The Cromaboo mail carrier : a Canadian love story

Front matter

the estate of

PWAPPP mv

A CANADIAN LOVE STORY.

Preface

In presenting to the public a few pen and ink sketches, thrown together in the form of a story, I can only hope that the reader may have as much pleasure in perusing them as the writer had in moulding them into shape. If this wish is realized, they will not have been published in vain, and will speedily be followed by other sketches, as a sequel to those now before the public.

If my readers take an interest in ‘‘ The Cromaboo Mail Carrier,” they shall renew his acquaintance in a new occupation — as “The Gibbeline Flower Seller.” J. T. J.

Guelph, Ontario, Sept., 1878.

CHAPTER THE FIRST. “This boy is forest-born.”

— As You Like It.

“ Firm his step as one who knows He is free where’ere he goes ;

And withal as light of spring As the arrow from its string, ”

— Lord Haughton.

tROMABOO is the most blackguard village in Canada, and is settled by the lowest class of Irish, Highland Scotch and Dutch. It consists of seven taverns, six churches, and about one hundred shabby frame houses built on little gravelly mounds. Fights are frequent, drunkenness flourishes, vice abounds; more tobacco is smoked there than in any village of the same size in the Dominion; swearing is so common that it passes unnoticed, and there is an illegitimate child in nearly every house — in some two, in others three, in one six, — and the people think it no sin.

Vet, even in this Sodom, there was at the time of which I write, a Lot. He was a Welshman by birth, a gentleman by station, an honest man, a learned man, a Christian; his name was Owen Llewellyn. He was the village postmaster and the proprietor of the Cromaboo mail-stage. A man of long pedigree, and great classprejudice, yet a kindly man, large-hearted, clear-headed, fearless as a lion and obstinate as a jackass. He had lived in Cromaboo for six years before he became the proprietor of the mail-stage ; he came as engineer for the new Government Gravel Road, and had not served the contractors a month before they quarrelled with him. The Board met in Toronto and their engineer met them by appointment, and they told him his sins. He took too much pains, they said ; he did his work too well ; they feared to lose by the contract ; they only

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wanted a road that would last twenty years or so, he was making one that would last a hundred ; they could not legally break their contract with him, but if he persisted in going on as he had begun they would never employ him again.

“ If you were so foolish,” said he, “ as to take the contract too low, and are so dishonest as to wish me to slight my work that you may gain by it, that is your affair ; I, at least, am an honest man, and to my own Master I stand or fall; I shall do my duty whether you employ me again or not.”

• He kept his word, and they kept theirs ; the main line through the Township of Cromaboo is the best gravel road > in Canada, and the engineer was never* employed again ; but a friend in the Government bestowed the Cromaboo post office upon him, and he bought a piece of ground on the outskirts of the village, and built a house and lived in it in spite of the wishes of the inhabitants. Finding the profits of the post office too small to live upon, he started a small general store and throve in it a little to his own astonishment, for the people of Cromaboo disliked him and he disliked them, but with this difference, they respected him, whereas he despised them utterly. There was no quarter between them, they annoyed him continually and he annoyed them ; he told them their sins when they came for their newspapers and tobacco, and they in return gave him impudence and oaths ; he hated their ways and they hated his ; they threatened to destroy his property, but feared to carry out the threat ; he threatened them with the law and the judgment of God if they didn’t mend their ways.

Mr. Llewellyn was a married man, and his wife was insane ; she hadn’t one bee in her bonnet, but a whole swarm ; a hundred vague suspicions and foolish fancies haunted her daily, and though not dangerous, she was very troublesome. Many a man would have placed her in a lunatic asylum, but Mr. Llewellyn never shirked a duty ; he had taken her for better or worse till death parted them, and though it was a bitter bargain, he stood to it like an honest man, and never once ever thought of getting rid of her.

