No. XVIII The Grahamite and the Irish Pilot
“I think,” said I, “this is a happy country, Mr. Slick. The people are fortunately all of one origin; there are no national jealousies to divide, and no very violent politics to agitate them. They appear to be cheerful and contented, and are a civil, good-natured, hospitable race. Considering the unsettled state of almost every part of the world, I think I would as soon cast my lot in Nova Scotia as in any part I know of.”
“It’s a clever country, you may depend,” said he, “a very clever country; full of mineral wealth, aboundin’ in superior water privileges and noble harbours, a large part of it prime land, and it is in the very heart of the fisheries. But the folks put me in mind of a sect in our country they call the Grahamites; they eat no meat and no exciting food, and drink nothin’ stronger than water. They call it Philosophy (and that is such a pretty word it has made fools of more folks than them afore now), but I call it tarnation nonsense. I once travelled all through the State of Maine with one of them ’ere chaps. He was as thin as a whippin’ post. His skin looked like a blown bladder arter some of the air had leaked out, kinder wrinkled and rumpled like, and his eye as dim as a lamp that’s livin’ on a short allowance of ile. He put me in mind of a pair of kitchen tongs, all legs, shaft and head, and no belly; a real gander-gutted lookin’ critter, as holler as a bamboo walkin’ cane, and twice as yaller. He actilly looked as if he had been picked off a rack at sea, and dragged through a gimlet hole. He was a lawyer. Thinks I, the Lord a massy on your clients, you hungry, half-starved lookin’ critter you, you’ll eat ’em up alive as sure as the Lord made Moses. You are jist the chap to strain at a goat and swallow a camel, tank, shank and flank, all at a gulp.
“Well, when we came to an inn, and a beef steak was sot afore us for dinner, he’d say, ‘Oh that is too good for me, it’s too exciting; all fat meat is diseased meat, give me some bread and cheese.’ ‘Well,’ I’d say, ‘I don’t know what you call too good, but it ain’t good enough for me, for I call it as tuf as laushong, and that will bear chawing all day. When I liquidate for my dinner, I like to get about the best that’s goin’, and I ain’t a bit too well pleased if I don’t.’ Exciting indeed! thinks I. Lord, I should like to see you excited, if it was only for the fun of the thing. What a temptin’ lookin’ critter you’d be among the gals, wouldn’t you? Why, you look like a subject the doctor boys had dropped on the road arter they had dug you up, and had cut stick and run for it.
“Well, when tea came, he said the same thing, ‘It’s too exciting, give me some water, do; that’s follorin’ the law of natur’.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘if that’s the case, you ought to eat beef.’ ‘Why,’ says he, ‘how do you make out that ’ere proposition?’ ‘Why,’ says I, ‘if drinkin’ water instead of tea is natur’, so is eatin’ grass accordin’ to natur’; now all flesh is grass, we are told, so you had better eat that and call it vegetable; like a man I once seed who fasted on fish on a Friday, and when he had none, whipped a leg o’ mutton into the oven, and took it out fish. Says he, “It’s ‘changed PLAICE,’ that’s all,” and “PLAICE” ain’t a bad fish. The Catholics fast enough, gracious knows, but then they fast on a great rousin’ big splendid salmon at two dollars and forty cents a pound, and lots of old Madeira to make it float light on the stomach; there’s some sense in mortifying the appetite arter that fashion, but plagy little in your way. No,’ says I, ‘friend, you may talk about natur’ as you please; I’ve studied natur’ all my life, and I vow if your natur’ could speak out, it would tell you, it don’t over half like to be starved arter that plan. If you know’d as much about the marks of the mouth as I do, you’d know that you have carniverous as well as graniverous teeth, and that natur’ meant by that, you should eat most anything that ’ere door-keeper, your nose, would give a ticket to, to pass into your mouth. Father rode a race at New York course, when he was near hand to seventy—and that’s more nor you’ll do, I guess—and he eats as hearty as a turkey-cock; and he never confined himself to water neither, when he could get anything convened him better. Says he, “Sam, grandfather Slick used to say there was an old proverb in Yorkshire, ‘A full belly makes a strong back,’ and I guess if you try it, natur’ will tell you so too.” If ever you go to Connecticut, jist call into father’s, and he’ll give you a real right down genuine New England breakfast, and if that don’t happify your heart, then my name’s not Sam Slick. It will make you feel about among the stiffest, I tell you. It will blow your jacket out like a pig at sea. You’ll have to shake a reef or two out of your waistban’s and make good stowage, I guess, to carry it all under hatches. There’s nothin’ like a good pastur’ to cover the ribs, and make the hide shine, depend on’t.’
