Cape Breton Places & Foods

Halifax, the ancient and picturesque capitol of Nova Scotia, is visited every summer by thousands of American tourists. They enjoy their escape from the torrid heat of August at home, to the cool sea air, the clear blue days, and the peaceful sleep-filled nights, and they find no little interest in the bowery public gardens, the mazes of the sea-grit park, the royal prospects from the star-shaped citadel, and the many monuments that record the history of this old garrison. As long ago as the eighteenth century, during the American Revolution, hundreds of American citizens used to visit the place, but they did not come willingly; they were singularly blind to its scenic charm and they took the earliest possible opportunity of returning to their native land. They were, in fact, prisoners of war gathered up by His Britannic Majesty’s cruisers and land forces. They were confined in jails and prison-ships and barracks, and they lived on prisoner’s fare. Their lot was hard and they gave the city of their captivity a bad name which it was slow to shake off. Sooner or later, they were sent home by cartel, in exchange for British prisoners gathered up by the Continentals; but the more impatient broke out by force or stratagem, and the sympathizing Nova Scotians helped them “up along to the westward” on their way to freedom. The rape of the Flying Fish is a case in point, and the story shows how peaceful men suffer in time of war.

On the evening of April 7, 1780, a little ten ton schooner with this poetic name lay at a wharf in Halifax, probably Fairbanks’ near the foot of Blower Street. With the help of a single other hand, William Greenwood brought her up from Barrington, a small fishing village at the butt-end of the province, to the capitol with a load of potatoes. He had sold his cargo, possibly to the commissariat department, for Halifax had a huge garrison to feed at the time; and he had received his money. He had also his clearance from the Customs and he was ready to sail. Between eight and nine o’clock he was in the tiny cabin with the other man, the two forming the entire crew; he may have been getting ready to turn in for the night, or he may have been reckoning up the profits of the trip, or considering how soon he could get back to Barrington and begin the spring fishing. He had on board nets and other gear, and he knew where he could procure a sufficiency of salt; he may have been thinking of the Banks. Or he may have been meditating on the varied experience of the past five years, since the Thirteen Colonies had declared their independence of the mother country.

The war had been a hard trial for poor men like William Greenwood. Only ten years before it broke out, he had left his native state of Massachusetts for Nova Scotia and had settled at Barrington for greater convenience to the rich fisheries of the North Atlantic. He was a British subject. He had simply transferred himself and his belongings from one British colony to another, and now, for no fault of his, by the ironic accident of mere residence, he found himself an enemy to his old friends and the kindred he had left behind. How could he bear arms against them? How could he help sympathizing with the “rebels,” against whom the governor and Assembly of Nova Scotia fulminated in menacing Acts and proclamations? It was a cruel situation for a poor man, especially after Congress had declared that the thirteen colonies would have no trade or commerce with the two erring sisters to the north, which refused to join the union. The fishermen of Barrington and Yarmouth soon felt the pinch of want. Fishing was their sole source of livelihood; to move back to Massachusetts meant ruin; to remain in Nova Scotia exposed them to the American privateers and shut them out from their natural market.

Still, men are not as harsh as their laws; even in the worst year of the war, commerce between Nova Scotia and Massachusetts did not wholly cease. In October, 1776, the Barrington men loaded the schooner Hope with fish and liver oil and sent her to Salem with a piteous request that they might be allowed to barter the cargo for provisions, to keep them through the long winter approaching. It is impossible, they said, to get provisions elsewhere. The homely petition breaks into an irrepressible cry of distress-God only knows what will become of us.” To resist such an appeal was not easy. The House of Representatives allowed the agent of the Hope, Heman Kinney, to dispose of his cargo, and to purchase two hundred and fifty bushels of corn, thirty barrels of pork, two hogsheads of molasses, two hogsheads of rum [a necessity of life], and two hundred pounds of coffee. With these rations, rather plentiful and luxurious compared to what they purchased in later years, the community of Barrington managed somehow or other to get through the long winter.

Exactly a year later, Greenwood had been able to render an important service to the new republic by returning to it no fewer than twenty-five of its fighting men. Captain Littlefield Libby had the misfortune to lose his privateer. She was driven on shore by one of H.B.M.’s cutters. Her crew set her on fire and took to the woods. After a toilsome journey of seventeen leagues through the primeval forest, they reached Barrington and bought a boat with what money they had, eked out with their shoe buckles and thirty small-arms. But ill luck still fowled them. They were wrecked and lost their dear bought boat… Once more they were forced back on the limited hospitality of the fishing hamlet at the east passage of Cape Sable Island. In this crisis, Greenwood undertook to ferry them over to his forty-five ton schooner, the Sally, which may have been named after his wife. In addition to Libby’s crew, he brought one of Captain Fullerby’s men and three others who had escaped from Halifax and made their way to the end of the province nearest their own home. The plan of the previous year was repeated. On Captain Libby’s advice, the Sally was loaded with a few quintals of fish, the result of the labor of many families, some bushels of salt, and some fish oil to be exchanged for corn or wheaten flour, for the indispensable daily bread. By October 27, 1777, the Sally with her cargo and her returning privateers was safe at Salem, and four days later, Greenwood’s petition for leave to buy food was granted.

For the return trip, Greenwood had shipped a new hand, one John Caldwell, a young fisherman, whose artless tale illustrates the sufferings of the innocent noncombatants in time of war. He lived in Nova Scotia, not far from Barrington, where the visionary Colonel Alexander McNutt projected his marvelous city of New Jerusalem. Caldwell was the only support of his widowed mother and his sisters. The fishery had been ruined by the depredations of the merciless small privateers, so he made a voyage in a merchantman from Nova Scotia to the West Indies. On his return, he avers that he was “strongly important” to go on another voyage to Quebec; so he must have been a likely lad. On his way thither, his vessel was snapped up by the privateer Dolphin out of Salem, and he himself was mage prisoner of war. Now he petitioned for release, and the Council of Massachusetts were not without bowels. They considered his motives, his youth, and his peculiar circumstances, as he requested, and they gave him leave to return in the Sally to his own place. The next October saw Greenwood again in Boston with his annual cargo of escaping prisoners on board the Sally, and his annual petition for leave to buy food. His passenger list included Amos Green of Salem, Ichabod Mattocks of Mount Desert, and Mr. John Long, late quartermaster of the Continental ship Hancock. She had been captured by that very active officer Sir George Collier of the Rainbow in a sea-duel, like that between the Chesapeake and the Shannon, and taken to Halifax. The local jail must have been a curious place. The jailor was infirm and delegated his duties to his wife. The supply of shackles was insufficient and the regulations for visiting the prisoners at night were not enforced. Apparently, nobody with any contrivance remained long in durance. Americans were always escaping and always being helped up along by the people of Nova Scotia.

