The Audubon Reader (66 page)

We arrived opposite
Pictou in two hours and a half and lay down on the grass to await the arrival of the boat, enjoying the scenery around us. A number of American vessels were in the harbor loading with coal; the village, placed at the upper end of a fine bay, looked well, though small. Three churches rose above the rest of the buildings, all of which are of wood, and several vessels were on the stocks. The whole country appeared in a high state of cultivation and looked well; the population is about two thousand. Our boat came, we crossed the bay and put up at the “Royal Oak,” the best house, and have had what seemed to be, after our recent fare, a most excellent supper. The very treading on a carpeted floor was quite wonderful. This evening we called on
Professor McCullough, who received us very kindly, gave us a glass of wine, showed his fine collection of well-preserved birds and other things and invited us to breakfast tomorrow at eight, when we are again to inspect his curiosities. The Professor’s mansion is a quarter of a mile out of town and looks much like a small English villa.

August 23
. We had an excellent Scotch breakfast at Professor McCullough’s. His whole family were present, four sons and a daughter besides his wife and her sister. I became more pleased with the Professor the more he talked. I showed a few Labrador drawings after which we went in a body to the University, once more to examine his fine collection. I found there half a dozen specimens of birds which I longed for and said so; the Professor had the cases opened, the specimens taken out, and he offered them to me with so much apparent good will that I took them. He then asked me to look around and not to leave any object which might be of assistance in my publication; but so generous had he already proved himself that I remained mute; I saw several I would have liked to have, but I could not mention them. He offered me all his freshwater shells, and any minerals I might choose. I took a few specimens of iron and copper. I am much surprised that this valuable collection is not purchased by the government of the Province; he offered it for £500. I think it well
worth £1,000. Thou wilt say I am an enthusiast; to this I will reply—True, but there are many more in the world, particularly in Europe.

On our return to the “Royal Oak” we were called on by Mr. Blanchard, the deputy consul for the United States, an agreeable man, who offered to do whatever he could for us; but the coach was almost ready, our birds were packed, our bill paid, and the coach rolled off. I walked on ahead with Mr. Blanchard for about a mile; he spoke much of England, and knew
John Adamson of Newcastle and other friends there. The coach came up and we said farewell. The wind had commenced to blow and soon rain fell heavily; we went on smoothly, the road being as good as any in England and broader. We passed through a fine tract of country, well wooded, well cultivated and a wonderful relief to our eyes after the barren and desolate regions of rocks, snow, tempests, and storms. We stopped to dine at four in the afternoon at a wayside house. The rain poured down; two ladies and a gentleman—the husband of one of them—had arrived before us in an open cart or “jersey,” and I, with all the gallantry of my nature, at once offered to change vehicles with them. They accepted the exchange at once but did not even thank us in return. Shattuck, Ingalls, and I jumped into the open cart when dinner was ended. I was seated by a very so-so Irish dame named Katy; her husband was our driver. Our exchange proved a most excellent one: the weather cleared up; we saw the country much better than we could have done in the coach. To our surprise we were suddenly passed by
Professor McCullough, who said he would see us at Truro. Towards sunset we arrived in view of this pretty, scattered village in sight of the head waters of the
Bay of Fundy. What a delightful sensation at that moment ran through my frame as I realized that I was within a few days of home! We reached the tavern, or hotel, or whatever else the house of stoppage might be called, but as only three of us could be accommodated there we went across the street to another. Professor McCullough came in and introduced us to several members of the Assembly of this Province and I was handed several pinches of snuff by the Professor, who
loves it
. We tried in vain to obtain a conveyance for ourselves tomorrow morning instead of going by coach tonight; it could not be done. Professor McCullough then
took me to the house of
Samuel George Archibald, Esq., Speaker of the Assembly, who introduced me to his wife and handsome young daughter. I showed them a few drawings and received a letter from Mr. Archibald to the Chief Justice of Halifax, and now we are waiting for the mail coach to proceed to that place.

