Over the Border: Acadia, the Home of "Evangeline" Part 3

An anecdote relating to this usage is told of Shakespeare. The latter "stood G.o.dfather" to the child of a friend; and after the ceremonies of the christening, as the poet seemed much absorbed and serious, the father questioned him as to the cause of his melancholy. The sponsor replied, that he was considering what would be the most suitable gift for him to present to his G.o.d-child, and that he had finally decided.

"I'll give him," said he, "a dozen good latten spoons, and thou shalt translate them." This was a play upon the word Latin. In the Middle Ages a kind of bronze used for church and household utensils was known as "latten"; and the same name was applied in Shakespeare's time to thin iron plate coated with tin, of which domestic utensils and implements were made.

In Johnson's "Bartholomew Fair" one of his characters says, "And all this for the hope of a couple of apostle spoons, and a cup to eat caudle in." In a work of Middleton, ent.i.tled "The Chaste Maid of Cheapside", one of the characters inquires, "What has he given her?" to which another replies, "A faire high standing cup, and two great 'postle spoons, one of them gilt."

The hat, or flat covering on the head of the figure,--that which we call a turban in one of these at Annapolis,--was a customary appendage and usual in apostle spoons; the intention being thereby to protect the features of the tiny heads from wear. Whatever the history of these at Annapolis, there can be no doubt of their genuineness, and, in a perfect state, they are extremely rare.

In our antiquarian researches we are naturally drawn to the old cemetery, adjoining the fort grounds; but learn that the oldest graves were marked by oaken slabs, which have all disappeared, as have also many odd stone ones. But among those still standing one records that some one "dyed 1729"; another states that the body below "is deposited here until the last trump"; and one, which must be the veritable original of the "affliction sore" rhyme, ends: "till death did seize and G.o.d did please to ease me of my pain." Still another bears this epitaph, _verbatim et literatim_--

"Stay friend stay nor let thy hart prophane The humble Stone that tells you life is vain.

Here lyes a youth in moulding ruin lost A blossom nipt by death's untimely frost O then prepare to meet with him above In realms of everlasting love."

The stone-cutter's hand must have been as weary when he blundered over the word humble as the poet's brain evidently was when he reached the line which limps so lamely to the conclusion. Near this recently stood a stone,

"With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,"

on which the representation of Father Time was carved in such peculiar manner that from pose and expression the figure might have pa.s.sed for a lively youth rather than the dread reaper, and was irreverently known to the village youths as "Sarah's young man", a t.i.tle suggested by a popular song of the day.

In a remote corner we find the tomb of "Gregoria Remonia Antonia", "a native of Spain"; and afterwards learn her story,--an episode in the life of the Iron Duke which does not do him honor. Did _la grande dame_, the d.u.c.h.ess, ever know of the fair foreigner who supplanted her, the dame o' high degree, in her husband's affection? Did the beautiful Spanish maiden dream, when the brilliant English General wooed her, that he was doing her and another woman the greatest wrong? Little did the fascinating Spaniard think that the so-called "n.o.bleman" would compel her to marry another; and that other a rough, illiterate man, who would bring her to this wild, strange, far-away country, and that here she should be laid to rest "after life's fitful fever." Is it to be wondered at that her fiery Southern spirit rebelled, that her wrongs embittered her, and that her life here was unhappy?

To add to the romance, one who attended her in her last illness tells us that when the garrison gave a ball, the slender little Spanish lady loaned or gave "pretty fixins" to the young girls to wear, and appeared herself in rich silks and plumes; that she gave to her attendant in that illness a wonderful box "all done off with,--well--this here plated stuff, you know"; and that when the end was drawing near, the faint, weak voice, with its broken English (at best so difficult to understand), tried to make "Char-loet-tah" comprehend where she must look for something hidden away which she wished her nurse to have in recognition of her services. But alas! the h.o.a.rded treasure was not found until months after the poor soul was gone, and then fell into the very hands which the sad alien had most desired should not touch it.

