Produced by Gardner Buchanan
THE ATTACHE
or, SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND.
By Thomas Chandler Haliburton
(Greek Text)--GREEK PROVERB.
Tell you what, report my speeches if you like, but if you put my talkin, I'll give you the mitten, as sure as you are born.--SLICKVILLETRANSLATION
London, July 3rd, 1843.
MY DEAR HOPKINSON,
I have spent so many agreeable hours at Edgeworth heretofore, that myfirst visit on leaving London, will be to your hospitable mansion. Inthe meantime, I beg leave to introduce to you my "Attache," who willprecede me several days. His politics are similar to your own; I wish Icould say as much in favour of his humour. His eccentricities will standin need of your indulgence; but if you can overlook these, I am notwithout hopes that his originality, quaint sayings, and queer views ofthings in England, will afford you some amusement. At all events, I feelassured you will receive him kindly; if not for his own merits, at leastfor the sake of
Yours always,
THE AUTHOR.
To EDMUND HOPKINSON ESQ. Edgeworth, Gloucestershire.
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
CHAPTER I. UNCORKING A BOTTLE CHAPTER II. A JUICY DAY IN THE COUNTRY CHAPTER III. TYING A NIGHT-CAP CHAPTER IV. HOME AND THE SEA CHAPTER V. T'OTHER EEND OF THE GUN CHAPTER VI. SMALL POTATOES AND FEW IN A HILL CHAPTER VII. A GENTLEMAN AT LARGE CHAPTER VIII. SEEING LIVERPOOL CHAPTER IX. CHANGING A NAME CHAPTER X. THE NELSON MONUMENT CHAPTER XI. COTTAGES CHAPTER XII. STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE CHAPTER XIII. NATUR' CHAPTER XIV. THE SOCDOLAGER CHAPTER XV. DINING OUT
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
CHAPTER I. THE NOSE OF A SPY CHAPTER II. THE PATRON; OR, THE COW'S TAIL CHAPTER III. ASCOT RACES CHAPTER IV. THE GANDER PULLING CHAPTER V. THE BLACK STOLE CHAPTER VI. THE PRINCE DE JOINVILLE'S HORSE CHAPTER VII. LIFE IN THE COUNTRY CHAPTER VIII. BUNKUM CHAPTER IX. THROWING THE LAVENDER CHAPTER X. AIMING HIGH CHAPTER XI. A SWOI-REE CHAPTER XII. TATTERSALL'S CHAPTER XIII. LOOKING BACK CHAPTER XIV. CROSSING THE BORDER CHAPTER XV. THE IRISH PREFACE
THE ATTACHE; OR SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND.
CHAPTER I. UNCORKING A BOTTLE.
We left New York in the afternoon of -- day of May, 184-, and embarkedon board of the good Packet ship "Tyler" for England. Our partyconsisted of the Reverend Mr. Hopewell, Samuel Slick, Esq., myself, andJube 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 degenerateinto obscurity. Writing a book, however, and book-making, are two verydifferent things: "spinning a yarn" is mechanical, and book-makingsavours of trade, and is the employment of a manufacturer. The authorby profession, weaves his web by the piece, and as there is muchcompetition in this branch of trade, extends it over the greatestpossible surface, so as to make the most of his raw material. Henceevery work of fancy is made to reach to three volumes, otherwise it willnot 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, butit 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. Slickwould say "for everlastinly;" but to make my bow and retire very soonfrom the press altogether. I might assign many reasons for this modestcourse, 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 ina 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 ofall observers." I could undervalue this species of writing if Ithought proper, affect a contempt for idiomatic humour, or hint at theemployment being inconsistent with the grave discharge of importantofficial duties, which are so distressingly onerous, as not to leaveme a moment for recreation; but these airs, though dignified, willunfortunately 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 atHalifax on board the Buffalo store-ship for England. She was a nobleteak built ship of twelve or thirteen hundred tons burden, had excellentaccommodation, and carried over to merry old England, a very merry partyof passengers, _quorum parva pars fui_, a youngster just emerged fromcollege.
On the banks of Newfoundland we were becalmed, and the passengers amusedthemselves by throwing overboard a bottle, and shooting at it with ball.The guns used for this occasion, were the King's muskets, taken from thearm-chest on the quarter-deck. The shooting was execrable. It was hardto say which were worse marksmen, the officers of the ship, or thepassengers. Not a bottle was hit: many reasons were offered for thisfailure, but the two principal ones were, that the muskets were bad, andthat it required great skill to overcome the difficulty occasioned byboth, the vessel and the bottle being in motion at the same time, andthat motion dissimilar.
I lost my patience. I had never practised shooting with ball; I hadfrightened a few snipe, and wounded a few partridges, but that wasthe extent of my experience. I knew, however, that I could not by anypossibility shoot worse than every body else had done, and might byaccident shoot better.
"Give me a gun, Captain," said I, "and I will shew you how to uncorkthat bottle."
