Part 14

The grand features of American scenery cannot be viewed to greater advantage than when sailing down one of those vast rivers which roll the accumulated tributes of a thousand streams in one majestic flood to the ocean. For this reason, I would recommend any traveller wishing to proceed from Fredericton to St. John, to take his passage by one of the steam-boats which ply between these places. Descending the St. John, the traveller cannot avoid remarking the extreme beauty of the shores, which present a succession of undulating hills, alternating with plains of the richest alluvial land. Sometimes the river assumes the appearance of a picturesque lake, studded with islands of varied form and size, reflecting, in its glassy surface, the tints of the lofty pine woods, by which it seems hemmed in. At other times, confined between rocky shores, it rushes onward with troubled speed; until, again expanding into a broad stream, it glides, in tranquil beauty, between its beautiful shores. Frequently, struck by the grandeur of the scenery by which we were passing, have I longed to gaze upon it at my leisure; but our boat, like the monster Time, stayed not for my ardent wishes; and a passing glimpse was often all I could obtain of those wild and beautiful spots. Yet purer pleasure I have seldom experienced than when gliding down this noble river. I can now picture to myself the dense and lofty forests, clothing the upland slopes; the lofty hills that overhung the stream, with pleasant vales between, full of rich fields and green pastures, sprinkled with flocks and herds, and here and there the cheerful white shingled dwellings of the industrious settlers. Sometimes the white sail of a fisherman’s boat, or the painted canoe of the Indian, would cross us in our course. Numerous timber rafts, dropping sluggishly down with the stream, were overtaken and passed by us, with groups of lumberers stretched lazily on the floating mass, smoking, drinking, or sleeping in the sun, and enjoying their brief respite from slavish toil by uncontrolled abandonment to the luxury of idleness. I shall not, however, attempt a very minute description of the beautiful and fertile shores of the St. John River, which, in its descent from Fredericton to the Long Reach, receives the waters of the Washedemoak and Grand Lake from the east, and the Oromocto from the west. At the head of the Long Reach, the lands on either side, and the pretty islands which divide the river into several streams, are unequalled in beauty and fertility. Belle Isle Bay, a fine sheet of water, branches off here, and extends into the country a considerable distance. The spacious estuary of the Kennebecasis next attracts our attention. The shores are abrupt and rocky, but highly cultivated. A lovely tract of land called Sussex Vale lies near the head of the bay, thickly populated, and evincing by its appearance the prosperity and industry of its inhabitants. About a mile above the city of St. John, the river, contracted from the spacious opening of the Kennebecasis Bay, foams over and amongst a number of huge rocky masses, which appear to have been hurled from the adjacent heights into the bed of the stream, and, except at certain times of the tide, render the navigation of the river completely impracticable. This cataract, or rather succession of cataracts, forms what is called THE FALLS OF ST. JOHN. Above the Falls, the expanded river forms a bay of some extent, surrounded by high and rugged woodlands. At the lower end of this bay, and at a short distance from the Falls, stands the picturesque village of INDIAN TOWN, which, owing to the hindrance of the navigation of the river by the Falls, has become a kind of lesser port to St. John, where numbers of small craft load and unload their cargoes. The steamer for Fredericton also lies here; the distance to St. John being not more than a mile and a half, by a good road. The best view of the UPPER FALLS is obtained from the bold heights about midway between Indian Town and St. John. From this spot, looking up the river, the waters are seen rushing in an immense body through the scattered rocks which intercept their progress:—above the Falls the quiet bay spreads out its blue waves, as if in contrast to the turmoil below, winding round the abrupt promontories, and washing the white walls of the village of Indian Town, which is here a beautiful object in the picture.

THE SPLIT ROCK is that portion of the Falls lying nearest to St. John. The river here, pent between steep and rugged rocks, foams through its narrow channel with a tremendous roaring noise. The accompanying engraving represents these Rapids as they appear at low water, when the turbulent stream assumes an aspect of terrible and imposing grandeur. The approach to St. John from Indian Town is through the adjoining village of Portland, a place of some importance as regards the trade and commerce carried on there. It is the great depôt for the timber brought down from the interior of the country, and the principal wharfs and warehouses being situated in this part of the city, the traffic is consequently most considerable there.

