The second blacksmith at The Forks was John MacRae. A good deal of his work consisted of turning out the iron for the carriages which were built by his brother Murdock, in his workshop by the river bank, just at the bridge. Besides making carriages Murdock was official coffin-maker for the community. He always knew just when he was about to be called on to make a coffin. According to tradition when anyone in the neighborhood was about to die, MacRae's right would get restless and presently would commence moving back and forth as if guiding a plane. On receiving this advance notice Murdock would go over his stock of pine lumber and pick out some suitable boards. Likely as not he would be at work on the job when the bereaved relative arrived to place the order. It came to be known, of course, that Murdock had the sanction of the spirit world for his work and he got all the trade. In a day when the telephone was as yet unthought of, it was a great saving of time to deal with a man who was on the inside in a matter of such grave importance. There was another carriage-maker named Pushee, and he married Kate MacLean, daughter of Ronald the turner. Pushee died and in time, his widow married Lauchie Cameron, a carriage maker from the South River, who moved in and took over the Pushee business. Angus Cameron, blacksmith was a brother of Lauchie. Donald MacInnis, son of Duncan, son of Donald, pioneer, Cross Roads Ohio, was a tailor at The Forks. The tannery at The Forks was run by John Baxter, who was also by trade a harness maker. Practically all the harness in the country was made by Mr. Baxter. He did tanning for his customers on the halves. Some years after his death the business was taken over by Alexander MacLellan, whose widow now occupies the property. A building lot at the west end of the village had been set aside by John Cameron to be used for a meeting house when the protestant population grew large enough to make the building of a church desirable. But the population in general failed to increase, and the church was never built. A little house was built there instead, and in it lived the village weaver and spinner, Sarah MacPherson, affectionately remembered as "Sarah Dougald". Her industry was proverbial and the pounding of her loom could be heard all day long. But if The Forks had no church it had at least a cemetery. It was a quarter mile from the settlement, on the side of a hill overlooking the house now occupied by Hugh MacLellan. Its neighborhood today is all grown up in spruce, and the graveyard overrun. A few headstones are still standing, recording the passing of the MacDonald's of a century ago. Half a mile away on the northwest the MacDonald boys had a grist, carding and saw mill on the James River, the finest of its kind in the country. A section of the old mill dam may still be seen there, but it is many a year since the mills were running. Ronald MacLean, the turner, was one of the pioneer settlers. It was at his hospitable home that the Bard MacLean died. He was taking supper with the family when he suddenly collapsed. The extensive flats at Addington Forks suggest to the soldier a parade ground, and it is a fact that in the olden days they were so used. At the western end there may still be seen the trenches thrown up by the militia as they got themselves in shape to repel the threatening Fenian invasion. A company of the First County of Sydney Regiment was filled by the young men of St. Joseph's parish, and once there was a great military field day at The Forks. It began with the drilling of the troops on the flat, and it ended with a great sham-battle. The whole regiment was engaged. In order that rivalry between different communities in the county might not give rise to trouble, two composite battalions were made up so that instead of a district facing a district, neighbour was pitted against neighbour. This was not so much fun but it was much safer. According to the rules of this make believe war, a soldier was out of action when an opponent had taken a bead on him and fired. The troops were using black powder charges (blanks of course) which made noise enough and gave off clouds of smoke. The battle was raging furiously when, peeping around a clump of stinking willie, the tailor saw his friend the shoemaker (now one of the enemy) approaching cautiously dragging his heavy musket. The tailor took careful aim and fired. The shoemaker jumped a foot in the air, and immediately prepared to charge. "Lie down, Big John," yelled the tailor. "I shot you. You're dead." "Act your age," retorted the shoemaker, priming his flintlock. "It takes more than death to stop a MacDonald." May I lose my thimble," called the tailor hotly, "if you're going to get away with a trick like that if you were four MacDonalds." He put three fingers of powder in the barrel and rammed after it a piece of tow the size of a handkerchief. The tow would burst from the gun barrel in flames, and he had some hope it might set Big John afire, and so repay him for his breach of military etiquette. In his excitement he forgot to remove the ramrod, and it was only the heavy charge of powder that saved him from murder. The musket kicked savagely, the barrel shot upward, and the ramrod instead of going through the shoemaker's heart merely lifted his hat from his head and carried it over toward the post road. There was a good deal of rum sold at The Forks. One of the prominent vendors was deaf, which one would expect to be a bad handicap in a business that had to be carried on on the quiet. But it did not turn out that way. The customer might arrive when the settlement was wrapped in sleep, but he had merely to stamp on the ground the ground and the proprietor would awaken with a start. The remainder of the transaction would be carried out in sign language easily enough. A few hundred yards to the southeast of the village a little brook drains from the Gaspereaux Lake into the West River. During May myriads of alewives pass up this narrow channel into the lake and the flat near the brook's mouth becomes a gathering place for the countryside. The young men go there in scores to dip out the gaspereaux with scoop nets, and to talk, and sing and romp between schools. In the olden days the village rumsellers found a fine market in this gathering. Rum had the same affect on human emotions then as it has now and often enough there were fights, which sometimes developed into feuds. But at last there came a night of terror. Fights broke out between individuals, their friends took up the quarrels, and finally there was a riot, with running blood and broken heads. Next day the countryside heard the story with shame. The gaspereaux brook was now pointed to as an evil place and for a time its popularity fell off badly. Next Sunday Father Ronald spoke in sorrow of the episode. A community which would permit that sort of thing, he said, lacked God's blessing and could not flourish. Even nature was shocked. According to old tales the gaspereaux in protest ceased to run, and for ten years or more were seen no more in the little brook. And everyone felt that the crime was indeed great when it caused gaspereaux to ignore tradition. In due course old age took the stalwart leaders of The Forks, and decay fell upon the village. Merry Christmas Everyone! Marleen ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Marleen & Jim Hubley Rose & Thistle B & B 4143 South River Road Antigonish, NS B2G 2L4 Phone: 902-735-2225 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~