The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete

by Thomas Chandler Haliburton

  CHAPTER VIII. SEEING LIVERPOOL.

  On looking back to any given period of our life, we generally find thatthe intervening time appears much shorter than it really is. We see atonce the starting-post and the terminus, and the mind takes in at oneview the entire space.

  But this observation is more peculiarly applicable to a short passageacross the Atlantic. Knowing how great the distance is, and accustomedto consider the voyage as the work of many weeks, we are so astonishedat finding ourselves transported in a few days, from one continent toanother, that we can hardly credit the evidence of our own senses.

  Who is there that on landing has not asked himself the question, "Is itpossible that I am in England? It seems but as yesterday that I was inAmerica, to-day I am in Europe. Is it a dream, or a reality?"

  The river and the docks--the country and the town--the people and theiraccent--the verdure and the climate are all new to me. I have not beenprepared for this; I have not been led on imperceptibly, by travellingmile after mile by land from my own home, to accustom my senses to thegradual change of country. There has been no border to pass, where thelanguage, the dress, the habits, and outward appearances assimilate.There has been no blending of colours--no dissolving views in theretrospect--no opening or expanding ones in prospect. I have nodifficulty in ascertaining the point where one terminates and the otherbegins.

  The change is sudden and startling. The last time I slept on shore,was in America--to-night I sleep in England. The effect is magical--onecountry is withdrawn from view, and another is suddenly presented to myastonished gaze. I am bewildered; I rouse myself, and rubbing my eyes,again ask whether I am awake? Is this England? that great country, thatworld of itself; Old England, that place I was taught to call home _parexcellence_, the home of other homes, whose flag, I called our flag?(no, I am wrong, I have been accustomed to call our flag, the flag ofEngland; our church, not the Church of Nova Scotia, nor the Colonial northe Episcopal, nor the Established, but the Church of England.) Isit then that England, whose language I speak, whose subject I am, themistress of the world, the country of Kings and Queens, and nobles andprelates, and sages and heroes?

  I have read of it, so have I read of old Rome; but the sight of Rome,Caesar and the senate would not astonish me more than that of London,the Queen and the Parliament. Both are yet ideal; the imagination hassketched them, but when were its sketches ever true to nature? I havea veneration for both, but, gentle reader, excuse the confessions of anold man, for I have a soft spot in the heart yet, _I love Old England_.I love its institutions, its literature, its people. I love its law,because, while it protects property, it ensures liberty. I love itschurch, not only because I believe it is the true church, but becausethough armed with power, it is tolerant in practice. I love itsconstitution, because it combines the stability of a monarchy, with themost valuable peculiarities of a republic, and without violating natureby attempting to make men equal, wisely follow its dictates, by securingfreedom to all.

  I like the people, though not all in the same degree. They are not whatthey were. Dissent, reform and agitation have altered their character.It is necessary to distinguish. A _real_ Englishman is generous, loyaland brave, manly in his conduct and gentlemanly in his feeling. When Imeet such a man as this, I cannot but respect him; but when I find thatin addition to these good qualities, he has the further recommendationof being a churchman in his religion and a tory in his politics, I knowthen that his heart is in the right place, and I love him.

  The drafts of these chapters were read to Mr. Slick, at his particularrequest, that he might be assured they contained nothing that wouldinjure his election as President of the United States, in the event ofthe Slickville ticket becoming hereafter the favourite one. This, hesaid, was on the cards, strange as it might seem, for making a fool ofJohn Bull and turning the laugh on him, would be sure to take and bepopular. The last paragraphs, he said, he affectioned and approbatedwith all his heart.

