The Clockmaker

T >> Thomas Chandler Haliburton >> The Clockmaker

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"Father used to say, when I lived on the farm along with him, 'Sam,'
says he, 'I vow I wish there was jist four hundred days in the year,
for it's a plaguy sight too short for me. I can find as much work as
all hands on us can do for three hundred and sixty-five days, and
jist thirty-five days more, if we had 'em. We hain't got a minit to
spare; you must shell the corn and winner the grain at night, and
clean all up slick, or I guess we'll fall astarn as sure as the Lord
made Moses.' If he didn't keep us all at it, a-drivin' away full
chisel, the whole blessed time, it's a pity. There was no 'blowin'
time' there, you may depend. We ploughed all the fall for dear life;
in winter we thrashed, made and mended tools, went to market and
mill, and got out our firewood and rails. As soon as frost was gone,
came sowin' and plantin', weedin' and hoein'; then harvest and
spreadin' compost; then gatherin' manure, fencin' and ditchin'; and
then turn tu and fall ploughin' agin. It all went round like a wheel
without stoppin', and so fast, I guess you couldn't see the spokes,
just one long everlastin' stroke from July to etarnity, without time
to look back on the tracks. Instead of racin' over the country like
a young doctor, to show how busy a man is that has nothin' to do,
as Bluenose does, and then take a 'blowin' time,' we kept a rale
travellin' gait, an eight-mile-an-hour pace, the whole year round.
THEY BUY MORE NOR THEY SELL, AND EAT MORE THAN THEY RAISE, in this
country. What a pretty way that is, isn't it? If the critters knew
how to cipher, they would soon find out that a sum stated that way
always eends in a naught. I never knew it to fail, and I defy any
soul to cipher it so, as to make it come out any other way, either by
Schoolmaster's Assistant or Algebra. When I was a boy, the Slickville
bank broke, and an awful disorderment it made, that's a fact; nothin'
else was talked of. Well, I studied it over a long time, but I
couldn't make it out: so says I, 'Father, how came that 'ere bank to
break? Warn't it well built? I thought that 'ere Quincy granite was
so amazin' strong all natur' wouldn't break it.' 'Why you foolish
critter,' says he, 'it ain't the buildin' that's broke, it's the
consarn that's smashed.' 'Well,' says I, 'I know folks are plaguilly
consarned about it, but what do you call folks' "smashin' their
consarns"?' Father, he larfed out like anything; I thought he never
would stop; and sister Sall got right up and walked out of the room,
as mad as a hatter. Says she, 'Sam, I do believe you are a born fool,
I vow.' When father had done larfin', says he, 'I'll tell you, Sam,
how it was. They ciphered it so that they brought out nothin' for a
remainder.' 'Possible!' says I; 'I thought there was no eend to their
puss. I thought it was like Uncle Peleg's musquash hole, and that
no soul could ever find the bottom of. My!' says I. 'Yes,' says he,
'that 'ere bank spent and lost more money than it made, and when
folks do that, they must smash at last, if their puss be as long as
the national one of Uncle Sam.' This Province is like that 'ere Bank
of our'n, it's goin' the same road, and they'll find the little eend
of the horn afore they think they are halfway down to it.

"If folks would only give over talkin' about that everlastin' House
of Assembly and Council, and see to their farms, it would be better
for 'em, I guess; for arter all, what is it? Why it's only a sort of
first chop Grand Jury, and nothin' else. It's no more like Congress
or Parliament, than Marm Pugwash's keepin' room is like our State
hall. It's jist nothin'. Congress makes war and peace, has a say
in all treaties, confarms all great nominations of the President,
regilates the army and navy, governs twenty-four independent States,
and snaps its fingers in the face of all the nations of Europe, as
much as to say, who be you? I allot I am as big as you be. If you are
six foot high, I am six foot six in my stockin' feet, by gum, and
can lambaste any two on you in no time. The British can whip all the
world, and we can whip the British. But this little House of Assembly
that folks make such a touss about, what is it? Why jist a decent
Grand Jury. They make their presentments of little money votes, to
mend these everlastin' rottin' little wooden bridges, to throw a
poultice of mud once a year on the roads, and then take a 'blowin'
time' of three months and go home. The littler folks be, the bigger
they talk. You never seed a small man that didn't wear high heel
boots, and a high-crowned hat, and that warn't ready to fight most
any one, to show he was a man every inch of him.