He had a niece who kept house for him and helped take care of his wife — a dark, bright, plain little girl, brown as a Brazilian nut, quick as a flash of lightning. As obstinate and fearless as her uncle, she was more courteous, and therefore more popular, especially with the men. Good temper is infectious, and innate refinement will tell upon the most uncouth nature. A woman can lay down the law with less olfence than a man, and make harsh truths more palatable ; her smiles soften her words, and occasionally contradict them. Mr. Llewellyn’s custom was partly due to his niece, partly to the fact that he gave twelve months’ credit.

Ah ! times are changed. Now the great Credit Valley Railway passes tlirough Cromaboo, but at the period of which I write such a thing was not dreamt of ; a rough uncovered waggon ran between that village and the great town of Gibbeline, and was called the Cromaboo Royal Mail Stage. Even that was an improvement upon the old way of carrying the mail on horseback ; a poor post boy had to be frozen to death on a bitter winter day before the waggon was instituted, so slow is progress even in Canada. The first contract had just ended at the time when my story commences and a new contract was offered by Government to the lowest tender. Two Cromaboo tavern keepers competed for the honor of carrying the mail, but Mr. Llewellyn put in a lower tender and the office was bestowed upon him. Great was the anger of his rivals, bitter the discontent of Cromaboo at his appointment, many the threats and ill wishes expressed.

He bought a large open three-seated spring carriage that would accommodate nine passengers comfortably, with a good rack behind for baggage. A large, light, comfortable sleigh, good buffalo-robes, good oil skins, two strong piebald ponies, a double reflecting lamp, and a musical tin horn, completed the new arrangements.

The first driver hired by Mr. Llewellyn was in the interest of the enemy ; he fed the horses on peas to injure them, and pocketed his master’s money; he was dismissed at the end of a month. The second also in the pay of the enemy, was dismissed at the end of a fortnight, having lamed one of the ponies, kissed all the female passengers, and smoked in their faces to disgust them from riding in the new coach ; and finally asked Miss Llewellyn to marry him. Driver the third ran away on the third day, after overturning the Royal Mail and breaking the pole and the lamp. The fourth mail carrier was Robert Hardacre Smith, the hero of my story.

There were two honest men in Cromaboo, Mr. Llewellyn was one, and his neighbour John Smith was the other. John Smith was the

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father of my hero. He was an Irishman, and could neither read nor write ; he did not know the first rule of arithmetic ; he had never heard of grammar or seen a map ; he sometimes drank more than was good for him, and could swear as well or ill as any man in the village ; but he never told a lie, and was thoroughly reliable ; he did a good day’s work for his wages, and always kept his word. He admired his aristocratic neighbor for his pluck, he respected him for his learning, he admired him for his honesty ; and Mr. Llewellyn in return had a kinder feeling for John Smith than any of his neighbours. So when he strolled into the shop, pipe in mouth, on the evening of the disaster to the Cromaboo mail coach, and said —

“ Sure ye might take Robbie on thrial for a month ; he’s honest anyway, the crather, and won’t injure your horses and pocket the fares,” — Mr. Llewellyn promptly accepted the offer, and closed the bargain by saying, “ Send him in, that I may see him.”

“Why havn’t ye seen him a thousand times?” said John Smith. “ Every day in the year ye see him when he’s at home.”

“ I have never seen him in my life,” returned Mr. Llewellyn, with perfect truth, “ for I have never looked at him. I never do look at man, woman or child in Cromaboo, if I can avoid it.”

“ Well, it’s you that’s the quare man entirely, Misther Llewellyn, never to look at Robbie,” said John Smith ; “ it’s your loss. I’ll make boold to say, as ye’ll think when ye see him.’’ And away he went to fetch his son, and in a few minutes they entered together.