So far Greenwood, the “hearty friend of America,” as Captain Libby calls him, had managed to escape being ground between the upper and nether millstones of the hostile forces, but soon he was to suffer not from “the enemy,” but from the Americans he consistently befriended.

Not far from where I live in Halifax, is located Gorsebrook Golf Course, and to the south of what is now the Club house, a garden is surrounded by a stone wall. At the south east corner, one of the stones has subscribed on it-”This wall was built in 1915″-This house and grounds are part of the old Collins estate, and the date on the stone and the history of the place has caused my thoughts to wander back for something to interest you of those stirring times, and so I remind you of the most remarkable privateer story that Nova Scotia has ever given us.

This particular story has nothing to do with the Collins family, but as they were interested in shipping in those days, no doubt the story I am to tell you, was well known to those who frequented this old garden at Gorsebrook.

In the olden days, Navy Departments used to encourage private citizens to outfit ships in time of war. These ships were not subject to naval discipline, they were not part of the navy, nor did they ever, when it could be avoided, take part in any naval engagement. They were designed solely to prey upon merchant ships, to destroy the commerce of that nation with whom their country was at war. As a reward for their actions, they were allowed to keep and sell as prizes, the ships and cargoes which they captured, and for authority, so that they would not be regarded simply as pirates, they carried documents known as letters of marque, granted them by their government.

These ships were very fast, and often carried quite heavy armament. Their smallness and their speed enabled them to escape from hostile warships, and their arms made them much more than a match for any luckless merchantman whom they might meet. If it so happened, however, that a hostile warship ever did get a good chance at a privateer, there was small mercy shown, for regular men of the navy looked upon privateers as nothing more or less as pirates. Indeed, two of the most famous pirates ever known, Captain John Kidd, and Captain Henry Morgan, began their careers as privateers.

During the war of 1812, The United States of America, being a new country, had almost no navy whatever. Therefore the government, more than a little dismayed at the one hundred and six ships of the line that the English had gathered at Halifax, put forth an especial plea for privateers, calling attention to the fact that here was a chance both to serve the new republic and to grow rich off prize money. Within a very short time, there were twenty-four heavily armed, very fast privateers sailing out of New York and making themselves no end of a nuisance to British shipping. Among these was a vessel known as the Teazer, which was particularly active. In a few short weeks, she had captured two ships, six brigs and six schooners. It is no wonder then, that as much effort was directed toward capturing the Emden during the early days of the last war, or the Bismarck in this war.

But to get back to my story last, in December, 1812, she was run down. The San Domingo, a huge warship, cornered the little privateer, captured her and burned her.

Her officers were allowed to go home on parole: that is, they were freed upon their promising that they would not again during the war bear arms against Great Britain. Officers were regard as men of honor, men who would keep their word. One of these officers was Lieutenant Frederick Johnson, of whom we shall hear more later.

It was not long before the Teazer was replaced. Early in May, 1831, the Young Teazer, named after the vessel that and been lost, took to the high seas with the intention of giving the British quite as much trouble as had the old Teazer, and with no intention whatever of being captured and burned.

But best-laid plans and the very best of intentions often go astray. The Young Teaser’s first mistake was made when, early in June, she boarded a vessel off La Have, and allowed the vessel and crew to proceed. Of course, the vessel was in ballast, and was hardly worth taking, but her crew arrived at Halifax with full details about the new privateer, her tonnage, the number of guns she carried, and the size of her crew. A very few days later, an incident happened which shows the daring of these privateers. The Young Teazer captured two vessels right off Sambro Light, at the very entrance to Halifax Harbour, and escaped a possible capture by running into the harbor and raising British colors. This was certainly bravado, but it was discovered after the Young Teazer had gone, and a number of British warships sailed wrathfully out into the ocean in search of the Young Teazer.

A Liverpool privateer, called the Sir John Sherbrooke, sighted her, and gave chase: but the Young Teazer was too fast, and with the coming of a thick fog, the Young Teazer got away. Then two warships, the Caster and the Manly, caught sight of her, but the light Teazer was far too fast for the heavy lumbering warships.

A few days later, the frigate Orpheus met with Young Teazer, and being nearly as fast as the privateer, gave her a hot chase to Lunenburg Harbour. There was a light fitful breeze blowing, and the master of the Young Teazer, realizing that he was no match whatever for a heavily armed frigate, crowded on every inch of canvas, and manned the huge oars, or sweeps, with what the Young Teazer was equipped. Even with this help, however, the Young Teazer was unable to get away from this British frigate, who crowded close at her heels.

The Young Teazer darted amongst the maze of islands that dot Lunenburg Harbour, hoping that she would get into shallow water, where her light draught would enable her to sail where the deeper frigate would ground. But the Orpheus was not to be shaken so easily. Into the harbor she raced; close enough to give the master and crew of the Young Teazer a great deal of worry.

Then luck favored the Young Teazer. She doubled over past Sculpin Rock into Spindler’s Cove, and then she squared away and ran between Cross Island and East Point into Mahone Bay, toward Tancook. In the meantime, the Orpheus lost the breeze, and could follow no farther.

But, just as the officers and crew of the Young Teazer were beginning to breathe more easily, and to think that perhaps they had escaped once more, a huge three-decked British warship hove into sight. She proved to be La Hogue, a ship that carried seventy-four guns, a giant of the sea that would blow the Young Teazer out of the water with just one blast. Still, however, there was a chance for the Young Teazer. La Hogue was a great sea-castle, and needed a real breeze to move her- and the wind that the Teazer was light and fitful, so much so that her sweeps were manned constantly. She kept on toward Mahone Bay.

Now the luck that had favored the Young Teazer deserted her entirely. La Hogue caught a breeze that was evidently missing the privateer, and to the dismay of the American, swept around her to windward. But this was not the worst. Scarcely had the Young Teazer realized the peril that this placed her in before the towering sails of the Orpheus appeared.

The breeze that had favored La Hogue, had also enabled the frigate to get windward of the Young Teaser.

