No. XVII

A Yankee Handle for a Halifax Blade

I met a man this mornin, said the Clock Maker, from Halifax, a real conceited lookin critter as you een a most ever seed, all shines and didos. He looked as if he had picked up his airs, arter some officer of the regilars had worn 'em out and cast 'em off. They sot on him like second hand clothes, as if they had'nt been made for him and did'nt exactly fit. He looked fine, but awkward, like a captain of militia, when he gets his uniform on, to play sodger; a thinkin himself mighty handSUM, and that all the world is a lookin at him. He marched up and down afore the street door like a peacock, as large as life and twice as natural; he had a riding whip in his hand and every now and then struck it agin his thigh, as much as to say, aint that a splendid leg for a boot, now? Wont I astonish the Amherst folks, that's all? thinks I you are a pretty blade, aint you? I'd like to fit a Yankee handle on to you, that's a fact. When I came up, he held up his head near about as high as a Shot factory, and stood with his fists on his hips, and eyed me from head to foot, as a shakin quaker does a town lady: as much as to say what a queer critter you be, that's toggery I never seed afore, you're some carnal minded maiden, that's sartain. Well, says he to me, with the air of a man that chucks a cent into a beggar's hat, "a fine day this, Sir;" do you actilly think so, said I? and I gave it the real Connecticut drawl. Why, said he, quite short, if I did'nt think so, I would'nt say so. Well, says I, I don't know, but if I did think so, I guess I would'nt say so; why not? says he—because, I expect, says I, any fool could see that as well as me; and then I stared at him, as much as to say, now if you like that are swap, I am ready to trade with you agin as soon as you like. Well he turned right round on his heel and walked off, a whistlin Yankee Doodle to himself. He looked jist like a man that finds whistlin a plaguy sight easier than thinkin. Presently, I heard him ax the groom who that are Yankee lookin feller was. That, said the groom, why, I guess its Mr. Slick. Sho!! said he, how you talk. What, Slick the Clockmaker, why it ant possible; I wish I had a known that are afore, I declare, for I have a great curiosity to see HIM, folks say he is an amazin clever feller that, and he turned and stared, as if it was old Hickory himself. Then he walked round and about like a pig, round the fence of a potatoe field, a watchin for a chance to cut in; so, thinks I, I'll jist give him something to talk about, when he gets back to the city, I'll fix a Yankee handle on to him in no time. How's times to Halifax, Sir, said I—better, says he, much better, business is done on a surer bottom than it was, and things look bright agin; so does a candle, says I, jist afore it goes out; it burns up ever so high and then sinks right down, and leaves nothin behind but grease, and an everlastin bad smell. I guess they don't know how to feed their lamp, and it can't burn long on nothin. No, Sir, the jig is up with Halifax, and it's all their own fault. If a man sits at his door, and sees stray cattle in his field, a eatin up of his crop, and his neighbours, a cartin off his grain, and won't so much as go and drive 'em out, why I should say it sarves him right. I don't exactly understand, Sir, said he—thinks I, it would be strange if you did, for I never see one of your folks yet that could understand a hawk from a handsaw. Well, says I, I will tell you what I mean—draw a line from Cape Sable to Cape Cansoo, right thro' the Province, and it will split it into two, this way, and I cut an apple into two halves; now, says I, the worst half, like the rotten half of the apple, belongs to Halifax, and the other and sound half belongs to St. John. Your side of the province on the sea coast is all stone—I never seed such a pro per sight of rocks in my life, it's enough to starve a rabbit. Well, tother side on the Bay of Fundy is a superfine country, there aint the beat of it to be found any where. Now, would'nt the folks living away up to the Bay, be pretty fools to go to Halifax, when they can go to St. John with half the trouble. St. John is the natural capital of the Bay of Fundy, it will be the largest city in America next to New York. It has an immense back country as big as Great Britain, a first chop river, and amazin sharp folks, most as cute as the Yankees—it's a splendid location for business. Well, they draw all the produce of the Bay shores, and where the produce goes the supplies return— it will take the whole trade of the Province; I guess your rich folks will find they've burnt their fingers, they've put their foot in it, that's a fact. Houses with out tenants—wharves without shipping, a town without people—what a grand investment!! If you have any loose dollars, let 'em out on mortgage in Halifax, that's the security—keep clear of the country for your life—the people may run, but the town can't. No, take away the troops, and you're done—you'll sing the dead march folks did at Louisburg and Shelburne. Why you hant got a single thing worth havin, but a good harbor, and as for that the coast is full on 'em. You hav'nt a pine log, a spruce board or a refuse shingle; you neither raise wheat, oats, or hay, nor never can; you have no staples on airth, unless it be them iron ones for the padlocks, in Bridewell—you've sowed pride and reaped poverty, take care of your crop, for it's worth harvestin—you have no River and no Country, what in the name of fortin have you to trade on? But, said he, (and he shewed the whites of his eyes like a wall eyed horse) but, said he, Mr. Slick, how is it then, Halifax ever grew at all, has'nt it got what it always had; it's no worse than it was. I guess, said I, that pole aint strong enough to bear you, neither; if you trust to that you'll be into the brook, as sure as you are born; you once had the trade of the whole Province, but St. John has run off with that now—you've lost all but your trade in blue berries and rabbits with the niggers at Hammond Plains. You've lost your customers, your rivals have a better stand for business—they've got the corner store—four great streets meet there, and its near the market slip.

