THE FULTON FAMILY

William Fulton was one of the best citizens of Wallace. He lived the most of his long life on a fine farm at Shoal Bay, three miles below Wallace. He was a sturdy North of Ireland Protestant and during all of his life at Wallace one of the most faithful members of the Methodist Church. In politics he was a Liberal and a great admirer of Joseph Howe. He died at 93 years of age. His wife, Lydia Arnold, small physically but great of heart, died at 92. They celebrated 71 years of married life. My mother was a daughter of this worthy pair.

Their eldest son Hon. Stephen Fulton, a merchant and shipbuilder in Wallace, represented Cumberland Co. for some years with Hon. Joseph Howe. They had three grandsons who became prominent clergymen in Canada and the United States and two are physicians who are successful practitioners in Pennsylvania. The old gentleman told me once with pardonable pride that none of his children had disgraced him.

SIMON NEWCOMB

He was born in a little cottage at the end of the bridge across the mouth of the Wallace River and became Astronomer Royal for the United States, one of the world’s great men. He visited Wallace a few years before his death. He expressed a desire to drive alone to look at places he knew in his boyhood. A friend lent him his horse and carriage. He first tied the horse with a long rope, with the result that the animal got badly tangled up. Later on he drove in an erratic sort of way taking the whole road or each side alternately; perhaps he didn’t know which side he should take or his eyes may have been on the heavens. Someone who had difficulty in meeting him said to the owner of the horse, “Who is that distinguished looking man I met driving?” “Oh”, he replied, “that is Newcomb, the greatest astronomer in the world.” “Well,” said his questioner, “he may know a lot about the stars, but there is a lot he does not know about a horse.”

An interesting life of Newcomb has been published. We boys used to call the simple home in which he was born “Peggy Newcomb’s lean-to”. Simon Bolivar Newcomb, a cousin of the astronomer, was also born in Wallace. His mother was Phoebe Huestis, daughter of Thomas, the Loyalist. His mother and father went to Texas when Simon was a child, leaving him in care of an aunt and uncle. His mother died in Texas. His father came back to Canada and settled in Ontario. When the lad was 19 he sent for him and educated him in law. Simon practiced afterward in Ohio, but like all the Newcombs, he was a pioneer. He moved to border settlements and became a judge in El Paso, Texas, later holding the same position in New Mexico. A born Newcomb, always going to the outer bounds.

MACFARLANES PROMINENT

MacFarlane was a name well known in Remsheg and Wallace. Daniel, known as the squire, was a prominent man of affairs. Of Scotch descent, he served well in Church and State. He was a prominent magistrate and had a provincial license to marry when clergymen were not available. He had a fine farm and I think he had the first saw and grist mill, which stood for many years near the shore on his land. His son-in-law, Thomas Friar, an Englishman, ran the mill for a time, adding a circular saw for making shingles, but his efforts were not successful. Squire MacFarlane and my father carried on for a time a small circulating library. Among other volumes they had a valuable set of Constable’s Miscellany. After the books ceased to “circulate”, scattered volumes remained in the hands of leading contributors. I recollect reading when a youth such volumes of the Miscellany as Cortes’ Conquest of Mexico, a life of George Canning, a history of Music and some interesting books of travel. Probably this was one of the earliest efforts at establishing a village library in Nova Scotia. The province should have more of them in the present day.

