WOOD-DUCK SHOOTING.—ADVENTURE ON RICE LAKE.—IRISH HOWL.—ARRIVAL AT
GORE’S LANDING.—GENERAL HOWLING FOR THE DEFUNCT.—DANGERS OF OUR
JOURNEY.—SAFE ARRIVAL AT COBOURG.—SALMON-FISHING.—CANOE-BUILDING AFTER
A BAD FASHION.—SALMON SPEARING.—CANADIAN FISH AND FISHERIES.—INDIAN
SUMMER.—SLEIGHS AND SLEIGHING.—DOMESTIC LOVE.
After committing the care of my horse to our landlord, I ordered dinner
to be got ready immediately, as we had thirteen miles to row, and I
wished to reach Mr. W——’s before dark. Our hostess exerted herself, and
we soon sat down to a sumptuous feast, consisting of a brace of fine
fat wood-ducks and fried black bass, two dishes I am particularly fond
of, and which at this time of the year can always be obtained from the
lake.
The wood-duck is a delicious bird. It makes its appearance early in the
spring, as soon as the ice breaks up. Its plumage is very fine—I should
say the most beautiful of any of its species. Its head and upper part
of the neck are dark green; from the top of the head a long crest
depends, richly variegated with green, white, and dark purple feathers.
The lower part of the throat and breast is cinnamon speckled with
white, but under the wings and sides towards the tail, grey, speckled
and fringed with black; the back of the wings dark blue and black
feathers. The wood-duck frequents close-wooded streams, little bays,
and nooks, sitting upon old logs or the limbs of trees which have
fallen into the water. It feeds on the wild rice, and is very fat from
the middle of August to November, when it migrates to a warmer climate.
This kind of duck is more easily approached than any other. The
sportsman should be seated near the centre of a small canoe, his gun
lying before him ready cocked, when he should paddle very cautiously
through the rice, keeping his head as low as possible. A person who
understands the management of a canoe can generally get within
twenty-five or thirty yards before he is seen, which gives him ample
opportunity to put down his paddle and take his gun, in time to fire
both barrels. In this manner I have often killed from fifteen to twenty
brace in a few hours.
After dinner we hired a skiff and proceeded on our voyage. The lake was
calm, so we made good progress, passing the Indian village belonging to
the Mississauga tribe of Indians, a branch of the Chippewas, which I
shall have occasion to speak of hereafter, Pantaush’s point, Designs
Bay, and the _embouchure_ of the Indian river; and just at dusk landed
opposite my friend’s house, pretty well tired, though much delighted
with our day’s journey. We were received with a welcome such as only a
backwoodsman knows how to give. In half an hour I felt as much at home
as if I had belonged to the family.
During my stay here, which was upwards of a week, I amused myself with
fishing and shooting. The fall and winter duck were beginning to come
in from the north, a sure sign that hard weather was close at hand.
We had had an early spring and a long warm summer. Generally speaking,
the ground does not close till about the middle of November; but this
year the frost set in much earlier. It did not, however, continue, for
the ground again opened, and we had nearly two weeks of beautiful
Indian summer in the early part of November.
On the 17th the ice was sufficiently strong to skate upon. On the 27th
day of October the first hard weather commenced, and as there was some
fear of the lake freezing, we determined to start for Cobourg the
following morning. I accordingly made the necessary preparations, and
hired an old man-of-war’s-man, one Robert Redpath, to row us up the
lake to Tidy’s.
It froze hard during the night. The ice was fully half an inch thick on
the bays, and along the margin of the lake we were obliged to break a
passage for the skiff for upwards of fifty yards before we got into
clear water. It was cold, and blew fresh from the north-west, and the
wind being directly down the lake, caused a heavy swell, which
increased every minute. As the gale freshened, our skiff shipped so
much water that we thought it prudent to put across to the Alnwick
shore, which was more under the lee, being sheltered by islands. While
passing near one of these, I observed some person walking to and fro,
apparently making signals of distress. I called Redpath’s attention to
this, and bade him “row to the shore that we might ascertain what he
wanted.” This our boatman positively refused to do, saying that “he had
hired himself to ferry us to Tidy’s, and he was not bound to go half a
mile out of his way to hunt after every infernal Ingine (Indian) we
might see on our road.”
