Truro—On the Road to Halifax—Drive to the Left—A Member of the Foreign Legion—Irish Wit at Government Expense—The first Battle of the Legion—Ten Pounds Reward—Sir John Gaspard's Revenge—The Shubenacadie Lakes—Dartmouth Ferry, and the Hotel Waverley.

Pleasant Truro! At last we regain the territories of civility and civilization! Here is the honest little English inn, with its cheerful dining-room, its clean spread, its abundant dishes, its glass of ripe ale, its pleased alacrity of service. After our long ride from West River, we enjoy the best inn's best room, the ease, the comfort, and the fair aspect of one of the prettiest towns in the province. Truro is situated on the head waters of the Basin of Minas, or Cobequid Bay, as it is denominated on the map, between the Shubenacadie and Salmon rivers. Here we are within fifty miles of the idyllic land, the pastoral meadows of Grand-Pré! But, alas! there is yet a long ride before us; the path from Truro to Grand-Pré being in the shape of an acute angle, of which Halifax is the[Pg 225] apex. As yet there is no direct road from place to place, but by the shores of the Basin of Minas. Let us look, however, at pleasant Truro.

One of the striking features of this part of the country is the peculiarity of the rivers; these are full or empty, with every flux and reflux of the tide; for instance, when we crossed the Salmon, we saw only a high, broad, muddy ditch, drained to the very bottom. This is owing to the ocean tides, which, sweeping up the Bay of Fundy, pour into the Basin of Minas, and fill all its tributary streams; then, with prodigal reaction, sweeping forth again, leave only the vacant channels of the rivers—if they may be called by that name. This peculiar feature of hydrography is of course local—limited to this section of the province—indeed if it be not to this corner of the world. The country surrounding the village is well cultivated, diversified with rolling hill and dale, and although I had not the opportunity of seeing much of it, yet the mere description of its natural scenery was sufficiently tempting. Here, too, I saw something that reminded me of home—a clump of cedar-trees! These of course were exotics, brought, not without expense, from the States, planted in the courtyard of a little aristocratic cottage, and protected in winter by warm over-coats of wheat straw.[Pg 226] So we go! Here they grub up larches and spruces to plant cedars.

The mail coach was soon at the door of our inn, and after taking leave of my fellow-traveller with the big hat, I engaged a seat on the stage-box beside Jeangros, a French Canadian, or Canuck—one of the best whips on the line. Jeangros is not a great portly fellow, as his name would seem to indicate, but a spare, small man—nevertheless with an air of great courage and command. Jeangros touched up the leaders, the mail-coach rattled through the street of the town, and off we trotted from Truro into the pleasant road that leads to Halifax.

One thing I observed in the province especially worthy of imitation—the old English practice of turning to the left in driving, instead of to the right, as we do. Let me exhibit the merits of the respective systems by a brief diagram. By the English system they drive thus:

 English system of driving on the left.
The arrows represent the drivers, as well as the directions of the vehicles; of course when two[Pg 227] vehicles, coming in opposite directions, pass each other on the road, each driver is nearest the point of contact, and can see readily, and provide against accidents. Now contrast our system with the former:

 American system of driving on the right.
no wonder we have so many collisions.

"The rule of the road is a paradox quite,
In driving your carriage along,
If you keep to the left, you are sure to go right,
If you keep to the right, you go wrong."
It would be a good thing if our present senseless laws were reversed in this matter, and a few lives saved, and a few broken limbs prevented.

When I took leave of my native country for a short sojourn in this province, the great question then before the public was the invasion of international law, by the British minister and a whole solar system of British consuls. I had the pleasure of being a fellow exile on the Canada with Mr. Crampton, Mr. Barclay, and Mr. ——, Her British Majesty's representatives, and of course felt no little interest to know the fate of the Foreign Legion.[Pg 228]

Before I left Halifax, I learned some particulars of that famous flock of jail birds. All that we knew, at home, was that a number of recruits for the Crimea had been picked up in the streets and alleys of Columbia, and carried, at an enormous expense, to Halifax, there to be enrolled. And also, that as a mere cover to this infraction of the law of Neutrality, the men were engaged as laborers, to work upon the public improvements of Nova Scotia. The sequel of that enterprise remained to be told. A majority of these recruits were Irishmen—some of them not wanting in the mother wit of the race. So when they were gathered in the great province building at Halifax, and Sir John Gaspard le Marchant, in chapeau, feather and sword, came down to review his levies, with great spirit and military pomp, "Well, my men," said he, "you are here to enlist, eh, and serve Her Majesty?" To which the spokesman of the Foreign Legion, fully understanding the beauty of his position, replied, with a sly twinkle of the eye, "We didn't engage to 'list at all, at all, but to wurruk on the railroad." Upon which Sir John Gaspard, seeing that Her Majesty had been imposed upon, politely told the legion to go to——Dante's Inferno.

Now whether the place to which the Foreign Legion was consigned by Sir John Gaspard, pos[Pg 229]sessed even less attractions than Halifax, or from whatever reason soever, it chanced that the jolly boys, raked from our alleys and jails, never stirred a foot out of the province; and while the peace of the whole world was endangered by their abduction, as that of Greece and Troy had been by the rape of Helen, they were quietly enlisting in less warlike expeditions—in fact, engaging themselves to work upon that great railroad, of which mention has been made heretofore.

Now we have seen something of the clannish propensities of the people of the colonies, and the contractors knew what sort of material they had to deal with. And, inasmuch as there was a pretty large group of five-shilling Highlandmen, grading, levelling, and filling in one end of a section of the road, the gang of Irishmen was placed at the opposite end, as far from them as possible, which no doubt would have preserved peaceful relations between the two, but for the fact, that as the work progressed the hostile forces naturally approached each other. It was towards the close of a summer evening, that the ground was broken by the gentlemen of the shamrock, within sight of the shanties decorated with the honorable order of the thistle. A lovely evening in the month of June! Not with spumy cannon and prickly bayo[Pg 230]nets, but with peaceful spade and mattock, advanced the sons of St. Patrick towards the children of a sister isle. Then did Roderick Dhu step forth from his shanty, and inquire, in choice Gaelic, if a person named Brian Borheime was in the ranks of the approaching forces. Then then did Brian Borheime advance, spade in hand, and with a single spat of his implement level Roderick, as though he had been a piece of turf. Then was Brian flattened out by the spade of Vich Ian Vohr; and Vich Ian Vohr, by the spade of Captain Rock. Then fell Captain Rock by the spade of Rob Roy; and Rob Roy smelt the earth under the spade of Handy Andy. In a word, the fight became general—the bagpip............