REMSHEG—WALLACE

The first Canfields and Hortons were Loyalists of a good type. They settled on lots on Shoal Bay, or as it was usually called, Canfield Settlement, now East Wallace. The first Miller who came there was a shipwrecked sailor lad. He was adopted by one of the Canfield families, afterward married one of the daughters and became a good citizen. Some wag made the following mathematical table of the three names: Two Millers, one Canfield; Two Canfields, one Horton; Two Hortons, one man. This, although somewhat humorous, was unfair to all three. I knew those of my time most intimately. They were a most kindly, industrious, law abiding, religious people. Some of them remain on the land, while others have gone abroad, all leaving a good record. Prominent and useful citizens of Wallace at the west end of town now called Wallace Bridge were the Kerrs, Scotts, Davisons and others. Joseph Kerr had a fine home and a store or office near the end of the Bridge and a large saw and grist mill six miles up the river. He was a good-looking man of fiery energy. A rabid Conservative in politics, he at times took the stump at elections and at one time had the courage to speak violently against Howe. The building of our first railroad from Halifax to Truro was the leading plank in the Liberal platform. A characteristic anecdote of Howe’s which I may not put into print rate upset Mr Kerr’s equilibrium for the time.

QUITE A TRAVELLER

Robert Kerr (Bob) was a quaint humourous farmer. Bob had an exceptional vocabulary of swear words. He had also when telling a story a peculiar habit of pointing with his left thumb over his shoulder. In Barrie’s “Window in Thrums” he makes Thomas Haggert say, ”A man canna expeket to make humour and see it also.” So Bob could not be expected to use swear words and know that he had used them. When I was in Wallace a few years ago I saw Bob on the road which ran through his farm. I said to my daughter who was with me, “Come over and I will introduce you to an interesting old friend of mine.” I told him that she had just returned from a trip through Europe. “Ah,” said Bob, “traveling is great thing. I often thought I would like to go as far as Pictou myself.” As I passed the FreeChurch Cemetery in Wallace lately, I saw a beautiful tombstone which had been recently erected. I read from the street the name inscribed – Robert Kerr – so, like Stevenson’s great story, Bob had gone on the journey common to us all.

SCHOOL MASTERS

The first name I recollect is that of Basil Bell. I was too young to attend this school, but with other young children attended a school taught by Miss MacKenzie. Mr Bell lived afterward in New Glasgow, where he and his sons had a drug store. One clever son became a member of parliament and another a world traveler. Next came Henry Oldright, a fine scholar said to be familiar with seven languages. He was my first schoolmaster. Then came Donald MacKay. He was a real teacher, a good mathematician, grammarian and a superior penman. He also taught classes in navigation, necessary in a shipbuilding town such as Wallace was at that time. It was before the days of steel and gold pens and he used to call up a class of boys and with a few clips with his sharp penknife he would make a pen out of a goose quill equal to the best Gillotts steel pen of a later day. I remember his painstaking work with gratitude and I also remember that for various offences we boys were betimes “licket with the tawse”. I do not recollect that he ever punished a girl as he did the boys. His tawse, made of a soft thick leather with two long strips cut in one end and a hole on the other, when turned into a sort of Australian boomerang and hurled with Donald’s left hand through space to light before you on your desk, made your hair stand on end. Then would come his stentorian voice, “Come up to the desk!” and in the excitement of the moment the good grammarian, lapsing into Scots dialect, would shout, “took the tawse with you, ” and as they came down on outstretched hand how the fingers would tingle. It might well be for the new Superintendent of Education to bring back the tawse.

TEACHER, D.C. FRASER

Next came my last schoolmaster and in some respects my best, Donald MacAulay. He was the last teacher before the Educational Act came into force. Others following him were D.J. MacLeod, Mr Murray, Mr Patterson, D.C. Fraser. D.C. Fraser, then a somewhat raw youth, came from Normal School to take charge of the school at Wallace. I recollect the first day he taught. My father, always deeply interested in the school, had sent my youngest brother to the morning session. Being a timid child, he went with fear and trembling to his first school. He came home at noon and with tears said, “I can’t go to that teacher.” “Why, what is the matter?” asked the interested parent. “Oh, he is going to kill us all. He nearly killed Allan and Brent MacNab this forenoon.” “Go right back, my son,” said the father, “that’s the man I’ve been looking for this long time.” He went back and came through alive, and well taught. The big man had a large kind heart and punished severely only those who deserved it. D.C. took an active interest in temperance work and in the Division of the Sons of Temperance then alive in Wallace, cultivated a natural gift of debate and became a fluent speaker. He had ambition and used to say, “I’ll fetch up sometime in Ottawa, boys.” He did that and more fitting with honour at last the chair of Lieut. Governor and dying in that office. Then followed Evan Kennedy, now Dr Kennedy of New Glasgow, and others. Several women taught at different times with good results.