I, however, insisted on his immediately complying with my request. It
was fortunate I did so, for on landing we found a man walking backwards
and forwards, trying to keep himself warm. Indeed, the poor fellow
looked nearly frozen. He seemed to have lost all power over his limbs,
and was quite unable to articulate. I made Redpath light a fire, and in
the meantime I gave the man a dram from our whiskey-bottle, which
greatly revived him. We soon had a blazing fire, which had the desired
effect of unloosing the tongue of our new acquaintance, and he informed
us, “he was one of the Irish emigrants sent off by Government under the
superintendence of the Honourable Peter Robinson; that several hundreds
of them had been forwarded from Cobourg to Rice Lake, a few days
before, on their way to the new settlements up the Otonabee River, and
were now camped at Tidy’s. He and his friend, a man of the name of
Daly, a tailor by trade, wished to settle in the township of Asphodel,
on the River Trent. They had accordingly taken a boat and had rowed
down the lake in the hope of reaching Crook’s Rapids on the Trent
before nightfall. Irishman-like, their only stores for the voyage
consisted of a bottle of whiskey, to which it appears they applied
themselves more diligently than to the navigation of their boat, which
they let drift at the mercy of the winds and waves while they slept.
They did not wake up from their drunken slumbers till dark, when they
found themselves stuck in a rice bed, and unable to extricate
themselves from the dilemma in which they were placed; whereupon they
again had recourse to the bottle, which this time proved fatal to Daly
who, being very drunk, fell overboard. His companion, however, managed
to catch hold of him and succeeded in getting him into the boat only to
suffer a more lingering death, for he was frozen stiff before morning
dawned. The survivor had covered his unfortunate companion with a
blanket, the only one they had with them, in the hope it would keep him
from perishing with cold during the night, which care, however, proved
unavailing. He managed at dawn to extricate the boat from the rice bed,
but not being able to row so large a boat, especially in his present
condition, she drifted upon the point of the island on which we found
him.
As soon as he was well warmed and refreshed, we proceeded to the place
pointed out by him, where we found the boat thumping in the surf, on a
ledge of rocks. After hauling it up, we proceeded to lift the blanket,
when a shocking sight presented itself. The dead man was sitting
upright on the seat, with his mouth and eyes half-open. We lifted him
out, laid him under a tree, and spread the blanket over him. We found
our skiff too small to accommodate another passenger, so we determined
to leave it behind and take the large boat, which we accordingly did;
and we put our new-comer to the oar with Redpath, whilst I took the
helm.
We had a long, tedious row against the headwind, which now blew a gale.
Our new acquaintance, every now-and-then, would throw down his oar, and
howl and clap his hands to show his grief for the loss of his departed
friend. These pathetic lamentations elicited no sympathy from Redpath,
who abused him for “a lazy lubber,” and ordered him “to pull and not
make such an infernal howling, worse than a wild Ingin’s yell.”
We made the landing at Tidy’s, just before dark, and found several
hundred emigrants in the tavern, and camped round about it.
As soon as we came within hearing, our passenger commenced the loudest
howl he had yet perpetrated, which had the immediate effect of bringing
down to the landing the whole of his countrymen, who, as soon as they
learned the loss of their friend, gave us a genuine Irish howl, in
which the women took the most prominent part.
On our way up to the house, we were met by the landlord, who, with a
most woful look, informed us that our horse had strayed away from the
pasture, and that he had searched the plains in every direction, and
could hear no tidings of him, but as soon as he turned up he would send
him home. “I am sorry, sir.” he added, “this misfortune has happened,
and particularly as I am unable to accommodate you and the young lady,
for my house is full of drunken Irish, as you see. Indeed, the only
chance you have of getting to Cobourg to-night is by an ox-cart, which
will start about nine o’clock this evening.”