Well he stared; says he, I believe you're right, but I never thought of that afore; (thinks I, nobody ever suspect you of the trick of thinkin that ever I heer'd tell of) some of our great men, said he, laid it all to your folks selling so many Clocks and Polyglot Bibles, they say you have taken off a horrid sight of money; did they, indeed, said I; well, I guess it tante pins and needles that's the expense of house-keepin, it is something more costly than that. Well, some folks say its the Banks, says he; better still, says I, perhaps you've hearn tell too that greasing the axle, makes a gig harder to draw, for there's jist about as much sense in that. Well then, says he, others say its smugglin has made us so poor. That guess, said I, is most as good as tother one, whoever found out that secret ought to get a patent for it, for its worth knowin. Then the country has grown poorer, has'nt it, because it has bought cheaper this year, than it did the year before? Why, your folks are cute chaps, I vow; they'd puzzle a Philadelphia Lawyer, they are so amazin knowin. Ah, said he, and he rubb'd his hands and smiled like a young doctor, when he gets his first patient; ah, said he, if the timber duties are altered, down comes St. John, body and breeches, it's built on a poor foundation—its all show—they are speculatin like mad—they'll ruin themselves. Says I, if you wait till they're dead, for your fortin, it will be one while, I tell you, afore you pocket the shiners. Its no joke waitin for a dead man's shoes. Suppose an old feller of 80 was to say when that are young feller dies, I'm to inherit his property, what would you think? Why, I guess you'd think be was an old fool. No sir, if the English don't want their timber we do want it all, we have used ourn up, we hant got a stick even to whittle. If the British dont offer we will, and St. John, like a dear little weeping widow, will dry up her tears, and take to frolickin agin and accept it right off. There is'nt at this moment such a location hardly in America, as St. John; for beside all its other advantages, it has this great one, its only rival, Halifax, has got a dose of opium that will send it snoring out of the world, like a feller who falls asleep on the ice of a winter's night. It has been asleep so long, I actilly think it never will wake. Its an easy death too, you may rouse them up if you like, but I vow I wont. I once brought a feller too that was drowned, and one night he got drunk and quilted me, I could'nt walk for a week; says I, your the last chap I'll ever save from drowning in all my born days, if that's all the thanks I get for it. No Sir, Halifax has lost the run of its custom. Who does Yarmouth trade with? St. John. Who does Annapolis County trade with? St. John. Who do all the folks on the Basin of Mines, and Bay shore, trade with? St John. Who does Cumberland trade with? St John. Well Pictou, Lunenburg and Liverpool, supply themselves, and the rest that aint worth havin, trade with Halifax. They take down a few half starved pigs, old viteran geese, and long legged fowls, some ram mutton and tuf beef; and swap them for tea, sugar, and such little notions for their old women to home; while the rail roads and canals of St. John are goin to cut off your Gulf Shore trade to Miramichi, and along there. Flies live in the summer and die in winter, you're jist as noisy in war as those little critters, but you sing small in peace.

No, your done for, you are up a tree, you may depend; pride must fall. Your town is like a ball room arter a dance. The folks have eat, drank, and frolicked, and left an empty house; the lamps and hangings are left, but the people are gone. Is there no remedy for this? said he, and he looked as wild as a Cherokee Indian. Thinks I, the handle is fitten on proper tight now. Well, says I, when a man has a cold, he had ought to look out pretty sharp, afore it gets seated on his lungs; if he don't, he gets into a gallopin consumption, and it's gone goose with him. There is a remedy, if applied in time: make a rail road to Minas Basin, and you have a way for your customers to get to you, and a conveyance for your goods to them. When I was in New York last, a cousin of mine, Hezekiah Slick, said to me, I do believe Sam, I shall be ruined; I've lost all my custom, they are widening and improving the streets, and there's so many carts and people to work in it, folks can't come to my shop to trade, what on airth shall I do, and I'm payin a dreadful high rent too? Stop Ki, says I, when the street is all finished off and slicked up, they'll all come back agin, and a whole raft more on 'em too, you'll sell twice as much as ever you did, you'll put off a proper swad of goods next year, you may depend; and so he did, he made money, hand over hand. A rail-road, will bring back your customers, if done right off; but wait till trade has made new channels, and fairly gets settled in them, and you'll never divart it agin to all etarnity. When a feller waits till a gall gets married, I guess it will be too late to pop the question then. St. John MUST go ahead, at any rate; you MAY, if you choose, but you must exert yourselves I tell you. If a man has only one leg, and wants to walk, he must get an artificial one. If you have no river, make a rail road, and that will supply its place. But, says he, Mr. Slick, people say it never will pay in the world; they say its as mad a scheme as the canal. Do they indeed, says I, send them to me then, and I'll fit the handle on to them in tu tu's. I say it will pay, and the best proof is, our folks will take tu thirds of the stock. Did you ever hear any one else but your folks, ax whether a dose of medicine would pay when it was given to save life? If that everlastin long Erie canal can secure to New York the supply of that far off country, most tother side of creation, surely a rail road of 45 miles can give you the trade of the Bay of Fundy. A rail road will go from Halifax to Windsor and make them one town, easier to send goods from one to tother, than from Governor Campbell's House to Admiral Cockburn's. A bridge makes a town, a river makes a town, a canal makes a town, but a rail road is bridge, river, thoroughfare, canal, all in one; what a wappin large place that would make, would'nt it? It would be the dandy, that's a fact. No, when you go back, take a piece of chalk, and the first dark night, write on every door in Halifax, in large letters—a rail road—and if they don't know the meanin of it, says you its a Yankee word; if you'll go to Sam Slick, the Clockmaker, (the chap that fixed a Yankee handle on to a Halifax blade, and I made him a scrape of my leg, as much as to say, that's you,) every man that buys a Clock shall hear all about a RAIL ROAD.