The village of Truro demands a few words. It is situated in the middle of a most beautiful valley of great extent and well cultivated; several brooks water this valley and empty into the
Bay of Fundy, the broad expanse of which we see to the westward. The buildings, though principally of wood, are good-looking, and as cleanly as those in our pretty eastern villages, white, with green shutters. The style of the people, be it loyal or otherwise, is extremely genteel, and I was more than pleased with all those whom I saw. The coach is at the door, the cover of my trunk is gaping to receive this poor book, and therefore once more, good-night.

August 24
. Wind due east, hauling to the northeast, good for the
Ripley
. We are now at Halifax in Nova Scotia, but let me tell thee how and in what manner we reached it. It was eleven last night when we seated ourselves in the coach; the night was beautiful and the moon shone brightly. We could only partially observe the country until the morning broke; but the road we can swear was hilly and our horses lazy, or more probably very poor. After riding twenty miles we stopped a good hour to change horses and warm ourselves. John went to sleep, but the rest of us had some supper, served by a very handsome country girl. At the call, “Coach ready!” we jumped in and had advanced perhaps a mile and a half when the linchpin broke, and there we were at a standstill. Ingalls took charge of the horses and responded with great energy to the calls of the owls that came from the depths of the woods, where they were engaged either at praying to Diana or at calling to their parents, friends and distant relations. John, Lincoln and Shattuck, always ready for a nap, made this night no exception; Coolidge and I, not trusting altogether to Ingalls’ wakefulness, kept awake and prayed to be shortly delivered from this most disagreeable of traveling experiences, detention—at all times to be avoided if possible, and certainly to be dreaded on a chilly night in this latitude.

Looking up the road, the vacillating glimmer of the flame
intended to assist the coachman in the recovery of the lost linchpin was all that could be distinguished, for by this the time was what is called “wolfy.” The man returned, put out the pine-knot—the linchpin could not be found—and another quarter of an hour was spent in repairing with all sorts of odds and ends. How much longer Ingalls could, or would, have held the horses, we never asked him, as from different exclamations we heard him utter we thought it well to be silent on that subject.

The day dawned fair and beautiful. I ran a mile or so ahead of the coach to warm my feet, and afterwards sat by the driver to obtain, if possible, some information about the country, which became poorer and poorer as our journey proceeded. We were all very hungry and were told the
“stand”
stood twenty-five miles from the lost linchpin. I asked our driver to stop wherever he thought we could procure a dozen or so of hardboiled eggs and some coffee, or indeed anything eatable; so he drew up at a house where the owner looked us over, and said it would be quite impossible to provide a breakfast for six persons of our appearance. We passed on and soon came on the track of a tolerably large
bear,
in the road
, and at last reached the breakfast ground at a house on the margin of Green Lake, a place where fish and game, in the season, abound. This lake forms part of the channel which was intended to be cut for connecting by canal the Atlantic, the
Bay of Fundy and the Gulf of St. Lawrence at
Bay Verte. Ninety thousand pounds have been expended, but the canal is not finished and probably never will be; for we are told the government will not assist the company by which it was undertaken, and private spirit is slumbering.

We had an excellent breakfast at this house, seventeen miles from Halifax; this place would be a most delightful summer residence. The road was now level but narrow; the flag of the Halifax garrison was seen when two miles distant. Suddenly we turned short and stopped at a gate fronting a wharf, where was a small ferry boat. Here we were detained nearly an hour; how would this work in the States? Why did Mrs. Trollope not visit Halifax? The number of beggarly-looking Negroes and Negresses would have afforded her ample scope for contemplation and description.

We crossed the harbor, in which rode a sixty-four-gun flagship, and arrived at the house of one Mr. Paul. This was the best hotel
in Halifax, yet with great difficulty we obtained
one
room with four beds but no private parlor—which we thought necessary. With a population of eighteen thousand souls, and just now two thousand soldiers added to these, Halifax has not one good hotel, for here the attendance is miserable, and the table far from good. We have walked about to see the town, and all have aching feet and leg-bones in consequence of walking on hard ground after tramping only on the softest, deepest mosses for two months.