"I met a member the other day, who swaggered near about as large as
Uncle Peleg. He looked as if he thought you couldn't find his 'ditto'
anywhere. He used some most particular educational words, genuine
jaw-breakers. He put me in mind of a squirrel I once shot in our wood
location. The little critter got a hickory nut in his mouth; well, he
found it too hard to crack, and too big to swaller, and for the life
and soul of him, he couldn't spit it out agin. If he didn't look
like a proper fool, you may depend. We had a pond back of our barn
about the bigness of a good sizeable wash-tub, and it was chock
full of frogs. Well, one of these little critters fancied himself a
bull-frog, and he puffed out his cheeks, and took a real 'blowin'
time' of it; he roared away like thunder; at last he puffed and
puffed out till he bust like a b'iler. If I see the Speaker this
winter (and I shall see him to a sartainty if they don't send for him
to London, to teach their new Speaker; and he's up to snuff, that
'ere man; he knows how to cipher), I'll jist say to him, 'Speaker,'
says I, 'if any of your folks in the House go to swell out like
dropsy, give 'em a hint in time.' Says you, 'if you have are a little
safety valve about you, let off a little steam now and then, or
you'll go for it; recollect the Clockmaker's story of the "Blowin'
time".'"

No. XXIV

Father John O'Shaughnessy.

"Tomorrow will be Sabbath day," said the Clockmaker; "I guess we'll
bide where we be till Monday. I like a Sabbath in the country; all
natur' seems at rest. There's a cheerfulness in the day here, you
don't find in towns. You have natur' before you here, and nothin' but
art there. The deathy stillness of a town, and the barred windows,
and shut shops, and empty streets, and great long lines of big brick
buildin's look melancholy. It seems as if life had ceased tickin',
but there hadn't been time for decay to take hold on there; as if day
had broke, but man slept. I can't describe exactly what I mean, but I
always feel kinder gloomy and wamblecropt there.

"Now in the country it's jist what it ought to be--a day of rest for
man and beast from labour. When a man rises on the Sabbath, and looks
out on the sunny fields and wavin' crops, his heart feels proper
grateful, and he says, Come, this is a splendid day, ain't it? Let's
get ready and put on our bettermost close, and go to meetin'. His
first thought is prayerfully to render thanks; and then when he goes
to worship he meets all his neighbours, and he knows them all, and
they are glad to see each other, and if any two on 'em hain't exactly
gee'd together durin' the week, why they meet on kind of neutral
ground, and the minister or neighbours make peace atween them. But
it ain't so in towns. You don't know no one you meet there. It's
the worship of neighbours, but it's the worship of strangers, too,
for neighbours don't know nor care about each other. Yes, I love a
Sabbath in the country."

While uttering this soliloquy, he took up a pamphlet from the table,
and turning to the title page, said, "Have you ever seen this here
book on the 'Elder Controversy?' (a controversy on the subject of
Infant Baptism). This author's friends say it's a clincher; they say
he has sealed up Elder's mouth as tight as a bottle."

"No," said I, "I have not; I have heard of it, but never read it.
In my opinion the subject has been exhausted already, and admits of
nothing new being said upon it. These religious controversies are
a serious injury to the cause of true religion; they are deeply
deplored by the good and moderate men of all parties. It has already
embraced several denominations in the dispute in this Province, and
I hear the agitation has extended to New Brunswick, where it will
doubtless be renewed with equal zeal. I am told all the pamphlets are
exceptionable in point of temper, and this one in particular, which
not only ascribes the most unworthy motives to its antagonist, but
contains some very unjustifiable and gratuitous attacks upon other
sects unconnected with the dispute. The author has injured his own
cause, for an INTEMPERATE ADVOCATE IS MORE DANGEROUS THAN AN OPEN
FOE."

