The Morning Was Delicious, - Such A Morning As
Never Visits Any Place Except An Island; A Bright, Sparkling Morning,
With The Exhilaration Of The Air Softened By The Sea.
What a day it
was for idleness, for voluptuous rest, after the flight by day and
night from St. John!
It was enough, now that the morning was fully
opened and advancing to the splendor of noon, to sit upon the upper
balcony, looking upon the Bras d'Or and the peaceful hills beyond,
reposeful and yet sparkling with the air and color of summer, and
inhale the balmy air. (We greatly need another word to describe good
air, properly heated, besides this overworked "balmy.") Perhaps it
might in some regions be considered Sabbath-keeping, simply to rest
in such a soothing situation, - rest, and not incessant activity,
having been one of the original designs of the day.
But our travelers were from New England, and they were not willing to
be outdone in the matter of Sunday observances by such an
out-of-the-way and nameless place as Baddeck. They did not set
themselves up as missionaries to these benighted Gaelic people, to
teach them by example that the notion of Sunday which obtained two
hundred years ago in Scotland had been modified, and that the
sacredness of it had pretty much disappeared with the unpleasantness
of it. They rather lent themselves to the humor of the hour, and
probably by their demeanor encouraged the respect for the day on Cape
Breton Island. Neither by birth nor education were the travelers
fishermen on Sunday, and they were not moved to tempt the authorities
to lock them up for dropping here a line and there a line on the
Lord's day.
In fact, before I had finished my second cup of Maud-mixed coffee, my
companion, with a little show of haste, had gone in search of the
kirk, and I followed him, with more scrupulousness, as soon as I
could without breaking the day of rest. Although it was Sunday, I
could not but notice that Baddeck was a clean-looking village of
white wooden houses, of perhaps seven or eight hundred inhabitants;
that it stretched along the bay for a mile or more, straggling off
into farmhouses at each end, lying for the most part on the sloping
curve of the bay. There were a few country-looking stores and shops,
and on the shore three or four rather decayed and shaky wharves ran
into the water, and a few schooners lay at anchor near them; and the
usual decaying warehouses leaned about the docks. A peaceful and
perhaps a thriving place, but not a bustling place. As I walked down
the road, a sailboat put out from the shore and slowly disappeared
round the island in the direction of the Grand Narrows. It had a
small pleasure party on board. None of them were drowned that day,
and I learned at night that they were Roman Catholics from
Whykokornagh.
The kirk, which stands near the water, and at a distance shows a
pretty wooden spire, is after the pattern of a New England
meeting-house. When I reached it, the house was full and the service
had begun. There was something familiar in the bareness and
uncompromising plainness and ugliness of the interior. The pews had
high backs, with narrow, uncushioned seats. The pulpit was high, - a
sort of theological fortification, - approached by wide, curving
flights of stairs on either side. Those who occupied the near seats
to the right and left of the pulpit had in front of them a blank
board partition, and could not by any possibility see the minister,
though they broke their necks backwards over their high coat-collars.
The congregation had a striking resemblance to a country New England
congregation of say twenty years ago. The clothes they wore had been
Sunday clothes for at least that length of time.
Such clothes have a look of I know not what devout and painful
respectability, that is in keeping with the worldly notion of rigid
Scotch Presbyterianism. One saw with pleasure the fresh and
rosy-cheeked children of this strict generation, but the women of the
audience were not in appearance different from newly arrived and
respectable Irish immigrants. They wore a white cap with long frills
over the forehead, and a black handkerchief thrown over it and
hanging down the neck, - a quaint and not unpleasing disguise.
The house, as I said, was crowded. It is the custom in this region
to go to church, - for whole families to go, even the smallest
children; and they not unfrequently walk six or seven miles to attend
the service. There is a kind of merit in this act that makes up for
the lack of certain other Christian virtues that are practiced
elsewhere. The service was worth coming seven miles to participate
in! - it was about two hours long, and one might well feel as if he
had performed a work of long-suffering to sit through it. The
singing was strictly congregational. Congregational singing is good
(for those who like it) when the congregation can sing. This
congregation could not sing, but it could grind the Psalms of David
powerfully. They sing nothing else but the old Scotch version of the
Psalms, in a patient and faithful long meter. And this is regarded,
and with considerable plausibility, as an act of worship. It
certainly has small element of pleasure in it. Here is a stanza from
Psalm xlv., which the congregation, without any instrumental
nonsense, went through in a dragging, drawling manner, and with
perfect individual independence as to time:
"Thine arrows sharply pierce the heart of th' enemies of the king,
And under thy sub-jec-shi-on the people down do bring."
The sermon was extempore, and in English with Scotch pronunciation;
and it filled a solid hour of time. I am not a good judge of
sermons, and this one was mere chips to me; but my companion, who knows
a sermon when he hears it, said that this was strictly theological,
and Scotch theology at that, and not at all expository.
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