Then the wind died, and the Young Teazer, trapped in the landlocked waters of Mahone Bay, lay motionless, with the huge British ship a scant three miles away, also becalmed, but waiting there sinisterly for the Young Teazer to make a move.

One chance remained. With the warship becalmed, the Young Teazer might have worked her way to safety with her sweeps, and, indeed, much a move was begun. But La Hogue was not to be cheated out of her prey. Across the waters to the Teazer came the rattle of La Hogue’s anchor chains, and the sound of putting over boats. In the twilight, the Teazer’s crew saw five huge boats, each thronged with men, and each with a heavy gun in the bow, coming swiftly toward them. The sweeps had to be abandoned, for the boats could move much faster than could the Young Teazer, and besides, there was evidently a fight in the offing, and every man would be needed.

To the accompaniment of the distant, yet ever nearer, splash of oars, a council was hastily called on the Young Teazer. There were two courses open; they could surrender, or they could put up the best possible fight against tremendous odds. There were only thirty-six of the Young Teazer’s original crew of sixty-five on board; the rest had been sent on prizes. Each of La Hogue’s boats carried more men than the whole crew of the Young Teazer; there were more British tars on La Hogue and in reserve, there was the Orpheus, sinisterly awaiting the last breath of wind.

Even so, a gallant fight could have been made. The Teazer mounted five guns, which could have wrought great damage to the five shapes approaching through the summer twilight.

But, while the captain hesitated, the council was suddenly ended by Lieutenant Johnson, the paroled officer from the old Teazer, who had broken his oath, and was again bearing arms against Britain.

Somebody screamed that Johnson had run into the cabin with a live brand from the galley fire. The next moment, the Young Teazer was blown into fragments, by a terrible explosion, a great spout of flame shot skyward, and the career of the Young Teazer was over. Johnson, who did not care to swing at La Hogue’s yardarm as a renegade, had fired the Young Teazer’s magazine.

La Hogue’s boats went hastily back to their ship, and waited until morning. Then, when the British saw the hulk of the Young Teazer still afloat, they sent out boats to pick up any who might have survived the dreadful explosion. A few men, horribly wounded, were patched up and taken ashore to Lunenburg. One or two others who had been flung uninjured into the water, made their way ashore, and surrendered to Lunenburg authorities. In all, twenty-eight of the thirty-six on board the Young Teazer perished from Johnson’s rash act.

The wreck of the Young Teazer was towed ashore, and Lunenburg people gave Christian burial to the horribly mutilated remains that they could find. Some idea of the ghastly scene that the Young Teazer presented may be gathered from the fact that at least one man fainted at the sight of the hulk. There still remain some relics of the Young Teazer. One of the lanterns is in possession of a citizen of Lunenburg County, and a piece of the keel made into a cross, is in the Anglican Church at Chester.

But the greatest memory of the Young Teaser is to be found in the legends about Tancook, and many stories have been told about happenings in June, 1813, when the Young Teazer came to her end.

When you take a walk around Gorsebrook, have a look at the old stone on the wall, and you will probably say to yourself, I’ll bet the occupants of this house in those days, heard some exiting stories of the sea.

It is surprising the number of newcomers to Halifax who ask about that circular building, with the round dome for a roof, which they see a few miles before arriving in the city, if they come by the main highway or by train. It is not so surprising on the part of those whose advent to Halifax is by means of a motor road, but the more fleeting view that arrivals by train experience, does not give them equal opportunity to have the structure impress itself on their minds. Yet, many of them note it, and a number express curiosity about its unique design.

O course, it would be difficult to find a Haligonian who does not know of Prince’s Lodge, and who does not boast at least a smattering of its history. But even a number of regular residents do not know much about the building perched high on the hill overlooking Bedford Basin on one side, and with the cutting of the C.N.R. track providing a minor precipice on the other.

It would seem rather fitting for those of us who gather each Sunday morning for our visit together for Tales Told Under the Old Town Clock to take a jaunt out to Prince’s Lodge today. The same royal person who was instrumental in the erection of the historic clock on the slope of Citadel Hill likewise caused the erection of this other building. But, where the town clock stands in isolation, the other one was once part of an extensive group of buildings which formed the home of the Duke of Kent during his sojourn at this post.

True, it was separated by a little distance from the main buildings of the estate, but was a part of it. The rotunda provided the place from which the band on frequent occasions in those colorful days discoursed sweet music for the entertainment of Edward and his guests. Legend has it that the Duke utilized the Maroons, colored men who were shipped here from Jamaica, in his operations of building, and it is said that the rotunda was used as a kind of temple in which these Maroons practiced their rites.

It was after Edward’s arrival here from the West Indies in May of 1794, that this beautiful section of the Basin’s shore took on its very important role in local history. While guest of Governor Wentworth, Edward, who had been named head of the British troops in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, was taken to the Governor’s summer home these few miles from Halifax, which Wentworth had given the name of “Friar Lawrence’s Cell.”

Dr. Clara Dennis, in her much read book, Down in Nova Scotia, says “The Governor could not know that it was destined to be the setting for a real Romeo and Juliet whose romance would also end in tragedy, although unlike the tragedy of the imaginary Romeo and Juliet from whose story the Governor had taken the Friar Lawrence’s Cell as the name for his modest summer home.”

Edward found this spot, to use his own words, “better than any spot outside England,” and the obliging Governor gave over his place to his royal guest. From then on, it gained its new name of Prince’s Lodge.

Services of the leading landscape artist of the day in England were sought by the enthusiastic builder, and the natural beauty of the surroundings soon took on new glory as the development proceeded.

It is recalled that myriad pathways were directed through the woods, and each path was so designed that it formed a letter of the alphabet. Grottos abounded, Chinese pagodas were speedily erected where commanding views of the Basin could be secured.

It was fitting that such a place, and with such a history to be written in the brief period of its glory, should have a special pathway which boasted the designation of “Lover’s Lane”. What happy hours for those ill-fated lovers of history, Edward and the beautiful Julie St. Laurent who won his affections, the young widow who was an aristocrat in her own country, and who was Edward’s constant companion until expediency of the ways of state made it necessary for him to choose a royal bride. It was with Madame St. Laurent as the charming and beautiful and charming hostess that the then leaders of Halifax social world wended their way to the retreat on the Basin’s shores for the gay festivities. Many a titled visitor from other climes had his good option of Halifax greatly increased by the happy hours spent as an honored guest at the Lodge.