MAIL ROUTES AND DRIVERS

The earliest names that I recollect is that of Arnison of Pictou and Hiram Hyde of Truro. One of the best mail contractors Nova Scotia ever had was James Blair. He was ably assisted by three stalwart sons, Ben, Bill and Ike. His head stables were in Tatamagouche. His mail route after the completion of the railway to Truro was from Truro to Pugwash via Tatamagouche and Wallace. Another route was from Pictou to Amherst. James Blair was a great roadmaker. He saw that the roads he traveled were kept in good order. Over the Cobequids he frequently made level roads around hills and in every way possible spared his fine and well fed horses unnecessary exertion. His coaches and harness, so well looked after, never seemed to make trouble or delay on the road. His sons were exceptionally good and careful drivers and where possible were always on time. It was always a pleasure to travel by Blair Coaches. John Daley was for many years a faithful driver on the coach routes.

Another well known contractor was the genial Joe Dotton. Never a hurry for his bags at the post offices. Always good natured, humourous and kindly. He drove for some years from Wallace to Folly Village (now Glenholme) via the famous Wentworth Valley. He also drove mails to Fox Harbour, Gulf Shore, Pugwash and Wallace Bay. I have two short stories characteristic of my friend Joe which I would like to put on record. He had borrowed some money from a close old Scot in Wallace. This he was to pay in quarterly installments out of his pay check. He accused his lender of failing to credit one of his payments. The old man used to call on him always when the quarterly payment fell due. One morning when he was paying an installment at our post office he said to his dunner, “Some people the more I pay them the more they give me credit for. It’s different with you.”

SOURCE OF MAPLE SUGAR

At another time he had for a passenger to Londonderry and back an Englishman new to Nova Scotia. The traveler was greatly interested in the tales Joe told him about sugar made from the sap of maple trees on the mountains through which they passed. Instead of telling him that sugar was made by boiling the sap, he told him that the sap dropping down hollow trees formed into lumps under the trees as I have seen stalagmites formed by calcareous water dropping on the floor of a cave in Bermuda. On the return trip, Joe, pointing to a hollow tree, said, “I believe that there is a lump of sugar under that tree.” Going over to it he shouted. “Yes, here it is.” He had carefully concealed in a pocket of his coat a lump of sugar and this he presented to his gullible passenger.

If I may be allowed after what I have written to refer again to myself, I carried the mail to Malagash for some years, beginning when I was about 12 years of age. The route at first was down through Malagash, across the Belden Treen road and up the North Shore. Afterward it was extended around Malagash Point and later around by Millville and through the Stake Road to Malagash. When the last change was made, Arthur Woodgate, an Englishman, then Postmaster General, drove me over the new route. He said the province had too many Millvilles, so he changed the name to Hornay, a name well known to him in England. He told me that the outlying parts of Nova Scotia had better service than England. Now since the opening of the salt mine and the great improvements in farms in Malagash, a daily mail has been established.

In old days and at present the MacNabs and Stewarts were well known names in Malagash. Worthy successors of these are Mr Percy MacNab, mechanical engineer for the Montreal Engineering Co., Ltd, lately returned from work in South America, and Dr George David Stewart, the well known and leading surgeon in New York.

THE SALT MINE

While making a few days delightful visit to my native Wallace, Mr and Mrs MacNab kindly took me for a ride in their car around my old Malagash mail route. We passed the famous recently discovered salt mines. A branch railway runs to the mine and across the peninsula to a shipping port on Tatamagouche Bay. I was surprised by the immense plant built for carrying on the work and shipping the product. When I passed within a few yards of the opening of the mine in my weekly trips years ago the only salt I knew of was the seasoning of the excellent buckwheat pancakes the kind friends used to give me, a hungry boy, for lunch, or the salt spray of the waves of Northumberland Strait.