The old adage about a sailor's right to have "a sweetheart in every port" is still cited in these days of boasted advancement in culture, religion, morals; and it is the same old world to-day as that which lauded and bowed down to him whom it called "his Grace" (despite what we consider his graceless actions); the same world, alas! ignoring the open and evident fact when he steps aside from the narrow path of honor and rect.i.tude; while, should she swerve in the least, pouring out mercilessly its harshest taunts, or overwhelming her with pitiless scorn. This, because woman should hold an exalted position, and "be above suspicion"? Then why do not the so-called "lords of creation", as they might and ought, set an example of n.o.ble uprightness to "the weaker vessel", guiding, guarding, upholding her through "the shards and thorns of existence"?

The Spanish girl, left an orphan by the wars in which the das.h.i.+ng and gallant English officer figured so proudly, fell to the care of two aunts, who, belonging to that indolent, pleasure loving race of sunny Spain, perhaps left the poor girl too much to her own devices, and thus she may have been more easily beguiled.

"Look here, upon this picture, and on _this_": first, the gay little senorita, holding daintily in her tapering fingers a cigarette, which she occasionally raises to her "ripe red lips", afterwards languidly following with her l.u.s.trous black eyes the blue wreaths of smoke as they float above her head and vanish in the air; next, the withered crone, with silver hair, wrinkled skin, and no trace of her early beauty, sitting in the chimney corner, and still smoking, though now it is a clay pipe,--to the amazement and disgust of the villagers. Yet we, believing in the only correct interpretation of _n.o.blesse oblige_, and that he only is truly n.o.ble who acts n.o.bly, have only pity for the poor soul who here laid down life's weary burden twenty-two years ago at the age of seventy-two, and scorn for him who rests in an honored grave, and is idealized among the world's heroes.

How amusing it is to hear the people speak of us invariably as "Americans", as if we were from some far-away and foreign country, and to hear them talk of England as "home"!

The hearty cordiality, natural manner, and pleasantly unworldly ways of the people are most refres.h.i.+ng; in "a world of hollow shams", to find persons who are so _genuine_ is delightful; and thus another charm is added to give greater zest to our enjoyment.

One, half in jest, asks a Halifax gentleman how they would like to be annexed to the United States, and is quite surprised at his ready and earnest reply: "Annexed? Oh, yes, we'd be glad to be;... we wouldn't come with empty hands; we have what you want,--fisheries, lumber, minerals; we'd not come as paupers and mendicants.... It will come, though it may not be in our day.... The United States would not wish to purchase,--she has done enough of that: we would have to come of our own free will; and we would, too!"

Then there is the elderly Scotch gentleman, who appropriately hails from the place with the outlandish name of Musquodoboit. He tells us that during the "airly pairt" of his residence in America he visited in the States, and that he has seen "fower Preesidents" inaugurated.

Of his first attendance at such a ceremony he says: "An' whan I see thet mon, in hes plain blek coat, coomin' out amang all o' thim people, an'

all the deegnetirries in their blek coats tu, an' not a uniforrum amoong thim, I said, 'This is the c.o.o.ntry fur me,'--it suited my taste. An' how deeferint it wud be in Yerrup, where there wud be tin thausind mooskits aboot, to kep 'im from bein' shot."

On our way here we were told: "Oh, you'll find Annapolis hot!" It might perhaps seem so to a Newfoundlander; but to us the climate is a daily source of remark, of wonder and delight. It is balmy, yet bracing; and though there may be times when at midday it is decidedly warm,--as summer should be,--the nights are always cool, and we live in flannel costumes and luxuriate.

Warner speaks of "these northeastern lands which the Gulf Stream pets and tempers"; yet he pa.s.sed through this dear old town without stopping, remarking only that he could not be content for a week here, and felt no interest in the place apart from its historic a.s.sociations. Let him stop next time and investigate. We flatter ourselves that we could enlighten him somewhat.

Our friends at various sh.o.r.e and mountain resorts report constant fogs; yet we can testify that in nearly seven weeks' residence here there were but two mornings which were foggy, and on those days the gray screen was rolled away at noon.

