Major Jones's sketches of travel comprising the scenes, incidents, and adventures in his tour from Georgia to Canada |
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| 21. | LETTER XXI. |
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 | Major Jones's sketches of travel |  |
LETTER XXI.
To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—After brushin up a
little and gettin a fust rate breckfust, we tuck a stroll
through the town to see the curiosities. I could spend
a week very well in this city, lookin about among the
churches and nunneries and soger's quarters and other
public places, but as I didn't have no time to spare, I
had jest to give evry thing a passin glance, 'thout
stoppin long enuff to know much about it. Under sich
circumstances you musn't expect me to give you much
of a description of Montryal.
If I was travelin like Mr. Dickens or Captain Marryatt,
or any of them English travellers, jest to make a
book for a peeple who is so blinded with prejudice
that they can't see any thing but faults, it wouldn't
make no difference whether I know'd much about the
things I described or not; all I'd have to do would
jest be to go ahed and find all the fault I could with
evrybody, and with evry thing I heard of or seed
sot down in the gide-books; and the further I cum
from the truth, so I went on the black side of it,
the better I would please. But I ain't a writin for
no sich peeple, and I'm not gwine to find fault with
what I don't know nothin about, jest for the sake of
fault-findin.
The fust place we went to was the grate French
Cathedral in Notre Dame street, a regular Noah's Ark
of a meetin-house you may depend, what holds twenty
thousand peeple 'thout crowdin 'em, and takes two
hundred and eighty-five steps to go to the top of its
towers. Ther was a grate many picters and sum wax
figers in it, but ther names was all so outlandish that I
church for awhile, we went to the Grey Nunnery.
Here we seed lots of nuns and sisters of charity takin
care of little children what had no fathers and mothers,
and of sich peeple what had no money and no frends
to do for 'em. Then we went to the Hotel Dieu, what
Maria Monk gives sich a terrible bad account of in her
book; then to the Bishop's Chapel, which is one of the
finest churches on the Continent; and then to the
Parlyment House, whar the Canady peeple make sich
laws as ther masters over the water don't care about
troublin themselves with. The bildin ain't no grate
shakes, compared to what sum of our state capitols is,
but it's rigged off in mighty fine style inside, with red
velvet and gold-leaf, to keep the peeple in mind of
what monstrous fine peeple ther Royal masters is. The
gentleman what show'd us in, pinted out the portraits
of sum of the kings and queens and other grate characters
what was hangin about, and ax'd us if we would
like to take a seat on the throne whar the representative
of British majesty sot on grate occasions. Rather
than to make him feel bad, when he was so perlite
and obligin to us, I tuck a seat for a minit, and I
couldn't help but think how I would like to give
the castin vote on a proposition to annex Canady to
the United States. Sich a measure of human emancipation
would be worth all the laws ever made in that
house.
From the Parlyment House we went to the barracks
whar the sogers was. Ther was a everlastin lot of
'em—in fact they was all over the city, and ther red
cotes and shinin bayonets was to be seen at evry corner,
in evry street and evry ally. They may be sed to
be the strikin feater of Canady—and one can't help but
wonder what upon yeath England can want of territory
what takes sich a terrible lot of money and sogers to
keep it. What a difference, too, ther is in the sogers'
trade in Canady and in our country. While our sogers
thar to subject the peeple who supports 'em. It's enuff
to make a man's blood bile, to see them swarms of
grate lazy hulks sunin themselves about on the pavements,
and loungin round ther quarters, waitin like
blood-hounds jest to be sot loose on the pore peeple,
to tear 'em to pieces for the bone that they git from the
table of ther masters. And the pore devils ain't very
well kept nuther, for I seed lots of 'em without the
sign of a pair of trouses to ther legs any more'n a
Seminole Ingin, and with nothin but a sort of red-plad
huntin shirt on, that jest cum down to ther nees.
In the afternoon we tuck a drive round the mounting
to see the guvernor's house, and at five o'clock in
the evenin tuck passage in the steambote Queen for
Quebeck. The scenery on the Saint Lawrence was
very butiful, and we sot up til twelve o'clock to see
Saint Peter's Lake. About seven o'clock the next
mornin we arriv at Quebeck, and druv to Payne's
Hotel in the Place de Armes.