"There is no doubt on it," said the Clockmaker, "it is as clear as
mud, and you are not the only one that thinks so, I tell you. About
the hottest time of the dispute, I was to Halifax, and who should
I meet but Father John O'Shaughnessy, a Catholic Priest. I had met
him afore in Cape Breton, and had sold him a clock. Well, he was
a-leggin' it off hot foot. 'Possible!' says I, 'Father John, is that
you? Why, what on airth is the matter of you? What makes you in such
an everlastin' hurry, driven away like one ravin' distracted mad?' 'A
sick visit,' says he; 'poor Pat Lanigan--him that you mind to Bradore
Lake--well he's near about at the p'int of death.' 'I guess not,'
said I, 'for I jist heerd tell he was dead.' Well, that brought him
up all standin', and he 'bouts ship in a jiffy, and walks a little
way with me, and we got a-talkin' about this very subject. Says he,
'What are you, Mr. Slick?' Well, I looks up to him and winks--'A
Clockmaker,' says I. Well he smiled, and says he, 'I see;' as much
as to say I hadn't ought to have axed that 'ere question at all,
I guess, for every man's religion is his own, and nobody else's
business. 'Then,' says he, 'you know all about this country. Who
do folks say has the best of the dispute?' Says I, 'Father John,
it's like the battles up to Canada lines last war, each side claims
victory; I guess there ain't much to brag on nary way, damage done on
both sides, and nothin' gained, as far as I can learn.' He stopped
short, and looked me in the face, and says he, 'Mr. Slick you are a
man that has seed a good deal of the world, and a considerable of an
understandin' man, and I guess I can talk to you. Now,' says he, 'for
gracious sake do jist look here, and see how you heretics--protestants
I mean,' says he (for I guess that 'ere word slipped out without
leave), 'are by the ears, a-drivin' away at each other, the whole
blessed time, tooth and nail, hip and thigh, hammer and tongs,
disputin', revilin', wranglin', and beloutin' each other, with all
sorts of ugly names that they can lay their tongues to. Is that the
way you love your neighbour as yourself? WE SAY THIS IS A PRACTICAL
COMMENT ON SCHISM, and by the powers of Moll Kelly,' said he, 'but
they all ought to be well lambasted together, the whole batch on 'em
entirely.' Says I, 'Father John, give me your hand; there are some
things, I guess, you and I don't agree on, and most likely never will,
seein' that you are a Popish priest; but in that idee I do opinionate
with you, and I wish with all my heart all the world thought with us.'

"I guess he didn't half like that 'ere word Popish priest, it seemed
to grig him like; his face looked kinder riled, like well water arter
a heavy rain; and said he, 'Mr. Slick,' says he, 'your country is a
free country, ain't it?' 'The freest,' says I, 'on the face of the
airth--you can't "ditto" it nowhere. We are as free as the air, and
when our dander's up, stronger than any hurricane you ever seed--tear
up all creation 'most; there ain't the beat of it to be found
anywhere.' 'Do you call this a free country?' said he. 'Pretty
considerable middlin',' says I, 'seein' that they are under a king.'
'Well,' says he, 'if you were seen in Connecticut a-shakin' hands
along with a Popish priest, as you are pleased to call me' (and he
made me a bow, as much as to say mind your trumps the next deal), 'as
you now are in the streets of Halifax along with me, with all your
crackin' and boastin' of your freedom, I guess you wouldn't sell a
clock agin in that State for one while, I tell you;' and he bid me
good mornin' and turned away. 'Father John!' says I. 'I can't stop,'
says he; 'I must see that poor critter's family; they must be in
great trouble, and a sick visit is afore controvarsy in my creed.'
'Well,' says I, 'one word with you afore you go; if that 'ere name
Popish priest was an ongenteel one, I ax your pardon; I didn't mean
no offence, I do assure you, and I'll say this for your satisfaction,
tu; you're the first man in this Province that ever gave me a real
right down complete checkmate since I first sot foot in it, I'll be
skinned if you ain't.'

