The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3), Thomas Chandler Haliburton [best ereader for pdf TXT] 📗

Volume 1 Chapter 1 (Uncorking A Bottle) Pg 1

We Left New York In The Afternoon Of -- Day Of May,  184-,

And Embarked On Board Of The Good Packet Ship "Tyler"

For England. Our Party Consisted Of The Reverend Mr.

Hopewell,  Samuel Slick,  Esq.,  Myself,  And Jube Japan,  A

Black Servant Of The Attache.

 

I Love Brevity--I Am A Man Of Few Words,  And,  Therefore,

Constitutionally Economical Of Them; But Brevity Is Apt

To Degenerate Into Obscurity. Writing A Book,  However,

And Book-Making,  Are Two Very Different Things: "Spinning

A Yarn" Is Mechanical,  And Book-Making Savours Of Trade,

And Is The Employment Of A Manufacturer. The Author By

Profession,  Weaves His Web By The Piece,  And As There Is

Much Competition In This Branch Of Trade,  Extends It Over

The Greatest Possible Surface,  So As To Make The Most Of

His Raw Material. Hence Every Work Of Fancy Is Made To

Reach To Three Volumes,  Otherwise It Will Not Pay,  And

A Manufacture That Does Not Requite The Cost Of Production,

Invariably And Inevitably Terminates In Bankruptcy. A

Thought,  Therefore,  Like A Pound Of Cotton,  Must Be Well

Spun Out To Be Valuable. It Is Very Contemptuous To Say

Of A Man,  That He Has But One Idea,  But It Is The Highest

Meed Of Praise That Can Be Bestowed On A Book. A Man,

Who Writes Thus,  Can Write For Ever.

 

Now,  It Is Not Only Not My Intention To Write For Ever,

Or As Mr. Slick Would Say "For Everlastinly;" But To Make

My Bow And Retire Very Soon From The Press Altogether.

I Might Assign Many Reasons For This Modest Course,  All

Of Them Plausible,  And Some Of Them Indeed Quite Dignified.

I Like Dignity: Any Man Who Has Lived The Greater Part

Of His Life In A Colony Is So Accustomed To It,  That He

Becomes Quite Enamoured Of It,  And Wrapping Himself Up

In It As A Cloak,  Stalks Abroad The "Observed Of All

Observers." I Could Undervalue This Species Of Writing

If I Thought Proper,  Affect A Contempt For Idiomatic

Humour,  Or Hint At The Employment Being Inconsistent With

The Grave Discharge Of Important Official Duties,  Which

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Are So Distressingly Onerous,  As Not To Leave Me A Moment

For Recreation; But These Airs,  Though Dignified,  Will

Unfortunately Not Avail Me. I Shall Put My Dignity Into

My Pocket,  Therefore,  And Disclose The Real Cause Of This

Diffidence.

 

In The Year One Thousand Eight Hundred And Fourteen,  I

Embarked At Halifax On Board The Buffalo Store-Ship For

England. She Was A Noble Teak Built Ship Of Twelve Or

Thirteen Hundred Tons Burden,  Had Excellent Accommodation,

And Carried Over To Merry Old England,  A Very Merry Party

Of Passengers,  _Quorum Parva Pars Fui_,  A Youngster Just

Emerged From College.

 

On The Banks Of Newfoundland We Were Becalmed,  And The

Passengers Amused Themselves By Throwing Overboard A

Bottle,  And Shooting At It With Ball. The Guns Used For

This Occasion,  Were The King's Muskets,  Taken From The

Arm-Chest On The Quarter-Deck. The Shooting Was Execrable.

It Was Hard To Say Which Were Worse Marksmen,  The Officers

Of The Ship,  Or The Passengers. Not A Bottle Was Hit:

Many Reasons Were Offered For This Failure,  But The Two

Principal Ones Were,  That The Muskets Were Bad,  And That

It Required Great Skill To Overcome The Difficulty

Occasioned By Both,  The Vessel And The Bottle Being In

Motion At The Same Time,  And That Motion Dissimilar.

 

I Lost My Patience. I Had Never Practised Shooting With

Ball; I Had Frightened A Few Snipe,  And Wounded A Few

Partridges,  But That Was The Extent Of My Experience. I

Knew,  However,  That I Could Not By Any Possibility Shoot

Worse Than Every Body Else Had Done,  And Might By Accident

Shoot Better.

 

"Give Me A Gun,  Captain," Said I,  "And I Will Shew You

How To Uncork That Bottle."

 

I Took The Musket,  But Its Weight Was Beyond My Strength

Of Arm. I Was Afraid That I Could Not Hold It Out Steadily,

Even For A Moment,  It Was So Very Heavy--I Threw It Up

With A Desperate Effort And Fired. The Neck Of The Bottle

Flew Up In The Air A Full Yard,  And Then Disappeared. I

Was Amazed Myself At My Success. Every Body Was Surprised,

But As Every Body Attributed It To Long Practice,  They

Were Not So Much Astonished As I Was,  Who Knew It Was

Wholly Owing To Chance. It Was A Lucky Hit,  And I Made

The Most Of It; Success Made Me Arrogant,  And Boy-Like,

I Became A Boaster.

 

"Ah," Said I Coolly,  "You Must Be Born With A Rifle In

Your Hand,  Captain,  To Shoot Well. Every Body Shoots Well

In America. I Do Not Call Myself A Good Shot. I Have Not

Had The Requisite Experience; But There Are Those Who

Can Take Out The Eye Of A Squirrel At A Hundred Yards."

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"Can You See The Eye Of A Squirrel At That Distance?"

