Three of
these rooms, which were perhaps twelve feet by fifteen feet, were
cells; the third was occupied by the jailer's family. The family
were now also occupying the front cell, - a cheerful room commanding a
view of the village street and of the bay. A prisoner of a
philosophic turn of mind, who had committed some crime of sufficient
magnitude to make him willing to retire from the world for a season
and rest, might enjoy himself here very well.
The jailer exhibited his premises with an air of modesty. In the
rear was a small yard, surrounded by a board fence, in which the
prisoner took his exercise. An active boy could climb over it, and
an enterprising pig could go through it almost anywhere. The keeper
said that he intended at the next court to ask the commissioners to
build the fence higher and stop up the holes. Otherwise the jail was
in good condition. Its inmates were few; in fact, it was rather apt
to be empty: its occupants were usually prisoners for debt, or for
some trifling breach of the peace, committed under the influence of
the liquor that makes one "unco happy." Whether or not the people of
the region have a high moral standard, crime is almost unknown; the
jail itself is an evidence of primeval simplicity. The great
incident in the old jailer's life had been the rescue of a well-known
citizen who was confined on a charge of misuse of public money. The
keeper showed me a place in the outer wall of the front cell, where
an attempt had been made to batter a hole through. The Highland clan
and kinsfolk of the alleged defaulter came one night and threatened
to knock the jail in pieces if he was not given up. They bruised the
wall, broke the windows, and finally smashed in the door and took
their man away. The jailer was greatly excited at this rudeness, and
went almost immediately and purchased a pistol. He said that for a
time he did n't feel safe in the jail without it. The mob had thrown
stones at the upper windows, in order to awaken him, and had insulted
him with cursing and offensive language.
Having finished inspecting the building, I was unfortunately moved by
I know not what national pride and knowledge of institutions superior
to this at home, to say,
"This is a pleasant jail, but it doesn't look much like our great
prisons; we have as many as a thousand to twelve hundred men in some
of our institutions."
"Ay, ay, I have heard tell," said the jailer, shaking his head in
pity, "it's an awfu' place, an awfu' place, - the United States. I
suppose it's the wickedest country that ever was in the world. I
don't know, - I don't know what is to become of it. It's worse than
Sodom. There was that dreadful war on the South; and I hear now it's
very unsafe, full of murders and robberies and corruption."
I did not attempt to correct this impression concerning my native
land, for I saw it was a comfort to the simple jailer, but I tried to
put a thorn into him by saying,
"Yes, we have a good many criminals, but the majority of them, the
majority of those in jails, are foreigners; they come from Ireland,
England, and the Provinces."
But the old man only shook his head more solemnly, and persisted,
"It's an awfu' wicked country."
Before I came away I was permitted to have an interview with the sole
prisoner, a very pleasant and talkative man, who was glad to see
company, especially intelligent company who understood about things,
he was pleased to say. I have seldom met a more agreeable rogue, or
one so philosophical, a man of travel and varied experiences. He was
a lively, robust Provincial of middle age, bullet-headed, with a mass
of curly black hair, and small, round black eyes, that danced and
sparkled with good humor. He was by trade a carpenter, and had a
work-bench in his cell, at which he worked on week-days. He had been
put in jail on suspicion of stealing a buffalo-robe, and he lay in
jail eight months, waiting for the judge to come to Baddeck on his
yearly circuit. He did not steal the robe, as he assured me, but it
was found in his house, and the judge gave him four months in jail,
making a year in all, - a month of which was still to serve. But he
was not at all anxious for the end of his term; for his wife was
outside.
Jock, for he was familiarly so called, asked me where I was from. As
I had not found it very profitable to hail from the United States,
and had found, in fact, that the name United States did not convey
any definite impression to the average Cape Breton mind, I ventured
upon the bold assertion, for which I hope Bostonians will forgive me,
that I was from Boston. For Boston is known in the eastern
Provinces.
"Are you?" cried the man, delighted. "I've lived in Boston, myself.
There's just been an awful fire near there."
"Indeed!" I said; "I heard nothing of it.' And I was startled with
the possibility that Boston had burned up again while we were
crawling along through Nova Scotia.
"Yes, here it is, in the last paper." The man bustled away and found
his late paper, and thrust it through the grating, with the inquiry,
"Can you read?"
Though the question was unexpected, and I had never thought before
whether I could read or not, I confessed that I could probably make
out the meaning, and took the newspaper.
