Playing Dress Up

I got back to Nova Scotia and camped at a nice provincial park in Caribou where they made room for me even though they were completely full. Traveling by bike, I almost never get turned away from a campground even when it's full.

The next day I rode the ten or so miles to Pictou, home of the replica tallship, Hector.





The original Hector was the first ship to bring immigrants from Scotland in the mid 1700s.


Imagine climbing to the top of the main mast in a heavy swell!


After the Battle of Culloden in 1746 when the Scottish Highland clans were defeated by the English, life became very hard in the Highlands. In desperation, about 200 highlanders, answered this advertisement for emigration. (In old text like this, the lower case letter s looks like an f).


They sailed from Ullapool at the head of beautiful Loch Broom in the Scottish Highlands.

This is what belowdecks looks like where all those people were crowded in for twelve weeks. The bunks have four levels.


I can't begin to imagine what that place was like. Imagine the smell of 200 unwashed bodies and the toilet buckets on the heaving North Atlantic. Even the modern replica, which is kept in port, felt cool and damp on a warm sunny day.

After arriving in Nova Scotia, things got really bad. The promised land of milk and honey turned out to be a forested wilderness without any land cleared for farming. They were completely unprepared. One clansman went out to shoot a bear after hearing about how formidable and dangerous they were. He came back saying that it was actually pretty easy to kill but he was surprised at the long pokey things in its fur. He had shot a porcupine and thought it a bear. The Scots did survive and thrive and many of their descendants are still here in Pictou.

Near the ship Hector was a group of Red-coated Highlanders drilling with muskets.


They had a canon, too. Her name is Charlotte.





I went over to talk to them and was asked if I wanted to join them in their 18th century encampment. I, of course, jumped at the chance. I was provided with period appropriate clothes and spent the rest of the day and the next morning with the 84th Highland Regiment. The bike cleats were the best I could do for shoes but the rest was pretty authentic.


I went out for beer with some of the guys.


The captain was quite the story teller and regaled us with many stories from his time in the Canadian military and other more shady adventures. Note the broadsword slung on his back.


I got to sleep in an old style tent.


They fed me a great dinner and breakfast.


This little girl had a great time despite looking a little grouchy in this picture.


In the evening, I hung out with these great people from Ontario (after they made fun of my bike shoes). Thanks for the beers and the company, guys!


I got a lesson in the workings of the flint lock musket. This is the entire mechanism that is driven with only two springs.


To load and fire, you bite of the top of a a paper cartridge that has a pre-measured amount of black powder. You put a small amount in the pan in the firing mechanism and snap the cover shut on it. The rest of the powder goes down the barrel, followed by a round, lead musket ball that is in the base of the cartridge (these guys obviously skip that) and the paper wadding of the cartridge. The whole thing is packed into the barrel with the ramrod. To fire you pull the cock back two stops and pull the trigger. When you do, the flint hits a piece of steel making a spark igniting the powder in the pan. There is a small hole that goes from the pan through the barrel through which the flame travels thus lighting the powder in the barrel, discharging the rifle with a satisfying bang. Re-loading takes three to four minutes.

Many English expressions originate from this time. The metal that holds the flint looks like the head of a cock (male chicken) so we have cocking a gun. When the flint lock mechanism becomes worn, the musket can go off half-cocked. If the main charge doesn't ignite but the ignition charge does, you get a flash in the pan.

I had a fantastic time, members of the 84th Regiment! Thanks so much for the hospitality. I hope I can join you again, perhaps next summer, in the 18th century.

Location:18th century Pictou