“The Idle Spectator : He Takes a Trip Up the
City Hall Tower”
Hamilton Spectator. November 20, 1883.
“About
five minutes to 12 o’clock on Saturday night, the Idle Spectator, who was lounging
lazily around the streets seeking what he might devour, turned his laggard
steps towards the city stables, where the bell tower rises stately and tall in
all its red brick grandeur, and waited somewhat contently for an appearance of
the man who was to turn the hands of the city clock around and make them
conform with standard time.
“Two
minutes had scarcely passed when a figure comes through the night, bearing a
lantern that glimmers like a fallen star and approaches the idle one. He is
accompanied by an assistant and a sad, meek-voice man, with a fierce beard, who
carries a Globe watch, whose cash principles conform excellently well, my
masters with the silence of the night.
“Across
the bottom of the tower we go in Indian file; a little door is opened and then,
the ascent commences. Up, up, up, till the brain reels, and one tired foot
almost refuses to follow the other. Still up. The dust flies from the boards that
have not been touched by human feet for goodness only knows how long, and
mingles with the air we breathe. It gets in our nostrils, down our throat, and
finally the nasal organ commences to twitch ominously, a tingling sensation
runs through it, there is a slight facial contortion on the Idle Spectator’s
overwrought feelings and nasal muscles which find relief in a powerful
explosion; in other words, a sneeze.
“But
still up. Here’s the little nook where the great iron-tongued bell hangs and
brazenly records the progress of time’s fleet foot. The light of the lantern
that glimmers on it as we pass shows that something is agitating his serene
highness, and presently a horrible sound, like the bursting of a cannon, falls
on our ears, and for an instant, the tympanum seems likely to give way under
the shock, but the sound floats out through the wide-opened shutters, and as
far and wide as it can go marks the dawn of another Sunday morning.
“Up
a ladder now and we step into a small place where the tick-tick is heard, and
the light of the lantern falls on the clock machinery, all brass and steel,
polished and shining, and reflecting a thousand times over the lantern’s rays.
“The
man with the lantern sets it down on one side of the vast cogwheels and other
clock machinery of an abnormal size, and proceeds to pull out a brass pin out of
something and turn a wheel, marked somewhat like the dial of a clock, around. Nineteen
little notches are covered in this way, and the deed is done, and in nineteen
seconds, we have grown nineteen minutes older. Just exactly how, we don’t know,
but the time shows it to be the case, and we puzzle our brains trying to figure
it out as we stand there.
“Presently,
the man with the sleek, sad voice, and fierce beard, takes out his Globe watch,
and remarks in a tone of voice that shows how guileless and innocent he is : ‘I
set this watch at 12, at 19 minutes to 12. Just see what good time it keeps.’
And without looking at the face, he hands it to the assembled ones for
inspection.
“
‘Why,’ says the man with the lantern, ‘it’s at 12 now!’
“ ‘Eh? Dear me ! So it is ! I must have
forgotten to wind it up,’ and he proceeded to turn the stem around, but without
the least effect. The watch, like Oliver Mowat, won’t go. ‘Something’s broken,
I guess,’ he says confusedly, and sinks back in confusion.
“Through the window, we can see the
Canada Life and Provident Loan clock, and note that they, too, have been swung
around. In a dull, gray sky, the silvery moon shines for a moment through a
break in the clouds, and then hides her pale, sweet face.
“Downstairs
again, and for a moment we stand beside the huge bell. From the south, a cool,
fresh breeze is lazily blowing. It sweeps through the rafted chamber and stirs
the network of spider webs overhead.
“The moon
breaks out for another instant, then quickly vanishes again, and we go down
dusty steps. The door at last. The breeze takes the lingering smell and dust
away, and we breathe more freely.
“The night
is almost transparent and a light gray, and through its translucency we walk
slowly homeward and seek our little beds.”