Said The Captain,  With A Knowing Wink Of His Own Little

Ferret Eye.

 

That Question,  Which Raised A General Laugh At My Expense,

Was A Puzzler. The Absurdity Of The Story,  Which I Had

Heard A Thousand Times,  Never Struck Me So Forcibly. But

I Was Not To Be Pat Down So Easily.

 

"See It!" Said I,  "Why Not? Try It And You Will Find Your

Sight Improve With Your Shooting. Now,  I Can't Boast Of

Being A Good Marksman Myself; My Studies" (And Here I

Looked Big,  For I Doubted If He Could Even Read,  Much

Less Construe A Chapter In The Greek Testament) "Did Not

Leave Me Much Time. A Squirrel Is Too Small An Object

For All But An Experienced Man,  But A "_Large_" Mark Like

A Quart Bottle Can Easily Be Hit At A Hundred Yards--That

Is Nothing."

 

"I Will Take You A Bet," Said He,  "Of A Doubloon,  You Do

Not Do It Again?"

 

"Thank You," I Replied With Great Indifference: "I Never

Bet,  And Besides,  That Gun Has So Injured My Shoulder,

That I Could Not,  If I Would."

 

By That Accidental Shot,  I Obtained A Great Name As A

Marksman,  And By Prudence I Retained It All The Voyage.

This Is Precisely My Case Now,  Gentle Reader. I Made An

Accidental Hit With The Clockmaker: When He Ceases To

Speak,  I Shall Cease To Write. The Little Reputation I

Then Acquired,  I Do Not Intend To Jeopardize By Trying

Too Many Experiments. I Know That It Was Chance--Many

People Think It Was Skill. If They Choose To Think So,

They Have A Right To Their Opinion,  And That Opinion Is

Fame. I Value This Reputation Too Highly Not To Take

Care Of It.

 

As I Do Not Intend Then To Write Often,  I Shall Not

Wire-Draw My Subjects,  For The Mere Purpose Of Filling

My Pages. Still A Book Should Be Perfect Within Itself,

And Intelligible Without Reference To Other Books. Authors

Are Vain People,  And Vanity As Well As Dignity Is Indigenous

To A Colony. Like A Pastry-Cook's Apprentice,  I See So

Much Of Both Their Sweet Things Around Me Daily,  That I

Have No Appetite For Either Of Them.

 

I Might Perhaps Be Pardoned,  If I Took It For Granted,

That The Dramatis Personae Of This Work Were Sufficiently

Known,  Not To Require A Particular Introduction. Dickens

Assumed The Fact That His Book On America Would Travel

Wherever The English Language Was Spoken,  And,  Therefore,

Called It "Notes For General Circulation." Even Colonists

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Say,  That This Was Too Bad,  And If They Say So,  It Must

Be So. I Shall,  Therefore,  Briefly State,  Who And What

The Persons Are That Composed Our Travelling Party,  As

If They Were Wholly Unknown To Fame,  And Then Leave Them

To Speak For Themselves.

 

The Reverend Mr. Hopewell Is A Very Aged Clergyman Of

The Church Of England,  And Was Educated At Cambridge

College,  In Massachusetts. Previously To The Revolution,

He Was Appointed Rector Of A Small Parish In Connecticut.

When The Colonies Obtained Their Independence,  He Remained

With His Little Flock In His Native Land,  And Continued

To Minister To Their Spiritual Wants Until Within A Few

Years,  When His Parishioners Becoming Unitarians,  Gave

Him His Dismissal. Affable In His Manners And Simple In

His Habits,  With A Mind Well Stored With Human Lore,  And

A Heart Full Of Kindness For His Fellow-Creatures,  He

Was At Once An Agreeable And An Instructive Companion.

Born And Educated In The United States,  When They Were

British Dependencies,  And Possessed Of A Thorough Knowledge

Of The Causes Which Led To The Rebellion,  And The Means

Used To Hasten The Crisis,  He Was At Home On All Colonial

Topics; While His Great Experience Of Both Monarchical

And Democratical Governments,  Derived From A Long Residence

In Both,  Made Him A Most Valuable Authority On Politics

Generally.

 

Mr. Samuel Slick Is A Native Of The Same Parish,  And

Received His Education From Mr. Hopewell. I First Became

Acquainted With Him While Travelling In Nova Scotia. He

Was Then A Manufacturer And Vendor Of Wooden Clocks. My

First Impression Of Him Was By No Means Favourable. He

Forced Himself Most Unceremoniously Into My Company And

Conversation. I Was Disposed To Shake Him Off,  But Could

Not. Talk He Would,  And As His Talk Was Of That Kind,

Which Did Not Require Much Reply On My Part,  He Took My

Silence For Acquiescence,  And Talked On. I Soon Found

That He Was A Character; And,  As He Knew Every Part Of

The Lower Colonies,  And Every Body In Them,  I Employed

Him As My Guide.

 

I Have Made At Different Times Three Several Tours With

Him,  The Results Of Which I Have Given In Three Several

Series Of A Work,  Entitled The "Clockmaker,  Or The Sayings

And Doings Of Mr. Samuel Slick." Our Last Tour Terminated

At New York,  Where,  In Consequence Of The Celebrity He

Obtained From These "Sayings And Doings" He Received The

Appointment Of Attache To The American Legation At The

Court Of St. James's. The Object Of This Work Is To

Continue The Record Of His Observations And Proceedings

In England.

 

The Third Person Of The Party,  Gentle Reader,  Is Your

Humble Servant,  Thomas Poker,  Esquire,  A Native Of Nova