  "It is rather tall talkin' that," said he; "I like its patronisin' tone.There is sunthin' goodish in a colonist patronisin' a Britisher. It'sturnin' the tables on 'em; it's sarvin' 'em out in their own way. Lord,I think I see old Bull put his eye-glass up and look at you, with a deadaim, and hear him say, 'Come, this is cuttin' it rather fat.' Or, asthe feller said to his second wife, when she tapped him on the shoulder,'Marm, my first wife was a _Pursy_, and she never presumed to take thatliberty.' Yes, that's good, Squire. Go it, my shirt-tails! you'll win ifyou get in fust, see if you don't. Patronizin' a Britisher!!! A critterthat has Lucifer's pride, Arkwright's wealth, and Bedlam's sense, ain'tit rich? Oh, wake snakes and walk your chalks, will you! Give me yourfiggery-four Squire, I'll go in up to the handle for you. Hit or miss,rough or tumble, claw or mud-scraper, any way, you damn please, I'm yourman."

  But to return to my narrative. I was under the necessity of devoting theday next after our landing at Liverpool, to writing letters announcingmy safe arrival to my anxious friends in Nova Scotia, and in differentparts of England; and also some few on matters of business. Mr. Slickwas very urgent in his request, that I should defer this work tillthe evening, and accompany him in a stroll about the town, and at lastbecame quite peevish at my reiterated refusal.

  "You remind me, Squire," said he, "of Rufus Dodge, our great ilemarchant of Boston, and as you won't walk, p'raps you'll talk, so I'lljist tell you the story.

  "I was once at the Cataract House to Niagara. It is jist a shortdistance above the Falls. Out of the winders, you have a view of thesplendid white waters, or the rapids of foam, afore the river takes itseverlastin' leap over the cliff.

  "Well, Rufus come all the way from Boston to see the Falls: he said hedidn't care much about them hisself, seein' that he warn't in the millbusiness; but, as he was a goin' to England, he didn't like to say hehadn't been there, especially as all the English knowed about Americawas, that there was a great big waterfall called Niagara, an everlastin'Almighty big river called Mississippi, and a parfect pictur of a wappin'big man called Kentuckian there. Both t'other ones he'd seen over andover agin, but Niagara he'd never sot eyes on.

  "So as soon as he arrives, he goes into the public room, and looks atthe white waters, and, sais he, 'Waiter,' sais he, 'is them the fallsdown there?' a-pintin' by accident in the direction where the Fallsactilly was.

  "'Yes, Sir,' sais the waiter.

  "'Hem!' sais Rufe, 'them's the Falls of Niagara, eh! So I've seen theFalls at last, eh! Well it's pretty too: they ain't bad, that's a fact.So them's the Falls of Niagara! How long is it afore the stage starts?'

  "'An hour, Sir.'

  "'Go and book me for Boston, and then bring me a paper.'

  "'Yes, Sir.'

  "Well he got his paper and sot there a readin' of it, and every nowand then, he'd look out of the winder and say: 'So them's the Falls ofNiagara, eh? Well, it's a pretty little mill privilege that too, ain'tit; but it ain't just altogether worth comin' so far to see. So I'veseen the Falls at last!'

  "Arter a while in comes a Britisher.

  "'Waiter,' says he, 'how far is it to the Falls?'

  "'Little over a half a mile, Sir.'

  "'Which way do you get there?'

  "'Turn to the right, and then to the left, and then go a-head.'

  "Rufe heard all this, and it kinder seemed dark to him; so artercypherin' it over in his head a bit, 'Waiter,' says he, 'ain't them theFalls of Niagara, I see there?'

  "'No, Sir.'

  "'Well, that's tarnation all over now. Not the Falls?'

  "'No, Sir.'

  "'Why, you don't mean to say, that them are ain't the Falls?'

  "'Yes, I do, Sir.'

  "'Heaven and airth! I've come hundreds of miles a puppus to see 'em, andnothin' else; not a bit of trade, or speckelation, or any airthly thingbut to see them cussed Falls, and come as near as 100 cents to a dollar,startin' off without sein' 'em arter all. If it hadn't a been for thatare Britisher I was sold, that's a fact. Can I run down there and backin half an hour in time for t
he stage?'