“Now this Province is like that ’ere Grahamite lawyer’s beef, it’s too good for the folks that’s in it; they either don’t avail its value or won’t use it, because work ain’t arter their ‘law of natur’.’ As you say they are quiet enough (there’s worse folks than the Bluenoses, too, if you come to that), and so they had ought to be quiet, for they have nothin’ to fight about. As for politics, they have nothin’ to desarve the name; but they talk enough about it, and a plaguy sight of nonsense they do talk, too.
“Now with us the country is divided into two parties, of the mammouth breed—the INS and the OUTS, the ADMINISTRATION and the OPPOSITION. But where’s the administration here? Where’s the war office, the Foreign Office and the Home Office? Where’s the Secretary of the Navy? Where’s the State Bank? Where’s the Ambassadors and Diplomatists (them are the boys to wind off a snarl of ravellins as slick as if it were on a reel), and where’s that Ship of State, fitted up all the way from the forecastle clean up to the starn-post, chock full of good snug berths, handsumly found and furnished, tier over tier, one above another, as thick as it can hold? That’s a helm worth handlin’, I tell you; I don’t wonder that folks mutiny below, and fight on the decks above for it; it makes a plaguy uproar the whole time, and keeps the passengers for everlastinly in a state of alarm for fear they’d do mischif by bustin’ the b’iler, a-runnin’ aground, or gettin’ foul of some other craft.
“This Province is better as it is, quieter and happier far; they have berths enough and big enough; they should be careful not to increase ’em; and if they were to do it over agin, perhaps they’d be as well with fewer. They have two parties here, the Tory party and the Opposition party, and both on ’em run to extremes. Them radicals, says one, are for levellin’ all down to their own level, tho’ not a peg lower; that’s their gage, jist down to their own notch and no further; and they’d agitate the whole country to obtain that object, for if a man can’t grow to be as tall as his neighbour, if he cuts a few inches off him why then they are both of one heighth. They are a most dangerous, disaffected people; they are eternally appealin’ to the worst passions of the mob. Well, says t’other, them aristocrats, they’ll ruinate the country; they spend the whole revenue on themselves. What with bankers, councillors, judges, bishops and public officers, and a whole tribe of lawyers as hungry as hawks, and jist about as marciful, the country is devoured as if there was a flock of locusts a-feedin’ on it. There’s nothin’ left for roads and bridges. When a chap sets out to canvass, he’s got to antagonize one side or t’other. If he hangs on to the powers that be, then he’s a council man, he’s for votin’ large salaries, for doin’ as the great people at Halifax tell him. He is a fool. If he is on t’other side, a-railin’ at banks, judges, lawyers and such cattle, and bawlin’ for what he knows he can’t get, then he is a rogue. So that, if you were to listen to the weak and noisy critters on both sides, you’d believe the House of Assembly was one half rogues and t’other half fools. All this arises from ignorance. IF THEY KNEW MORE OF EACH OTHER, I GUESS THEY’D LAY ASIDE ONE HALF THEIR FEARS AND ALL THEIR ABUSE. THE UPPER CLASSES DON’T KNOW ONE HALF THE VIRTUE THAT’S IN THE MIDDLIN’ AND LOWER CLASSES; AND THEY DON’T KNOW ONE HALF THE INTEGRITY AND GOOD FEELIN’ THAT’S IN THE OTHERS, AND BOTH ARE FOOLED AND GULLED BY THEIR OWN NOISY AND DESIGNIN’ CHAMPIONS. Take any two men that are by the ears, they opinionate all they hear of each other, impute all sorts of onworthy motives, and misconstrue every act; let them see more of each other, and they’ll find out to their surprise, that they have not only been lookin’ through a magnifyin’ glass that warn’t very true, but a coloured one also, that changed the complexion and distorted the feature, and each one will think t’other a very good kind of chap, and like as not a plaguy pleasant one too.
