Tonya Allen, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team. This file was produced from images generously made
available by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions.
LIFE IN CANADA FIFTY YEARS AGO:
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS AND REMINISCENCES OF A SEXAGENARIAN.
BY CANNIFF HAIGHT
"Ah, happy years! Once more who would not be a boy?"
_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage._
TO THE YOUNG MEN OF CANADA,
UPON WHOSE INTEGRITY AND ENERGY OF CHARACTER THE FUTURE OF THIS GREAT
HERITAGE OF OURS RESTS,
THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
When a man poses before the world--even the Canadian world--in the
_role_ of an author, he is expected to step up to the footlights,
and explain his purpose in presenting himself before the public in that
capacity.
The thoughts of the world are sown broadcast, very much as the seed
falls from the sweep of the husbandman's hand. It drops here and there,
in good ground and in stony places. Its future depends upon its
vitality. Many a fair seed has fallen on rich soil, and never reached
maturity. Many another has shot up luxuriantly, but in a short time has
been choked by brambles. Other seeds have been cast out with the chaff
upon the dung heap, and after various mutations, have come in contact
with a clod of earth, through which they have sent their roots, and have
finally grown into thrifty plants. A thought thrown out on the world, if
it possesses vital force, never dies. How much is remembered of the work
of our greatest men? Only a sentence here and there; and many a man
whose name will go down through all the ages, owes it to the truth or
the vital force of the thought embedded in a few brief lines.
I have very little to say respecting the volume here with presented to
the public. The principal contents appeared a short time ago in the
_Canadian Monthly_ and the _Canadian Methodist Magazine_. They
were written at a time when my way seemed hedged around with
insurmountable difficulties, and when almost anything that could afford
me a temporary respite from the mental anxieties that weighed me down,
not only during the day, but into the long hours of the night, would
have been welcomed. Like most unfortunates, I met Mr. Worldly Wiseman
from day to day. I always found him ready to point out the way I should
go and what I should do, but I have no recollection that he ever got the
breadth of a hair beyond that. One evening I took up my pen and began
jotting down a few memories of my boyhood. I think we are all fond of
taking retrospective glances, and more particularly when life's pathway
trends towards the end. The relief I found while thus engaged was very
soothing, and for the time I got altogether away from the present, and
lived over again many a joyous hour. After a time I had accumulated a
good deal of matter, such as it was, but the thought of publication had
not then entered my mind. One day, while in conversation with Dr.
Withrow, I mentioned what I had done, and he expressed a desire to see
what I had written. The papers were sent him, and in a short time he
returned them with a note expressing the pleasure the perusal of them
had afforded him, and advising me to submit them to the _Canadian
Monthly_ for publication. Sometime afterwards I followed his advice.
The portion of the papers that appeared in the last-named periodical
were favourably received, and I was much gratified not only by that, but
from private letters afterwards received from different parts of the
Dominion, conveying expressions of commendation which I had certainly
never anticipated. This is as much as need be said about the origin and
first publication of the papers which make up the principal part of this
volume. I do not deem it necessary to give any reasons for putting them
in book form; but I may say this: the whole has been carefully revised,
and in its present shape I hope will meet with a hearty welcome from a
large number of Canadians.
In conclusion, I wish to express my thanks to the Hon. J.C. Aikins,
Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba, for information he procured for me at
the time of publication, and particularly to J.C. Dent, Esq., to whom I
am greatly indebted for many useful hints.
CONTENTS.
DEDICATION
PREFACE
CHAPTER I.
The prose and poetry of pioneer life in the backwoods--The log house--
Sugar making--An omen of good luck--My Quaker grandparents--The old
home--Winter evenings at the fireside--Rural hospitality--Aristocracy
_versus_ Democracy--School days--Debating societies in the olden
time--A rural orator clinches the nail--Cider, sweet and otherwise--
Husking in the barn--Hog killing and sausage making--Full cloth and
corduroy--Winter work and winter amusements--A Canadian skating song.
CHAPTER II.
The round of pioneer life--Game--Night fishing--More details about
sugar-making--Sugaring-off--Taking a hand at the old churn--Sheep-
washing--Country girls, then and now--Substance and Shadow--"Old Gray"
and his eccentricities--Harvest--My early emulation of Peter Paul
Rubens--Meeting-houses--Elia on Quaker meetings--Variegated autumn
landscapes--Logging and quilting bees--Evening fun--The touching lay of
the young woman who sat down to sleep.
CHAPTER III.
Progress, material and social--Fondness of the young for dancing--
Magisterial nuptials--The charivari--Goon-hunting--Catching a tartar--
Wild pigeons--The old Dutch houses--Delights of summer and winter
contrasted--Stilled voices.
CHAPTER IV.
The early settlers in Upper Canada--Prosperity, national and individual--
The old homes, without and within--Candle-making--Superstitions and
omens--The death-watch--Old almanacs--Bees--The divining rod--The U. E.
Loyalists--Their sufferings and heroism--An old and a new price list--
Primitive horologes--A jaunt in one of the conventional "carriages" of
olden times--Then and now--A note of warning
CHAPTER V.
Jefferson's definition of "Liberty"--How it was acted upon--The Canadian
renaissance--Burning political questions in Canada half a century ago--
Locomotion--Mrs. Jameson on Canadian stagecoaches--Batteaux and Durham
boats
CHAPTER VI.