"Yes," said Mr. Slick, "Father John was right; these antagonizing
chaps ought to be well quilted, the whole raft of 'em. It fairly
makes me sick to see the folks, each on 'em a-backin' up of their
own man. 'At it agin!' says one; 'Fair play!' says another; 'Stick
it into him!' says a third; and 'That's your sort!' says a fourth.
Them are the folks who do mischief. They show such clear grit, it
fairly frightens me. It makes my hair stand right up on eend to see
ministers do that 'ere. IT APPEARS TO ME THAT I COULD WRITE A BOOK IN
FAVOUR OF MYSELF AND MY NOTIONS WITHOUT, WRITIN' AGIN ANY ONE, AND IF
I COULDN'T I WOULDN'T WRITE AT ALL, I SNORE. Our old minister, Mr.
Hopewell (a real good man, and a larned man too that), they sent to
him once to write agin the Unitarians, for they are a-goin' ahead
like statiee in New England, but he refused. Said he, 'Sam,' says he,
'when I first went to Cambridge, there was a boxer and wrastler came
there, and he beat every one wherever he went. Well, old Mr. Possit
was the Church of England parson at Charlestown, at the time, and a
terrible powerful man he was--a real sneezer, and as ACTIVE as a
weasel. Well, the boxer met him one day, a little way out of town,
a-takin' of his evenin' walk, and said he, "Parson," says he, "they
say you are a most a plaguy strong man and uncommon stiff too."
"Now," says he, "I never seed a man yet that was a match for me;
would you have any objection jist to let me be availed of your
strength here in a friendly way, by ourselves, where no soul would
be the wiser; if you will I'll keep dark about it, I swan." "Go your
way," said the Parson, "and tempt me not; you are a carnal-minded,
wicked man, and I take no pleasure in such vain idle sports." "Very
well," said the boxer; "now here I stand," says he, "in the path,
right slap afore you; if you pass round me, then I take it as a sign
that you are afeard on me, and if you keep the path, why then you
must first put me out--that's a fact." The Parson jist made a spring
forrard, and kitched him up as quick as wink, and throwed him right
over the fence whap on the broad of his back, and then walked on as
if nothin' had happened--as demure as you please, and lookin' as meek
as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Stop," said the boxer, as
soon as he picked himself up, "stop Parson," said he, "that's a good
man, and jist chuck over my horse too, will you, for I swan I believe
you could do one near about as easy as t'other. My!" said he, "if
that don't bang the bush; you are another guess chap from what I took
you to be, anyhow."

"'Now,' said Mr. Hopewell, says he, 'I won't write, but if ary a
Unitarian crosses my path, I'll jist over the fence with him in no
time, as the parson did the boxer; FOR WRITIN' ONLY AGGRAVATES YOUR
OPPONENTS, AND NEVER CONVINCES THEM. I NEVER SEED A CONVERT MADE BY
THAT WAY YET; BUT I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I HAVE SEED: A MAN SET HIS OWN
FLOCK A DOUBTIN' BY HIS OWN WRITIN'. YOU MAY HAPPIFY YOUR ENEMIES,
CANTANKERATE YOUR OPPONENTS, AND INJURE YOUR OWN CAUSE BY IT, BUT I
DEFY YOU TO SARVE IT. These writers,' said he, 'put me in mind of
that 'ere boxer's pupils. He would sometimes set two on 'em to spar;
well, they'd put on their gloves and begin, larfin' and jokin' all in
good humour. Presently one on 'em would put in a pretty hard blow;
well, t'other would return it in airnest. "Oh," says the other, "if
that's your play, off gloves and at it;" and sure enough, away would
fly their gloves, and at it they'd go tooth and nail.