I was very angry with the landlord for his carelessness, and told him I
should look to him for payment unless my horse was forthcoming. I found
the owner of the ox-cart, and made a bargain with him to set us down at
my friend’s house in Cobourg.
Our equipage was very unique of its kind, it having been constructed
for the sole purpose of carrying barrels of flour and pork. The box was
a kind of open rack, with two rows of upright stakes instead of sides:
two long boards, laid on cross-bars, formed the bottom: we spread our
buffaloes on these, and fastened a strong piece of rope across the
cart, from stake to stake on either side, to hold on by.
Thus equipped, we commenced our journey. It was pitch-dark, so our
driver let the cattle go as they liked, for guiding them was perfectly
out of the question. I shall never forget the way our oxen galloped
down those steep hills. Miss W. was dreadfully frightened. All we could
do was to hold on and trust in Providence. Luckily, the oxen kept the
track; for had they deviated in the least, going down some of the steep
pitches, the cart would have been upset to a certainty, and very likely
we should have been seriously injured, or killed on the spot.
It was past one in the morning before we reached Cobourg, thoroughly
fatigued with our expedition.
I heard no tidings of my horse for upwards of four months, and had
given up all thoughts of beholding him again, when one morning I was
surprised to see him, waggon, harness and all, drive into the yard.
Upon inquiry, I found that the hard weather and snow had made him seek
the clearings for food, when he was easily secured; but one of his
fetlocks was cut almost to the bone by the piece of rope he had been
tethered with, and which was still upon him when he was found.
One of the most exciting amusements at this season of the year, is
salmon-fishing. In order to enjoy this sport, I made a canoe sixteen
feet in length, and two feet nine inches at its greatest breadth. It
was my first attempt, and, certainly the thing looked more like a
hog-trough than a boat. It, however, answered the purpose for which it
was intended, and I can assure the reader I felt not a little proud of
this, my first attempt at canoe-making.
Salmon-fishing commences in October, when the fish run up the rivers
and creeks in great numbers. The usual way of catching them is by
spearing, which is done as follows.—An iron grate—or jack, as it is
called by the Canadians—is made in the shape of a small cradle,
composed of iron bars three or four inches apart. This cradle is made
to swing in a frame, so that it may be always on the level, or the
swell would cause the pine-knots to fall out. Fat pine and light-wood
are used to burn in the jack, which give a very brilliant light for
several yards round the bow of the canoe. The fish can be easily seen
at the depth of from four to five feet. One person sits in the stern
and steers with a paddle, propelling the canoe at the same time. The
bowman either kneels or stands up with the spear poised ready for
striking. An expert hand will scarcely miss a stroke. I have known two
fishermen in this manner kill upwards of two hundred salmon in one
night. I believe, however, the fishing is not nearly so productive as
formerly.
Mr. Stephens showed me a small stream running through his farm, which I
could easily jump over. He told me that one afternoon he was watering
his horses, when he perceived a shoal of salmon swimming up the creek.
He had no spear at home, having lent it to a neighbour. He, however,
succeeded with a pitchfork in capturing fifty-six fine fish.
Thirty years ago, all the small streams and rivers, from the head of
the lake downwards to the Bay of Quinte, used to abound with salmon.
The erection of saw-mills on the creeks, and other causes, have tended
materially to injure the fisheries. White fish and salmon-trout are,
however, taken in vast quantities, particularly the former, which has
become quite an article of commerce. The most extensive fisheries are
on the Manitoulin island, in Lake Huron, and along the Canadian shore
of Ontario, opposite the township of Haldimand, Crambe, and Murray, in
the county of Northumberland, and part of the district of Prince
Edward. Very large seine nets being used, many barrels of fish are
often taken at a haul, which are cured and packed on the spot: the
usual price of a barrel varies from five to six dollars.