Let us say that we have traveled out the Bedford Road, past Mount St. Vincent, through Rockingham, beyond Birch Cove, and but a little beyond we see the rotunda, with the tracks between it and our highway. It was up the pathway from opposite the music room that we travel to reach the site of the main parts of the Lodge.

Arriving at the site, which has lost every link to the past but the rotunda, we will have to close our eyes and try to picture what it must have looked like at the end of the eighteenth century.

Records tell us that the main residence was a two-storey house of Italian style with wings at each end and the grand hall and reception room in the center. To the rear was a church-like structure said to house the offices and kitchen, for no cooking was actually done in the main building, a subterranean passage leading to that very necessary department. What rich repasts must have been carried along its artificially-lighted course?

Near enough to the house to give ready access was the library, stocked with books that were brought with great difficulty, for it is said that seven times through piracy or shipwreck Edward lost his household goods and books, including thousands of volumes at Sable Island.

It was a self sufficient little community that dwelt amid all this beauty, for it had its stables, forge, and a variety of other out-buildings to meet its requirements. There was even a barracks there for the guards over such an important person, and this structure was said to have been just a small space north of the still standing rotunda.

But even if able to get along quite well alone, it still was considered necessary to have a link with the city. It was not as simple a matter as today, with the telephone-so on a high elevation was the observatory and signal station. From it, signals were relayed through Fort Needham, at the north end of Halifax, on to Fort George on the summit of Citadel Hill.

Expense was not spared by Edward in meeting his own whims or those of his beauteous companion and it is said that when His Royal Highness finally quit this section, to meet the call of state elsewhere, he left the trifling amount of $800,000.00 in debts in Nova Scotia.

Dr. Clara Dennis tells us that behind all these scenes of pomp and gaiety dwelt a lonely hermit in his cell. He was furnished with rich food from the Lodge, but rejected all but the plainest of scraps, never leaving his cell but by nights. His grave is said to be somewhere about, at a place selected by Madame St. Laurent, and with keeping with his habits during life, he was laid to rest in the darkness of night. We could spend many moments here merely pondering what lay behind his selection of such a strange way of life.

There is another hidden grave hereabouts, according to stories that have been handed down. It is that of the Prince’s favorite charger. He would have no horse but the best, and it is said that this favorite stumbled but once, but even that was sufficient for a royal decree that he be shot.

There is still a little lake to be seen, if we travel up over the hill we find a small artificial lake. Once this was heart-shaped, made for Julie by her lover, but its shores are now unkempt. Where once stood well kept buildings. Are now but rough board structures used for picnic purpose.

For years the property was used for the center of organized outings from the city. Many of us in Halifax recall with thrilling memories the travels up the Basin in some small steamboat, to be disgorged at a wharf by the rotunda, and then to proceed on to the open parts above, where the fun of the picnic was experienced. Then at day’s end, as the shades of night started to make the eastern shore indistinct, we traveled down the slope again on tired and begrimed legs for the climaxing thrill, the boat trip back to the city.

What a contrast to those days of royal parties, with bowling on the green.-Prince’s Lodge, the name given to the section, is today counted as a residential suburb of Halifax. But a few short years ago it was the place where the more fortunate people of the city had summer homes, to be boarded up and deserted with the arrival of the colder months. Today it has a variety of attractive year-round residences, and people who make their homes there travel to and from the city in a matter of a comparatively few minutes, where once it was a journey of hours by horse-drawn vehicles, or by water up the harbor, through the narrows and to the western shore of the Basin.

There are still to be found traces of the paths leading back of the summer homes, the paths once trod by Edward and Julie, in the days before that fateful 1818, when it became advisable that Edward’s marriage to the Princess of Leningen take place. Madame St. Laurent first learned of this plan from a newspaper, and heartbroken she to a convent, death ending her career which knew both so much happiness and sadness in 1832. This romance, which is said to have included a marriage of Edward and Julie at Gibraltar, but which was not recognized by his royal father, George the Third, was doomed to unkind fate at the last.

But as a result of Edward’s union with the Princess, the British Empire was given its great Queen Victoria.

Surely a visit such as this, as we wind our way back to the shadow of the Town Clock, can give us food for much thought in the coming week, and will give added interest to the occasion when we next pass the rotunda. If you have time, and wish to hold a session with the past, so to speak, then by all means visit this historic place. See the lake, which still to a measure holds its heart-shape. Don’t delay for years, or it will be too late, for the area has been sub-divided for building lots. Up to recent years traces of the old foundation could be seen, but many of the rocks were more recently trucked away. Even the Gray house that succeeded the Prince’s Lodge, on the name site, is now a thing of the past.

Today the rotunda is owned by Mrs. Mary Karas, Morris Street, who occupies it as a summer home, and hopes to follow that practice for years to come, and finds the unusual design of the rooms of her Bedford shore home very intriguing.

At times efforts have been spoken of to gain possession of the place as a historic shrine, but so far no successful project has been launched.

And so we leave Prince’s Lodge, to return to town.

Good day, my friends. One day I had occasion to call on the family physician, and when I arrived at his office, the waiting room had some ten or twelve people there. Having nothing else to do but settle down and wait until my turn came, I naturally did what everyone else does; looked over the old magazines, and then at the other people waiting to see the doctor, wondering what was the matter with this one, or what was the matter with that one, and getting quite a bit of amusement out of the shy look of each new arrival, as everyone tried to keep quite still, and look unembarrassed.

There was one old gentleman who particularly took my eye; light spring coat, spats, and a light coloured hat . he was joined by another old gentleman, a small man with a round cheery face, who shook hands, who shook hands, and the first thing I knew they were talking about Halifax. When the cheery one said, “I can remember Halifax fifty years ago, just as well as I can remember coming here today,” I sat up and took notice. Then the thought struck me that if the many changes taking place in Halifax as compared to the old days were such a topic of interest in that room, and made everybody feel so interested and at home; that there must be thousands more in Halifax who would like to have memories of by-gone days revived, and thousands of new-comers who would like to know more about the city in which they are living; and so that is the purpose of these broadcast talks.

Nearly everyone who speaks to through the medium of the microphone these days ha a message of importance about the war, but I believe that there is still room for a friendly chat about this and that, to give our minds a rest from the strenuous times about us.