"'No, Sam, the misfortin' is, we are all apt to think Scriptur'
intended for our neighbours, and not for ourselves. The poor all
think it made for the rich. "Look at that 'ere Dives," they say,
"what an all-fired scrape he got into by his avarice, with Lazarus;
and ain't it writ as plain as anything, that them folks will find it
as easy to go to heaven, as for a camel to go through the eye of a
needle?" Well, then, the rich think it all made for the poor--that
they shan't steal nor bear false witness, but shall be obedient to
them that's in authority. And as for them 'ere Unitarians,' and he
always got his dander up when he spoke of them, 'why there's no doin'
nothin' with them,' says he. 'When they get fairly stumped, and you
produce a text that they can't get over, nor get round, why they say
"It ain't in our varsion at all; that's an interpolation, it's an
invention of them 'ere everlastin' monks;" there's nothin' left for
you to do with them, but to sarve them as Parson Possit detailed the
boxer--lay right hold of 'em, and chuck 'em over the fence, even if
they were as big as all out doors. That's what our folks ought to
have done with 'em at first, pitched 'em clean out of the state, and
let 'em go down to Nova Scotia, or some such outlandish place, for
they ain't fit to live in no christian country at all.

"'Fightin' is no way to make converts; THE TRUE WAY IS TO WIN 'EM.
You may stop a man's mouth, Sam,' says he, 'by a-crammin' a book down
his throat, but you won't convince him. It's a fine thing to write
a book all covered over with Latin, and Greek, and Hebrew, like a
bridle that's real jam, all spangled with brass nails, but who knows
whether it's right or wrong? Why, not one in ten thousand. If I had
my religion to choose, and warn't able to judge for myself, I'll tell
you what I'd do: I'd just ask myself WHO LEADS THE BEST LIVES? Now,'
says he, 'Sam, I won't say who do, because it would look like vanity
to say it was the folks who hold to our platform, but I'll tell you
who don't. IT AIN'T THEM THAT MAKES THE GREATEST PROFESSIONS ALWAYS;
and mind what I tell you, Sam, when you go a-tradin' with your clocks
away down east to Nova Scotia, and them wild provinces, keep a bright
look out on them as cant too much, FOR A LONG FACE is plaguy apt to
COVER A LONG CONSCIENCE--that's a fact.'"

No. XXV

Taming a Shrew.

The road from Amherst to Parrsboro' is tedious and uninteresting. In
places it is made so straight that you can see several miles of it
before you, which produces an appearance of interminable length,
while the stunted growth of the spruce and birch trees bespeaks a
cold, thin soil, and invests the scene with a melancholy and sterile
aspect. Here and there occurs a little valley, with its meandering
stream, and verdant and fertile interval, which, though possessing
nothing peculiar to distinguish it from many others of the same kind,
strikes the traveller as superior to them all, from the contrast to
the surrounding country. One of these secluded spots attracted my
attention, from the number and neatness of the buildings, which its
proprietor, a tanner and currier, had erected for the purposes of his
trade. Mr. Slick said he knew him, and he guessed it was a pity he
couldn't keep his wife in as good order as he did his factory.

"They don't hitch their horses together well at all. He is properly
hen-pecked," said he; "he is afeerd to call his soul his own, and he
leads the life of a dog; you never seed the beat of it, I vow. Did
you ever see a rooster hatch a brood of chickens?"

"No," said I, "not that I can recollect."

"Well then I have," said he, "and if he don't look like a fool all
the time he is a-settin' on the eggs, it's a pity; no soul could help
larfin' to see him. Our old nigger, January Snow, had a spite agin
one of father's roosters, seein' that he was a coward, and wouldn't
fight. He used to call him Dearborne, arter our General that behaved
so ugly to Canada; and, says he one day, 'I guess you are no better
than a hen, you everlastin' old chicken-hearted villain, and I'll
make you a larfin' stock to all the poultry. I'll put a trick on you
you'll bear in mind all your born days.' So he catches old Dearborne,
and pulls all the feathers off his breast, and strips him as naked as
when he was born, from his throat clean down to his tail, and then
takes a bundle of nettles and gives him a proper switchin' that stung
him, and made him smart like mad; then he warms some eggs and puts
them in a nest, and sets the old cock right a top of 'em. Well, the
warmth of the eggs felt good to the poor critter's naked belly, and
kinder kept the itchin' of the nettles down, and he was glad to bide
where he was; and whenever he was tired and got off his skin felt so
cold, he'd run right back and squat down agin; and when his feathers
began to grow, and he got obstropolous, he got another ticklin' with
the nettles, that made him return double quick to his location. In a
little time he larnt the trade real complete. Now, this John Porter
(and there he is on the bridge, I vow; I never seed the beat o' that,
speak of old Satan and he's sure to appear), well, he's jist like old
Dearborne, only fit to hatch eggs."