Road-making--Weller's line of stages and steamboats--My trip from
Hamilton to Niagara--Schools and colleges--Pioneer Methodist Preachers--
Solemnization of matrimony--Literature and libraries--Early newspapers--
Primitive editorial articles
CHAPTER VII.
Banks--Insurance--Marine--Telegraph companies--Administration of
Justice--Milling and manufactures--Rapid increase of population in
cities and towns--Excerpts from Andrew Picken
SKETCHES OF EARLY HISTORY:--
Early schools and schoolmasters--Birth of the American Republic--Love
of country--Adventures of a U.E. Loyalist family ninety years ago--The
wilds of Upper Canada--Hay bay--Hardships of pioneer life--Growth of
population--Division of the Canadian Provinces--Fort Frontenac--The
"dark days"--Celestial fireworks--Early steam navigation in Canada--The
country merchant Progress--The Hare and the Tortoise
RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS EARLY DAYS
Paternal memories--A visit to the home of my boyhood--The old Quaker
meeting-house--Flashes of silence--The old burying ground--"To the
memory of Eliza"--Ghostly experiences--Hiving the Bees--Encounter with a
bear--Giving "the mitten"--A "boundary question"--Song of the bullfrog--
Ring--Sagacity of animals--Training-days--Picturesque scenery on the
Bay of Quinte--John A. Macdonald--A perilous journey--Aunt Jane and
Willet Casey
CHAPTER I.
"I talk of dreams,
For you and I are past our dancing days."
--_Romeo and Juliet_.
THE PROSE AND POETRY OF PIONEER LIFE IN THE BACKWOODS--THE LOG HOUSE--
SUGAR MAKING--AN OMEN OF GOOD LUCK--MY QUAKER GRANDPARENTS--THE OLD
HOME--WINTER EVENINGS AT THE FIRESIDE--RURAL HOSPITALITY--ARISTOCRACY
versus DEMOCRACY--SCHOOL DAYS--DEBATING SOCIETIES IN THE OLDEN TIME--A
RURAL ORATOR CLINCHES THE NAIL--CIDER, SWEET AND OTHERWISE--HUSKING IN
THE BARN--HOG KILLING AND SAUSAGE MAKING--FULL CLOTH AND CORDUROY--
WINTER WORK AND WINTER AMUSEMENTS--A CANADIAN SKATING SONG.
I was born in the County of ----, Upper Canada, on the 4th day of June,
in the early part of this present century. I have no recollection of my
entry into the world, though I was present when the great event
occurred; but I have every reason to believe the date given is correct,
for I have it from my mother and father, who were there at the time, and
I think my mother had pretty good reason to know all about it. I was the
first of the family, though my parents had been married for more than
five years before I presented myself as their hopeful heir, and to
demand from them more attention than they anticipated. "Children," says
the Psalmist, "are an heritage, and he who hath his quiver full of them
shall not be ashamed; they shall speak with the enemies in the gate." I
do not know what effect this had on my father's enemies, if he had any;
but later experience has proved to me that those who rear a numerous
progeny go through a vast deal of trouble and anxiety. At any rate I
made my appearance on the stage, and began my performance behind the
footlights of domestic bliss. I must have been a success, for I called
forth a great deal of applause from my parents, and received their
undivided attention. But other actors came upon the boards in more rapid
succession, so that in a few years the quiver of my father was well
filled, and he might have met "his enemies in the gate."
My father, when he married, bought a farm. Of course it was all woods.
Such were the only farms available for young folk to commence life with
in those days. Doubtless there was a good deal of romance in it. Love in
a cot; the smoke gracefully curling; the wood-pecker tapping, and all
that; very pretty. But alas, in this work-a-day world, particularly the
new one upon which my parents then entered, these silver linings were
not observed. They had too much of the prose of life.
A house was built--a log one, of the Canadian rustic style then much in
vogue, containing one room, and that not very large either; and to this
my father brought his young bride. Their outfit consisted, on his part,
of a colt, a yoke of steers, a couple of sheep, some pigs, a gun, and an
axe. My mother's _dot_ comprised a heifer, bed and bedding, a table
and chairs, a chest of linen, some dishes, and a few other necessary
items with which to begin housekeeping. This will not seem a very lavish
set-out for a young couple on the part of parents who were at that time
more than usually well-off. But there was a large family on both sides,
and the old people then thought it the better way to let the young folk
try their hand at making a living before they gave them of their
abundance. If they succeeded they wouldn't need much, and if they did
not, it would come better after a while.
My father was one of a class of young men not uncommon in those days,
who possessed energy and activity. He was bound to win. What the old
people gave was cheerfully accepted, and he went to work to acquire the
necessaries and comforts of life with his own hands. He chopped his way
into the stubborn wood and added field to field. The battle had now been
waged for seven or eight years; an addition had been made to the house;
other small comforts had been added, and the nucleus of future
competence fairly established.