The intelligent and amusing author of “Sam Slick,” speaking of the harbour of St. John, says:—“No person on entering this harbour, for the first time, could suppose that it was the outlet of one of the largest rivers on the American continent, as it is in no way to be distinguished in appearance from any of those numerous inlets of the sea that render the coast of the British provinces every where accessible to ships of the largest class. As soon, however, as he gets a view of this noble stream, and becomes acquainted with its magnitude, he feels that St. John is destined by nature, as well as by the activity and intelligence of its inhabitants, to become the next largest city to New York on this continent.” To judge of the importance of its situation, the spectator should view the HARBOUR AND CITY OF ST. JOHN from the heights over Portland. From this vantage ground the landscape is magnificent. He will behold, as upon a map spread beneath his feet, prairies, mountains, and woods; the noble harbour; the town, with masts of ships, spires of churches, and houses of various sizes and colours; the heights of Carleton, on the opposite side of the harbour; and, spreading away to the southward, the Bay of Fundy, with the distant shores of Nova Scotia, emerging darkly from the waters: these, with numerous other picturesque features, form a splendid and beautiful panorama.

The artist of this work obtained another charming and extensive prospect of ST. JOHN FROM THE SIGNAL, which is planted on the summit of a commanding eminence that rises immediately behind the pretty little village of Carleton.[7] The aspect of the town from this position is exceedingly fine. Situated on a rocky peninsula projecting into a safe, spacious, and convenient harbour, it appears designed by nature to command the trade of the vast tract of country lying between it and the River St. Lawrence. Indeed, from the appearance of its public buildings,—of its wharfs and warehouses,—of the noble ships that crowd its port, and of the numerous steamers that are perpetually plying to and from Boston, Annapolis, Windsor, and other places,—it is but reasonable to infer that the time is not far distant when this town will assume an important position in the commercial world. At the entrance of the harbour is Partridge Island, on which there is a light-house and a quarantine station; and further in the harbour, a bar, extending across from the western side beyond the point on which the city stands. A beacon has been placed on this bar, which is quite dry at low water. The tide, which runs with extraordinary force, rises in this harbour from twenty-five to thirty feet perpendicular.

The streets of St. John, owing to the unevenness of the ground upon which the town has been built, are very irregular, although considerable pains have been taken to level and smooth the rugged surface. The government and public buildings are generally appropriate and handsome. The principal are the court house, a marine hospital, a poor house, a gaol, and two fine ranges of barracks, with government store-houses at the lower cove, which have materially improved the appearance of this quarter of the city. There are also two Episcopal churches, one an old wooden structure, the other a modern erection, built in the gothic style, of rough stone; a handsome Scotch kirk, two or three neat Methodist chapels, one Catholic and one Baptist place of worship, and several religious humane and useful societies in St. John. The country around the town, as I have already observed, is exceedingly picturesque; and the inhabitants are fond of making little excursions and pic-nic parties[8] to favourite places during the summer. I visited one of these delightful spots during my sojourn at St. John. It lies within an easy walk of the town, and bears the romantic name of LILY LAKE. A straggling road leads to within a short distance of it, from whence, striking off by a tangled path, through broken ground, I came suddenly upon the object of my search—a sweet little lake, reposing in the bosom of a wild valley, upon whose picturesque sides the feathery larch, the graceful beech, the wild cherry, the Indian pear, with the hazel, juniper and dogwood tree, formed many a natural thicket and delicious arbour, whose thick roof of verdant branches is, through the long summer’s day,—

“——alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit; while below, The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, Chirps merrily.”

St. John is seen to great advantage from the shores of Lily Lake:—seated on its rugged peninsula, with houses rising above houses to the summit of the hill, on whose highest point the tower of the Methodist chapel forms a striking object, the town makes, with the surrounding scenery, an exceedingly pretty picture.

