Thursday, September 15, 1904
Harborville.
The storm that recently swept over the country struck Harborville very severely. Commencing at dark, the wind by midnight had risen to a gale, accompanied by vivid lightning, heavy thunder, and pouring rain. Next morning the effects of the tempest were plainly to be seen in broken and uprooted trees, beaten down crops, and gullied out roads. Every little path had become a brook, and every brook a raging mountain torrent, while rivers ran down the roads; and the waves that came thundering from the mighty Atlantic broke far up on the rocks in foam and spray, forming a part of nature’s great orchestra set to many keys but all blending harmoniously in one great anthem – The voice of many waters.
Late in the afternoon before the storm, the schooner Jessie, owned and commanded by Capt. Ed. Spicer, started to cross the bay, having on board a small menagerie captured by a gentleman from the other shore, and exhibited by him at the camp meeting and at various other places. After the storm, grave fears were entertained for the safety of the Jessie, but on Monday’s tide she sailed into port, safe and sound. Her captain said that they were obliged to lay to, and that one anchor parted, but fortunately the other held, and they rode out the gale in safety.
Loading the menagerie on the schooner was a great occasion, alike for the small boy and the summer boarder. These mustered in force, ready with assistance or advice as the case might demand. Meanwhile they improved the opportunity to have a free look at the animals. The largest cage contained a sulky and disreputable looking bear, who only stopped in his restless tramp up and down his narrow quarters to gnaw at the iron bars which formed the front wall of his prison. The next held an ugly wild cat, with formidable teeth and claws, which spit and snarled in a highly satisfactory manner, when stirred up with a long stick, and who looked as if his only object in life was to escape and Avenge the insults heaped upon him. As one small boy was heard to observe, "By tearful! If he goes git out!" The last was a meek looking little animal squatting in one corner of its box. The proprietor said this was a white gopher. Probably he knew, we did not. From that gentleman’s account of the woods "across the Bay" it must be a "fearsome" place, but somehow his stories would remind one of those of the small boy when he comes home from fishing with a string of tiny trout – "All the big ones got away."
From the top of the hill overlooking the harbor, a fine view is to be had of the Bay with its shores and islands spread like a beauty picture before you. On a clear day, with a good glass, one may see the colors of the houses and churches on the opposite shore and even discern men and teams moving about.
Far to the west stretch the heaving waters of the Bay of Fundy, with its mighty tides ever rushing backward and forward, while away to the northwest can be seen the hazy blue line of the New Brunswick shore. North of us rise the shores of Cumberland, ending in Cape Chignecto, where the waters divide, part going north into Chignecto Bay and part forming Minas Channel. Just opposite us is Advocate, and almost in front of it but further south and facing to the west, rise the bold red cliffs of Cape d’Or. On its southwestern corner, where the shore slopes more gently tot he beach, stand the buildings of the fog horn, placed there to warn vessels off the dangerous hidden rocks and treacherous currents below.
Just beyond, to the eastward, are the buildings of the Copper Mining Company. It was long known that copper existed there, but of what quality or in what quantity no one knew or cared. At last a company of United States capitalists purchased a tract of land there for a trifle, sank shafts, erected buildings, put up expensive machinery, and set a small army of men to work. While we wish them success, we cannot help feeling sorry that Canadian enterprise is not running the business.
Capt. Morris is always ready, wind and tide permitting, to convey parties over to the Mines in his trim yacht, which can sail with only a "capful o’wind."
Further east, lies Spencer’s Island "Glooscap’s Kettle" turned upside down, and still further on are Port Greville and Parrsboro. Seemingly right below us, to the right, is Black Rock lighthouse, showing where lie the cruel rocks that are hidden at full tide but raise their jagged points threateningly at low water; and further on is Scotts Bay, with Cape Split jutting out into Minas Channel, and "just around the corner," Blomidon. Out in the Bay is Isle au Haut, looking as if it had been broken off the front of Cape d’Or an dropped in the water for a stepping stone to be used by the Giant in crossing from shore to shore. There is a lighthouse on the island whose light shines like a star every evening. What a dreary life the keeper of that light must lead! There is one peculiarity about his island; looking at it at different times it seems to change its position, apparently moving with the tide. Asking an explanation, we were told that it was owing to the state of the atmosphere, and also to what we had for dinner. Out on the blue water, the sails of passing vessels gleam white in the sunshine. Here a big three master, with wind and tide in her favor, bound for Windsor, and there a schooner beating down the Bay; while out from the shadow of the island comes a busy little tug towing a string of grimy coal barges. Around the face of the bluff, sea gulls wheel and plunge, their cries mingling with the wash of the waves on the rocks far below.