Among the places the old gentlemen talked about was the Old Garrison Clock on Citadel hill, and how they used to sit on the hill in the shadow of the Clock and talk things over, in the summer evenings or Sunday afternoons. It struck me , as a mighty good idea.
If more of us would slow up once in a while, and go find an old friend and relax for an hour or so by the old Town Clock, we would be better able to carry on afterwards.

So I have decided to make this old Town Clock the starting point in these weekly chats with you, which we will call Tales Told Under the Old Town Clock.

We will wander far from the old Clock, but every time we pass it, it will remind us to go hunting up other subjects of interest to chat about.

Only this week, I received from Mr. Barnes of Rolf Clark Stone, a beautiful calendar, which is now hanging up in my office. This calendar has a lovely illustration with the Old Town Clock with the following description under it;

“The Halifax Town Clock took up its position two years and a day before the battle of Trafalgar. Plans were prepared on instructions from H.R.H. the Duke of Kent, while commanding his Majesty’s Forces in Nova Scotia- the same Duke of Kent who was later to become the father of Queen Victoria. They were finally approved in 1801. The clock itself arrived from England on June 10, 1803, in H.M.S. Dart and was placed in position on October 20th of that year.

“Those were trying days for England. The Garrison Clock, as it was called then, ticked off the tragic hours of the Napoleonic War and the War of 1812. While still strange to its new surroundings, it recorded the time spent by Bonaparte by his fruitless preparations to invade England. It continued to serve the good people of Halifax during the dark days prior to Waterloo, and the victorious days which followed. It told the time for all to see, during the depressing campaign in the Crimea. It said “Good-bye” and “Welcome home” to those Canadians who fought in South Africa. It struck the departure hours for countless thousands, sailing from Halifax to do their part in the World War of 1914-1918, and struck as confidently during the retreat from Mons, as during the last glorious hundred days.

“And now mellowed by the years, it looks on once more while the Empire fights its greatest fight=mildly amused, perhaps, by the same doubts and fears so often expressed during the other wars it has watched. When the time comes to record the end of this war, the job will be done and the faithful old clock, its roots in the past, its face to the future, will go on as before, keeping a kindly eye cocked towards the little island whence it came.”

What more fitting place for us to start our little jaunt in Halifax today than by a visit to the Old Town Clock itself?

It is a familiar sight to all of us, some more than others. For a number of JHaligonians its North face is a guide as to whether they are on time for work, as they walk briskly over the diagonal path across the Citadel Hill, from North Park Street to Brunswick Street, or take a short cut from Gottingen Street by Glacis Barracks, to reach the downtown section of the city.
Few Haligonians have ever been inside the Garrison Clock structure, which boasts such an unusual shape. This statement can be taken as fact, from a man who has lived there for 33 years. That man is ex-Sergeant W. J. White, formerly of the Halifax Police department. It is said that familiarity breeds contempt and while it is not contempt in this case, few of us pause to wonder about the mechanism that has ‘ticked” faithfully on for nearly a century and a half, giving the time to Halifax people. According to Sergeant White a number of tourist visitors call to the Old Town clock and ask to see the interior of the structure, but few regular residents of the town ask to see the faithful time piece at close quarters.

However, let us pay our visit to the tow clock- Let’s pause to examine the conspicuous cornerstone in the wall, at the base of the hill-removed by a few feet from busy Brunswick Street itself/ The stone seems to have been selected hardly with an idea to make it stand out with any prominence. Brown in colour and with no relieving hues for the letters, it is necessary to lean forward to read the inscription.

This tells us of the erection of the clock in the days of the Duke of Kent, when that Gentleman whose name loomed rather large in the city’s earlier days, made this city his home, while on duty on this side of the Atlantic, and after whom the street un the rear of Broadcasting House was named-Kent Street.

The inscription on the stone tells us that the town Clock was erected in 1803 and further, that this particular stone was laid by H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, who today you know as the Duke of Windsor. The ceremony took place in 1919 on his visit to the city, and was supposed to be the inauguration of the new foundation for the historic clock. True, a short retaining wall was erected, but today the immediate vicinity of the walls presents a sorry sight. There is litter about and plenty of mud, caused by the water from the springs that abound on the Eastern slope of the Citadel Hill. Really it seems time that Halifax paid a little more attention to keeping the immediate vicinity of the clock in more presentable shape.
But let us get along with our tour of inspection. A long line of wooden steps leads us to the clock structure. Count them as you mount and excluding the upper platform, there are 52 steps. Rather fitting, don’t you think, for the introduction for a place devoted to the telling of time…a step for each week of the year. It is rather a disappointment that the other set of steps, leading to the doorway lack a couple of an even dozen. If that was remedied, we would have one for each month, and then things would be complete in their significance.
Knock at the door and you are greeted by a man who stand straight, and has a smile that hardly bespeaks of the 78 years that have passed since he was born in the city of Dublin. But if you know anything of the past history of W.J. White this well preserved physique is hardly surprising…you see, he is, by many of the veterans, accepted as the “Daddy” of Boxing in this city, and he was by no means a ring adversary who could be overlooked in the days of his prime. A man that had the privilege of boxing with Jim Corbett, and Philadelphia Jack O’Brian, in the days when their names meant much in the boxing world, certainly had to be good, and Sergeant White, in exhibition with them, proved his caliber well/ these incidents that loom large in his memory occurred when the noted pugilists visited here.

Evidence in his pride in his associations with the ring is given by a large lithographed sheet, showing as it’s details, the world’s champions in the manly art of self-defense, from the days of Pipes right through to Dempsey.

Why is it given a place of honour, in its frame and standing on an easel?- The answer is interesting. It was a gift to Sergeant White from the one time champion himself, Jim Corbett.
But it’s not the most honoured article in the room. For on the wall hangs pictures of a famous Canadian airman, Joe White, whose feats in the First World War won him high recognition. Among the medals under the frame, with the pictures of the tall, dashing flier, are the distinguished flying Cross, and the Croix de Guerre. No wonder the veteran Police Officer is proud of these medals, won by his son, who, unfortunately, later in his flying career, was to meet disaster while in service at Camp Borden.

Sergeant White came to Canada with the Royal Artillery in 1886, and by the way, the speaker’s father was in the same Garrison Artillery Unit, and so I have a particular regard for him, as I have for another old comrade of his, named tom Doherty. These are the only two left of that famous North Irish Battery, that I know of now,- After a brief period of service in Bermuda, Sergeant White came to Halifax, and has made his home here ever since. It was in 1887 he joined the Halifax Police Department retiring about 18 years ago with the rank of Sergeant. He took up residence, with his family, in the Old Town Clock 38 years ago, and as a means of curbing the vandalism of youths, who were causing destruction to the historic edifice.