A greater contrast could hardly be ; the father tall, raw-boned, coarse featured, wiry, dark ; the son a small slight lad of nineteen, light of foot and graceful. He was encased in a very shabby old military great-coat, once grey, now nearly white, one scarlet shoulderknot gone and a red woolen comforter tied round the waist by way of sash ; very bright, bonnie and picturesque he looked — the pleasure of his new appointment shining in his face. A very intelligent face ; I wish I could bring it before you, my reader, as it came before Mr. Llewellyn. I will try. Brown eyes, fair closely-cut hair, inclined to curl, short but regular features, white even teeth, a smile that is very sunshine ; all surmounted by a ragged hat with half the rim gone. His new master looked at him keenly, critically.

“ Can you read and write ?” he asked.

“ Yes, sir,” said the lad, in a remarkably clear, pleasant voice.

“ Sure it’s he that’s the scholar,” chimed in his father, proudly, in a rough, coarse bass, that was like the hoarse croak of a crow after the sweet pipe of a canary.

“ Write your name,” said Mr. Llewellyn, putting a sheet of paper on the counter.

He wrote in a bold clear hand, “ Robert Hardacre Smith.”

“ I dislike double names,” said the old gentleman, “ but it’s sensible in this case, as Smith is so common, to distinguish you from other Smiths.”

“ I never saw a Smith like said the father.

“ How far have you got in arithmetic ?” went on Mr. Llewellyn. Robert coloured ; it cost him a great effort to say “ no furder than long division, sir.”

“ Can you speak the truth ? ”

“ Yes, sir.” The colour deepened.

“ Is the world round, square or oblong ? ”

“ I wouldn’t presume to say,” with a gleam of white teeth and a slight laugh. “ I lave that to the decision of scholars like yourself, sir.”

Mr. Llewellyn returned the smile, and at that moment his niece entered the shop with a bright “ good evening ” to both the Smiths. Each returned it civilly, and the father said, “ Where’s your manners, Bob ? Sure ye might doff ye’re hat to the young leedy.”

For the first time in his life, Robert uncovered his head in token of respect. He removed the ragged hat quietly and without embarrassment, and stood with it in his hand. The smile died on Mr. Llewellyn’s lips ; he looked at the lad again and again, with less of liking at each glance ; it was not the kind of pate he expected to find under that ragged beaver. It was a peculiarly shaped head, not unlike that of Sir Walter Scott, and when uncovered it made the boy’s face look graver, more manly, less pleasing ; there was power in it of some kind, that struck Mr. Llewellyn unpleasantly, and gave him a new feeling ; and Robert’s absolute calmness, under his new master’s gaze, was an offence to the aristocrat. He resumed his catechism.

“ I know your father is an honest man,” he said, “ but you — ." He paused. The lad flushed, and lifting his eyes, looked steadily and gravely into his face.

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“ If you doubt me,” he said, “you had better not employ me.”

The tone was not impudent, but quiet and resolute, and Mr. Llewellyn did not dream of the effort it cost poor Robert to renounce the occupation he looked forward to with pride and pleasure.

“You are not like your father,” he said, doubtfully, “not in the least.”

“Faith, sir, he’s a dale bether looking,” said John Smith, “it’s like his mother he is, and ye needn’t be quarreling with the crather for that, not that I blame ye for being suspicious, seeing how ye’ve been trated, but ye may take my word he’s honest, and I wouldn’t lie to ye. And for ye. Bob,” laying a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder, “ don’t be throwing away a good chance for a bit o’ pride ; if the masther doubts ye, just live it down, and prove ye’re bether than he thinks.”

Robert looked up in his father’s face with a smile, half fond, half humorous ; “ Better than I look !” he said.

Chapter The Second

‘ ‘ Courage ! — there is none so poor,

None of all who wrongs endure,

None so humble, none so weak.

But may flush his father’s cheek And his maiden’s, dear and true.

With the deeds that he may do.

Be his days as dark as night He may make himself a light.”

— Barry Cornwall.

SO Robert was engaged, and no Chancellor ever mounted the woolsack with a greater feeling of pride and power than Robert Hardacre Smith felt in mounting the front seat of the Cromaboo mail stage, the day after his promotion. Never did Prime Minister assume his new position with a stronger sense of the responsibility and importance of it ; never did nun or priest take solemn vows or holy orders with a firmer or more honest intention of doing their duty.