There was, a little down below the mine, a spring that smelt strongly of sulphur, but a chemist tells me that there is no connection between sulphur and salt. Potash may be found and if it is, the value of the mine will be greatly increased and Nova Scotia be independent of Germany for that necessary commodity. I had a very pleasant stop with Mr and Mrs MacNab at their old homestead.

Looking toward Tatamagouche Bay, I saw on my left by the shore Stewart’s Island, the early home of Dr Stewart and a field nearby his fine bungalow, which with great love for the spot he visits frequently. On my right I saw the beautiful conical hill so often admired by the young mail driver of the past. It has graceful evergreen trees over most of its surface. In the sunlit intervening places the MacNabs have always buried their dead. It was their Westminster Abbey in which I have heard that no unworthy person could be interred. I hesitate to invade its sanctity with a story, but as the tale I have heard illustrates the old belief of the resurrection of the body still held and recited in the Apostle’s Creed, and as it should give no offence to anyone, I tell it as it was told to me many years ago.

THE MACNABS RISE EARLY

The clan MacNab of old Scotland had a certain dignity that was brought from their emigrants to New England and an exclusiveness was apparent in their beautiful cemetery. In my early days journeyman tailors or shoemakers used to stay at our home until they made clothes or shoes for the whole family. Once upon a time such a man tarried at the MacNabs. He proved to be rather a dissolute character and after a time died in the house of alcoholism. The questions arose, “Where shall we bury him?” The majority thought it would never do to lay him in their carefully guarded cemetery. But a wise old member of the family, remembering Paul’s teaching that the godly should rise first, said, “Ah weel, let us bury him among us. The MacNabs will be up and awa long before he will be wakin’.”

The letter to my friends in these days when the art of letter writing has well nigh died, has reached what I fear is an absurd length. I regret very much that no able hand has yet written the History of Cumberland. If these sketches of mine have pleased any readers and offended none, I may someday come back and tell of the great shipbuilding days in the busy Wallace of some years in the middle of last century, of the sheep raising and cloth making of early days and of some interesting old town meetings I remember.

WALLACE TOWN MEETINGS

These controlled the affairs of the township divisions before the days of Municipal County Councils. Wallace had a town clerk and he with a chairman conducted the meetings. Reports were presented by overseers of the poor, the assessors and collectors of taxes, roadmasters and other officials. The reports were dealt with and decided, in some cases, considerable discussion. It was a meeting that interested most of the men in the community. I cannot be expected to remember much about the proceedings. I was young and not specially interested. I do not know of any permanent record of the meetings being kept. During the Legislature of 1855 an Act was passed for the municipal incorporation of counties. It was adopted by Yarmouth Township in 1856, but abandoned after three years’ trial. It was not at the time adopted by any other county. In 1879 and Act of the Legislature brought into operation a general system of incorporation. One striking thing that I recollect that took place at a town meeting at which I was present. The report of the overseers of the poor was being considered. I saw men, women and children sold at auction. Not as abject as for life, but something akin to it. Not to the highest bidder, but knocked down to the lowest price per week “for their keep”. This was before the days of poor houses, now know as City or County Homes. One family of shady reputation, Fisty MacNeills, figured year after year in these auctions. They lived in the old abandoned school house of my earliest days. It was situated on the corner where the road to the Livingstone Bridge leaves the main street. The stream that flowed past the back of the house used to be called “Fisty’s Creek”. The loss of his left hand gave him the nickname “Old Fisty”.