I took the musket, but its weight was beyond my strength of arm. I wasafraid that I could not hold it out steadily, even for a moment, it wasso very heavy--I threw it up with a desperate effort and fired. The neckof the bottle flew up in the air a full yard, and then disappeared. Iwas amazed myself at my success. Every body was surprised, but as everybody attributed it to long practice, they were not so much astonished asI was, who knew it was wholly owing to chance. It was a lucky hit, and Imade the most of it; success made me arrogant, and boy-like, I became aboaster.
"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 callmyself a good shot. I have not had the requisite experience; but thereare those who can take out the eye of a squirrel at a hundred yards."
"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 apuzzler. 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 improvewith 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 memuch time. A squirrel is too small an object for all but an experiencedman, but a "_large_" mark like a quart bottle can easily be hit at ahundred yards--that is nothing."
"I will take you a bet," said he, "of a doubloon, you do not do itagain?"
"Thank you," I replied with great indifference: "I never bet, andbesides, that gun has so injured my shoulder, that I could not, if Iwould."
By that accidental shot, I obtained a great name as a marksman, and byprudence I retained it all the voyage. This is precisely my case now,gentle reader. I made an accidental hit with the Clockmaker: when heceases 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 theychoose to think so, they have a right to their opinion, and that opinionis 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 mysubjects, for the mere purpose of filling my pages. Still a book shouldbe perfect within itself, and intelligible without reference to otherbooks. Authors are vain people, and vanity as well as dignity isindigenous to a colony. Like a pastry-cook's apprentice, I see so muchof both their sweet things around me daily, that I have no appetite foreither of them.
I might perhaps be pardoned, if I took it for granted, that thedramatis personae of this work were sufficiently known, not to requirea particular introduction. Dickens assumed the fact that his book onAmerica would travel wherever the English language was spoken, and,therefore, called it "Notes for General Circulation." Even Colonistssay, 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 ourtravelling party, as if they were wholly unknown to fame, and then leavethem to speak for themselves.
The Reverend Mr. Hopewell is a very aged clergyman of the Church ofEngland, and was educated at Cambridge College, in Massachusetts.Previously to the revolution, he was appointed rector of a small parishin Connecticut. When the colonies obtained their independence, heremained with his little flock in his native land, and continued tominister to their spiritual wants until within a few years, when hisparishioners becoming Unitarians, gave him his dismissal. Affable inhis manners and simple in his habits, with a mind well stored with humanlore, and a heart full of kindness for his fellow-creatures, he was atonce an agreeable and an instructive companion. Born and educated in theUnited States, when they were British dependencies, and possessed ofa thorough knowledge of the causes which led to the rebellion, and themeans used to hasten the crisis, he was at home on all colonialtopics; while his great experience of both monarchical and democraticalgovernments, derived from a long residence in both, made him a mostvaluable authority on politics generally.
Mr. Samuel Slick is a native of the same parish, and received hiseducation from Mr. Hopewell. I first became acquainted with him whiletravelling in Nova Scotia. He was then a manufacturer and vendor ofwooden clocks. My first impression of him was by no means favourable. Heforced himself most unceremoniously into my company and conversation. Iwas disposed to shake him off, but could not. Talk he would, and as histalk was of that kind, which did not require much reply on my part, hetook my silence for acquiescence, and talked on. I soon found that hewas a character; and, as he knew every part of the lower colonies, andevery body in them, I employed him as my guide.
I have made at different times three several tours with him, the resultsof which I have given in three several series of a work, entitled the"Clockmaker, or the Sayings and Doings of Mr. Samuel Slick." Our lasttour terminated at New York, where, in consequence of the celebrity heobtained from these "Sayings and Doings" he received the appointment ofAttache to the American Legation at the Court of St. James's. Theobject of this work is to continue the record of his observations andproceedings in England.
The third person of the party, gentle reader, is your humble servant,Thomas Poker, Esquire, a native of Nova Scotia, and a retired member ofthe Provincial bar. My name will seldom appear in these pages, as I amuniformly addressed by both my companions as "Squire," nor shall I haveto perform the disagreeable task of "reporting my own speeches," fornaturally taciturn, I delight in listening rather than talking, andmodestly prefer the duties of an amanuensis, to the responsibilities oforiginal composition.
The last personage is Jube Japan, a black servant of the Attache.
Such are the persons who composed the little party that embarked at NewYork, on board the Packet ship "Tyler," and sailed on the -- of May,184-, for England.
The motto prefixed to this work
(Greek Text)
sufficiently explains its character. Classes and not individuals havebeen selected for observation. National traits are fair subjects forsatire or for praise, but personal peculiarities claim the privilege ofexemption in right of that hospitality, through whose medium they havebeen alone exhibited. Public topics are public property; every body hasa right to use them without leave and without apology. It is only whenwe quit the limits of this "common" and enter upon "private grounds,"that we are guilty of "a trespass." This distinction is alike obvious togood sense and right feeling. I have endeavoured to keep it constantlyin view; and if at any time I shall be supposed to have erred (I say"supposed," for I am unconscious of having done so) I must claim theindulgence always granted to involuntary offences.
Now the patience of my reader may fairly be considered a "privateright." I shall, therefore, respect its boundaries and proceed atonce with my narrative, having been already quite long enough about"uncorking a bottle."
The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete Page 1
