‘It can be a sad trial at times,’ Greaves replied, ‘but when the snows come and the great St Lawrence freezes a hundred miles from bank to bank, Halifax with its fine harbour is always free for navigation.’
His wife added gravely, ‘Last winter was dreadful, very severe. Our roads were impossible with ice and snow and we ran uncommonly short of the daily necessaries – the Army could get no beef and the common people were being found frozen in the street! Goodness knows how the maroons survive.’
In his surprise Kydd forgot himself and interjected, ‘Maroons – you mean black men fr’m Jamaica?’
‘Yes! Can you conceive? They were in rebellion and given settlement here. It quite touches my heart to see their poor dark faces among all the snow and icy winds.’ Kydd remembered his times in the West Indies as Master of the King’s Negroes. Could even the noble and powerful Juba have survived in this wilderness?
‘To be sure, m’ dear!’ Greaves said. ‘Yet in their Maroon Hall you will see some of our best workers, and you remember that when they were offered passage back to Africa, only a few accepted. In my opinion they’re much to be preferred to that homeless riff-raff on the waterfront.’
Adams stirred restlessly and leaned forward. ‘The Prince. How do you find having a prince o’ the blood among you all?’
‘A fine man. He has done much for Halifax, I believe.’
‘Did not King George, his father, send him here into exile, and is he not now living in sin with his mistress Julie?’
‘We do not speak of such matters,’ Greaves said coldly. ‘When His Royal Highness arrived, this place was raw and contemptible. Now it has stature and grace, with buildings worthy of a new civilisation, and is strong enough I fancy to secure all Canada from a descent.’
‘Sir, I didn’t mean . . .’
‘Do you care to see the town, perhaps? We have time to make a visit and return for dinner.’
‘You are very obliging, sir.’
Halifax consisted of one vast rampart, an imposing hill overlooking the harbour. It sloped down to the shoreline, with a massive fortification dominating the crest – the citadel with its enormous flag. There, the party stepped out to admire the view. Greaves had provided fur coats against the chill bluster of the winds, which under lead-coloured skies intermittently drove icy spicules of snow against Kydd’s skin. He shivered at the raw cold.
Around them was broad open ground, cleared to give the citadel a good field of fire. The vegetation emerging from snow-melt was bleached a drab light-brown and mud splashes showed where others had walked before. But the view was impressive: the expanse of harbour below stretched out in the distance, the sea a sombre dark grey. Model-like ships lay at anchor, black and still. And the rugged country, blanketed by the monotonous low black-green of subarctic forest, extended like a dark shadow as far as the eye could see.
Kydd caught Renzi’s eye. His friend was rapt: ‘This is a land like no other!’ he breathed. ‘One we might say is in perpetual thrall to the kingdom of the north. There is an unknown boreal fastness here that lies for countless miles to the interior, which has its own bleak beauty that dares men . . .’
Greaves smiled as they tramped back to the carriage. ‘You could not be visiting us at a worse time of the year,’ he said, ‘after the snow, and before the green-up. You may find it hardly credible, but in no more than a month there will be delicate blooms of wild pear, and trees all along Argyle Street that will surprise you with the green of old England.’
Just below the citadel the first buildings began, substantial, stone structures that would not have been out of place in England. The air was chill and raw but smoky from countless fires that promised warmth and company. ‘Now, there’s a sight!’ Adams said, with satisfaction, as they reached the town proper. Houses, shops, people, all the evidence of civilised living. The streets were rivers of mud and horse-dung but everywhere there were boardwalks to protect pedestrians’ feet.
After weeks of familiar faces at sea, the variety of passers-by seemed exotic: ladies with cloaks and muffs picking their way delicately, escorted by their gentlemen; a muffin man shuffling along in sharp contrast to a pig-tailed ranger, half-Indian, with cradled long rifle and bundle. To Kydd’s surprise sedan chairs toiled up the steep slope, a sight he had not seen since his youth.
‘We do tolerably well in the matter of entertainments,’ Greaves murmured. ‘May I mention the Pontac, a popular coffee-house with quite admirable mutton pies, or Merkel’s, if tea and plum cake is more to your taste?’ At Adams’s expression he added drily, ‘And, of course, there is Manning’s tavern, which is well remarked for its ale and respectability.’