One of my first recollections is in connection with the small log barn
he had built, and which up to that date had not been enlarged. He
carried me out one day in his arms, and put me in a barrel in the middle
of the floor. This was covered with loosened sheaves of wheat, which he
kept turning over with a wooden fork, while the oxen and horse were
driven round and round me. I did not know what it all meant then, but I
afterwards learned that he was threshing. This was one of the first rude
scenes in the drama of the early settlers' life to which I was
introduced, and in which I had to take a more practical part in after
years. I took part, also, very early in life, in sugar-making. The sap-
bush was not very far away from the house, and the sap-boiling was under
the direction of my mother, who mustered all the pots and kettles she
could command, and when they were properly suspended over the fire on
wooden hooks, she watched them, and rocked me in a sap-trough. Father's
work consisted in bringing in the sap with two pails, which were carried
by a wooden collar about three feet long, and made to fit the shoulder,
from each end of which were fastened two cords with hooks to receive the
bail of the pails, leaving the arms free except to steady them. He had
also to cut wood for the fire. I afterwards came to take a more active
part in these duties, and used to wish I could go back to my primitive
cradle. But time pushed me on whether I would or not, until I scaled the
mountain top of life's activities; and now, when quietly descending into
the valley, my gaze is turned affectionately towards those early days. I
do not think they were always bright and joyous, and I am sure I often
chafed under the burdens imposed upon me; but how inviting they seem
when viewed through the golden haze of retrospection.
My next recollection is the raising of a frame barn behind the house,
and of a niece of my father's holding me in her arms to see the men
pushing up the heavy "bents" with long poles. The noise of the men
shouting and driving in the wooden pins with great wooden beetles, away
up in the beams and stringers, alarmed me a great deal, but it all went
up, and then one of the men mounted the plate (the timber on which the
foot of the rafter rests) with a bottle in his hand, and swinging it
round his head three times, threw it off in the field. If the bottle was
unbroken it was an omen of good luck. The bottle, I remember, was picked
up whole, and shouts of congratulation followed. Hence, I suppose, the
prosperity that attended my father.
The only other recollection I have of this place was of my father, who
was a very ingenious man, and could turn his hand to almost everything,
making a cradle for my sister, for this addition to our number had
occurred. I have no remembrance of any such fanciful crib being made for
my slumbers. Perhaps the sap-trough did duty for me in the house as well
as in the bush. The next thing was our removal, which took place in the
winter, and all that I can recall of it is that my uncle took my mother,
sister, and myself away in a sleigh, and we never returned to the little
log house. My father had sold his farm, bought half of his old home, and
come to live with his parents. They were Quakers. My grandfather was a
short, robust old man, and very particular about his personal
appearance. Half a century has elapsed since then, but the picture of
the old man taking his walks about the place, in his closely-fitting
snuff-brown cut-away coat, knee-breeches, broad-brimmed hat and silver-
headed cane is distinctively fixed in my memory. He died soon after we
took up our residence with him, and the number who came from all parts
of the country to the funeral was a great surprise to me. I could not
imagine where so many people came from. The custom prevailed then, and
no doubt does still, when a death occurred, to send a messenger, who
called at every house for many miles around to give notice of the death,
and of when and where the interment would take place.
[Illustration: THE FIRST HOME.]
My grandmother was a tall, neat, motherly old woman, beloved by
everybody. She lived a number of years after her husband's death, and I
seem to see her now, sitting at one side of the old fire-place knitting.
She was always knitting, and turning out scores of thick warm socks and
mittens for her grandchildren.
At this time a great change had taken place, both in the appearance of
the country and in the condition of the people. It is true that many of
the first settlers had ceased from their labours, but there were a good
many left--old people now, who were quietly enjoying, in their declining
years, the fruit of their early industry. Commodious dwellings had taken
the place of the first rude houses. Large frame barns and outhouses had
grown out of the small log ones. The forest in the immediate
neighbourhood had been cleared away, and well-tilled fields occupied its
place. Coarse and scanty fare had been supplanted by a rich abundance of
all the requisites that go to make home a scene of pleasure and
contentment. Altogether a substantial prosperity was apparent. A genuine
content and a hearty good will, one towards another, existed in all the
older parts. The settled part as yet, however, formed only a very narrow
belt extending along the bay and lake shores. The great forest lay close
at hand in the rear, and the second generation, as in the case of my
father, had only to go a few miles to find it, and commence for
themselves the laborious struggle of clearing it away.
The old home, as it was called, was always a place of attraction, and
especially so to the young people, who were sure of finding good cheer
at grandfather's. What fun, after the small place called home, to have
the run of a dozen rooms, to haunt the big cellar, with its great heaps
of potatoes and vegetables, huge casks of cider, and well-filled bins of
apples, or to sit at the table loaded with the good things which
grandmother only could supply. How delicious the large piece of pumpkin
pie tasted, and how toothsome the rich crullers that melted in the
mouth! Dear old body! I can see her now going to the great cupboard to
get me something saying as she goes, "I'm sure the child is hungry." And
it was true, he was always hungry; and how he managed to stow away so
much is a mystery I cannot now explain. There was no place in the world
more to be desired than this, and no spot in all the past the
recollection of which is more bright and joyous.
My father now assumed the management of affairs. The old people reserved
one room to themselves, but it was free to all, particularly to us
children. It was hard to tell sometimes which to choose, whether the
kitchen, where the family were gathered round the cheerful logs blazing
brightly in the big fire-place, or a stretch on the soft rag-carpet
beside the box stove in grandmother's room. This room was also a
sanctuary to which we often fled to escape punishment after doing some
mischief. We were sure of an advocate there, if we could reach it in
time.