Well-up we go, more and more steep stairways, with loose rope handrails, past on landing, then to the one directly behind the four faces of the clock. There, housed in a wooden and glass door box,-are the works.-The things that make the hands go around. In four directions the metal tubes and bars extend, through the faces of the clock, and to these the hands are attached.

A metal plate bears the name of the maker “Vuilliamy,=London-No. 371”, but no date.

Every Saturday Mr. White winds the clock…that is, he turns the spindle to which is attached the thin steel cable, to which a heavy weight is suspended, and which drops through a well that goes down through the whole tower, right through the living quarters, and into a deep pit in the cellar. The weight once up=the clock is ready to keep on ticking for another week, or even a day or so more. A pendulum with a massive circular weight, also extends downward for several feet, keeping the works moving at their regular, measured pace.

Many can recall the bells that tolled the time from the tower. They were three in number, but these, also powered by separate cables, were disconnected years ago. Now only one bell remains in the tower, the others having been removed- and are stored at the City Field workshops, where they were shown to me the other day by another well known old servant of the City, my old friend and comrade of militia days-Sergeant ‘Bun” Thomas.

“The clock keeps pretty accurate time, although I have to watch it with changes in the weather.”-says caretaker White. “I may have to adjust the pendulum, or even move the hands a bit, but I try to keep it right.” He added that it was in some need of attention to its works.

An interesting feature of the old clock, and showing somewhat the trend of population in the earlier days, is the fact that the face on the West side, where the Citadel towers above, and that facing South to Sackville Street, are smaller than the others. It was not necessary for them to be designed to be seen from such distances as the faces on the East and North sides.

Up in the tower, below the level housing the clock mechanism Mr. white has his workbench, where he putters at some hobbies, and about are interesting pictures of earlier police force days. Occupying a place of prominence, and further proving the love W. J. White held for the activities of the ring, is a picture of John L. Sullivan famed world’s champion.

Thanks to Sergeant White, we have had a very interesting visit to a historic spot, made more interesting by his evident pride in the timepiece that has served the city so faithfully.
Let’s hope, that Halifax will not to long fail to realize the honours due to such a vulnerable structure, and that everything possible will be done to preserve this clock linked with the city’s storied past. Some paint would not be amiss today, and surely the surroundings are worthy of every attention. It is also respectively suggested to the civic fathers, that the two bells now in storage in City Field workshops could be presented to the Hon. Angus L. Macdonald to put aboard the corvette, H.M.C.S. Halifax, to be used as the ship’s bell, as apparently they never intend to place them back in service in the Old Town Clock.

Of course, in these days when watches are not so scarce as personal possessions, and clocks for the home can be secured at low prices, and correct time is given by Radio. The need may not be so extensive for the friendly guidance of the old clock. But it is an old friend, and as such, it deserves our affectionate care. I hope many of my listeners will make it a point to visit the Garrison Clock soon.

Just to refresh your memory before we leave, remember the Old Town Clock has ticked off the hours since October 20th,1803, and mellowed by the years, with its roots well planted in the past, and its face to the future, it keeps a friendly watch of the hours in this old city, which has been referred to “Warden of the honour of the North”.

Another clock much younger, but very prominent as far as I am concerned, the Studio Clock, has been keeping pace with the Old Town Clock while I have been chatting with you, and it tells me, it’s time to say-Cheerio and all the best!

Tales Told Under the Old Town Clock is presented in the hope that it will prove acceptable to the many people who have been listeners to the series of tales broadcast over CHNS, Halifax, every Sunday at 12:45, and who have requested copies of the various tales told before the microphone relative to the history of our City and Province and the Atlantic Ocean, with which our past activities are so much associated.

No attempt has been made to present these tales in regular story-book form, but rather to keep the radio atmosphere. The actual radio continuity is printed exactly as it was used on the air during the past twelve months.

The material for these radio talks was obtained from various sources. The historical facts from numerous history books and publicity material and historical pages read from time to time. Individuals too numerous to mention have contributed by expressions of their interest and by suggestions of subjects for talks, and in some cases actually telling he facts as they know them and these facts were simply put into broadcast form by the narrator of the tales. Special thanks are due previous writers on Nova Scotian history and wherever their writings are known as the source of information such mention is made in the script of the talk concerned.

The co-operation of Bob Chambers, the Halifax Herald’s popular illustrator, and Arthur Kane of the Maritime Photo Engravers is especially appreciated, they have contributed much toward the composition of this book. My thanks are also due to Bert Wetmore and Berton Robinson who have co-operated in collecting information from time to time, for some of the Tales Told Under the Old town Clock.

William C. Borrett - -Station Director, Radio Station CHNS, Halifax, Nova Scotia

During the past twelve months, a series of talks have been broadcast over Radio Station CHNS every Sunday under the title of Tales Told Under the Old Town Clock. These talks were all based on fact, and covered a wide variety of subjects dealing with past events in the history of Nova Scotia, which have earned for the province the title of “Canada’s most storied province”.

Many listeners have written to the narrator of these tales asking for copies of the talks broadcast during the past twelve months, hence this book of twenty-five tales selected from the radio scripts as presented before the microphone.
Preparing these weekly talks have been a most interesting task, and many facts have been discovered which at first seem incredible, but are substantiated by the records of history.

The Canadian Government Railway now had time to assess their material losses - 300 cars and 20 locomotives. The wreckage was promptly cleared away and on December 9 the first train since Thursday left North Street for Windsor. But more catastrophic was the fact that 55 employees of the C.P.R. lost their lives. A complete list of their names appeared in the paper:

Aikenhead, Nathaniel
Bauer, Middleton
Campbell, Martin
Chapman, W.
Coleman, V.J.
Crowdis, Jabez G.
Drake, W.L.
Dwyer, James
Elliott, Frederick
Elliott, John W.
Ellis, Robert
Fenerty, George
Ferguson, Geo. A.
Fleming, Patrick
Floyd, John
Fougere, Wm.
Gaston, John
Goomes, Victor
Guess, Frank M.
Guess, John
Guess, Wm.
Hamm, Harry
Hinch, William
Jackson, Lewis
Langwill, Joseph
Latter, Ralph
Lovett, Wm.