The fust place I wanted to go to was the famous
Gibralter of America, the fortress of Quebeck; but
Mr. Payne sed we'd have to wait til he could git a
permit for us to visit the Citadel; so we tuck a calash
and went out to the Plains of Abraham, whar the grate
battle was fit what lost France her Northern possesshuns
in America. I don't remember to what Saint the gate
we went out at belonged, but that doesn't matter—a
Frenchman tuck us to the Plains, whar we had a quiet
view of that place whar so much gallantry was displayed,
and so much blood spilled on the 14th of September,
1759. It's a butiful place to fight a battle, and
I can't see what ever possessed the brave Montealm,
with his undisciplined troops, to give Wolf and his
British regulars battle thar, when he mought have
defended himself so much better in his works, even
poor and weak as they was then. It was a hard piece
of bisness, that contest, in which France lost her General
dooms-day to make the French Canadians forgit the
injustice they have suffered, by givin ther Catholic
churches all sorts of priviliges, and by bildin monuments,
like they have in the Palace Gardin' with Wolf's
name on one side and Montrealm's on the other, tryin to
make the honors of that day easy between 'em,—they
never can make loyal, contented subjects out of 'em as
long as Cape Diamond stands whar it does. While
they're in the reach of British bayonets they don't make
any fuss, but rebellion is stickin out of 'em all over,
and the fust right good chance they git they'll give ther
conquerors plenty to do to keep 'em under. If anybody
wants any proof of ther bad feelins agin the
British, jest let 'em look at Wolf's Monument what
stands on the spot whar he fell. The words “here
died Wolf victorious,” that was cut deep in the
solid marble, is pecked and battered so, rite in sight
of the sentry on the walls of the citadel, that if it
wasn't for the gide-book nobody could tell what was
on it. Every countryman that crosses over the Plains
with a basket of eggs for the market, gives it a pelt
with a stone, til the whole side of the monument is
almost nocked off.
After dinner we got a permit to go in the citadel, but
they sent a sargeant with us, who watched us all the
time like he was 'fraid we was gwine to tetch off the
powder-magazine or spike ther cannons. We musn't go
here, and strangers wasn't 'lowd to go thar; and if we
went to go up on sum of ther batteries, as they called
'em, voices would cum from evry loop-hole and look-out,
to tell us we musn't go thar. They seemed to be dreadful
'fraid we'd find out sumthing. It's a monstrous stanchious
place, and commands one of the finest views in the
world. One looks down upon the noble Saint Lawrence
at his feet, and over the minerets and towers of
the churches, and the roofs of the old and curious-lookin
stone houses of the upper town, and on the other side,
District, beyond which the butiful Saint Charles winds
its way to mingle its waters with the waters of the Saint
Lawrence in the grate basin below, after which they
flow away together til they find the sea. All together,
Quebeck is a curious and interestin place. It looks like
it belonged to another Continent and to another age of
the world; and when one looks upon its power and its
buty, and remembers that it stands on the boundry of
civilization, close to the edge of the wild, unexplored
wilderness that extends northward to the regions of
everlastin freeze-to-deth, he is apt to exclaim with the
poet—“Time's noblest empire is the last.”
Sum of the officers—who we found to be monstrous
clever fellers, though sum of 'em was dredful green—
invited us to see a grand review on the Esplanade. It
was a very considerable of a show, and convinced me
that the British sogers is under fust rate discipline; but
I couldn't help but think how terribly they would git
ther fethers siled in a Ingin campain in the hammocks
of Florida. We spent the evenin in walkin about
through the streets lookin at the public bildins and
odd-lookin houses.
The next day was Sunday, and we went to the
French Cathedral, what was so full that it was sum
time before we could git through the crowd of men
and wimmin that was settin on the steps and away out
in the street, stringin beads and talkin Lattin to themselves.
Bimeby a man cum and tuck us into a fust
rate seat, whar we could see and hear all that was
gwine on. Ther was any number of priests dressed
out in red, white, and black pettycotes, and lots of
organ-musick, singin and preachin; but the only word
I understood the whole time was “Kebeck, Kebeck,”
which run all through the sermon.