The lad was a quick observer, and especially quick where women • were concerned, for they were interesting to him, and he was indif-

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ferent to nothing regarding them. He was a great admirer of beauty, and a better judge of it than he himself knew ; no little grace, no point of attraction was lost on him, no trifling charm ever made in vain. All women were ladies to Robert ; he studied them, came to quick and correct conclusions about them, and was civil or saucy as he thought it pleased them best. Sometimes he affected to sympathise with them, sometimes he did it sincerely, sometimes he laughed at them, but always in his sleeve ; — whatever he did or left undone, they liked him, one and all.

He soon saw that swearing was displeasing to some of his fair passengers ; he had heard so many oaths himself that no curse however dreadful shocked him, or gave him the least offence ; but if it offended the women it would injure the stage and detract from its respectability, therefore he would have no swearing in his coach. Having made this resolution, he proceeded at once to put it into execution.

‘‘lam not a-going to have no swearing in this yer coach, Joe Shenker,” said this newly-fledged despot to an old Dutchman, who^ because he had no match to light his pipe, had relieved himself by a royal blast of oaths. The outraged Dutchman replied by a still more offensive volley. He was seated beside the driver, who by a sudden and dexterous shove, threw him off his balance and out of the sleigh. Touching his horses with the whip, he called out “ Good day to ye, then ; I charge nothing for the mile’s ride,” and left him sprawling in the snow. By a kind of retribution, called poetical justice, Joe Shenker had to Walk four miles facing an east wind before he got a chance ride.

“ You have lost seventy cents by that, Bob,” said a gentleman occupying the back seat.

“ And a deal o’ bad company, Mr. Meldrum,” was the reply.

“ So bad that I don’t mind paying you half the money for disposing of him,” pursued the gentleman.

“No sir, thank you all the same,” replied our Cromaboo hero, strengthened in his resolution to have no more swearing.

The next case was a more difficult one ; the offender being a wellto-do Cromaboo farmer who made use of an expletive that brought a flush of shame to the cheeks of a stout young girl who sat between himself and the driver. He was a giant in comparison to Robert,

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who suddenly drew up, and asked him civilly to get out and raise the check rein. The man saw through the manoeuvre.

“ You think to serve me as you did Joe Shenker, Master Bob,” said he, “ but — .” Here followed language too offensive to repeat.

“ Am I the master of this yer coach or you, Mr. Bonnycastle ? ” asked Robert, with dignity.

“ You think you are, I suppose. Bob Smith,” with another offensive expression.

“ I am and will be,” said the despised Bob, quietly and sturdily.

More abuse on the part of Mr. Bonnycastle, which so frightened the girl between them that she exclaimed, “ Oh ! do let me out.”

Robert dismounted at once and helped her down, calling out as he did so to the driver of a load of hay behind them, “ Will ye kindly give this lady a lift } ” The sleigh stopping, he ran back to carry her bag and help her mount the new conveyance ; in the meantime Mr. Bonnycastle drove on, and our hero had half a mile of hard running before he could overtake the stage. The rest of the passengers j erred at him — they were all men — and enjoyed the fun of conquering “ little Bob.” He resumed the reins and said not a word, but as soon as they reached Gibbeline he hailed the first policeman he saw, and gave Mr. Bonnycastle in charge, summoning his fellow-passengers as most unwilling witnesses against him. Poor Mr. Bonnycastle was like a great blue bottle fly caught by a tiny little spider ; he made a great deal of noise, he swore great oaths, but alas ! they only told against him, he was fined five dollars and costs. When Robert returned to the stage office, lie found the girl waiting to pay her fare.

“ Not a cent. Miss,” said Robert “ Vl\ pay your fare to the master out of my own wages, and I’m very sorry it’s been so unpleasant for you. She was only a servant maid, but his knight-errantry was not lost upon her — he had made a friend for life.