When we came to the Bridge, Mr. Slick stopped his horse, to shake
hands with Porter, whom he recognized as an old acquaintance and
customer. He enquired after a bark-mill he had smuggled from the
States for him, and enlarged on the value of such a machine, and the
cleverness of his countrymen who invented such useful and profitable
articles; and was recommending a new process of tanning, when a
female voice from the house was heard, vociferating, "John Porter,
come here this minute." "Coming, my dear," said the husband. "Come
here, I say, directly, why do you stand talking to that Yankee
villain there." The poor husband hung his head, looked silly, and
bidding us good-bye, returned slowly to the house.

As we drove on, Mr. Slick said, "That was me--I did that."

"Did what?" said I.

"That was me that sent him back; I called him and not his wife. I
had that 'ere bestowment ever since I was knee high or so; I'm a
real complete hand at ventriloquism; I can take off any man's voice I
ever heerd to the very nines. If there was a law agin forgin' that as
there is for handwritin', I guess I should have been hanged long ago.
I've had high goes with it many a time, but it's plaguy dangersome,
and I don't pracTISE it now but seldom. I had a real bout with that
'ere citizen's wife once, and completely broke her in for him; she
went as gentle as a circus horse for a space, but he let her have her
head agin, and she's as bad as ever now. I'll tell you how it was.

"I was down to the Island a-sellin' clocks, and who should I meet but
John Porter; well, I traded with him for one, part cash, part truck
and proDUCE, and also put off on him that 'ere bark-mill you heerd me
axin' about, and it was pretty considerable on in the evenin' afore
we finished our trade. I came home along with him, and had the clock
in the wagon to fix it up for him, and to show him how to regilate
it. Well, as we neared his house, he began to fret and take on
dreadful oneasy; says he, 'I hope Jane won't be abed, 'cause if she
is she'll act ugly, I do suppose.' I had heerd tell of her afore; how
she used to carry a stiff upper lip, and make him and the broomstick
well acquainted together; and, says I, 'Why do you put up with her
tantrums, I'd make a fair division of the house with her, if it was
me; I'd take the inside and allocate her the outside of it pretty
quick, that's a fact.' Well, when we came to the house, there was no
light in it, and the poor critter looked so streaked and down in the
mouth, I felt proper sorry for him. When he rapped at the door, she
called out, 'Who's there?' 'It's me, dear,' says Porter. 'You, is
it,' said she, 'then you may stay where you be, them as gave you your
supper, may give you your bed, instead of sendin' you sneakin' home
at night like a thief.' Said I, in a whisper, says I, 'Leave her
to me, John Porter; jist take the horses up to the barn, and see
after them, and I'll manage her for you, I'll make her as sweet as
sugary candy, never fear.' The barn, you see, is a good piece off
to the eastward of the house; and, as soon as he was cleverly out
of hearin', says I, a-imitatin' of his voice to the life, 'Do let me
in, Jane,' says I, 'that's a dear critter; I've brought you home some
things you'll like, I know.' Well, she was an awful jealous critter;
says she, 'Take 'em to her you spent the evenin' with, I don't want
you nor your presents neither.' Arter a good deal of coaxin' I stood
on t'other tack, and began to threaten to break the door down; says
I, 'You old unhansum lookin' sinner, you vinerger cruet you, open
the door this minit or I'll smash it right in.' That grigged her
properly, it made her very wrathy (for nothin' sets up a woman's
spunk like callin' her ugly; she gets her back right up like a cat
when a strange dog comes near her; she's all eyes, claws and
bristles).

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