When the curio hunter strikes Harborville, he will find a rich field before him. Every house is a museum in itself, filled with curiosities from all parts of the world, brought home by members of the family on their return from long voyages. It is most interesting to listen to the histories connected with each of these collections. One of these stories, told by an old captain, once a resident of the place, but now dead, will never be forgotten. A brother, also a sea captain, on his return from a long voyage had brought home two curious bottles picked up in some West Indian port. One, which stood on a table in his room for years, was a medium sized jar filled with small poisonous reptiles preserved in alcohol. One drop of this liquid, the captain said, would kill ten men, and if the jar should be broken dire effects would follow. At length, alarmed lest some careless grandchild should break it, he presented it to the museum at Acadia. He was a good Methodist, you know, and if anything should happen - ! The other his brother kept, but the captain said that while, for the most of the time, it was only an ordinary appearing, smooth glass bottle, filled with a dark reddish liquid, at certain times of the moon the outside became rough, and this roughness increased till it became covered with large wart-like excrescences, which, after remaining for a few hours, gradually decreased till the bottle became smooth again, so to remain till the time came around for it to again assume the rough state.
A mile or so to the west of Harborville is Turner’s brook, a favorite picnic ground for Sunday Schools from the valley. Here, in this sweet, secluded spot, where nothing can possibly harm them, the dear children may paddle in the tide all day long, while their friends and teachers sit round on the rocks and smile on their innocent amusements.
Here, not many years ago, a couple of ministerial gentlemen, with their families, were spending their vacation. One family occupied the old house by the brook, and the other a tent set up in a sheltered spot further up the stream. Here each evening, the owner was wont to sit on a rock at the door of his tent, and while he bathed his hot and dusty feet in the clear waters of the flowing brook, sung sweet hymns and song of Zion.
Both these gentlemen were very fond of fish, of which they consumed large quantities, probably in the hope of renovating their tired brains, and fitting them for the wear and tear of the ensuing year. One day, the supply being short, they started for the fishing ground, in the kindness of their hearts, promising fresh fish on their return, not only to their own families, but to some neighboring campers. Cook books did not form a part of the camping outfits, so a consultation was held as to ways and means, and fish chowder was decided on. Toward night it was seen that the anxiously watched boat was surely drifting out to sea. In this crisis an experienced mariner was called on, and, after a lengthily and comprehensive view of the situation, he announced that "They’ve got in the tide and some one must go after them." Accordingly he put off, singing "Rescue the Perishing." As he went, took the runaway boat in tow. Soon two tired looking gentlemen appeared, bringing with them, one poor little, lonesome, fish, which, my informant said, each claimed the honor of catching. Further remarks are uncalled for. Irreverent visitors, from the Valley, named the place "Saint’s Rest," and the name still clings.
The subject now before the Harborville parliament is politics,. It would be well for the coming candidates, or their friends, to pay an early call to this part of the field. It has become a saying among local politicians that as Harborville goes, so goes the county. This is no doubt owing to the large amount of time at the disposal of the voters of that district, enabling them to thoroughly discuss every point, which prevents them jumping at conclusions without giving them due deliberation.
We must not omit to mention our veteran mail carrier, who for over a quarter of a century has so faithfully discharged his duty, through summer’s heat and the bitter storms of winter. Always cheerful and obliging, always at his post, we know the roads are indeed impassable when Mr. Collins fails to put in an appearance. We are glad to note the late increase in his salary. This is certainly a move in the right direction, and one which should have been made before.
Our summer visitors are gone. For some time they have driven and walked, sailed and rowed, fished and bathed, all day long. As one elderly resident remarked, "They’ve all had a good time, and no accidents has happened;" and he said it with the air of a man who has had a load taken off his mind. The opening of the schools and the coming of cooler weather have recalled these visitors to their homes and duties, and they have departed, carrying with them, let us hope, memories of Harborville and its people that shall cause them to return next year, bringing with them, "their sisters, and their cousins, and their aunts."
Max.