Cape Breton Places & Foods

Here at our Sunday meeting place, the Old Town Clock on the eastern slope of Citadel Hill, we have a story of a young Halifax girl who became the wife of an Indian, and perhaps the strangest elopement story that this old city has ever had, to cause its gossips to let their tongues wag without ceasing for many days. It was up this steep incline that the young Indian and his chosen mate made their hasty way, in their successful effort to get clear of their pursuers.

But let’s start at the beginning. I’ve heard the story from various sources, it’s well known to many older Haligonians, but it will new too many of those who are newcomers. Peter Lynch recorded the story for the Nova Scotia Historical Society in 1883, so let’s go back to his account of it to refresh our memories.

Amongst the earliest settlers of this town from England, came a merchant, a man of respectable family, good education, and much intelligence. It was rumored that some unfortunate speculations at home had placed him in an unfortunate financial situation and that he sought a new chance in a new world. He soon won respect in Halifax, and went about his way unobtrusively, gaining a name for kindness and integrity.

His family was said to have been a small one, consisting of his sister, a aged spinster, who, after his wife had died, had presided over his household, and there was also his only child,, a beautiful girl seventeen years of age, and these with his domestic help and his clerks all dwelt under the one roof with him. In those days, it is recorded, hostels and boarding places were rather scarce, and it was not uncommon for a businessman to have his staff enjoy the comforts of his home with him.

At the time to which we refer, there was much distinction between the white settlers and the Indians, the red men feeling that the intruders on their grounds were taking from them their rightful heritage, the attack on the little settlement of Dartmouth, and the cruel scalping there, had heightened the feeling.

But despite the feeling, some Indians at times ventured into the settlement and were to be seen about its few streets. Among them was a tall, graceful lad who had been for some time an invalid and whose disease had baffled the skill of the Indian Medicine Men. He had come to seek the aid of the resident doctors, and while in the settlement, had attracted the attention of our merchant.

It was said that his good looks and his fine manly bearing, but above all, his sunken eyes and hollow cheeks and evident disability enlisted the sympathy of the kindhearted man. Gradually from time to time the Indian was invited to the house, and given a good feed at the merchant’s table. The lad’s intelligence and his apparent honesty, won the confidence of the man. His health improved under the attention of a Halifax doctor.

Then, at an evil hour for him, the merchant, and father of the young Halifax beauty, made the sad decision of taking the Indian into his employ… and in a shot time, he had won a place almost equal to one of his family. He wore the garb of the white man and seemingly adopted his customs and manners. His ability made him valuable to his benefactor. He was orphaned, and all contact with his race seemed to have successfully broken off. But there was one call that he could not overcome; that of the woods, and at intervals of increasing frequency, he sought and received permission to shoulder a gun and head into the forests. He always returned well laden with spoils of the hunt. First these were excursions of only a few hours. Then they became longer, perhaps some days.

He shirked his duties, and seemed to lose the pleasure of his new found life. Then, with a strange suddenness he was restored to his fondness for the civilized life, or so it seemed on the surface. It seemed a surprise of course to all others, but not to the maiden…the daughter of the household. Gossip started to spread about the friendship that was evident between the two young people of different races. Friends despaired of speaking with the father, knowing of his faith in his beloved child, and his confidence in the youth he had befriended. However, finally the merchant himself became aware of what was going on. 

The Indian was thrust from the house, and the young girl was kept under close watch. But, as Peter Lynch said, in his descriptive account in 1883, and I suppose it is just as true today, Love Laughs at Locksmiths.

After a time, she apparently emerged from her grief, and returned to a calm appearance. She was allowed to go and come from the house as she pleased. Soon again tales began to spread, that the Indian lover had been seen hovering about the brushwood fence and that under the cover of night, the pair had even been seen conversing near her father’s house.

Come the fall of the year, and one dark, but fine night, the occupants of the merchant’s house were aroused by his frantic cries on his discovery that his daughter had fled with her Indian lover. Neighbors were aroused by his cries, and gathered about the father, who seemed on a state bordering madness. He promised a large reward to anyone who would either secure the girl, or shoot the Indian. The discovery of her flight had been made with little loss of time. The father had armed himself with a gin, and had called on his neighbors to likewise equip themselves.

