PROGRESS, MATERIAL AND SOCIAL--FONDNESS OF THE YOUNG FOR DANCING--
MAGISTERIAL NUPTIALS--THE CHARIVARI--COON-HUNTING--CATCHING A TARTAR--
WILD PIGEONS--THE OLD DUTCH HOUSES--DELIGHTS OF SUMMER AND WINTER
CONTRASTED--STILLED VOICES.
As time wore on, and contact with the outer world became easier and more
frequent, the refinements of advancing civilization found their way
gradually into the country, and changed the amusements as well as the
long-established habits of the people. An isolated community like that
which stretched along the frontier of our Province, cut off from the
older and more advanced stages of society, or holding but brief and
irregular communication with it, could not be expected to keep up with
the march of either social or intellectual improvement; and although the
modern may turn up his nose as he looks back, and affect contempt at the
amusements which fell across our paths like gleams of sunlight at the
break of day, and call them rude and indelicate, he must not forget that
we were not hedged about by the conventionalities, nor were we slaves to
the caprice of fashion. We were free sons and daughters of an upright,
sturdy parentage, with pure and honest hearts throbbing under rough
exteriors. The girls who did not blush at a hearty kiss from our lips
were as pure as the snow. They became ornaments in higher and brighter
circles of society, and mothers, the savour of whose virtues and
maternal affection rise before our memory like a perpetual incense.
I am quite well aware of the fact that a large portion of the religious
world is opposed to dancing, nor in this recital of country life as it
then existed do I wish to be considered an advocate of this amusement. I
joined in the sport then with as much eagerness and delight as one could
do. I learned to step off on the light fantastic toe, as many another
Canadian boy has done, on the barn floor, where, with the doors shut, I
went sliding up and down, through the middle, balancing to the pitch-
fork, turning round the old fanning-mill, then double-shuffling and
closing with a profound bow to the splint broom in the corner. These
were the kind of schools in which our accomplishments were learned; and,
whether dancing be right or wrong, it is certain the inclination of the
young to indulge in it is about as universal as the taint of sin.
The young people then, as now, took it into their heads to get married;
but parsons were scarce, and it did not always suit them to wait until
one came along. To remedy this difficulty the Government authorized
magistrates to perform the ceremony for any couple who resided more than
eighteen miles from church. There were hardly any churches, and
therefore a good many called upon the Justice to put a finishing touch
to their happiness, and curious looking pairs presented themselves to
have the knot tied. One morning a robust young man and a pretty,
blushing girl presented themselves at my father's door, and were invited
in. They were strangers, and it was some time before he could find out
what they wanted; but after beating about the bush, the young man
hesitatingly said they wanted to get married. They were duly tied, and,
on leaving, I was asked to join in their wedding dinner. Though it was
to be some distance away, I mounted my horse and joined them. The dinner
was good, and served in the plain fashion of the day. After it came
dancing, to the music of a couple of fiddlers, and we threaded through
reel after reel until nearly daylight. On another occasion a goodly
company gathered at a neighbour's house to assist at the nuptials of his
daughter. The ceremony had passed, and we were collected around the
supper table; the old man had spread out his hands to ask a blessing,
when bang, bang, went a lot of guns, accompanied by horns, whistles, tin
pans and anything and everything with which a noise could be made. A
simultaneous shriek went up from the girls, and for a few moments the
confusion was as great inside as out. It was a horrid din of discordant
sounds. Conversation at the supper table was out of the question, and as
soon as it was over we went out among the boys who had come to charivari
us. There were perhaps fifty of them, with blackened faces and ludicrous
dresses, and after the bride and bridegroom had shown themselves and
received their congratulations, they went their way, and left us to
enjoy ourselves in peace. It was after this manner the young folks
wedded. There was but little attempt at display. No costly trousseau, no
wedding tours. A night of enjoyment with friends, and the young couple
set out at once on the practical journey of life.