  "'Yes, Sir, but you will have no time to see them.'

  "'See 'em, cuss 'em, I don't want to see 'em, I tell you. I want to lookat 'em, I want to say I was to the Falls, that's all. Give me my hat,quick! So them ain't the Falls! I ha'n't see'd the Falls of Niagaraarter all. What a devil of a take-in that is, ain't it?' And he dovedown stairs like a Newfoundland dog into a pond arter a stone, and outof sight in no time.

  "Now, you are as like Rufe, as two peas, Squire. You want to say, youwas to Liverpool, but you don't want to see nothin'.'

  "Waiter."

  "Sir."

  "Is this Liverpool, I see out of the Winder?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Guess I have seen Liverpool then. So this is the great city ofLiverpool, eh? When does the train start for London?"

  "In half an hour, Sir?"

  "Book me for London then, for I have been to Liverpool and seen thecity. Oh, take your place, Squire, you have seen Liverpool; and if yousee as much of all other places, as you have of this here one, afore youreturn home, you will know most as much of England as them do that neverwas there at all.

  "I am sorry too, you won't go, Squire," added he, "for minister seemskinder dull."

  "Don't say another word, Mr. Slick," said I; "every thing shall give wayto him." And locking up my writing-desk I said: "I am ready."

  "Stop, Squire," said he, "I've got a favour to ask of you. Don't forgracious sake, say nothin' before Mr. Hopewell about that 'ere lark Ihad last night arter landin', it would sorter worry him, and set him offa-preachin', and I'd rather he'd strike me any time amost than lectur,for he does it so tender and kindly, it hurts my feelins _like_, aconsiderable sum. I've had a pretty how-do-ye-do about it this mornin',and have had to plank down handsum', and do the thing genteel; butMister Landlord found, I reckon, he had no fool to deal with, nother. Hecomes to me, as soon as I was cleverly up this mornin', lookin' as fullof importance, as Jube Japan did when I put the Legation button on him.

  "'Bad business this, Sir,' says he; 'never had such a scene in my housebefore, Sir; have had great difficulty to prevent my sarvants takin' thelaw of you.'

  "'Ah,' sais I to myself, 'I see how the cat jumps; here's a little tidbit of extortion now; but you won't find that no go, I don't think.'

  "'You will have to satisfy them, Sir,' says he, 'or take theconsequences.'

  "'Sartainly,' said I, 'any thin' you please: I leave it entirely to you;jist name what you think proper, and I will liquidate it.'

  "'I said, I knew you would behave like a gentleman, Sir,' sais he, 'for,sais I, don't talk to me of law, name it to the gentleman, and he'll dowhat is right; he'll behave liberal, you may depend.'

  "'You said right,' sais I, 'and now, Sir, what's the damage?'

  "'Fifty pounds, I should think about the thing, Sir,' said he.

  "'Certainly,' said I, 'you shall have the fifty pounds, but you mustgive me a receipt in full for it.'

  "'By all means,' said he, and he was a cuttin' off full chisel to get astamp, when I sais, 'Stop,' sais I, 'uncle, mind and put in the receipt,the bill of items, and charge 'em separate?'

  "'Bill of items? sais he.

  "'Yes,' sais I, 'let me see what each is to get. Well, there's thewaiter, now. Say to knockin' down the waiter and kicking him, so much;then there's the barmaid so much, and so on. I make no objection, I amwillin' to pay all you ask, but I want to include all, for I intend topost a copy of it in the elegant cabins of each of our splendid New YorkLiners. This house convenes the Americans--they all know _me_. I wantthem to know how their _Attache_ was imposed on, and if any Americanever sets foot in this cussed house agin I will pay his bill, and postthat up too, as a letter of credit for him.'

  "'You wouldn't take that advantage of me, Sir?' said he.

  "'I take no advantage,' sais I. 'I'll pay you what you ask, but youshall never take advantage agin of another free and enlightened Americancitizen, I can tell you.'