The house was a frame one, as nearly all the best houses were in those
days, and was painted a dark yellow. There were two kitchens, one used
for washing and doing the heavier household work in; the other,
considerably larger, was used by the family. In the latter was the large
fire-place, around which gathered in the winter time bright and happy
faces; where the old men smoked their pipes in peaceful reverie, or
delighted us with stories of other days; where mother darned her socks,
and father mended our boots; where the girls were sewing, and uncles
were scraping axe-handles with bits of glass, to make them smooth. There
were no drones in farm-houses then; there was something for every one to
do. At one side of the fire-place was the large brick oven with its
gaping mouth, closed with a small door, easily removed, where the bread
and pies were baked. Within the fire-place was an iron crane securely
fastened in the jamb, and made to swing in and out with its row of iron
pot-hooks of different lengths, on which to hang the pots used in
cooking. Cook stoves had not yet appeared to cheer the housewife and
revolutionize the kitchen. Joints of meat and poultry were roasted on
turning spits, or were suspended before the fire by a cord and wire
attached to the ceiling. Cooking was attended with more difficulties
then. Meat was fried in long-handled pans, and the short-cake that so
often graced the supper table, and played such havoc with the butter and
honey, with the pancakes that came piping hot on the breakfast table,
owed their finishing touch to the frying pan. The latter, however, were
more frequently baked on a large griddle with a bow handle made to hook
on the crane. This, on account of its larger surface, enabled the cook
to turn out these much-prized cakes, when properly made, with greater
speed; and in a large family an expert hand was required to keep up the
supply. Some years later an ingenious Yankee invented what was called a
"Reflector," made of bright tin for baking. It was a small tin oven with
a slanting top, open at one side, and when required for use was set
before the fire on the hearth. This simple contrivance was a great
convenience, and came into general use. Modern inventions in the
appliances for cooking have very much lessened the labour and increased
the possibilities of supplying a variety of dishes, but it has not
improved the quality of them. There were no better caterers to hungry
stomachs than our mothers, whose practical education had been received
in grandmother's kitchen. The other rooms of the house comprised a
sitting-room--used only when there was company--a parlour, four
bedrooms, and the room reserved for the old people. Up-stairs were the
sleeping and store-rooms. In the hall stood the tall old fashioned house
clock, with its long pendulum swinging to and fro with slow and measured
beat. Its face had looked upon the venerable sire before his locks were
touched with the frost of age. When his children were born it indicated
the hour, and it had gone on telling off the days and years until the
children were grown. And when a wedding day had come, it had rung a
joyful peal through the house, and through the years the old hands had
travelled on, the hammer had struck off the hours, and another
generation had come to look upon it and grow familiar with its constant
tick.
[Illustration: GRANDFATHER'S.]
The furniture was plain and substantial, more attention being given to
durability than to style or ornament. Easy chairs--save the spacious
rocking-chair for old women--and lounges were not seen. There was no
time for lolling on well-stuffed cushions. The rooms were heated with
large double box stoves, very thick and heavy, made at Three Rivers; and
by their side was always seen a large wood-box, well filled with sound
maple or beech wood. But few pictures adorned the walls, and these were
usually rude prints far inferior to those we get every day now from the
illustrated papers. Books, so plentiful and cheap now-a-days, were then
very scarce, and where a few could be found, they were mostly heavy
doctrinal tomes piled away on some shelf where they were allowed to
remain.
The home we now inhabited was altogether a different one from that we
had left in the back concession, but it was like many another to be
found along the bay shore. Besides my own family, there were two younger
brothers of my father, and two grown-up nieces, so that when we all
mustered round the table, there was a goodly number of hearty people
always ready to do justice to the abundant provision made. This reminds
me of an incident or two illustrative of the lavish manner with which a
well-to-do farmer's table was supplied in those days. A Montreal
merchant and his wife were spending an evening at a very highly-esteemed
farmer's house. At the proper time supper was announced, and the
visitors, with the family, were gathered round the table, which groaned,
metaphorically speaking, under the load it bore. There were turkey, beef
and ham, bread and the favourite short cake, sweet cakes in endless
variety, pies, preserves, sauces, tea, coffee, cider, and what not. The
visitors were amazed, as they might well be, at the lavish display of
cooking, and they were pressed, with well-meant kindness, to partake
heartily of everything. They yielded good-naturedly to the entreaties to
try this and that as long as they could, and paused only when it was
impossible to take any more. When they were leaving, the merchant asked
his friend when they were coming to Montreal, and insisted that they
should come soon, promising if they would only let him know a little
before when they were coming he would buy up everything there was to be
had in the market for supper. On another occasion an English gentleman
was spending an evening at a neighbour's, and, as usual, the supper
table was crowded with everything the kind-hearted hostess could think
of. The guest was plied with dish after dish, and, thinking it would be
disrespectful if he did not take something from each, he continued to
eat, and take from the dishes as they were passed, until he found his
plate, and all the available space around him, heaped up with cakes and
pie. To dispose of all he had carefully deposited on his plate and
around it seemed utterly impossible, and yet he thought he would be
considered rude if he did not finish what he had taken, and he struggled
on, with the perspiration visible on his face, until in despair he asked
to be excused, as he could not eat any more if it were to save his life.
