Roughing it in the Bush | Page 7

anchor off Grosse Isle, on the 30th of August 1832, and we
were boarded a few minutes after by the health-officers.
One of these gentlemen--a little, shrivelled-up Frenchman--from his
solemn aspect and attenuated figure, would have made no bad
representative of him who sat upon the pale horse. He was the only
grave Frenchman I had ever seen, and I naturally enough regarded him
as a phenomenon. His companion--a fine-looking fair-haired
Scotchman--though a little consequential in his manners, looked like
one who in his own person could combat and vanquish all the evils
which flesh is heir to. Such was the contrast between these doctors, that
they would have formed very good emblems, one, of vigorous health,
the other, of hopeless decay.
Our captain, a rude, blunt north-country sailor, possessing certainly not
more politeness than might be expected in a bear, received his sprucely
dressed visitors on the deck, and, with very little courtesy, abruptly
bade them follow him down into the cabin.
The officials were no sooner seated, than glancing hastily round the
place, they commenced the following dialogue:--
"From what port, captain?"
Now, the captain had a peculiar language of his own, from which he
commonly expunged all the connecting links. Small words, such as
"and" and "the," he contrived to dispense with altogether.
"Scotland--sailed from port o' Leith, bound for Quebec, Montreal--
general cargo--seventy-two steerage, four cabin passengers--brig Anne,
one hundred and ninety-two tons burden, crew eight hands."

Here he produced his credentials, and handed them to the strangers.
The Scotchman just glanced over the documents, and laid them on the
table.
"Had you a good passage out?"
"Tedious, baffling winds, heavy fogs, detained three weeks on
Banks--foul weather making Gulf--short of water, people out of
provisions, steerage passengers starving."
"Any case of sickness or death on board?"
"All sound as crickets."
"Any births?" lisped the little Frenchman.
The captain screwed up his mouth, and after a moment's reflection he
replied, "Births? Why, yes; now I think on't, gentlemen, we had one
female on board, who produced three at a birth."
"That's uncommon," said the Scotch doctor, with an air of lively
curiosity. "Are the children alive and well? I should like much to see
them." He started up, and knocked his head--for he was very
tall--against the ceiling. "Confound your low cribs! I have nearly
dashed out my brains."
"A hard task, that," looked the captain to me. He did not speak, but I
knew by his sarcastic grin what was uppermost in his thoughts. "The
young ones all males--fine thriving fellows. Step upon deck, Sam
Frazer," turning to his steward; "bring them down for doctors to see."
Sam vanished, with a knowing wink to his superior, and quickly
returned, bearing in his arms three fat, chuckle-headed bull-terriers, the
sagacious mother following close at his heels, and looked ready to give
and take offence on the slightest provocation.
"Here, gentlemen, are the babies," said Frazer, depositing his burden on
the floor. "They do credit to the nursing of the brindled slut."

The old tar laughed, chuckled, and rubbed his hands in an ecstacy of
delight at the indignation and disappointment visible in the
countenance of the Scotch Esculapius, who, angry as he was, wisely
held his tongue. Not so the Frenchman; his rage scarcely knew
bounds--he danced in a state of most ludicrous excitement, he shook his
fist at our rough captain, and screamed at the top of his voice--
"Sacre, you bete! You tink us dog, ven you try to pass your puppies on
us for babies?"
"Hout, man, don't be angry," said the Scotchman, stifling a laugh; "you
see 'tis only a joke!"
"Joke! me no understand such joke. Bete!" returned the angry
Frenchman, bestowing a savage kick on one of the unoffending pups
which was frisking about his feet. The pup yelped; the slut barked and
leaped furiously at the offender, and was only kept from biting him by
Sam, who could scarcely hold her back for laughing; the captain was
uproarious; the offended Frenchman alone maintained a severe and
dignified aspect. The dogs were at length dismissed, and peace
restored.
After some further questioning from the officials, a Bible was required
for the captain to take an oath. Mine was mislaid, and there was none at
hand.
"Confound it!" muttered the old sailor, tossing over the papers in his
desk; "that scoundrel, Sam, always stows my traps out of the way."
Then taking up from the table a book which I had been reading, which
happened to be Voltaire's History of Charles XII., he presented it, with
as grave an air as he could assume, to the Frenchman. Taking for
granted that it was the volume required, the little doctor was too polite
to open the book, the captain was duly sworn, and the