  "'You must keep your money then, Sir,' said he, 'but this is not a fairdeal; no gentleman would do it.'

  "'What's fair, I am willin' to do,' sais I; 'what's onfair, is whatyou want to do. Now, look here: I knocked the waiter down; here is twosovereigns for him; I won't pay him nothin' for the kickin', for thatI give him out of contempt, for not defendin' of himself. Here's threesovereigns for the bar-maid; she don't ought to have nothin', for shenever got so innocent a kiss afore, in all her born days I know, forI didn't mean no harm, and she never got so good a one afore nother,that's a fact; but then _I_ ought to pay, I do suppose, because I hadn'tought to treat a lady that way; it was onhansum', that's fact; andbesides, it tante right to give the galls a taste for such things. Theycome fast enough in the nateral way, do kisses, without inokilatin'folks for 'em. And here's a sovereign for the scoldin' and siscerarin'you gave the maid, that spilt the coals and that's an eend of thematter, and I don't want no receipt.'

  "Well, he bowed and walked off, without sayin' of a word."

  Here Mr. Hopewell joined us, and we descended to the street, to commenceour perambulation of the city; but it had begun to rain, and we werecompelled to defer it until the next day.

  "Well, it ain't much matter, Squire," said Mr. Slick: "ain't thatLiverpool, I see out of the winder? Well, then I've been to Liverpool.Book me for London. So I have seen Liverpool at last, eh! or, as Rufussaid, I have felt it too, for this wet day reminds me of the rest of hisstory.

  "In about a half hour arter Rufus raced off to the Falls, back hecomes as hard as he could tear, a-puffing and a blowin' like a sizeablegrampus. You never seed such a figure as he was, he was wet through andthrough, and the dry dust stickin' to his clothes, made him look like adog, that had jumped into the water, and then took a roll in the road todry hisself; he was a caution to look at, that's a fact.

  "'Well,' sais I, 'Stranger, did you see the Falls?'

  "'Yes,' sais he, 'I have see'd 'em and felt 'em too; them's very wetFalls, that's a fact. I hante a dry rag on me; if it hadn't a been forthat ere Britisher, I wouldn't have see'd 'em at all, and yet a thoughtI had been there all the time. It's a pity too, that that winder don'tbear on it, for then you could see it without the trouble of goin'there, or gettin' ducked, or gettin' skeered so. I got an awful frightthere--I shall never forget it, if I live as long as Merusalem. You knowI hadn't much time left, when. I found out I hadn't been there arterall, so I ran all the way, right down as hard as I could clip; and,seein' some folks comin' out from onder the Fall, I pushed strait in,but the noise actilly stunned me, and the spray wet me through andthrough like a piece of sponged cloth; and the great pourin', bilin'flood, blinded me so I couldn't see a bit; and I hadn't gone far in,afore a cold, wet, clammy, dead hand, felt my face all over. I believein my soul, it was the Indian squaw that went over the Falls in thecanoe, or the crazy Englisher, that tried to jump across it.

  "'Oh creation, how cold it was! The moment that spirit rose, mine fell,and I actilly thought I should have dropt lumpus, I was so skeered. Giveme your hand, said Ghost, for I didn't see nothin' but a kinder darkshadow. Give me your hand. I think it must ha' been the squaw, for itbegged for all the world, jist like an Indgian. I'd see you hanged fust,said I; I wouldn't touch that are dead tacky hand o' yourn' for half amillion o' hard dollars, cash down without any ragged eends; and withthat, I turned to run out, but Lord love you I couldn't run. The stoneswas all wet and slimy, and onnateral slippy, and I expected everyminute, I should heels up and go for it: atween them two critters theGhost and the juicy ledge, I felt awful skeered I tell _you_. So Ibegins to say my catechism; what's your name, sais I? Rufus Dodge. Whogave you that name? Godfather and godmother granny Eells. What didthey promise for you? That I should renounce the devil and all hisworks--works--works--I couldn't get no farther, I stuck fast there, forI had forgot it.