It was the custom in those days for the hired help (the term servant was
not used) to sit at the table, with the family. On one occasion, a
Montreal merchant prince was on a visit at a wealthy Quaker's, who owned
a large farm, and employed a number of men in the summer. It was
customary in this house for the family to seat themselves first at the
head of the table, after which the hired hands all came in, and took the
lower end. This was the only distinction. They were served just as the
rest of the family. On this occasion the guest came out with the family,
and they were seated. Then the hired men and girls came in and did the
same, whereupon the merchant left the table and the room. The old lady,
thinking there was something the matter with the man, soon after
followed him into the sitting-room, and asked him if he was ill. He said
"No." "Then why did thee leave the table?" thee old lady enquired.
"Because," said he, "I am not accustomed to eat with servants." "Very
well," replied the old lady, "if thee cannot eat with us, thee will have
to go without thy dinner." His honour concluded to pocket his dignity,
and submit to the rules of the house.
I was sent to school early--more, I fancy, to get me out of the way for
a good part of the day, than from any expectation that I would learn
much. It took a long time to hammer the alphabet into my head. But if I
was dull at school, I was noisy and mischievous enough at home, and very
fond of tormenting my sisters. Hence, my parents--and no child ever had
better ones--could not be blamed very much if they did send me to school
for no other reason than to be rid of me. The school house was close at
hand, and its aspect is deeply graven in my memory. My first
schoolmaster was an Englishman who had seen better days. He was a good
scholar, I believe, but a poor teacher. The school house was a small
square structure, with low ceiling. In the centre of the room was a box
stove, around which the long wooden benches without backs were ranged.
Next the walls were the desks, raised a little from the floor. In the
summer time the pupils were all of tender years, the elder ones being
kept at home to help with the work. At the commencement of my
educational course I was one of a little lot of urchins ranged daily on
hard wooden seats, with our feet dangling in the air, for seven or eight
hours a day. In such a plight we were expected to be very good children,
to make no noise, and to learn our lessons. It is a marvel that so many
years had to elapse before parents and teachers could be brought to see
that keeping children in such a position for so many hours was an act of
great cruelty. The terror of the rod was the only thing that could keep
us still, and that often failed. Sometimes, tired and weary, we fell
asleep and tumbled off the bench, to be roused by the fall and the rod.
In the winter time the small school room was filled to overflowing with
the larger boys and girls. This did not improve our condition, for we
were mere closely packed together, and were either shivering with the
cold or being cooked with the red-hot stove. In a short time after, the
old school house, where my father, I believe, had got his schooling, was
hoisted on runners, and, with the aid of several yoke of oxen, was taken
up the road about a mile and enlarged a little. This event brought my
course of study to an end for a while. I next sat under the rod of an
Irish pedagogue--an old man who evidently believed that the only way to
get anything into a boy's head was to pound it in with a stick through
his back. There was no discipline, and the noise we made seemed to rival
a Bedlam. We used to play all sorts of tricks on the old man, and I was
not behind in contriving or carrying them into execution. One day,
however, I was caught and severely thrashed. This so mortified me, that
I jumped out of the window and went home. An investigation followed, and
I was whipped by my father and sent back. Poor old Dominic, he has long
since put by his stick, and passed beyond the reach of unruly boys. Thus
I passed on from teacher to teacher, staying at home in the summer, and
resuming my books again in the winter. Sometimes I went to the old
school house up the road, sometimes to the one in an opposite direction.
The latter was larger, and there was generally a better teacher, but it
was much farther, and I had to set off early in the cold frosty mornings
with my books and dinner basket, often through deep snow and drifts. At
night I had to get home in time to help to feed the cattle and get in
the wood for the fires. The school houses then were generally small and
uncomfortable, and the teachers were often of a very inferior order. The
school system of Canada, which has since been moulded by the skilful
hand of Dr. Ryerson into one of the best in the world, and which will
give to his industry and genius a more enduring record than stone or
brass, was in my day very imperfect indeed. It was, perhaps, up with
the times. But when the advantages which the youth of this country now
possess are compared with the small facilities we had of picking up a
little knowledge, it seems almost a marvel that we learned anything.
Spelling matches came at this time into vogue, and were continued for
several years. They occasioned a friendly rivalry between schools, and
were productive of good. The meetings took place during the long winter
nights, either weekly or fortnightly. Every school had one or more prize
spellers, and these were selected to lead the match; or if the school
was large, a contest between the girls and boys came off first.
Sometimes two of the best spellers were selected by the scholars as
leaders, and these would proceed to 'choose sides;' that is, one would
choose a fellow pupil, who would rise and take his or her place, and
then the other, continuing until the list was exhausted. The
preliminaries being completed, the contest began. At first the lower end
of the class was disposed of, and as time wore on one after another
would make a slip and retire, until two or three only were left on
either side. Then the struggle became exciting, and scores of eager eyes
were fixed on the contestants. With the old hands there was a good deal
of fencing, though the teacher usually had a reserve of difficult words
to end the fight, which often lasted two or three hours. He failed
sometimes, and then it was a drawn battle to be fought on another
occasion.
Debating classes also met and discussed grave questions, upon such old-
fashioned subjects as these:
"Which is the more useful to man, wood or iron?" "Which affords the
greater enjoyment, anticipation or participation?" "Which was the
greater general, Wellington or Napoleon?" Those who were to take part in
the discussion were always selected at a previous meeting, so that all
that had to be done was to select a chairman and commence the debate. I
can give from memory a sample or two of these first attempts. "Mr.