LARGE FLOCKS OF SHEEP

Farmers in the neighbourhood of Wallace used to keep large flocks of sheep. I saw none in my recent visit. The mongrel dog is blamed for its disappearance. Anyhow, in some districts the sheep is gone but the dog remains. A book of earmarks of sheep, births of children and other important things, now unfortunately lost, used to be kept by the Town Clerk. The sheep of different owners flocked together on the back pasture lands. One farmer would never get a registered mark, and lambs born in the pastures he was said to claim as his. An old owner of sheep at a town meeting where sheep were being discussed said rather caustically, : I don’t want to mention no name, but, John, you stole my wether.” An interesting thing in connection with sheep raising occurred in our flock. Two spring lambs strayed away together from the flock in the autumn. We missed them, but gave them up as lost. In the early spring, old Fisty, two miles in the back woods looking for wood to make axe handles, found the missing lambs and succeeded in driving them home. Like Mary’s little lamb “their fleece was white as snow”, but everywhere the others went these lambs would never go. Up and down through the fields, through the spring and summer, if the flock were on one side, they would feed alone by themselves on the other.

WANTED COACHING

I hear once of a sort of town meeting held in one of the back settlements. They had some difficulty in getting a chairman. One Donald MacKay, the scholar of the assembly, preferred to remain on the floor where he would have a better opportunity to take part in debates. He moved that Sandy MacPherson be the chairman for the day. Sandy said, “Take it yersel, Tonal.” “No, Sandy, you take it.” Finally sandy said he would take it if “Tonal” would sit by him and prompt him. So after they had taken their places and the audience became seated, Sandy in a loud whisper said, “What’ll I say, MacKie?” He was duly instructed, and again at a loss, said “What’ll I say next, MacKie?”

PAST AND PRESENT

Some one asks me, “How does the past of Wallace compare with the present?” As a reply, a verse of Ecclesiastes comes to mind: “Say not thou, that the former days were better than these, for thou does not enquire wisely concerning this.” It is plainly evident that the business of the town at present day is not what it once was but in my opinion the district as a whole, including Malagash, has improved greatly. I miss the shipyards and larger quarries of the past with their numerous workmen and busy street scenes of the day and evening. It was a pleasure to see the tandem outfit, handsome bay horses and high English dog cart of Hon. H.G. Pineo drive down street from Pugwash and turn through the arched gateway of the old Stenson Inn; or Jordeson on his bob-tailed bay pony, at full gallop, coming from the Point Shipyard to the Post Office for his daily mail; or Tom Battye with his sleeves rolled up over strong brown arms come rattling down from his great quarries, in what he called his horn cart, driving one of his two huge, raw-boned horses “Thunder” and “Lightning”. The shafts of his two-wheeled gig had ox horns on the ends. He drove often at night in this rig to Pictou, whistling or singing as he went. A merry honest John Bull of rare intelligence, with whom it was a pleasure to do business.

But for the whole district this did not mean prosperity. Many farmers, the backbone of the country, while cutting and bringing timber for ship-builders, neglected their farms. They were paid chiefly in store goods. It was difficult to get for timber or produce enough money to pay taxes or church dues. The balance of their accounts with the Shipward shops was usually on the wrong side. Consequently, when shipbuilding ceased, lawsuits for balances due were frequent.

Martin B Huestis wrote a series of essays – more like one long letter, as he puts it - for the Halifax newspaper (either the Star or the Herald; reports differ) in 1927, telling of conditions and stories from the Wallace of his youth, which would have been in the 1850’s and 1860’s. The columns were picked up and run by the Oxford Journal, the weekly paper that continues to serve eastern Cumberland County. The original columns in the Halifax paper were further divided by the Journal. Copies of six of these essays have been provided to me by David Dewar of the Wallace Area Museum. Edges of some of these columns were ragged and some words are missing, occasionally enough for me to be unable to determine what those words might have been. I will correct these lines when I can find other copies of the essays.

Because the divisions in the columns were artificial, and made only to accommodate space considerations in the newspapers, I have chosen to re-arrange the material by topic. One file contains much of the shipbuilding material, another includes accounts of early days in Wallace, and the last contains Martin Huestis’ recollection of families and events of his youth.

Transcribed by Alan Huestis February 2007