Malloy, John
Mctiernan, Bartholemew
Mowatt, Alex
Moore, Samuel W.
Murphy, Martin
Murphy, Patrick
Neary, P. Guy
Neary, Robert
O’Grady, Edward
Pickrem, Roy
Pickup, George Wm.
Quirk, George
Scallion, Thomas
Schurman, A.M.
Shea, Joseph C.
Shea, Maurice
Simmonds, Joseph A.
Squires, Mary
Stockall, Joseph Sr.
Stratton, William
Underwoods, Ben
Vaughan, Wm.
Wamback, R.
Watters, P. Jr.
Weir, Joseph
Wilson, Robert
Young, Florence

The Fact that after the snow, rain fell in torrents and then became slush which eventually turned to ice, made some of the streets almost impassable. Few had cleaned their sidewalks or gutters and in some places the water was two feet or more deep. The street cars were unable to operate. Trains coming in at the new terminal debarked their passengers near the foot of Inglis Street but then no transportation was available. Visitors were advised not to come to the city.

On Sunday all the stores remained open and all shelters and food and clothing depots continued to be busy. St. Paul’s Hall not only offered food daily, but also supplied sleeping accommodations - over two hundred were sheltered nightly. For the homeless, there were “comfort stations”. The board of control decided that persons who were occupying premises unfit for occupation were welcome there - eight or more shelters existed throughout the city.

Our four-footed friends were not neglected I am happy to say. An Animal Relief Committee with R.H. Murray as chairman was set up. All animals needing food and shelter and/or requiring a veterinarian were welcome.

The Green Lantern Clothing Relief Station offered clothing free: “Clergyman and members of all religious denomination, kindly look after your parishioners in devastated districts and send written orders of their requirements to the Green Lantern at once.

Pier Two, the reception hospital and clearing depot for our wounded and invalid soldiers, was badly damaged but arrangements were made for its immediate restoration. In the meantime, there were several clearing depots in Eastern Canada and hospital trains would be waiting for the arrival of any hospital ships and then they would be dispatched with all speed.

By a fortunate circumstance the last ship load of returned soldiers had been cleared through Pier Two hospital several days before the accident, otherwise there might have been heavy casualties in the depot, which was practically empty at the time of the explosion.

The hospitals were soon full. The Y.M.C.A., St. Peter’s Hall, the Knights of Columbus Hall, St. Mary’s College, and other public places were quickly made into improvised hospitals.

Mrs. Lillian Campbell of St. Peter’s, Richmond Co. was a student nurse on duty at the Victoria General Hospital. She couldn’t at that time recall hearing the Explosion but remembers that all the windows blew in; everything was covered with glass. There was utter confusion - patients and more patients, and no beds to put them in and the cold, cold wind kept blowing in through the open windows.

Devoted doctors and nurses worked hour on hour without rest or time for food, did all that human skill could devise to ease suffering and some life. No one will ever be able to measure the extent of this heroic, unselfish work. The consciousness of duty well done must in most instances be their only reward because there was no profession less willing to accept public recognition than the medical profession. The influx of physicians, surgeons and nurses from Canadian and American cities will give our own faithful men and women some slight opportunity for needed rest.

One of Halifax’s native sons returned to help. He was Dr. M. Darrell Harvey, son of the late John H. Harvey, Spark Street. He was one of the best known eye specialists in the U.S.A. and lived in Providence, R.I. He spent days in the city and went from house to house tending the wounded.

Private Henneberry, 63rd Halifax Rifles, had recently returned wounded from the front. He was digging away at the ruins of his house when he heard a feint moan. Other members of the 63rd including my father helped, and under a stove, protected by the protruding ash pan, they found little eighteen-month-old Olive Henneberry. The men kept on digging and soon found Mrs. Henneberry and her 5 children - all dead.

On December 10, four days after the Explosion, the Morning Chronicle was able to print this summary of the disaster.

The Disaster in Brief

• Over 2000 persons believed to be dead. 73 bodies recovered Sunday. Portion of the City from the waterfront West on Russell Street, North on Gottingen Street to the Narrows completely devastated - two square miles.
• Twenty Thousand persons destitute and homeless.
• One thousand bodies recovered to date.
• Hospitals and other large buildings filled to overflowing with wounded, many of the cases having since died.
• Window glass in practically every building in City smashed.
• Relief is being rushed from various parts of Canada and the United States. The first relief special to arrive reached Halifax on Saturday afternoon from Boston, bringing a corps of Doctors, Surgeons, and Red Cross Nurses, under the direction of Hon. A.C. Ratschesky, the personal representative of Governor McCall of Massachusetts.
• Search for bodies among the ruins of buildings continues and the death toll is hourly growing.
• Richmond Piers, Richmond Refinery, the Halifax Graving Dock, Hillis Foundry, Richmond School, Kaye Street Methodist Church, Trinity Church, St. Mark’s Church, St. Joseph’s Chapel, the Cotton Factory and other large buildings in the devastated section all amass of smoking ruins.
• Shipping destroyed, two steamers beached on the Dartmouth side and several other large freighters at anchor in the stream wrecked, whole crews being lost.
• Scarcity of food and building material. Some firms are giving away food, although there are reported to be a few that are overcharging.
• Relief Committee organized with R.T. MacIlreith, K.C., as chairman and headquarters at the City Club, Barrington Street, opposite the Gordon & Keith building.
• Free Food Depots have been established.
• All persons not having urgent business are requested to stay away from Halifax during the emergency period - Mayor’s Proclamation
• Investigation into the collision between the Mont Blanc and the Imo will be opened immediately by Captain Demers, Wreck Commissioner.
• Two more Relief Units arrive from the United States.
• Dominion Government votes One Million Dollars as a preliminary grant towards relief.
• Relief Committee requests Governor of Maine to forward, as per his generous offer 200,000 panes of glass, 10 tons of putty and 10,000 rolls of tar paper.
• All Citizens are urged to co-operate freely in every effort of the Relief Committee.

It was December 13 before the Gas was turned on in the “Mains.” Eight days was a long time to be without hot water and heat. Gradually things started to get back to normal. M.S. Brown & Co. Ltd. reopened their store. The Nova Scotia Tramways requested all their conductors and motor men to report for work as soon as possible in “order that the best service may be given to the public.” Industry was not idle long.