President, Ladies and Gentlemen: Unaccustomed as I am to public
speaking, I rise to make a few remarks on this all important question--
ahem--Mr. President, this is the first time I ever tried to speak in
public, and unaccustomed as I am to--to--ahem. Ladies and Gentlemen, I
think our opponents are altogether wrong in arguing that Napoleon was a
greater general than Wellington--ahem--I ask you, Mr. President, did
Napoleon ever thrash Wellington? Didn't Wellington always thrash him,
Mr. President? Didn't he whip him at Waterloo and take him prisoner? and
then to say that he is a greater general than Wellington--why, Mr.
President, he couldn't hold a candle to him. Ladies and Gentlemen, I say
that Napoleon wasn't a match for him at all. Wellington licked him every
time--and--yes, licked him every time. I can't think of any more, Mr.
President, and I will take my seat, Sir, by saying that I'm sure you
will decide in our favour from the strong arguments our side has
produced."
After listening to such powerful reasoning, some one of the older
spectators would ask Mr. President to be allowed to say a few words on
some other important question to be debated, and would proceed to air
his eloquence and instruct the youth on such a topic as this: "Which is
the greater evil, a scolding wife or a smoky chimney?" After this wise
the harangue would proceed:--"Mr. President, I have been almost mad a-
listening to the debates of these 'ere youngsters--they don't know
nothing at all about the subject. What do they know about the evil of a
scolding wife? Wait till they have had one for twenty years, and been
hammered, and jammed, and slammed, all the while. Wait till they've been
scolded because the baby cried, because the fire wouldn't burn, because
the room was too hot, because the cow kicked over the milk, because it
rained, because the sun shined, because the hens didn't lay, because the
butter wouldn't come, because the old cat had kittens, because they came
too soon for dinner, because they were a minute late--before they talk
about the worry of a scolding wife. Why Mr. President, I'd rather hear
the clatter of hammers and stones and twenty tin pans, and nine brass
kettles, than the din, din, din of the tongue of a scolding woman; yes,
sir, I would. To my mind, Mr. President, a smoky chimney is no more to
be compared to a scolding wife than a little nigger is to a dark night."
These meetings were generally well attended, and conducted with
considerable spirit. If the discussions were not brilliant, and the
young debater often lost the thread of his argument--in other words, got
things "mixed"--he gained confidence, learned to talk in public, and to
take higher flights. Many of our leading public men learned their first
lessons in the art of public speaking in the country debating school.
Apple trees were planted early by the bay settlers, and there were now
numerous large orchards of excellent fruit. Pears, plums, cherries,
currants and gooseberries were also common. The apple crop was gathered
in October, the best fruit being sent to the cellar for family use
during winter, and the rest to the cider mill.
The cider mills of those days were somewhat rude contrivances. The mill
proper consisted of two cogged wooden cylinders about fourteen inches in
diameter and perhaps twenty-six inches in length, placed in an upright
position in a frame. The pivot of one of these extended upward about six
feet, and at its top was secured the long shaft to which the horse was
attached, and as it was driven round and round, the mill crunched the
apples, with many a creak and groan, and shot them out on the opposite
side. The press which waited to receive the bruised mass was about eight
feet square, round the floor of which, near the edge, ran a deep groove
to carry off the juice. In making what is known as the cheese, the first
process was to spread a thick layer of long rye or wheat straw round the
outer edge, on the floor of the press. Upon this the pulp was placed to
the depth of a foot or more. The first layer of straw was then turned in
carefully, and another layer of straw put down as in the first place,
upon which more pulp was placed, and so on from layer to layer, until
the cheese was complete. Planks were then placed on the top, and the
pressure of the powerful wooden screw brought to bear on the mass. At
once a copious stream of cider began to flow into the casks or vat, and
here the fun began with the boys, who, well armed with long straws,
sucked their fill.
By the roadside stands the cider mill,
Where a lowland slumber waits the rill:
A great brown building, two stories high,
On the western hill face warm and dry;
And odorous piles of apples there
Fill with incense the golden air;
And masses of pomace, mixed with straw,
To their amber sweets the late flies draw.
The carts back up to the upper door,
And spill their treasures in on the floor;
Down through the toothed wheels they go
To the wide, deep cider press below.
And the screws are turned by slow degrees
Down on the straw-laid cider cheese;
And with each turn a fuller stream
Bursts from beneath the graning beam,
An amber stream the gods might sip,
And fear no morrow's parched lip.
But therefore, gods? Those idle toys
Were soulless to real _Canadian_ boys!
What classic goblet ever felt
Such thrilling touches through it melt,
As throb electric along a straw,
When the boyish lips the cider draw?
The years are heavy with weary sounds,
And their discords life's sweet music drowns
But yet I hear, oh, sweet! oh, sweet!
The rill that bathed my bare, brown feet;
And yet the cider drips and falls
On my inward ear at intervals
And I lead at times in a sad, sweet dream
To the bubbling of that little stream;
And I sit in a visioned autumn still,
In the sunny door of the cider mill.
--WHITTIER.
It was a universal custom to set a dish of apples and a pitcher of cider
before everyone who came to the house. Any departure from this would
have been thought disrespectful. The sweet cider was generally boiled
down into a syrup, and, with apples quartered and cooked in it, was
equal to a preserve, and made splendid pies. It was called apple sauce,
and found its way to the table thrice a day.
