The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete. Thomas Chandler Haliburton

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СКАЧАТЬ there was any thing he could not approve of, it appeared to be a subject of regret to him; whereas, the other seized upon it at once as a matter of great exultation. The first sight we had of land naturally called out their respective opinions.

      As we were pacing the deck speculating upon the probable termination of our voyage, Cape Clear was descried by the look-out on the mast-head.

      “Hallo! what’s that? why if it ain’t land ahead, as I’m alive!” said Mr. Slick. “Well, come this is pleasant too, we have made amost an everlastin’ short voyage of it, hante we; and I must say I like land quite as well as sea, in a giniral way, arter all; but, Squire, here is the first Britisher. That critter that’s a clawin’ up the side of the vessel like a cat, is the pilot: now do for goodness gracious sake, jist look at him, and hear him.”

      “What port?”

      “Liverpool.”

      “Keep her up a point.”

      “Do you hear that, Squire? that’s English, or what we used to call to singing school short metre. The critter don’t say a word, even as much as ‘by your leave’; but jist goes and takes his post, and don’t ask the name of the vessel, or pass the time o’ day with the Captin. That ain’t in the bill, it tante paid for that; if it was, he’d off cap, touch the deck three times with his forehead, and ‘Slam’ like a Turk to his Honour the Skipper.

      “There’s plenty of civility here to England if you pay for it: you can buy as much in five minits, as will make you sick for a week; but if you don’t pay for it, you not only won’t get it, but you get sarce instead of it, that is if you are fool enough to stand and have it rubbed in. They are as cold as Presbyterian charity, and mean enough to put the sun in eclipse, are the English. They hante set up the brazen image here to worship, but they’ve got a gold one, and that they do adore and no mistake; it’s all pay, pay, pay; parquisite, parquisite, parquisite; extortion, extortion, extortion. There is a whole pack of yelpin’ devils to your heels here, for everlastinly a cringin’, fawnin’ and coaxin’, or snarlin’, grumblin’ or bullyin’ you out of your money. There’s the boatman, and tide-waiter, and porter, and custom-er, and truck man as soon as you land; and the sarvant-man, and chamber-gall, and boots, and porter again to the inn. And then on the road, there is trunk-lifter, and coachman, and guard, and beggar-man, and a critter that opens the coach door, that they calls a waterman, cause he is infarnal dirty, and never sees water. They are jist like a snarl o’ snakes, their name is legion and there ain’t no eend to ’em.

      “The only thing you get for nothin’ here is rain and smoke, the rumatiz, and scorny airs. If you could buy an Englishman at what he was worth, and sell him at his own valiation, he would realise as much as a nigger, and would be worth tradin’ in, that’s a fact; but as it is he ain’t worth nothin’, there is no market for such critters, no one would buy him at no price. A Scotchman is wus, for he is prouder and meaner. Pat ain’t no better nother; he ain’t proud, cause he has a hole in his breeches and another in his elbow, and he thinks pride won’t patch ’em, and he ain’t mean cause he hante got nothin’ to be mean with. Whether it takes nine tailors to make a man, I can’t jist exactly say, but this I will say, and take my davy of it too, that it would take three such goneys as these to make a pattern for one of our rael genuwine free and enlightened citizens, and then I wouldn’t swap without large boot, I tell you. Guess I’ll go, and pack up my fixing and have ’em ready to land.”

      He now went below, leaving Mr. Hopewell and myself on the deck. All this tirade of Mr. Slick was uttered in the hearing of the pilot, and intended rather for his conciliation, than my instruction. The pilot was immoveable; he let the cause against his country go “by default,” and left us to our process of “inquiry;” but when Mr. Slick was in the act of descending to the cabin, he turned and gave him a look of admeasurement, very similar to that which a grazier gives an ox; a look which estimates the weight and value of the animal, and I am bound to admit, that the result of that “sizing or laying” as it is technically called, was by no means favourable to the Attache”.

      Mr. Hopewell had evidently not attended to it; his eye was fixed on the bold and precipitous shore of Wales, and the lofty summits of the everlasting hills, that in the distance, aspired to a companionship with the clouds. I took my seat at a little distance from him and surveyed the scene with mingled feelings of curiosity and admiration, until a thick volume of sulphureous smoke from the copper furnaces of Anglesey intercepted our view.

      “Squire,” said he, “it is impossible for us to contemplate this country, that now lies before us, without strong emotion. It is our fatherland. I recollect when I was a colonist, as you are, we were in the habit of applying to it, in common with Englishmen, that endearing appellation “Home,” and I believe you still continue to do so in the provinces. Our nursery tales, taught our infant lips to lisp in English, and the ballads, that first exercised our memories, stored the mind with the traditions of our forefathers; their literature was our literature, their religion our religion, their history our history. The battle of Hastings, the murder of Becket, the signature of Runymede, the execution at Whitehall; the divines, the poets, the orators, the heroes, the martyrs, each and all were familiar to us.

      “In approaching this country now, after a lapse of many, many years, and approaching it too for the last time, for mine eyes shall see it no more, I cannot describe to you the feelings that agitate my heart. I go to visit the tombs of my ancestors; I go to my home, and my home knoweth me no more. Great and good, and brave and free are the English; and may God grant that they may ever continue so!”

      “I cordially join in that prayer, Sir,” said I; “you have a country of your own. The old colonies having ripened into maturity, formed a distinct and separate family, in the great community of mankind. You are now a nation of yourselves, and your attachment to England, is of course subordinate to that of your own country; you view it as the place that was in days of yore the home of your forefathers; we regard it as the paternal estate, continuing to call it ‘Home’ as you have just now observed. We owe it a debt of gratitude that not only cannot be repaid, but is too great for expression. Their armies protect us within, and their fleets defend us, and our commerce without. Their government is not only paternal and indulgent, but is wholly gratuitous. We neither pay these forces, nor feed them, nor clothe them. We not only raise no taxes, but are not expected to do so. The blessings of true religion are diffused among us, by the pious liberality of England, and a collegiate establishment at Windsor, supported by British friends, has for years supplied the Church, the Bar and the Legislature with scholars and gentlemen. Where the national funds have failed, private contribution has volunteered its aid, and means are never wanting for any useful or beneficial object.

      “Our condition is a most enviable one. The history of the world has no example to offer of such noble disinterestedness and such liberal rule, as that exhibited by Great Britain to her colonies. If the policy of the Colonial Office is not always good (which I fear is too much to say) it is ever liberal; and if we do not mutually derive all the benefit we might from the connexion, we, at least, reap more solid advantages than we have a right to expect, and more, I am afraid, than our conduct always deserves. I hope the Secretary for the Colonies may have the advantage of making your acquaintance, Sir. Your experience is so great, you might give him a vast deal of useful information, which he could obtain from no one else.

      “Minister,” said Mr. Slick, who had just mounted the companion-ladder, “will your honour,” touching his hat, “jist look at your honour’s plunder, and see it’s all right; remember me, Sir; thank your honour. This way, Sir; let me help your honour down. Remember me again, Sir. Thank your honour. Now you may go and break your neck, your honour, as soon as you please; for I’ve got all out of you I can squeeze, that’s a fact. That’s English, Squire—that’s English servility, which they call civility, and English meanness and beggin’, which they call parquisite. Who was that you wanted to see СКАЧАТЬ