One of our favourite sports in those days was coon (short name for
raccoon) hunting. This lasted only during the time of green corn. The
raccoon is particularly fond of corn before it hardens, and if
unmolested will destroy a good deal in a short time. He always visits
the cornfields at night; so about nine o'clock we would set off with our
dogs, trained for the purpose, and with as little noise as possible make
our way to the edge of the corn, and then wait for him. If the field was
not too large he could easily be heard breaking down the ears, and then
the dogs were let loose. They cautiously and silently crept towards the
unsuspecting foe. But the sharp ears and keen scent of the raccoon
seldom let him fall into the clutch of the dogs without a scamper for
life. The coon was almost always near the woods, and this gave him a
chance of escape. As soon as a yelp was heard from the dogs, we knew the
fun had begun, and pushing forward in the direction of the noise, we
were pretty sure to find our dogs baffled and jumping and barking around
the foot of a tree up which Mr. Coon had fled, and whence he was quietly
looking down on his pursuers from a limb or crutch. Our movements now
were guided by circumstances. If the tree was not too large, one of us
would climb it and dislodge the coon. In the other case we generally cut
it down. The dogs were always on the alert, and the moment the coon
touched the ground they were on him. We used frequently to capture two
or three in a night. The skin was dressed and made into caps or robes
for the sleigh. On two or three of these expeditions, our dogs caught a
Tartar by running foul of a _coon_ not so easily disposed of--in
the shape of a bear; and then we were both glad to decamp, as he was
rather too big a job to undertake in the night. Bruin was fond of young
corn, but he and the wolves had ceased to be troublesome. The latter
occasionally made a raid on a flock of sheep in the winter, but they
were watched pretty closely, and were trapped or shot. There was a
government bounty of $4 for every wolf's head. Another, and much more
innocent sport, was netting wild pigeons after the wheat had been taken
off. At that time they used to visit the stubbles in large flocks. Our
mode of procedure was to build a house of boughs under which to hide
ourselves. Then the ground was carefully cleaned and sprinkled with
grain, at one side of which the net was set, and in the centre one stool
pigeon, secured on a perch was placed, attached to which was a long
string running into the house. When all was ready we retired and watched
for the flying pigeons, and whenever a flock came within a seeing
distance our stool pigeon was raised and then dropped. This would cause
it to spread its wings and then flutter, which attracted the flying
birds, and after a circle or two they would swoop down and commence to
feed. Then the net was sprung, and in a trice we had scores of pigeons
under it. I do not remember to have seen this method of capturing
pigeons practised since. If we captured many we took them home, put them
where they could not get away, and took them out as we wanted them.
At the time of which I write Upper Canada had been settled about forty-
five years. A good many of the first settlers had ended their labours,
and were peacefully resting in the quiet grave-yard; but there were many
left, and they were generally hale old people, who were enjoying in
contentment and peace the evening of their days, surrounded by their
children, who were then in their prime, and their grandchildren, ruddy
and vigorous plants, shooting up rapidly around them. The years that had
fled were eventful ones, not only to themselves, but to the new country
which they had founded. "The little one had become a thousand, and a
small one a strong nation." The forest had melted away before the force
of their industry, and orchards with their russet fruit, and fields of
waving corn, gladdened their hearts and filled their cellars and barns
with abundance. The old log house which had been their shelter and their
home for many a year had disappeared, or was converted into an out-house
for cattle, or a place for keeping implements in during the winter; and
now the commodious and well-arranged frame one had taken its place.
Large barns for their increasing crops and warm sheds to protect the
cattle had grown up out of the rude hovels and stables. Everything
around them betokened thrift, and more than an ordinary degree of
comfort. They had what must be pronounced to have been, for the time,
good schools, where their children could acquire a tolerable education.
They also had places in which they could assemble and worship God. There
were merchants from whom they could purchase such articles as they
required, and there were markets for their produce. The changes wrought
in these forty-five years were wonderful, and to no class of persons
could these changes seem more surprising than to themselves. Certainly
no people appreciated more fully the rich ripe fruit of their toil.
Among the pleasantest pictures I can recall are the old homes in which
my boyhood was passed. I hardly know in what style of architecture they
were built; indeed, I think it was one peculiar to the people and the
age. They were strong, substantial structures, erected with an eye to
comfort rather than show. They were known afterwards as Dutch houses,
usually one story high, and built pretty much after the same model; a
parallelogram, with a wing at one end, and often to both. The roofs were
very steep, with a row of dormer windows, and sometimes two rows looking
out of their broad sides, to give light to the chambers and sleeping
rooms up-stairs. The living rooms were generally large, with low
ceilings, and well supplied with cupboards, which were always filled
with blankets and clothing, dishes, and a multitude of good things for
the table. The bed rooms were always small and cramped, but they were
sure to contain a good bed--a bed which required some ingenuity,
perhaps, to get into, owing to its height; but when once in, the great
feather tick fitted kindly to the weary body, and the blankets over you
soon wooed your attention away from the narrowness of the apartment.