Then came the potatoes and roots, which had to be dug and brought to the
cellar. It was not very nice work, particularly if the ground was damp
and cold, to pick them out and throw them into the basket, but it had to
be done, and I was compelled to do my share. One good thing about it was
that it was never a long job. There was much more fun in gathering the
pumpkins and corn into the barn. The corn was husked, generally at
night, the bright golden ears finding their way into the old crib, from
whence it was to come again to fatten the turkeys, the geese, and the
ducks for Christmas. It was a very common thing to have husking bees. A
few neighbours would be invited, the barn lit with candles.
Strung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow,
Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scenes below;
The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before,
And laughing eyes, and busy hand, and brown cheeks glimmering o'er.
Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart,
Talking their old times o'er, the old men sat apart;
While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade,
At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played.
--WHITTIER.
Amid jokes and laughter the husks and ears would fly, until the work was
done, when all hands would repair to the house, and, after partaking of
a hearty supper, leave for home in high spirits.
Then came hog-killing time, a very heavy and disagreeable task, but the
farmer has many of these, and learns to take them pleasantly. My father,
with two or three expert hands dressed for the occasion, would slaughter
and dress ten or a dozen large hogs in the course of a day. There were
other actors besides in the play. It would be curious, indeed, if all
hands were not employed when work was going on. My part in the
performance was to attend to the fire under the great kettle in which
the hogs were scalded, and to keep the water boiling, varied at
intervals by blowing up bladders with a quill for my own amusement. In
the house the fat had to be looked to, and after being washed and tried
(the term used for melting), was poured into dishes and set aside to
cool and become lard, afterwards finding its way into cakes and
piecrust. The out-door task does not end with the first day either, for
the hogs have to be carried in and cut up; the large meat tubs, in which
the family supplies are kept, have to be filled; the hams and shoulders
to be nicely cut and cured, and the rest packed into barrels for sale.
Close on the heels of hog-killing came sausage-making, when meat had to
be chopped and flavoured, and stuffed into cotton bags or prepared gut.
Then the heads and feet had to be soaked and scraped over and over
again, and when ready were boiled, the one being converted into head-
cheese, the other into souse. All these matters, when conducted under
the eye of a good housewife, contributed largely to the comfort and good
living of the family. Who is there, with such an experience as mine,
that receives these things at the hands of his city butcher and meets
them on his table, who does not wish for the moment that he was a boy,
and seated at his mother's board, that he might shake off the phantom
canine and feline that rise on his plate, and call in one of mother's
sausages.
As the fall crept on, the preparations for winter increased. The large
roll of full cloth, which had been lately brought from the mill, was
carried down, and father and I set out for a tailor, who took our
measurements and cut our clothes, which we brought home, and some woman,
or perhaps a wandering tailor, was employed to make them up. There was
no discussion as to style, and if the fit did not happen to be perfect,
there was no one to criticise either the material or the make, nor were
there any arbitrary rules of fashion to be respected. We had new
clothes, which were warm and comfortable. What more did we want? A
cobbler, too, was brought in to make our boots. My father was quite an
expert at shoemaking, but he had so many irons in the fire now that he
could not do more than mend or make a light pair of shoes for mother at
odd spells. The work then turned out by the sons of St. Crispin was not
highly finished. It was coarse, but, what was of greater consequence, it
was strong, and wore well. While all this was going on for the benefit
of the male portion of the house, mother and the girls were busy turning
the white flannels into shirts and drawers, and the plaid roll that came
with it into dresses for themselves. As in the case of our clothes,
there was no consulting of fashion-books, for a very good reason,
perhaps--there was none to consult. No talk about Miss Brown or Miss
Smith having her dress made this way or that; and I am sure they were
far happier and contented than the girls of to-day, with all their show
and glitter.
The roads at that time, more particularly in the fall, were almost
impassable until frozen up. In the spring, until the frost was out of
the ground, and they had settled and dried, they were no better. The
bridges were rough, wooden affairs, covered with logs, usually flattened
on one side with an axe. The swamps and marshes were made passable by
laying down logs, of nearly equal size, close together in the worst
places. These were known as corduroy roads, and were no pleasant
highways to ride over for any distance, as all who have tried them know.
But in the winter the frost and snow made good traveling everywhere, and
hence the winter was the time for the farmer to do his teaming.
One of the first things that claimed attention when the sleighing began,
and before the snow got deep in the woods, was to get out the year's
supply of fuel. The men set out for the bush before it was fairly
daylight, and commenced chopping. The trees were cut in lengths of about
ten feet, and the brush piled in heaps. Then my father, or myself, when
I got old enough, followed with the sleigh, and began drawing it, until
the wood yard was filled with sound beech and maple, with a few loads of
dry pine for kindling. These huge wood-piles always bore a thrifty
appearance, and spoke of comfort and good cheer within.
Just before Christmas there was always one or two beef cattle to kill.
Sheep had also to be slaughtered, with the turkeys, geese and ducks,
which had been getting ready for decapitation. After home wants were
provided for, the rest were sent to market.
The winter's work now began in earnest, for whatever may be said about
the enjoyment of Canadian winter life--and it is an enjoyable time to
the Canadian--there are few who really enjoy it so much as the farmer.
