CHAPTER II.
FIREMAN OR SOLDIER.
Halifax has already been mentioned as a particularly pleasant place fora boy to be born in; and so indeed it is. Every schoolboy knows, orought to know, that it is the capital of Acadia, one of the MaritimeProvinces of the Dominion of Canada. It has a great many advantages,some of which are not shared by any other city on the continent.Situated right on the sea coast, it boasts a magnificent harbour, inwhich all the war vessels of the world, from the mightiest iron-clad tothe tiniest torpedo boat, might lie at anchor. Beyond the harbour,separated from it by only a short strait, well-named the "Narrows," isan immense basin that seems just designed for yachting and excursions;while branching out from the harbour in different directions are twolovely fiords, one called the Eastern Passage, leading out to the oceanagain, and the other running away up into the land, so that there is nolack of salt water from which cool breezes may blow on the torrid days.
The city itself is built upon the peninsula that divides the harbourfrom the north-west arm, and beginning about half-a-mile from the pointof the peninsula, runs northward almost to the Narrows, and spreads outwestward until its farthest edge touches the shore of the arm. The"Point" has been wisely set aside for a public park, and except where afort or two, built to command the entrance to the harbour, intrudes uponit, the forest of spruce and fir with its labyrinth of roads and pathsand frequent glades of soft waving grass, extends from shore to shore,making a wilderness that a boy's imagination may easily people withIndians brandishing tomahawk and scalping knife, or bears and wolvesseeking whom they may devour.
Halifax being the chief military and naval station for the BritishColonies in America, its forts and barracks are filled with red-coatedinfantry or blue-coated artillery the whole year round. All summer longgreat iron-clads bring their imposing bulks to anchor off the Dockyard,and Jack Tars in foolish, merry, and alas! too often vicious companies,swagger through the streets in noisy enjoyment of their day on shore.
On either side of the harbour, on the little island which rests like anemerald brooch upon its bosom, and high above the city on the crown ofthe hill up which it wearily climbs, street beyond street, standfrowning fortresses with mighty guns thrusting their black muzzlesthrough the granite embrasures. In fact, the whole place is pervaded bythe influences of military life; and Cuthbert, whose home overlooked adisused fort, now serving the rather ignoble purpose of a dwelling-placefor married soldiers, was at first fully persuaded in his mind that thedesire of his life was to be a soldier; and it was not until he went toa military review, and realised that the soldiers had to stand upawfully stiff and straight, and dare not open their mouths for theworld, that he dismissed the idea of being a soldier, and adopted thatof being a fireman.
Yet there were times when he rather regretted his decision, and inclinedto waver in his allegiance. His going to the Sunday school with hissister had something to do with this. A favourite hymn with thesuperintendent--who, by the way, was a retired officer--was--
"Onward, Christian soldiers."
The bright stirring tune, and the tremendous vigour with which thescholars sang it, quite took Cuthbert's heart. He listened eagerly, butthe only words he caught were the first, which they repeated so often:
"Onward, Christian soldiers."
Walking home with his sister, they met a small detachment of soldiers,looking very fine in their Sunday uniforms:
"Are those Christian soldiers, Mary?" he asked, looking eagerly up intoher face.
"Perhaps so, Bert, I don't know," Mary replied. "What makes you ask?"
"Because we were singing about Christian soldiers, weren't we?" answeredBert.
"Oh! is that what you mean, Bert? They may be, for all I know. Would youlike to be a Christian soldier?"
"Yes," doubtfully; then, brightening up--"but couldn't I be a Christianfireman, too?"
"Of course you could, Bert, but I'd much rather see you a Christiansoldier. Mr. Hamilton is a Christian soldier, you know."
This reply of his sister's set Bert's little brain at work. Mr.Hamilton, the superintendent of the Sunday school, was a tall, erecthandsome man, with fine grey hair and whiskers, altogether an impressivegentleman; yet he had a most winning manner, and Bert was won to him atonce when he was welcomed by him warmly to the school. Bert could notimagine anything grander than to be a Christian soldier, if it meantbeing like Mr. Hamilton. Still the fireman notion had too manyattractions to be lightly thrown aside, and consequently for some timeto come he could hardly be said to know his own mind as to his future.
The presence of the military in Halifax was far from being an unmixedgood. Of course, it helped business, gave employment to many hands,imparted peculiar life and colour to society, and added many excellentcitizens to the population. At the same time it had very markeddrawbacks. There was always a great deal of drunkenness and otherdissipation among the soldiers and sailors. The officers were not themost improving of companions and models for the young men of the place,and in other ways the city was the worse for their presence.
Mrs. Lloyd presently found the soldiers a source of danger to her boy.Just around the corner at the entrance to the old fort, alreadymentioned, was a guardhouse, and here some half-dozen soldiers werestationed day and night. They were usually jolly fellows, who were gladto get hold of little boys to play with, and thereby help to while awaythe time in their monotonous life. Cuthbert soon discovered theattractions of this guardhouse, and, in spite of commands to thecontrary, which he seemed unable to remember, wandered off thither veryoften. All the other little boys in the neighbourhood went therewhenever they liked, and he could not understand why he should not do sotoo. He did not really mean to defy his parents. He was too young forthat, being only six years old. But the force of the example of hisplaymates seemed stronger than the known wishes of his parents, and sohe disobeyed them again and again.
Mrs. Lloyd might, of course, have carried her point by shutting Bert upin the yard, and not allowing him out at all except in charge ofsomebody. But that was precisely what she did not wish to do. She knewwell enough that her son could not have a locked-up world to live in. Hemust learn to live in this world, full of temptations as it is, and soher idea was not so much to put him out of the way of temptation, as toteach him how to withstand it. Consequently, she was somewhat at a lossjust what to do in the matter of the guardhouse, when a letter that camefrom the country offered a very timely and acceptable solution of thedifficulty.
Bert Lloyd's Boyhood: A Story from Nova Scotia Page 3