Travels in Nova Scotia in the Year 1913

Nova Scotia was a sudden inspiration, induced by the enthusiasm of a friend who had enjoyed a recent vacation here, and after some correspondence with Nova Scotians who knew their country, I selected the coast line between Yarmouth and Halifax.

The afternoon of October 12, 1913, saw me venturing forth from Boston on the Governor Cobb. The day had been given over to much rain, but ran dry late in the afternoon, and my hopes revived, though the evening started somewhat unprofitably with the moon tucked away in the attic of cloudland. And the following morning Jupiter Pluvius helped matters distressfully, having refilled his tanks over night.

It is a simple thing to reach Nova Scotia from New York as I went, and not expensive: Fall River Line to Boston, Yarmouth Line to Yarmouth. A two weeks’ trip can easily be made for $75 or less.

My adventure started as a walking trip along the coast line, but quickly resolved itself into a series of short walks punctuated with railroad rides. Away from the coast all roads are wood roads, bordered by spruces or other evergreens, picked out here and there at this season of the year with a bit of vivid color where the frost has touched the scrub maple or oak or an occasional white birch. The shadows are deep and rich and cool, and the odors from pine and hemlock a delicate perfume that is a constant joy, but there is little variety in the outlook, as the woods usually close in on both sides and, while by no means unattractive, the chief interest and beauty lie along the shore—hence the variegated method of my travel.

If I grumble now and then let no one take it too seriously. Possibly I was tired or hungry, or both—that always makes me cross—and then the weather can easily account for some of my flings, for it was anything but charming a goodly part of the time, wet and close—very close. I larded the lean earth much of the way as even Falstaff might envy. The east wind which held day after day brought many clouds and high fogs which, with a slender mist that filled the air at times, assisted in making many exquisite pictures that the camera did its best to take advantage of, though many times with indifferent success. The east wind also meant unsettled weather, but of persistent rain there was little after the first day.

Of the towns which I saw Lockport particularly commended itself, though Shelburne carries a quaint air of having once been, which could easily make the visitor love it. Liverpool and Lunenburg also set out attractions of their own, but it was the villages and little wayside stopping places that were the chief delight, such as Port Latour, Port Mouton, Hunts Point, Port Medway, Petite Riviere and the wonderful stretches of Dublin Shore and Western Shore. I speak only of those I saw.

In 1767 Lord William Campbell wrote that Nova Scotia has “more ports of safety for ships of any burthen than any other province of America, and almost at the entrance of these, inexhaustible mines of fish, which furnish all Europe with that commodity, and ought to be the first nursery of seamen to supply, as occasion may require, the British navy.” In fact this southern coast is almost as regularly notched with bays and inlets as is the deep-toothed timber saw.