Horses were scarce; many had been killed and others were overworked. The Relief Transportation Committee asked all farmers and truck men in outlying towns who had heavy draft teams to spare for the next few weeks to please contact them.

A great many workmen were employed in the restoration work in the city. The different Relief Committees in the City agreed to pay the following rates per hour:

Carpenters 40¢
Glaziers 45¢
Plumbers 45¢
Stone Masons 50¢
Bricklayers 50¢
Laborers 30¢
Single Teams 40¢
Double Teams 65¢

Glass was very scarce and it was suggested that you “save your glass”. There were pictures that could go without a covering and every bit of glass was used.

The City of Halifax sent a letter to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts thanking them for their generous gifts and assistance. Their relief group left for home on the 14th of December.

This headlined an article carried by the Morning Chronicle:

Mr. Ratshesky says that the Hearts of the people of the Commonwealth go out to Halifax and he was proud to be of assistance in organizing the work of Relief State Fund is now $400,000 and rapidly growing.

King George cabled a message of sympathy, recalling the “happy times” he had in Halifax when he was an officer in the Navy. His words were: “Most deeply regret to hear of a serious explosion at Halifax resulting in great loss of life and property. Please convey to Halifax where I spent so many happy times, my true sympathy in this grievous calamity.”

The British Government voted to send five million dollars to Halifax. From all parts of Canada and U.S.A. contributions poured in, ranging from $5.00 to $5000.00.

From Dorothy P. Ryer, Shelburne, N.S., I received the following information concerning a former Nova Scotian, Mr. Harry Curry. He was President of the Canadian Club in New York City at that time and personally made a trip to Halifax with $4000.00 donated by the members for the Relief Fund. (Mrs. Ryer lived next door to Mr. Curry in Long Island, New York, at that time.)

The Morning Chronicle on December 13 carried a small note about another generous gesture by our American neighbors that was welcomed gladly:

Bird & Sons of East Walpole, Mass., with Canadian office in Hamilton, Ontario, have generously donated four thousand rolls of roofing which have left on steamer from Boston.

On December 16, the Boston Symphony Orchestra with Mare Melba, Dr. Karl Mack, the Conductor, and Fritz Kreisler, the violinist, contributed their talents and gave a concert for the benefit of the Halifax Relief Fund. Ten thousand dollars was raised - all of which went to the Fund.

On December 18th, the Morning Chronicle had this grim notice:

Burial Unclaimed Bodies

Public notice is hereby given that a number of unclaimed bodies in the Chebucto Mortuary on Wednesday evening December 19th at 1:00 whether identified or not will be buried Saturday December 22nd, unless sooner removed from the Mortuary by relative of friend.
by order Arthur S. Barnstead
Chairman Mortuary Committee

Before the dead were all buried the trial began; someone was to blame for this disaster, but whom? The trial went on for days and days. First one side was to blame and then the other. On December 15th, Pilot Francis MacKay stated that there was “something erratic going on aboard the Imo” just before the collision. But unfortunately, the Captain and the Pilot of the Imo were dead.

Finally, Justice Anglin of the Supreme Court of Canada found both ships negligent. A new Royal Commission investigated and re-organized the Halifax Pilotage Commission. Later, Pilot MacKay was reinstated but few people were happy over the court’s decision. The Imo changed her name and went to sea again. Four years later, on December 6th, she ran into a Falkland Island’s reef and sank. The suspension of a few officers and other men did little to ease the heartache of the thousands of people who were affected by gross carelessness on the part of a few unnamed persons.

One fact stands out. “The Imo had not been given permission to leave…” If she had obeyed orders, the Mont Blanc would be safely in before she left. And so it remains a mystery. Somewhere, there is an answer - of that I am certain.

The Survivors Speak

The Halifax Herald, December 12, 1917, printed a story about the disaster: its title was: “Thrilling story of the awful Disaster that the Huns brought to Halifax and to all Nova Scotia.” One paragraph stood out since that prophecy is about to be fulfilled 57 years later, I will repeat it.

Of what happened on the entrance edge of the devastated area, there are survivors who will tell thrilling tales of horror for years to come, of their experiences in the panic-stricken moments which followed the explosion. There are men who stood alongside comrades who were blown to atoms, while they themselves escaped unscathed. There are women who clutched their babies in their arms and fled shrieking into the streets from houses which tumbled in behind them; children were snatched from their beds, where they lay beneath great heaps of shattered and splintered glass fragments, scratched, but alive, and in thousands of wonderful instances without more serious damage than they might meet with by reason of a tumble or a fall. Every house which still stands bears the marks of the shattering concussion, and every household has its own story of providential escapes and miraculous life-preserving coincidence.

Now you will read some of these stories; the miracles and mysteries that are as real today as they were that eventful day December 6, 1917.

The following story was published in the Chronicle Herald on December 6, 1971. Mr. Donald A. Morrison, an active 83, lives in St. Peter’s, Nova Scotia. He is an Honorary Member of the Royal Canadian Legion.

“I remember when we used to go shooting rabbits on the Commons.” “Did you shoot any?” “No, I didn’t like them; but I used to watch the other fellows.”

This conversation took place between my father and me one day last August while we were driving past the Commons in Halifax. Today it was a modern playground with race tracks, ball fields and swimming pools - a Mecca for young and old. A little more than 50 years ago this was woodland.

This is my father’s story:

“I was Private Donald Angus Morrison 2699128, of the 63rd Halifax Rifles, stationed at MacNab’s Island in 1917, a short distance from Halifax where we spent most of our time, on guard duty of just taking in the sights.

“My favorite spot was King’s wharf. There was always something to seed own there and someone to talk to. I liked to go down and look out at the sea and think that maybe soon I would be on a boat out there.”

“I was thinking like that that morning standing on the wharf. It was December 6, 1917. Everyone’s attention was focused on the French munition ship, Mont Blanc. She was slowly coming to Bedford Basin to await a convoy. Suddenly, another vessel appeared - the Imo - flying Norwegian flag. She swept across in front of the Mont Blanc. She had a large sign on her side “Belgium Relief”…then, without warning, she rammed the Mont Blanc. Minutes later clouds of black smoke could be seen from Shore. We watched and wondered what had happened, never dreaming that the Mont Blanc carried T.N.T. and was a floating bomb.”

“I was talking to someone about the weather - although it had been a nice bright morning now it was getting dark - when suddenly it happened. I awoke to find myself on a floating object, part of the wharf. The man