whips on the line. Jeangros is not a great portly fellow, as his name would seem to indicate, but a spare, small man--nevertheless with an air of great courage and command. Jeangros touched up the leaders, the mail-coach rattled through the street of the town, and off we trotted from Truro into the pleasant road that leads to Halifax.
One thing I observed in the province especially worthy of imitation--the old English practice of turning to the _left_ in driving, instead of to the _right_, as we do. Let me exhibit the merits of the respective systems by a brief diagram. By the English system they drive thus:
[Ill.u.s.tration]
The arrows represent the drivers, as well as the directions of the vehicles; of course when two vehicles, coming in opposite directions, pa.s.s each other on the road, each driver is nearest the point of contact, and can see readily, and provide against accidents. Now contrast our system with the former:
[Ill.u.s.tration]
no wonder we have so many collisions.
"The rule of the road is a paradox quite, In driving your carriage along, If you keep to the left, you are sure to go right, If you keep to the right, you go wrong."
It would be a good thing if our present senseless laws were reversed in this matter, and a few lives saved, and a few broken limbs prevented.
When I took leave of my native country for a short sojourn in this province, the great question then before the public was the invasion of international law, by the British minister and a whole solar system of British consuls. I had the pleasure of being a fellow exile on the Canada with Mr. Crampton, Mr. Barclay, and Mr.----, Her British Majesty"s representatives, and of course felt no little interest to know the fate of the _Foreign Legion_.
Before I left Halifax, I learned some particulars of that famous flock of jail birds. All that we knew, at home, was that a number of recruits for the Crimea had been picked up in the streets and alleys of Columbia, and carried, at an enormous expense, to Halifax, there to be enrolled. And also, that as a mere cover to this infraction of the law of Neutrality, the men were engaged as laborers, to work upon the public improvements of Nova Scotia. The sequel of that enterprise remained to be told. A majority of these recruits were Irishmen--some of them not wanting in the mother wit of the race. So when they were gathered in the great province building at Halifax, and Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, in chapeau, feather and sword, came down to review his levies, with great spirit and military pomp, "Well, my men," said he, "you are here to enlist, eh, and serve Her Majesty?" To which the spokesman of the Foreign Legion, fully understanding the beauty of his position, replied, with a sly twinkle of the eye, "We didn"t engage to "list at all, at all, but to wurruk on the railroad." Upon which Sir John Gaspard, seeing that Her Majesty had been imposed upon, politely told the legion to go to----Dante"s Inferno.
Now whether the place to which the Foreign Legion was consigned by Sir John Gaspard, possessed even less attractions than Halifax, or from whatever reason soever, it chanced that the jolly boys, raked from our alleys and jails, never stirred a foot out of the province; and while the peace of the whole world was endangered by their abduction, as that of Greece and Troy had been by the rape of Helen, they were quietly enlisting in less warlike expeditions--in fact, engaging themselves to work upon that great railroad, of which mention has been made heretofore.
Now we have seen something of the clannish propensities of the people of the colonies, and the contractors knew what sort of material they had to deal with. And, inasmuch as there was a pretty large group of five-shilling Highlandmen, grading, levelling, and filling in one end of a section of the road, the gang of Irishmen was placed at the opposite end, as far from them as possible, which no doubt would have preserved peaceful relations between the two, but for the fact, that as the work progressed the hostile forces naturally approached each other. It was towards the close of a summer evening, that the ground was broken by the gentlemen of the shamrock, within sight of the shanties decorated with the honorable order of the thistle. A lovely evening in the month of June! Not with spumy cannon and p.r.i.c.kly bayonets, but with peaceful spade and mattock, advanced the sons of St. Patrick towards the children of a sister isle.
Then did Roderick Dhu step forth from his shanty, and inquire, in choice Gaelic, if a person named Brian Borheime was in the ranks of the approaching forces. Then then did Brian Borheime advance, spade in hand, and with a single spat of his implement level Roderick, as though he had been a piece of turf. Then was Brian flattened out by the spade of Vich Ian Vohr; and Vich Ian Vohr, by the spade of Captain Rock. Then fell Captain Rock by the spade of Rob Roy; and Rob Roy smelt the earth under the spade of Handy Andy. In a word, the fight became general--the bagpipe blew to arms--Celt joined Celt, there was the tug of war; but the sun set upon the lowered standard of the thistle, and victory proclaimed Shamrock the conqueror. Several of the natives were left for dead upon the field of battle, the triumphant Irish ran away, to a man, to avoid the consequences, and I blush to say it, as I do to record any act of heartless ingrat.i.tude, handbills were speedily posted up by the order of government, offering a reward of ten pounds apiece for the capture of certain members of the Foreign Legion, who had been the ringleaders in the riot, which handbill was not only signed by that seducer of soldiers, Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, but also ornamented with the horn of the unicorn and the claws of the British lion.
But there is a Nemesis even in Nova Scotia, for this riot produced effects, unwonted and unlooked for. One of the prominent leaders in the Nova Scotia Parliament, a gentleman distinguished both as an orator and as a poet--the Hon. Joseph Howe, who had signalized himself as an advocate of the right of Her Majesty to recruit for the Crimea in the streets of Columbia, and was ready to pit the British Lion against the American Eagle in support of that right, fell by the very legion he had been so zealous to create. The Hon. Joseph Howe, M. P., by the support of the Irish population, could always command a _popular_ majority and keep his seat in the house, so long as he maintained his loyalty to this votive cla.s.s of citizens. But, unfortunately, Hon. Joseph Howe, in alluding to the riot, took the Scotch side of the broil. This was sufficient. At the election following he was a defeated candidate, and politely advised to retire to private life. Thus was the Hon. J. H. "hoist by his own petard," the first man to fall by this expensive military company.
An adventure upon the Shubenacadie brought one of these heroes into prominent relief. After we had parted from pleasant Truro, at every nook and corner of the road, there seemed to be a pa.s.senger waiting for the Halifax coach. So that the top of the vehicle was soon filled with dusty fellow-travellers, and Jeangros was getting to be a little impatient. Just as we turned into the densest part of the forest, where the evening sun was most obscured by the close foliage, we saw two men, one decorated with a pair of handcuffs, and the other armed with a brace of pistols. The latter hailed the coach.
"What d"ye want?" quoth Jeangros, drawing up by the roadside.
"Government prisoner," said the man with the pistols.
"What the ---- is government prisoner to me?" quoth Jeangros.
"I want to take him to Dartmouth," said the tall policeman.
"Then take him there," said our jolly driver, shaking up the leaders.
"Hold up," shouted out the tall policeman, "I will pay his fare."
"Why didn"t you say so, then?" replied Jeangros, full of the dignity of his position as driver of H. B. M. Mail-coach, before whose tin horn everything must get out of the way.
There was a doubt which was the drunkenest, the officer or the prisoner.
We found out afterwards that the officer had conciliated his captive with drink, partly to keep him friendly in case of an attempted rescue, and partly to get him in such a state that running away would be impracticable. And, indeed, there would have been a great race if the prisoner had attempted to escape. The prisoner too drunk to run--the officer too drunk to pursue.
The pair had scarcely crawled up among the luggage upon the stage-top, before there was an outcry from the pa.s.sengers on the box in front--"Unc.o.c.k your pistols! unc.o.c.k your pistols!" for the officer had dropped his fire-arms, c.o.c.ked and capped, upon the top of our coach, with the muzzles pointed towards us. And indeed I may affirm here, that I never saw metallic cylinders with more menacing aspect, than those which lay quietly behind us, ready to explode--unconscious instruments as they were--and carry any of the party into the next world upon the slightest lurch of the stage-coach.