We
telegraphed our coming to Baddeck, and departed. For twenty-five
cents one can send a dispatch to any part of the Dominion, except the
region where the Western Union has still a foothold.
Our conveyance was a one-horse wagon, with one seat. The horse was
well enough, but the seat was narrow for three people, and the entire
establishment had in it not much prophecy of Baddeck for that day.
But we knew little of the power of Cape Breton driving. It became
evident that we should reach Baddeck soon enough, if we could cling
to that wagon-seat. The morning sun was hot. The way was so
uninteresting that we almost wished ourselves back in Nova Scotia.
The sandy road was bordered with discouraged evergreens, through
which we had glimpses of sand-drifted farms. If Baddeck was to be
like this, we had come on a fool's errand. There were some savage,
low hills, and the Judique Mountain showed itself as we got away from
the town. In this first stage, the heat of the sun, the monotony of
the road, and the scarcity of sleep during the past thirty-six hours
were all unfavorable to our keeping on the wagon-seat. We nodded
separately, we nodded and reeled in unison. But asleep or awake, the
driver drove like a son of Jehu.
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