Having now conducted my readers, from the Canadian boundary, through a vast extent of territory, tracing, in our route, the course of the magnificent river St. John, with its myriads of lakes and tributary streams, opening an inland navigation to almost every part of this fine province, I shall next make a rambling tour through the sister colony of Nova Scotia, describing, as I go along, the most striking and romantic features of that country, which will form the concluding portion of this work. Before quitting New Brunswick, I shall offer a few brief observations on some of the most prominent advantages and disadvantages of the colony. The rigours of the climate in winter, about which so much has been said, and which seems to have deterred many English emigrants from settling here, have been considerably exaggerated. The fact is, the climate has of late been materially ameliorated; the winters are by no means so severe, or of the same duration, as they were fifteen or twenty years since. The reason is obvious: the rapidity with which settlers are clearing the forest, and opening the face of the earth to the light of day, gives to the sun’s influence a much greater extent of country annually; as a natural consequence, the snows melt more early and rapidly, and the winters become proportionably short. When the colony was but thinly inhabited, the winter commenced early in November, and continued generally until the end of April; latterly, however, there has been no dead winter until Christmas, and the spring has usually opened in the beginning of April. But even the winter has its advantages and pleasures. The snow which falls then protects the herbage and winter grain from the severity of the frost, and natural roads are formed on the hardened snow, which materially facilitate the labours of the farmer and the lumberer. When the cold is extreme, the inhabitants keep within doors; and, fuel being abundant, they feel little of the severity of the frost without. As soon as a favourable change takes place in the weather, the roads and rivers are again alive with sleighs and sleds, drawn by horses, and posting at a rapid rate, in all directions, over the glassy surface of the ice; the former as vehicles of pleasure, and the latter laden with provisions for the markets. Many settlers travel in these sleds from two to three hundred miles to the city for a market, (such trips being seldom made more than once a year,) when they barter their farm produce for tea, tobacco, hardware, and other luxuries which their farms do not yield. The summer, as I have already observed, is truly delightful; the air, notwithstanding the heat, is pure, and the nights at this season exceed in splendour the most beautiful in Europe. The autumn very much resembles an English autumn—the days warm, and the evenings delightfully cool. The productions of the province necessary for man’s support are various and abundant:—wheat and Indian corn, with hay on the intervale[9] lands. Peas, beans, carrots, turnips, mangel-worzel, and other culinary vegetables, thrive remarkably well. Melons, pumpkins, and cucumbers are produced in the open fields. Apple trees, though not yet sufficiently plentiful, thrive well in the upper parts of the province. Grapes, cherries, raspberries, strawberries, cranberries, blueberries, currants, and gooseberries, are indigenous to the country, and are found in abundance in the woods. As far as raspberries are concerned, it is a singular circumstance, that, immediately after the clearing of a piece of land, its whole surface, unless kept down by annual crops, will be overrun with raspberry bushes, which in the second year are in full bearing. The most serious disadvantage under which New Brunswick labours is a deficiency of roads. There are, it is true, roads between the principal towns and settlements, but they cannot be said to be continually effective, or in a state to afford a constant and practicable mode of conveyance. Few of them are passable for carriages for any considerable distance, and at many seasons of the year are wholly untraversable. The most important is the post road from Nova Scotia to Canada, which crosses the province diagonally from the city of St. John, and runs parallel to St. John River, on its western side. It is passable for carriages fourteen miles above Fredericton, but only in summer: in spring and autumn it is very wet; and in winter, the only mode of travelling is by the ice, on the river.

The distance from St. John River to Annapolis Bason in Nova Scotia[10] may be about thirty miles, across the Bay of Fundy, the passage being usually performed by the steam packets which run regularly between these places. The entrance to the bason is through a narrow strait, called Digby Gut, whose precipitous sides suggest the idea of a passage having been opened through the North Mountain by some violent convulsion of nature. On entering the bason, one of the most magnificent havens in America opens to the view; on its western shore the small but beautiful village of Digby is situated, on the gentle slope of a hill, commanding a view of part of Granville and Clements, and of the broad BAY OF ANNAPOLIS, which receives the collected waters of the Annapolis, Moose, and Bear rivers. The air of Digby is remarkably salubrious, and the situation particularly agreeable in summer. The author of “Sam Slick,” in his pleasant work, eulogizes this town as “The Brighton of Nova Scotia, the resort of the valetudinarians who take refuge here from the unrelenting fogs, hopeless sterility, and calcareous waters of St. John.” We can forgive this partiality on the part of the talented writer, who is always enthusiastic in his praise of Nova Scotia; and, without depreciating the merits of a neighbouring colony, accord to Digby the praise of being a delightful and healthy summer residence. The shores of the bay are eminently picturesque—displaying all the softer features of English park scenery, mingled with the primeval wildness of an American landscape in all its sylvan luxuriance and solitude.