About five o'clock we tuck passage in the Queen
breckfust time. As no bote didn't leave til evenin, we
tuck another round through Montryal, and spent the
time very agreeably til five in the evenin, when we
started in the Prince Albert for La Prairy, on our way
home.
The steambote Prince Albert ain't no compliment to
the Queen's husband; and if his highness's popilarity
in Canady is to be estimated by the quality of the bote
they have named after him, one would suppose that he
didn't stand very high among the loyal Canadians. It
ain't much bigger than a New York ferry-bote, and its
accommodations is but little better. Ther was a good
many passengers, most of 'em Irish emmygrants what
had cum to Canady, and was now cumin over into the
States. Pore peeple, they was all huddled up together,
bag and baggage, on the forecastle, and wasn't 'lowed
to take the air on the deck no more'n if they'd been so
many cattle. My hart aked for one pore family. The
man was dyin with the ship-fever, while his wife and
children and young sister, a butiful girl about sixteen,
was weepin over him. He lay on the deck on a coarse,
dirty mattrass, his pore wife supportin him while the
tears poured down her pale cheeks, and his dyin hed
was rocked to its last sleep on her heavin bosom. His
sister was neelin by his side and bathin his parched lips
with water mingled with her tears, and the two oldest
children, little girls, was clingin round him, cryin as if
ther harts would brake. The youngest child, a fat little
boy 'bout two years old, with cheeks as red as the apple
he had in his hand, looked at his dyin father and then
at his mother, as if he spected sumthing was the matter;
but the pore little feller was a stranger to the bitter sorrow
that was agonizin the harts of that mournin group.
The emmygrants made as much room round the dyin
man as they could, to give him air, and sum of 'em
tried to console the family. The sister tuck the cross
what she wore round her neck, and put it to her brother's
his eyes. In a minit after I seed him gaspin for breth,
and a loud scream from the wimmin told that he was ded.
The peeple laid him strait in the bed, whar he remained
til the bote arriv at La Parairy.
“It was hard,” sed one of the emmygrants as they
was leavin the bote, “that pore Dennis should die widout
ever puttin his fut in Amirica.”
“Ah!” ses another, “he's gone to a better place,
rest his soul!”
At La Parairy we tuck the cars for St. John's, leavin
the pore wife to berry her ded husband in a strange
land; but I couldn't go til I had gin her a dollar to help
her in her ower of distress. The look she gin me was
more than a recompense for all the good actions I ever
done in my life.
The steambote Saranack tuck us through Lake
Champlain, whar we seed sum of the finest scenery
and interestin places, among the rest the ruins of old
Fort Ticonderogy what Ethen Allen tuck from the
British by sich high authority in the Revolutionary war.
Durin the day we stopped to git sum wood at a place
called Burlington, in Vermont, and Hooper and me
went ashore to look at the place. But we hadn't got
more'n ten steps from the bote when we seed a thunderin
grate big sign stickin up over the rode, with “No
Smokin allowd here!” “Cus the place,” ses Hooper,
who had a segar in his mouth, “Majer, let's shake the
dust from our feet and go back to the bote; I can't
trust myself in the hands of no peeple what would
stick up sich a sign as that at a steambote landin,”—
and back we went.
After gwine aboard, the fust thing that tuck my attention
was a chap what was rootin round among the baggage
after sumthing. I didn't like his looks much, so I
jest kep my eye on him to see what the feller was after.
Bimeby I seed him grab hold of my trunk. Thinks I
yeath is you up to, Mister, with my trunk?”
“Is that your trunk?” ses he.
“Well,” ses I, “I reckon it ain't nobody elses.”
“Very well,” ses he; “I jest wanted to know what
was in it, that's all.”
“The mischief you do!” ses I; “I'd like to know
what bisness you've got with what's in my trunk.”
“I spose ther ain't nothin contraband in it,” ses he.
“What the thunder's that?” ses I.
“Why, nothin smuggled.”