A tramp who had been wandering about the settlement said he had seen the pair as they passed him, speeding up the slope that now is surmounted by our Citadel, the very slope on which we gather, while I tell you these tales. The excited pursuers pressed on, spurred to fresh effort by this information. As they passed the palisade, one of the parties cried that he could see the path passing over the brow of the hill, which was then higher than it, is today.

You can see that the slope is a steep one, and possibly fear gave added drain on her strength, for the trembling girl tottered as she almost fainted with fatigue, but the Indian more accustomed to such a pace, was better fitted for such a race, and throwing his arms around her, had helped her sustain her steps.

Down the other side of the hill, they were able to gain speed but as they raced on, they could hear the angry cries of their pursuers. Where the Common is now, was once a stream and the Indian familiar with the lay of the land directed their path to a place where a dead log spanned the stream. He carried her across this makeshift bridge, the, putting down his burden, with a strength born of the situation, he managed to tear the end of the log from its resting place and topple it in to the water.

Up the incline known as Camp Hill they went on their way happy in the thought that the course of their pursuers had been somewhat delayed by the removal of the log bridge. Down the incline on the opposite side they ran on, and the cries of the armed pack behind again drew nearer and nearer.

What a welcome sight the black waters of the Northwest Arm must have been to the Indian, for he had laid his plans well. But, for a moment it seemed that fate had played fickle with his planning. His signal that he gave on reaching the shore went unanswered. No canoe with staunch-muscled braves at the paddles darted into sight as he expected. A cry of dismay broke from his throat as he heard the pursuers drawing nearer. But the cry was not in vain, for his friends, who had just given up hopes of his arrival had started to retrace their course across the Arm. They turned and put back to shore.

But a few yards separated the quarry from the pursuers when the canoe touched land. The girl was tossed into the frail craft, and just as one of the merchant’s servants reached out to grasp the hand of the Indian, he leaped into the canoe. The pursuer then grasped the canoe and held on, but a well directed blow of a paddle, landed on his head, put him out of the picture. The chase was over. A musket was raised and directed at the canoe, but fearful for the life of his daughter, it was thrown up by the father.

Today, in an auto, the place where the canoe left shore, and the place of landing on the Western bank near Melville Island, could be reached in a matter of scant minutes. Then it meant a long delay. The depths of the pathless forests hid well the path of the Indian, his fellow tribesmen, and the beautiful young girl who had chosen such a life, rather be separated from her lover.

What was the sequel, you ask. About a year from the time of the flight, on the banks of the Shubenacadie River, a baby was born, but the death of the mother wrote the end of another chapter in this strange story of old Halifax. What can have been her lot, in strange surroundings so foreign to her, and bearing the burden of the sorrow that she had caused the father who loved her so, can only be imagined. Perhaps death was a kindness to her.

The story isn’t quite all told. A few weeks after this scene of new life and of death in the lonely wigwam a tall gaunt Indian, under the shadow of night, stealthily made his way into the settlement. Carefully wrapped in a coarse blanket, an infant was placed in the porch of the merchant’s home, the door was loudly wrapped…then the Indian sped away.

The infant was carried in and placed in the arms of the father, as he sat sad and listless, just as he had spent much time since his daughter’s heedless act. The others for a moment thought he would cast it from him, and then as he looked down on the swarthy, little face, some of the features must have borne to him a link of the happier past. He gathered it to his bosom and baptized it in his tears. Blossoming into a beautiful woman, this mite was the solace of her grandfather’s declining years. Her Indian blood proved a blessing in one way, for it gave her a wonderful beauty of dark and distinguished nature. She did all in her power to add happiness to the home of the old man, and was beloved by the people for her kindness. She was sought in marriage by a British Naval Officer in command of a ship on this station, but giving him her heart, she would not consent to give her hand until the old grandfather she so loved had passed away. Then only did she marry her Naval Officer, and go with him to England and make hr home-a home blessed by a large family which had a number of its members gain distinction. Of the Indian, nothing more was ever heard.