"aloft on the mountains Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended"

That singular feature spoken of in Longfellow's poem is shown here: the mists rise from the Bay and rest lovingly, caressingly, on the crests of the long range of mountains, giving them the appearance of comfortable warmth under this downy coverlet on cool nights; but this fleece very rarely descends to the valley.

Dr. O. W. Holmes must have had such a place as this in mind when he said:--

"And silence like a poultice came To heal the blows of sound,"

and surely tympanums most bruised by the world's clangor and jar could not fail here be soothed and healed; and the writer of "Oh, where shall rest be found?" would have received answer to his query here also. The quiet is astonis.h.i.+ng: there are no farm sounds even; and, though the hours pa.s.s so pleasantly that we "take no note of time", we can tell when Sat.u.r.day comes, for then numbers of log-laden ox-carts plod slowly into the village from the back country.

The bells on the animals' necks tinkle precisely like the sound of ice when carried in a pitcher of water; and consequently do not jar upon one's ear in this quietude as the clanking herd-bells which we hear in some farming regions of the States.

At night the only break in the profound stillness is when the tide is ebbing, and the Equille can be heard rus.h.i.+ng under the bridge a quarter of a mile away. We cannot discover the meaning of that word, and so consult a foreign relative, who fells us that at Dinard, in France, they catch the _equille_,--a small fish, also called a _lancon_, because it darts in and out of the sand, and in its movements is something like an eel.

That certainly describes this peculiar stream, for surely it would be difficult to find one with a more circuitous course. It forms two horseshoes and an ox-bow connected, as we see it from our windows; and when the tide is out diminishes to a rivulet about two feet in width. At flood it is more than twice the width of the Wissahickon, and when the high tides of August come its magnitude is surprising.

Then we understand why the hay-ricks (which we wickedly tell our friends from the "Hub" resemble gigantic loaves of Boston brown bread) are on stilts, for, regardless of dikes or boundaries, this tortuous creek spreads over its whole valley, as if in emulation of the greater river of which it is a tributary. Haliburton says that for a time this was called Allan's River, and the greater one was named the Dauphin; but we are glad that the old French name was restored to the serpentine creek, as it is so much better suited to its peculiar character.

The great event of the week is the arrival of the Boston steamer, when all the town turns out and wends its way to the wharves.

The peculiar rise of the tide (thirty feet) is here plainly shown, as one week the pa.s.sengers step off from the very roof of the saloon, and next time she comes in they disembark from the lowest gangway possible and climb the long ascent of slippery planks to the level above.

The river shows curious currents and counter-currents, as bits of _debris_ are hurrying upward in the middle of the stream, while similar flotsam and jetsam rush away as rapidly down stream along both sh.o.r.es.

The queer old tub of a ferry boat, with its triangular wings spreading at the sides,--used as guards and "gang planks",--is a curiosity, as it zigzags across the powerful current to the village on the opposite sh.o.r.e.

But "the ferryman's slim, the ferryman's young, and he's just a soft tw.a.n.g in the turn of his tongue"; and in our frequent trips across he probably makes a mental note when he hears us lamenting that we cannot get lobsters, for one day he sends to our abiding place four fine large ones, and will not receive a cent in remuneration.

Another time, when waiting for the farmer's you to guide us to the "ice mine",--a ravine in the mountains where ice remains through the summer, --a delicious lunch, consisting of fresh bread, sweet milk, and cake, is unexpectedly set before us, and the generous farmer's wife will not listen to recompense.

A modern writer says: "A great part of the enjoyment of life is in the knowledge that there are people living in a worse place than that you inhabit;" but it does not add to our happiness to think of those who could not come to this lovely spot; and we commiserate the Can't-get- away Club of the cities.

We would not change places with any of the dwellers at the fas.h.i.+onable resorts at springs, sea, or mountains,--no, indeed! though they no doubt would elevate their noses, and set this place down at once as "deadly dull", or "two awfully slow for anything"!