  "'The moment I stopt, ghost kinder jumped forward, and seized me by mymustn't-mention'ems, and most pulled the seat out. Oh dear! my heartmost went out along with it, for I thought my time had come. You blackshe
-sinner of a heathen Indgian! sais I; let me go this blessed minite,for I renounce the devil and all his works, the devil and all hisworks--so there now; and I let go a kick behind, the wickedest you eversee, and took it right in the bread basket. Oh, it yelled and howledand screached like a wounded hyaena, till my ears fairly cracked agin.I renounce you, Satan, sais I; I renounce you, and the world, and theflesh and the devil. And now, sais I, a jumpin' on terry firm once more,and turnin' round and facin' the enemy, I'll promise a little dust morefor myself, and that is to renounce Niagara, and Indgian squaws, anddead Britishers, and the whole seed, breed and generation of 'em fromthis time forth, for evermore. Amen.

  "'Oh blazes! how cold my face is yet. Waiter, half a pint of clearcocktail; somethin' to warm me. Oh, that cold hand! Did you ever touch adead man's hand? it's awful cold, you may depend. Is there any marks onmy face? do you see the tracks of the fingers there?'

  "'No, Sir,' sais I,' I can't say I do.'

  "'Well, then I feel them there,' sais he, 'as plain as any thing.'

  "'Stranger,' sais I, 'it was nothin' but some poor no-souled critter,like yourself, that was skeered a'most to death, and wanted to be helpedout that's all."

  "'Skeered!' said he, 'sarves him right then; he might have knowed how tofeel for other folks, and not funkify them so peskily; I don't keer ifhe never gets out; but I have my doubts about its bein' a livin' human,I tell _you_. If I hadn't a renounced the devil and all his works thattime, I don't know what the upshot would have been, for Old Scratch wasthere too. I saw him as plain as I see you; he ran out afore me, andcouldn't stop or look back, as long as I said catekism. He was in hisold shape of the sarpent; he was the matter of a yard long, and as thickround as my arm and travelled belly-flounder fashion; when I touchedland, he dodged into an eddy, and out of sight in no time. Oh, there isno mistake, I'll take my oath of it; I see him, I did upon my soul. Itwas the old gentleman hisself; he come there to cool hisself. Oh, it wasthe devil, that's a fact.'

  "'It was nothin' but a fresh water eel,' sais I; 'I have seen thousandsof 'em there; for the crevices of them rocks are chock full of 'em.How can you come for to go, for to talk arter that fashion; you area disgrace to our great nation, you great lummokin coward, you. AnAmerican citizen is afeerd of nothin', but a bad spekilation, or bein'found oat.'

  "Well, that posed him, he seemed kinder bothered, and looked down.

  "'An eel, eh! well, it mought be an eel,' sais be, 'that's a fact.I didn't think of that; but then if it was, it was god-mother grannyEells, that promised I should renounce the devil and all his works, thattook that shape, and come to keep me to my bargain. She died fifty yearsago, poor old soul, and never kept company with Indgians, or niggers,or any such trash. Heavens and airth! I don't wonder the Falls wakes thedead, it makes such an everlastin' almighty noise, does Niagara. Waiter,more cocktail, that last was as weak as water.'

  "'Yes, Sir,' and he swallered it like wink.

  "'The stage is ready, Sir.'

  "'Is it?' said he, and he jumped in all wet as he was; for time is moneyand he didn't want to waste neither. As it drove off, I heerd him say,'Well them's the Falls, eh! So I have seen the Falls of Niagara and felt'em too, eh!'

  "Now, we are better off than Rufus Dodge was, Squire; for we hante gotwet, and we hante got frightened, but we can look out o' the winder andsay, 'Well, that's Liverpool, eh! so I have--seen Liverpool.'"