“If I was axed which side was farthest from the mark in this Province, I vow I should be puzzled to say. As I don’t belong to the country, and don’t care a snap of my finger for either of ’em, I suppose I can judge better than any man in it, but I snore I don’t think there’s much difference. The popular side—I won’t say patriotic, for we find in our steamboats a man who has a plaguy sight of property in his portmanter, is quite as anxious for its safety, as him that’s only one pair of yarn stockings and a clean shirt, is for his’n—the popular side are not so well informed as t’other, and they have the misfortin’ of havin’ their passions addressed more than their reason, therefore they are often out of the way, or rather led out of it and put astray by bad guides; well, t’other side have the prejudices of birth and education to dim their vision, and are alarmed to undertake a thing from the dread of ambush or open foes, that their guides are etarnally descryin’ in the mist—AND BESIDE, POWER HAS A NATERAL TENDENCY TO CORPULENCY. As for them guides, I’d make short work of ’em if it was me.
“In the last war with Britain, the Constitution frigate was close in once on the shores of Ireland, a-lookin’ arter some marchant ships, and she took on board a pilot; well, he was a deep, sly, twistical lookin’ chap, as you e’enamost ever seed. He had a sort of dark, down look about him, and a lear out of the corner of one eye, like a horse that’s goin’ to kick. The captain guessed he read in his face, ‘Well now, if I was to run this here Yankee right slap on a rock and bilge her, the King would make a man of me for ever.’ So, says he to the first leftenant, ‘Reeve a rope through that ’ere block at the tip eend of the fore yard, and clap a runnin’ noose in it.’ The leftenant did it as quick as wink, and came back, and says he, ‘I guess it’s done.’ ‘Now,’ says the captain, ‘look here, pilot; here’s a rope you hain’t seed yet, I’ll jist explain the use of it to you in case you want the loan of it. If this here frigate, manned with our free and enlightened citizens, gets aground, I’ll give you a ride on the slack of that ’ere rope, right up to that yard by the neck, by Gum.’ Well, it rub’d all the writin’ out of his face, as quick as spittin’ on a slate takes a sum out, you may depend. Now, they should rig up a crane over the street door of the State house at Halifax, and when any of the pilots at either eend of the buildin’, run ’em on the breakers on purpose, string ’em up like an onsafe dog. A sign of that ’ere kind, with ‘A house of public entertainment,’ painted under it, would do the business in less than no time. If it wouldn’t keep the hawks out of the poultry yard, it’s a pity; it would scare them out of a year’s growth, that’s a fact; if they used it once, I guess they wouldn’t have occasion for it agin in a hurry; it would be like the aloe tree, and that bears fruit only once in a hundred years.
“If you want to know how to act any time, Squire, never go to books, leave them to gals and school boys; but go right off and cipher it out of natur’, that’s a sure guide; it will never deceive you, you may depend. For instance, ‘what’s that to me,’ is a phrase so common that it shows it’s a natural one, when people have no particular interest in a thing. Well, when a feller gets so warm on either side as never to use that phrase at all, watch him, that’s all! keep your eye on him, or he’ll walk right into you afore you know where you be. If a man runs to me and says, ‘Your fence is down,’ ‘Thank you,’ says I, ‘that’s kind.’ If he comes agin and says, ‘I guess some stray cattle have broke into your short sarce garden,’ I thank him agin; says I, ‘Come now, this is neighbourly; but when he keeps etarnally tellin’ me this thing of one sarvant, and that thing of another sarvant, hints that my friends ain’t true, that my neighbours are inclined to take advantage of me, and that suspicious folks are seen about my place, I say to myself, what on airth makes this critter take such a wonderful interest in my affairs? I don’t like to hear such tales; he’s arter somethin’ as sure as the world, if he warn’t he’d say, ‘What’s that to me.’ I never believe much what I hear said by a man’s violent friend, or violent enemy. I want to hear what a disinterested man has to say. Now, as a disinterested man, I say if the members of the House of Assembly, instead of raisin’ up ghosts and hobgoblins to frighten folks with, and to show what swordsmen they be, a-cuttin’ and a-thrustin’ at those phantoms that only exist in their own brains, would turn to, heart and hand, and develop the resources of this fine country, facilitate the means of transport, promote its internal improvement, and encourage its foreign trade, they would make it the richest and greatest, as it now is one of the happiest sections of all America. I hope I may be skinned if they wouldn’t—they would I swan.”