The same steamer which conveyed you to Digby takes you, if you wish it, on to Annapolis, a small town situated on the river Annapolis, at the eastern extremity of the bay. It is built upon the extremity of a peninsula, which, projecting into the river, forms two beautiful basons, one above and the other below the town. This place, the earliest settlement, and the capital of the province, while under the dominion of France, was called Port Royal; but changed to Annapolis Royal, in honour of Queen Anne, in whose reign it was ceded to England. Mr. Haliburton tells us that, “in addition to its being the most ancient, it is also the most loyal city of this Western Hemisphere. This character it has always sustained; and ‘royal,’ as a mark of peculiar favour, has ever been added to its cognomen by every government that has ever had dominion over it.” But royal patronage does not seem to have done much towards improving the condition of the place, for it has increased little in size or population since the conquest of the province. It is, however, a respectable town, and contains—a government-house, court-house, Episcopalian and Methodist churches, a respectable academy, supported by a legislative grant, commodious barracks, and several handsome private buildings. From the circumstance of the first governors of the province having resided at Annapolis, many of the most interesting subjects relating to the history of the colony are connected with this town. Indeed, it is impossible to walk in its pleasant environs, without being struck with the “old world” look of the country,—the quickset hedges, and the neatness of the farms and gardens, reminding one forcibly of an English rural scene. The view that best pleased me in this neighbourhood was that from THE OLD FORT OF ANNAPOLIS, on the south-western extremity of the peninsula, which commands a fine prospect of the broad and beautiful bason, the settlements on the Granville shore, and part of Clements. These fortifications, which were erected at an immense expense, are in a dilapidated condition; the cannon dismounted, and incapable, in the present state, of sustaining a defence. An old block-house, in a ruinous state, has an air of antiquity rarely to be met with in this country; its venerable appearance struck me as being quite un-American.

In no part of Nova Scotia are so many natural and artificial curiosities to be met with as in the neighbourhood of Annapolis,—of these, the most singular are, the natural ice-house, a deep ravine wherein ice may be found throughout the summer,—the lake on the summit of the mountain,—the point of land on the Granville shore, opposite to Goat island, where the first piece of ground was cleared for cultivation in this colony by the French, and where is still shown the stone on which they had rudely engraved the date of their settlement, (1606,) as a memorial of their formal possession of the country,[11]—the iron mines, on the Moose river,—and, not the least interesting, THE GENERAL’S BRIDGE, a romantic spot, about two miles from Annapolis, which I visited during my brief stay in this neighbourhood. The walk to it was most delightful: first, through the pretty suburbs of the town, and then, by a road through luxuriant woods, till I came suddenly upon the secluded valley, embosomed amongst undulating hills, through which rushed a rapid stream, dancing and sparkling in the bright beams of an early sun. An old wooden bridge, thrown across the brawling current, formed a striking object in the picture; while, nearer to us, the wigwams of a party of Indians, who had encamped on a slip of intervale land, completed the picturesque character of the scene. While the artist who accompanied me was engaged making his sketch of the place, I entered one of the wigwams of the Indians, and learnt that they were journeying from Annapolis to Liverpool, by way of the Rossignol Lakes, which, with the exception of two short portages, form, it is said, a continued chain of navigable water across the whole province, but rarely travelled, except by the Indians. Having purchased from the squaw a pair of slippers, ornamented very ingeniously with small glass beads and porcupine quills, and a fan formed from the skin of some fish, tastefully dyed with various colours, all of Indian manufacture, I rejoined my companion, who had completed his sketch, and returned to Annapolis. The road from Annapolis to Windsor runs parallel to the course of the Annapolis river, along that high ridge which stretches from the Digby Gut to the Bason of Minas, an extent of seventy miles of coast, without the intervention of a single harbour. This tract, notwithstanding this disadvantage, is settled by industrious families, who have, in general, excellent and well-cultivated farms. The towns are clean and thriving; but we meet none worthy of particular notice, until we reach KENTVILLE, a prettily situated village, containing several handsome private residences, a court-house, gaol, and a good grammar-school. The views in the vicinity of Kentville are remarkably fine, and the formation of the land such as to present the greatest diversity of landscape; the chief charm of which consists in the unusual combination of hill, dale, woods, and cultivated fields,—in the calm beauty of agricultural scenery,—and in the romantic wilderness of the distant forests. The numerous orchards, and the general fertility of the land in this and the adjoining township of Horton, have procured for them the title of the “garden of the province.”

Between Kentville and Windsor, the traveller crosses the Horton Mountain, from whence he may obtain a view of extraordinary beauty and extent. Behind him lies the township of Horton and Cornwallis, over which he has just passed, beautifully watered by the rivers that meander through them: beyond, is a lofty and extended chain of hills, presenting a vast chasm—the entrance to the Bason of Minas—through which the nineteen rivers that pour their waters into this vast reservoir appear to have forced an _embouchure_ into the Bay of Fundy. The variety and extent of this prospect,—the rich and verdant vale of Gaspereaux,—the extended township of Horton, interspersed with groves of wood, farm-houses, orchards, and cultivated fields,—the Grand Prairie, sheltered by evergreen forests of dark foliage,—the blue highlands of the opposite side of the Bason,—and the cloud-capped summit of the lofty cape that terminates the chain of the North Mountain, form an assemblage of picturesque objects, rarely united with so striking an effect.