Doubtless those also of our friends to whom we tell the plain, unvarnished truth, if they come here will be disappointed, as they will not see with our eyes. One cannot expect the luxuries of palatial hotels at five dollars per day; such would be out of place here.

At our abiding place, which looks like a gentleman's residence, and is, as one of the Halifax guests says, "not a bit like an 'otel", there is an extensive garden, from which we are regaled with choice fresh vegetables daily; and we have _such_ home-made b.u.t.ter (The bill of fare "to be issued in our next"). A Frenchman might think that "we return to our muttons" frequently; still, as that viand suggests at least the famous English Southdown in excellence, we are resigned.

A noted wit has said: "Doubtless G.o.d might have made a better berry than the strawberry, but doubtless G.o.d never did;" and if one is so fortunate as to come to this country in proper season he can feast on that delectable fruit in its perfection,--that is, the wild fruit, so much more delicious and delicate in flavor than after its boasted "improvement" by cultivation. If one arrives before the close of the fisheries, salmon, fit for a royal banquet, graces the table; while even in July and August he may enjoy shad; and strange enough it seems to Philadelphians to be eating that fish at such time of year.

There are in the town a number of inns, and summer guests are also made welcome and comfortable in many of the private residences. In one of the latter--a large old-fas.h.i.+oned house, with antique furniture--three sisters reside, who possess the quiet dignity and manner of the old school; and here one would feel as if visiting at one's grandfather's, and be made pleasantly "at home".

We are surprised to find that this old town has generally such modern and New Englandish aspect; and are told that it has twice been nearly destroyed by fire, even in modern times; therefore but few of the quaint buildings remain. Some of these are picturesque and interesting, the one combining jail and court house being a feature of the main street. The window of one of the cells faces the street; and the prisoner's friends sit on the steps without, whiling away the tedium of incarceration with their converse.

The oldest dwelling in the town stands on St. George's Street, nearly opposite the old-fas.h.i.+oned inn known as the Foster House. Its walls were originally made of mud from the flats, held together by the wiry marsh gra.s.s, which, being dried, was mixed in the sticky substance as hair is in plaster; but as these walls gave way from the effects of time the seams and cracks were plastered up, and by degrees boarded over, until now the original shows only in one part of the interior.

The houses throughout this region are almost invariably without blinds or outside shutters, and consequently look oddly to us, who are inclined to screen ourselves too much from "the blessed suns.h.i.+ne". Bay windows are popular.

We saw one small house with four double and two single ones, giving it an air of impertinent curiosity, as the dwellers therein could look out from every possible direction. The ancient dormer windows on the roofs have given place to these queer bulging ones, which, in Halifax especially, are set three in a row on the gray s.h.i.+ngles, and bear ludicrous resemblance to gigantic bee-hives.

In some of the shops, at the post office and railroad station, our money is taken at a small discount; but in many of the shops they allow us full value for it. In one the proprietor tells us of the sensation caused here once by the failure of a Canadian bank, and the surprise of the town's-people--whose faith seemed shaken in all such inst.i.tutions-- when he continued to take United States bank bills. He says: "I told 'em the United States Government hadn't failed, that I believed in it yet, would take all their money I could get, and be glad to have it, too!"

To continue the impression of being in a foreign land, we must attend service at the five or six different churches, and hear the prayers for the Queen and Royal Family. In the first place of wors.h.i.+p, where the Octave augments the congregation, Victoria and many of her family are mentioned by full name and t.i.tle, in sonorous and measured tones; in the next the pastor speaks of "Our Sovereign, and those under her and over us;" in another "Our Queen" is simply referred to; and some ministers who are suspected of being tinctured with republicanism sometimes forget to make any special allusion to her Majesty.

In our walks up the main street, which is not remarkably bustling or busy, we see long rows of great old hawthorn bushes bordering the road, and giving quite an English touch to the scene; and everywhere gigantic apple trees, which would delight an artist, so deliciously gnarled and crooked are they.