The Road Was Hilly, And Often Ran Along The Very Edge Of Steep
Declivities, And Our Driver, Who Did Not Know It Well, And Was Besides A
Cautious Man, Drove At A Most Moderate Pace.
Not so the youthful Jehu of the light vehicle behind.
He came desperately
on, cracking his whip, shouting "G'lang, Gee'p," rattling down hill, and
galloping up, and whirling round corners, in spite of the warning "Steady,
whoa!" addressed to him by our careful escort. Once the rattling behind
entirely ceased, and we stopped, our driver being anxious for the safety
of his own team, as well as for the nine passengers who were committed on
a dark night to the care of a boy of thirteen. The waggon soon came
clattering on again, and remained in disagreeably close proximity to us
till we arrived at Pictou.
At ten o'clock, after another long ascent, we stopped to water the horses,
and get some refreshment, at a shanty kept by an old Highland woman, well
known as "Nancy Stuart of the Mountain." Here two or three of us got
off, and a comfortable meal was soon provided, consisting of tea, milk,
oat-cake, butter, and cranberry and raspberry jam. This meal we shared
with some handsome, gloomy-looking, bonneted Highlanders, and some large
ugly dogs. The room was picturesque enough, with blackened rafters, deer
and cow horns hung round it, and a cheerful log fire. After tea I spoke to
Nancy in her native tongue, which so delighted her, that I could not
induce her to accept anything for my meal.
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