The village of Digby stretches along the shore, and from the hills
surrounding it the Basin with its islands, the Gap, and Annapolis
River, are charming.
Disciples of old "Izaak" would be likely to meet with greater success
here than at Annapolis; as the current of the river at the latter place
is so strong that, as a general thing, only the "old salts" are anglers;
and they being most of the time out in the Bay or off on cruises, it
follows that fish are scarce in the market.
An "ancient and fish-like smell" pervades the atmosphere in some parts
of the village where the herring - humorously known as "Digby
Chickens" - are spread on racks to dry; but this odor, the odd little
shops and restaurants, the clumsy and queer lumber boats, the groups of
tars gossiping about doorways and wharves, only add to the nautical
character of the place, and suggest reminiscences of "Peggoty", "Ham",
and others of Dickens's characters.
We ignore the pleasant embowered hotel "in bosky dell", far up the
street this time, though we visit it in a later sojourn; and, "just for
the fun of it", take lunch in one of the peculiar little restaurants;
where, seated at a minute table in one of the tiny calico curtained
alcoves, we partake of our frugal repast (the bill of fare is extremely
limited), amusing ourselves watching the odd customers who come to make
purchases at the counter across the room, and "making believe" that we
are characters in an old English story.
On the bluff beyond the village, beneath great old Balm of Gilead trees
whose foliage is perpetually in a flutter from the breeze through the
Gap, there are several cannon, which it seems could not possibly have
any hostile intent, but appear to be gratifying a mild curiosity by
peering across the Basin and up the river beyond.
The long and very high pier stretches far out into the Basin, and upon
it picturesque groups unconsciously pose for us, adding to the effect
of the picture.
That the climate is salubrious and conducive to longevity we are
convinced after visiting the cemetery, where one tomb records the
demise of a man at the age of one hundred and two!
A peculiar taste for wandering among the tombs we have acquired in this
summer jaunt. Here we see the tomb of one recorded proudly as "descended
from the noble families of Stuart and Bruce", who, tradition says, was
supposed to have held the position of servant to said scions of
nobility. One who was known as a scoffer during life here is virtuously
represented ah "a sincere worshipper of Eternal, Almighty and ever just
God"; reminding us of the popular adage, "lying like an epitaph". Twice
have we seen one stone made to do service for two in an amusing manner:
on the upper part the usual, "Sacred to the memory of," etc.; then
half-way down had been carved a hand pointing to one side, and under it
the words "There lies"; while the name, age, etc., of the later
decedent was inscribed below the first.
