In the Parliament building we study the old portraits, concluding that
the wigs must have been uncomfortable. Octavius wickedly hints that
there is a fashion among ladies of the present time! - but as he does
not tread on our toes, we ignore this insinuation, and turn our
attention to the elaborate ornamentation of the woodwork - which is all
antique hand-carving - in the council chambers; and are much interested
in some rare old books in the Library, - among them a copy of the Psalms,
three hundred years old; and another, with music, dated 1612. Here also
we see and are actually allowed to handle a book, -
"PRESENTED
TO
THE LEGISLATIVE LIBRARY
OF
NOVA SCOTIA
IN MEMORY OF HER GREAT AND GOOD HUSBAND
BY
HIS BROKEN-HEARTED WIDOW
VICTORIA R."
and of course are duly overpowered at beholding the valuable autograph
of that sovereign.
In one of the churches we are informed that a certain balustrade "is
from America, and is all marvel" but do not find it marvelously
beautiful nevertheless.
Of the gardens the natives are justly proud, as in this moist atmosphere
plants, trees, and flowers flourish remarkably; still, we are not
willing to concede that they are "the finest in America", as we have
been told.
We conclude, as we pass the large Admiralty House, with its spacious
and beautiful grounds, that Sir Somebody Something must find it a
comfortable thing to be
"monarch of the sea, the ruler of the Queen's nave,"
and may with reason say, -
"When at anchor here I ride, my bosom swells with pride,"
while Halifax herself, with her famous harbor, in which the navy of a
great and powerful nation could find safe anchorage, with room to spare,
might justly finish out his song with the appropriate words concluding
the verse: -
"And I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts!"
Then the Citadel, the very name of which revives reminiscences of
Quebec, and suggests something out of the every-day order of summer
jaunts. As we ascend the hill to the fortress, the first thing
attracting our attention is amusing. The "squatty" looking clock tower,
which appears as if part of a church spire, had been carried away by a
high wind and dropped down on this embankment. Octavius says, "What a
jolly place for coasting, if it were not for the liability of being
plunged into the harbor at the foot!" as we mount the hill. At the gate
we are consigned to the care of a tall soldier, whose round fatigue cap
must be glued to his head, or it certainly would fall off, so extreme
is the angle at which it inclines over his ear. A company of soldiers
are drilling within the enclosure, their scarlet coats quite dazzling
in the bright sunlight and in contrast with the cold gray granite; while
others, at opposite angles of the walls, are practicing signals with
flags, the maneuvers of the latter being quite entertaining as they
wave the banners, now slowly, now rapidly, diagonally, vertically,
horizontally, or frantically overhead, as if suddenly distraught.
Probably this exercise could be seen in any of our forts; but as we are
now beyond the borders of the United States, every detail interests us,
and we have become astonishingly observant. The gloomy and massive bomb
proof walls of the soldiers' quarters appear quite prison-like, with
their narrow windows; and our guide, speaking of the monotony of
garrison life, rejoices that in a few months his term of service will
expire, and then he "will go to the States".
"The States" seem to be a Land of Promise to many people of this region;
and, though this is gratifying to our national pride, we cannot but see
that many make a mistake in going to "America"; as, for instance, the
young girls of Annapolis, who, leaving comfortable homes, the away to
Boston, where, if they can get positions in an already crowded field,
they wear themselves out in factories; or, having a false pride which
prevents them from acknowledging failure and returning home, they remain
until, broken down by discouragement and disappointment, compelled to
accept charity. On this account the service at Annapolis is not what
might be desired; and Octavius humorously wonders, when the "green hand"
persistently offers him viands from the wrong side, "how he is expected
to reach the plate unless he puts his arm around her."
"But we digress." As our party, with other sight seers who have joined
the procession, promenade about the fort, a culprit in the guardroom
catches sight of the visitors as they pass, and, evidently for their
hearing, sings mischievously, -
"Farewell, my own!
Light of my life, farewell!
For crime unknown
I go to a dungeon cell"
We conclude, as he is so musical about it, that he does not feel very
much disgraced or oppressed by his imprisonment, though some one
curiously inquiring "why he is there", learns that it is for a trifling
misdemeanor, and that punishments are not generally severe; though the
guide tells of one soldier who, he says, "threw his cap at the Colonel,
and got five years for it; and we thought he'd get ten."
From the ramparts the picture extending before us southeastwardly is
very fine indeed, as, over the rusty houses shouldering each other up
the hill so that we can almost look down the chimneys, we look out to
the fortified islands and points, with the ocean beyond.
Point Pleasant, thickly wooded to the water's edge, hides the strangely
beautiful inlet from the harbor known as the North West Arm, which cuts
into the land for a distance of four miles (half a mile in width),
suggesting a Norwegian fiord; but that, and the country all about the
city, we enjoy in a long drive later.