He was never again troubled with swearers, but now came a battle with the cord-wood carriers. A load of cord-wood is an awkward thing to turn out on a narrow road, and in vain Robert blew his horn, and called out civilly for half the track ; they never budged an inch ; they were insolent or wilfully deaf. Three times was the Royal Mail upset in the soft snow without any damage to anything but the tempers of the passengers. Robert took his resolution. On his next journey to Gibbeline he overtook seven -teams of wood, all

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in a row; he blew his horn and called out for half the road. No notice was taken ; he attempted to pass the first team and upset. He had but one passenger, a stout burly man who helped him right the sleigh ; they crept on perilously near the ditch till they came to the last team, here they upset again. They picked themselves up as before and drove on. Three of the men were known to Robert — one was his own elder brother, John James William Smith ; he noted the faces of the others.

“ I should like to thrash every wood fellow between this and Cromaboo, and if I was as big as you I would do it,” said the indignant mail carrier to his passenger.

“No you wouldn’t, Robbie,” returned the other, good naturedly, “ you wouldn’t have the will then ; it’s the little fellows that are so hot.”

As soon as Robert reached the town he went to the market with a couple of policemen and waited for the offending wood carriers. He gave them all in charge, and all were fined and cautioned against a second offense.

“ What do ye mane, ye unbrotherly little divole, ye ? ” asked J ohn James William Smith, angrily, as he paid his portion of the fine.

“ I mane to have half the road as long as I’m driver of the Cromaboo mail,” was the reply.

On his return trip, with the same passenger and two women, he overtook the seven empty wood-racks on their way home ; in vain he blew his horn ; they kept him behind them for an hour walking their horses on purpose to irritate him. At last after a war of words, one of the wood-carriers sprang off his sleigh, and pulling Robert from his seat, struck him with his whip. The blow was returned, but our hero was by far the weakest of the two, and would have got the worst of it had not John James William joined in the dance, forgetting his recent injuries and. proving the truth of the old proverb “ blood is thicker than water.”

The Smiths came off victorious and shook hands on the victory^ but the mail was behind time that night and the driver had a black eye ; however, when Mr. Llewellyn heard of his adventures he commended him, and his young mistress treated him like a hero as he was, and dressed his wounds with her own dumpy aristocratic little fingers.

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The next day he overtook seventeen wood teams in a string ; one only turned out for him — his brother, who happened to be tail of the party. The rest kept on their way, and he was forced to dawdle behind them for three hours, as the roads were far too bad to risk passing without half the track, especially as his passengers were all women. The Cromaboo mail was too late for the train, and the Gibbeline postmaster — who was a bit of a martinet — threatened to report Mr. Llewellyn. Robert took the sixteen offending wood-men before the Police Magistrate. They were fined two dollars each and solemnly warned not to offend again. Robert asked if he might be allowed to say a word to them before they were dismissed, and permission being given, thus spoke Robert Hardacre Smith :

“ I am heart-sorry, my men, to take money out of your pockets, and I know some of you need it bad enough ; but I'm not strong enough to thrash ye all round, and so subdue ye, so I’m forced to thry the law. I have a right to half the road as ye alf know, and understand me once for all, / will have ity

No one who heard him could doubt that he meant what he said; there is power and dignity in truth, even though he who speaks it happens to have a ragged coat and a black eye ; the wood carriers having had a taste of the law, tacitly admitted they were conquered, for ever after they sulkily gave way for the Royal Mail.