He cannot, however, do like bruin--roll himself up in the fall, and suck
his paw until spring in a state of semi-unconsciousness, for his cares
are numerous and imperious, his work varied and laborious. His large
stock demands regular attention, and must be fed morning and night. The
great barn filled with grain had to be threshed, for the cattle needed
the straw, and the grain had to be got out for the market. So day after
day he and his men hammered away with the flail, or spread the sheaves
on the barn floor to be trampled out by horses. Threshing machines were
unknown then, as were all the labour-saving machines now so extensively
used by the farmer. His muscular arm was the only machine he then had to
rely upon, and if it did not accomplish much, it succeeded in doing its
work well, and in providing him with all his modest wants. Then the
fanning mill came into play to clean the grain, after which it was
carried to the granary, whence again it was taken either to the mill or
to market. Winter was also the time to get out the logs from the woods,
and to haul them to the mill to be sawed in the spring--we always had a
use for boards. These saw mills, built on sap-streams, which ran dry as
soon as the spring freshets were over, were like the cider mills, small
rough structures. They had but one upright saw, which, owing to its
primitive construction, did not move as now, with lightning rapidity,
nor did it turn out a very large quantity of stuff. It answered the
purpose of the day, however, and that was all that was required or
expected of it. Rails, also, had to be split and drawn to where new
fences were wanted, or where old ones needed repairs. There were flour,
beef, mutton, butter, apples, and a score more of things to be taken to
market and disposed of. But, notwithstanding all this, the winter was a
good, joyful time for the farmer--a time, moreover, when the social
requisites of his nature received the most attention. Often the horses
would be put to the sleigh, and we would set off, well bundled up, to
visit some friends a few miles distant, or, as frequently happened, to
visit an uncle or an aunt, far away in the new settlements. The roads
often wound along for miles through the forest, and it was great fun for
us youngsters to be dashing along behind a spirited team, now around the
trunks of great trees, or under the low-hanging boughs of the spruce or
cedar, laden with snow, which sometimes shed their heavy load upon our
head. But after a while the cold would seize upon us, and we would wish
our journey at an end.
The horses, white with frost, would then be pressed on faster, and would
bring us at length to the door. In a few moments we would all be seated
round the glowing fire, which would soon quiet our chattering teeth,
thaw us out, and prepare us to take our places at the repast which had
been getting ready in the meantime. We were sure to do justice to the
good things which the table provided.
Many of these early days start up vividly and brightly before me,
particularly since I have grown to manhood, and lived amid other
surroundings. Among the most pleasing of these recollections are some of
my drives on a moonlight night, when the sleighing was good, and when
the sleigh, with its robes and rugs, was packed with a merry lot of
girls and boys (we had no ladies and gentlemen then). Off we would set,
spanking along over the crisp snow, which creaked and cracked under the
runners, making a low murmuring sound in harmony with the sleigh-bells.
When could a more fitting time be found for a pleasure-ride than on one
of those clear calm nights; when the earth, wrapped in her mantle of
snow, glistened and sparkled in the moonbeams, and the blue vault of
heaven glittered with countless stars, whose brilliancy seemed
intensified by the cold--when the aurora borealis waved and danced
across the northern sky, and the frost noiselessly fell like flakes of
silver upon a scene at once inspiriting, exhilarating and joyous! How
the merry laugh floated along in the evening air, as we dashed along the
road! How sweetly the merry song and chorus echoed through the silent
wood; while our hearts were aglow with excitement, and all nature seemed
to respond to the happy scene!
When the frosty nights set in, we were always on the _qui vive_ for
a skating revel on some pond near by, and our eagerness to enjoy the
sport frequently led to a ducking. But very soon the large ponds, and
then the bay, were frozen over, when we could indulge in the fun to our
heart's content. My first attempts were made under considerable
difficulties, but perseverance bridges the way over many obstacles, and
so, with my father's skates, which were over a foot long, and which
required no little ingenuity to fasten to my feet, I made my first
attempt on the ice. Soon, however, in the growth of my feet, this
trouble was overcome, and I could whirl over the ice with anyone. The
girls did not share in this exhilarating exercise then; indeed their
doing so would have been thought quite improper. As our time was usually
taken up with school through the day, and with such chores as feeding
cattle and bringing wood in for the fire when we returned at night, we
would sally out after supper, on moonlight nights, and, full of life and
hilarity, fly over the ice, singing and shouting, and making the night
ring with our merriment. There was plenty of room on the bay, and early
in the season there were miles of ice, smooth as glass and clear as
crystal, reflecting the stars which sparkled and glittered beneath our
feet, as though we were gliding over a sea of silver set with
brilliants.
Ho for the bay, the ice-bound bay!
The moon is up, the stars are bright;
The air is keen, but let it play--
We're proof against Jack Frost to-night.
With a sturdy swing and lengthy stride,
The glassy ice shall feel our steel;
And through the welkin far and wide
The echo of our song shall peal.
CHORUS.--Hurrah, boys, hurrah! skates on and away!
You may lag at your work, but never at play;
Give wing to your feet, and make the ice ring,
Give voice to your mirth, and merrily sing.
Ho for the boy who does not care
A fig for cold or northern blast!
Whose winged feet can cut the air
Swift as an arrow from bowman cast:
Who can give a long and hearty chase,
And wheel and whirl; then in a trice
Inscribe his name in the polished face,
Of the cold and clear and glistening ice.
CHORUS.
Ho, boys! the night is waning fast;
The moon's last rays but faintly gleam.
The hours have glided swiftly past,
And we must home to rest and dream.
The morning's light must find us moving,
Ready our daily tasks to do;
This is the way we have of proving
We can do our part at working too.
CHORUS.