August 25
. I rose at four and wrote to thee and Dr. [George] Parkman; Shattuck wrote to his father and he and I took these letters to an English schooner bound to Boston. I was surprised to find every wharf gated, the gates locked and barred and sentinels at every point. I searched everywhere for a barber; they do not here shave on Sunday; finally, by dint of begging, and assuring the man that I was utterly unacquainted with the laws of Halifax, being a stranger, my long beard was cut at last. Four of us went to church where the Bishop read and preached; the soldiers are divided up among the different churches and attend in full uniform. This afternoon we saw a military burial; this was a grand sight. The soldiers walked far apart, with arms reversed; an excellent band executed the most solemn marches and a fine anthem. I gave my letters from Boston to Mr. Tremaine, an amiable gentleman.

August 26
. This day has been spent in writing letters to thyself,
Nicholas Berthoud, John Bachman and
Edward Harris; to the last I have written a long letter describing all our voyage. I took the letters to the
Cordelia
packet [boat], which sails on Wednesday and may reach Boston before we do. I delivered my letters to
Bishop Inglis and the Chief Justice, but were assured both were out. John and Ingalls spent their evening very agreeably with
Commissary Hewitson.

August 27
. Breakfast eaten and bill paid, we entered the coach at nine o’clock, which would only contain five, so though it rained one of us sat with the driver. The road between Halifax and Windsor, where we now are, is macadamized and good, over hills and through valleys, and though the distance is forty-five miles we had only one pair of horses, which nevertheless traveled about six and a half miles an hour. Nine miles of our road lay along the
Bay of Halifax and was very pleasant. Here and there a country home
came in sight. Our driver told us that a French squadron was pursued by an English fleet to the head of this bay, and the seven French vessels were compelled to strike their colors; but the French commodore or admiral sunk all his vessels, preferring this to surrendering them to the British. So deep was the water that the very tops of the masts sank far out of sight and once only since that time, twenty years ago, have they been seen; this was on an unusually calm, clear day seven years past. We saw
en passant
the abandoned lodge of
Prince Edward, who spent a million pounds on the building, grounds, etc. The whole now is in the greatest state of ruin; thirty years have gone by since it was in its splendor.

On leaving the bay we followed the
Salmon River, a small rivulet of swift water which abounds in salmon,
trout and other fish. The whole country is miserably poor, yet much cultivation is seen all the way. Much game and good fishing was to be had round the inn where we dined; the landlord said his terms were five dollars a week and it would be a pleasant summer residence. We passed the seat of Mr. Jeffries, President of the Assembly, now Acting Governor. The house is large and the grounds in fine order. It is between two handsome freshwater lakes; indeed, the country is covered with lakes, all of which are well supplied with trout. We saw the college and the common school, built of freestone, both handsome buildings. We crossed the head of the St. Croix River, which rolls its impetuous waters into the
Bay of Fundy. From here to Windsor the country improved rapidly and the crops looked well.

Windsor is a neat, pretty village; the vast banks of plaster of Paris all about it give employment to the inhabitants and bring wealth to the place; it is shipped from here in large quantities. Our coach stopped at the best
boarding-house
here, for nowhere in the Provinces have we heard of hotels; the house was full and we were conveyed to another, where after more than two hours’ delay we had a very indifferent supper. Meantime we walked to see the Windsor River on the east bank of which the village is situated. The view was indeed novel; the bed of the river [is] nearly a mile wide and quite bare as far as eye could reach, about ten miles. Scarcely any water to be seen, and yet the spot where we stood, sixty-five feet above the river bed, showed that at high tide this
wonderful basin must be filled to the brim. Opposite to us, indeed, the country is diked in, and vessels left dry at the wharves had a strange appearance. We are told that there have been instances when vessels have slid sidewise from the top of the bank to the level of the gravelly bed of the river. The shores are covered for a hundred yards with mud of a reddish color. This conveys more the idea of a flood or great freshet than the result of tide, and I long to see the waters of the ocean advancing at the rate of four knots an hour to fill this extraordinary basin; this sight I hope to enjoy tomorrow.