Time would fail me to tell of all the victories achieved in the first month by our Cromaboo hero, how he charmed the women by singing hymns or comic songs, as best suited their feelings, and put out the pipes of the men, his own included — and I am sorry to say he loved tobacco — as soon as a petticoat took possession of the stage. At first he had everything his own way, but as time passed, a reverse of fortune came that nearly ended fatally. Robert went to the blacksmith’s one Saturday night at e’en to get a shoe re-set ; opposite the blacksmith’s stood the most roaring disorderly tavern in Cromaboo, and as usual a crowd of half tipsey fellows had gathered about the door, and they called out to Robert to come and have a drink. He had had several squabbles with more than half of them during the last thirty days, and he thought one glass with them might mend the breach, and place them on good terms again ; he did not wish to make enemies for his coach and it’s master, and as yet he knew not the evil of half measures ; he crossed to the Royal

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Anglo-American and went ia to be treated. He stayed no longer than fifteen minutes, and drank only one glass, but it made him feel deadly sick, and when out in the air again he felt worse instead of better. He thought he should be all right when once in the sleigh and on his way home, but as soon as he mounted his seat he lost consciousness, and the horses took him home without his knowledge, and stopping suddenly he fell out face downwards before the shop door.

Mr. Llewellyn, who was looking out for him, pronounced him drunk, and said he would dismiss him, touching the prostrate figure slightly with a scornful foot ; but his niece knelt down and turned up the boy’s face.

“Not drunk,” she said, “but dying!” and springing up, she ran for his father and dispatched him for the doctor, and returning quickly with his mother, helped carry the lad into the house. The doctor came, applied the stomach pump, and pronounced it a serious case of poisoning. He stayed with Robert till the daylight dawned, and so did the lad’s mother and Miss Llewellyn ; it was a sad and anxious night.

As for John Smith and his son John James William, they went together to the Royal Anglo-American and sobered the jolly inmates by telling them that if Robert died they should all be hanged. All denied having done anything to injure the lad, though some of them looked guilty enough, and they separated and sneaked away , when the Smiths were gone, and two or three of them were not seen in Cromaboo for many days after.

In a fortnight Robert was in his seat again, very pale indeed, but more determined than ever to do his duty, and neither take or give quarter ; prouder of his post than ever, and happier in it, for had not his master shaken hands with him, and said, “ I have perfect confidence in you, Robert ? ” had not his young mistress made gruel and sago for him with her own hands, and shed tears when she thought he was dying ? had not Dr. Meldrum thought it worth his while to sit up with him ? had he not fresh proof that his father and mother loved him ?

Mr. Llewellyn had driven his own coach during the lad’s illness, and had received good evidence of his servant’s honesty, as well as his tact and popularity with the women, and an obstinate belief in

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him took possession of his prejudiced Welsh head, a kindly warmth for the boy kindled up in his old Welsh heart.

It leaked out in time that the dose Robert had swallowed had been mixed for him by a disreputable veterinary surgeon, who had unintentionally made it too strong, being more accustomed to compounding doses for horses than men. His object was to make Robert appear drunk and have him dismissed.

So ends the chapter. Do not be discouraged, my reader, and give up the story. I promise you a hon bouche for desert, though you have begun your repast with simple bacon and beans. I promise to introduce you to the most fashionable people. I promise you romance, adventures, love-making, in galore, and finally orange blossoms and wedding favours ; kisses — blessings — only have patience.

CHAPTER THE THIRD. “ The sweetest lady that ever I looked upon.”

— Shakspeare.

a NEW influence was brought to bear upon Robert, the strongest and most subtle that ever touched his life. This is how it happened. I have said Robert was fond of the ladies, but most of all did he love them between the ages of five and seven. He was intimate with many little girls between Gibbeline and Cromaboo ; they felt at home with him, and told him most important secrets about pet cats, puppies and dolls ; they gave him their confidence and their kisses, and he gave them sweetmeats and kisses in return, and occasionally free rides for half a mile or so, on condition they should sit on his knee. The tavern-keeper in Gibberline, where the stage put up, had a little daughter who watched eagerly for Robert, and never let him leave without a flirtation and a romp. One stormy March day, as he was donning his great coat for a start, this little lassie came running in, and challenged him to a game of romps, by' exclaiming, “ You donT dare to take me to Cromaboo, you don’t ! ” “Don’t I, though?” retorted Robert, “I’ll button ye into my coat this very minute,” and he chased her with the skirts extended in each hand and a great deal of noise, of course.