Smugglin means stealin, down in Georgia, and when
he sed that my dander was up in a minit. I looked at
the feller what was beginnin to grin all over his face,
and ses I—
“Do you mean to insiniwate the likes of that to me,
you infernal, imperent cus?”
“Cum, cum, Mister,” ses he, “it ain't no use to git
into no passion. The law's the law, and ther ain't no
use tryin to git round it.”
“I'll tell you what,” ses I, “I don't know nothin
about your law out in these parts; but I know one thing,
and that is, if you jest insiniwate to me that I'm a thief,
or that I've got any thing what don't belong to me in
my trunk, I'll histe you overboard off this bote 'fore
you can have time to say yer prayers.”
And I was jest gettin reddy to pitch into the oudacious
cus, when Hooper cum up and tuck hold of me—
“Shaw, Majer,” ses he, “don't git riled—it's the
custom —”
“Cus ther customs,” ses I; “I know it's a Yankee
custom to meddle with evrybody's bisness but ther own.
But I'll larn 'em better than to interfere with my
consarns.”
“It's the custom-house officer, I mean,” ses Hooper,
“what wants to see all right with the baggage, to keep
peeple from cheatin the government. It's only the
tariff bisness what you whigs voted for at the last election.
good a whig to make a rumpus about it.”
By this time I begun to see into the bisness, and of
course I hadn't nothin more to say. But you may depend
I was hot for a few minits; and what made it
worse, the custom-house officer, as he called himself, kep
all the time laughin at me like he would bust his sides.
We shuck hands, however, and made evry thing strait.
He didn't open my trunk when I told him that it didn't
have nothin in it but my clothes, and sum curiosities
what I'd picked up in my travels; but you may depend,
whenever he cum across a Dutchman or any outlandish
foreigner with a big trunk, he made 'em show up.
And, shore enuff, he cum across one feller what had a
trunk full of English broadcloths and silks, what he was
tryin to smuggle into the States. The officer tuck 'em
all from him, and how they settled it I don't know; but
the feller was quite as much out of humour with the
officer as I was.
After runnin Lake Champlain out to the little eend
of nothin, til ther wasn't water enuff to float a bread-tray,
and we had to dodge the boat along among the
hay-cocks that the peeple was makin in the marsh-meadow
what we was gwine through, we cum to a
place called White Hall, about four o'clock in the
evenin. Here we tuck a canal-bote for Mechanicsville.
In the fore part of the evenin, while we was all on
deck, evry thing went on pretty well, except 'bout evry
five minits we would cum to a bridge, when we would
all have to drap down flat on the deck; and bein as it
was covered with men, wimmin, and children, as thick as
we could stand, the dodgin was rather awkward bisness,
and brung us sumtimes in rather close contact with
strange passengers.
One old feller what was a little hard of hearin, and
was bissy talkin politicks with his back turned the rong
way, didn't hear the word “Bridge!” and the fust
into the water. It was monstrous well for him that it
wasn't no deeper, or he'd never had another vote in
this world—for he couldn't swim a lick, and the hoses
was so pore and hard in the mouth that it tuck 'em
'bout ten minits to take in sail, so as to stop the bote.
The captain got him out though, and the old chap went
below for the balance of the night.
They packed us into hammocks, as they called 'em,
to sleep—but I'd been monstrous glad to exchanged
mine for the worst hammock in Florida. It was nothin
more than a layer of canvass, then a passenger, then a
layer of dirty sheet, then another layer of canvass,
and then another layer of passenger and another sheet,
and so on to the top. Ther was no sich thing as turnin
over 'thout nockin yer nees into the ribs of the man
above you, and when you was once packed in, ther
was no gettin out til mornin. I never cum so near
suffocatin in my life, and never was so anxious to see
the break of day before. The wimmin and children
was all packed into one eend of the bote, with nothin
but a blanket between us and them; and sich other
musick I never heard before—it was worse than a concert
of cats all night.
'Bout sunrise we got to the place whar we tuck the
cars for Troy. Here we tuck a steamer to Albany, and
from Albany we wasn't long cumin to New York in the
Knickerbocker.
So here I am, and by the time you hear from me
agin I will be home in old Georgia. No more at present
from
| Major Jones's sketches of travel | |