Very often the roof projected over, giving an elliptic shape to one
side, and the projection of about six feet formed a cover of what was
then called a long stoop, but which now-a-days would be known as a
veranda. This was no addition to the lighting of the rooms, for the
windows were always small in size and few in number. The kitchen usually
had a double outside door--that is a door cut cross-wise through the
middle, so that the lower part could be kept shut, and the upper left
open if necessary. I do not know what particular object there was in
this, unless to let the smoke out, for chimneys were more apt to smoke
then than now; or, perhaps, to keep the youngsters in and let in fresh
air. Whatever the object was, this was the usual way the outside kitchen
door was made, with a wooden latch and leather string hanging outside to
lift it, which was easily pulled in, and then the door was quite secure
against intruders. The barns and out-houses were curiosities in after
years: large buildings with no end of timber and all roof, like a great
box with an enormous candle extinguisher set on it. But houses and barns
are gone, and modern structures occupy their places, as they succeeded
the rough log ones, and one can only see them as they are photographed
upon the memory.
Early days are always bright to life's voyager, and whatever his
condition may have been at the outset, he is ever wont to look back with
fondness to the scenes of his youth. I can recall days of toil under a
burning sun, but they were cheerful days, nevertheless. There was always
"a bright spot in the future" to look forward to, which moved the arm
and lightened the task. Youth is buoyant, and if its feet run in the way
of obedience, it will leave a sweet fragrance behind, which will never
lose its flavour. The days I worked in the harvest field, or when I
followed the plough, whistling and singing through the hours, are not
the least happy recollections of the past. The merry song of the girls,
mingling with the hum of the spinning-wheel, as they tripped backward
and forward to the cadence of their music, drawing out miles of thread,
reeling it into skeins which the weaver's loom and shuttle was to turn
into thick heavy cloth; or old grandmother treading away at her little
wheel, making it buzz as she drew out the delicate fibres of flax, and
let it run up the spindle a fine and evenly twisted thread, with which
to sew our garments, or to make our linen; and mother, busy as a bee,
thinking of us all, and never wearying in her endeavours to add to our
comfort--these are pictures that stand out, clear and distinct, and are
often reverted to with pleasure and delight. But though summer time in
the country is bright and beautiful with its broad meadows waving before
the western wind like seas of green, and the yellow corn, gleaming in
the field where the sun-burnt reapers are singing; though the flowers
shed their fragrance, and the breeze sighs softly through the branches
overhead in monotones, but slightly varied, yet sweet and soothing;
though the wood is made vocal with the song of birds, and all nature is
jocund and bright--notwithstanding, all this, the winter, strange as it
may seem, was the time of our greatest enjoyment. Winter, when "Old
Gray," who used to scamper with me astride his bare back down the lane,
stood munching his fodder in the stall; when the cattle, no longer
lolling or browsing in the peaceful shade, moved around the barn-yard
with humped backs, shaking their heads at the cold north wind; when the
trees were stripped of their foliage, and the icicles hung in fantastic
rows along the naked branches, glittering like jewels in the sunshine,
or rattling in the northern blast; when the ground was covered deep with
snow, and the wind "driving o'er the fields," whirled into huge drifts,
blocking up the doors and paths and roads; when
"The whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end;"
when the frost silvered over the window-panes, or crept through the
cracks and holes, and fringed them with its delicate fret-work; when the
storm raged and howled without, and
"Shook beams and rafters as it passed!"
Within, happy faces were gathered around the blazing logs in the old
fire-place.
"Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north wind roar,
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost line back with tropic heat."
The supper has been cleared away, and upon the clean white table is
placed a large dish of apples and a pitcher of cider. On either end
stands a tallow candle in a bright brass candlestick, with an
extinguisher attached to each, and the indispensable snuffers and tray.
Sometimes the fingers are made use of in the place of the snuffers; but
it is not always satisfactory to the snuffer, as he sometimes burns
himself, and hastens to snap his fingers to get rid of the burning wick.
One of the candles is appropriated by father, who is quietly reading his
paper; for we had newspapers then, though they would not compare very
favourably with those of to-day, and we got them only once a week.
Mother is darning socks. Grandmother is making the knitting needles fly,
as though all her grandchildren were stockingless. The girls are sewing
and making merry with the boys, and we are deeply engaged with our
lessons, or what is more likely, playing fox and geese.
"What matters how the night behaved;
What matter how the north-wind raved;
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our ruddy hearth-fire's glow.
* * * * *
O time and change! with hair as gray
As was my sire's that winter day,
How strange it seems, with so much gone
Of life and love, to still live on!
Ah brother! only I and thou
Are left of all the circle now--
The dear home faces whereupon
The fitful fire-light paled and shone,
Henceforth, listen as we will,
The voices of that hearth are still."