Lake Ontario abounds with herring, of much the same flavour as the sea
species, but not so strong and oily, nor so large. Sturgeon, pike,
pickerel, black bass, sheep-heads, mullets, suckers, eels, and a
variety of other fish, are plentiful in these waters: the spring-creeks
and mill-ponds yield plenty of spotted trout, from four ounces to a
pound weight: they are easily caught either with the worm or fly.
The best creek I ever fished in was the Speed, a branch of the Grand
River, or Ouse, which runs through the township of Guelph. In winter
you can catch them by fishing through a hole in the ice. The best way
is to dig and store by in a box filled with earth, a quantity of worms,
which must be kept in the cellar for use. A small piece of fat pork is
commonly employed as bait, but is not nearly so good as the other.
A friend of mine, living near Colborne, told me rather an amusing story
of a Yankee, who was fishing through the ice with the usual bait, a
piece of pork. He had been very unsuccessful, and tired of the sport,
he walked over to where my friend was throwing out the trout as fast as
possible, when the following colloquy took place:
“Wal, how, under Heaven, did you get all them ’ere fish?”
“Caught them.”
“Wal, I s’pose you did; but what kinder bait do you use?”
“Worms.”
“Varms! Why, under Heaven, where do you get varms at this time of the
year?”
“I got these out of my cellar.”
“Get out! how you do talk!”
“You may believe me or not, as you like; but I can assure you I did.”
“Wal, do tell. I guess I never thought of diggin’ in the cellar; I will
go to hum and try.”
My friend met him a few days afterwards, when the Yankee said—“I
calculate, Mister, you told me a tarnation lie, the other day, about
them ’ere varms. I went and dug up every bit of my cellar, and, I do
declare, I never got a single varm.”
My friend laughed very heartily at this “Yankee diggin,” but at the
same time kindly informed his neighbour of the method he pursued, to
provide worms for winter-fishing.
Before the winter fairly sets in, we generally have ten days or a
fortnight of the Indian summer; indeed, it is the sure harbinger of
winter. The air is mild and temperate; a haze, resembling smoke,
pervades the atmosphere, that at times obscures the sun, which, when
visible, is of a blood-red colour. Various causes have been assigned
for this appearance, but none very satisfactory.
Towards the end of November this year, the ice was strong enough to
bear the weight of a man, and the ground was soon whitened with snow,
but not in sufficient depth to make good sleighing. Just a week before
Christmas, we had a fall of eight or ten inches, which made pretty good
going: the sleighs were, of course, in immediate requisition.
A family sleigh is made to carry from six to ten persons; the more
stylish ones from four to six; a cutter, or single sleigh, two. These
are all for pleasure, but every farmer is obliged to have a
lumber-sleigh for general use. A much larger load can be drawn on
runners in winter than on wheels in summer. Sleighing is, without
doubt, the most delightful mode of travelling you can possibly
conceive, but it takes several falls of snow to make the sleighing
good. All the inequalities must be filled up and levelled, but the snow
soon packs solid by the constant friction of the sleigh-runner. The
horses are each provided with a ring of bells, the sound of which is
not unmusical; and I am assured is delightful indeed to the ears of the
anxious wife, watching for the return of her husband from a winter
journey. Some years ago, when the country was unsettled, the females of
the family had some cause for fear, since the absence of the father,
son, or husband, was not always followed by his safe return; and the
snow-storm, or the wolves, were thought of with alarm, till the music
of the sleigh-bells announced the safety of the beloved absentee.
In no country on the face of the earth does the torch of wedded love
beam brighter than in Canada, where the husband always finds “the wife
dearer than the bride.” I have seen many an accomplished and beautiful
English girl, “forgetting with her father’s house,” the amusements of a
fashionable life, to realize with a half-pay officer or “younger
brother,” the purer, holier pleasures of domestic love in this country,
where a numerous issue, the fruits of their union, are considered a
blessing and a source of wealth, instead of bringing with them, as in
the old country, an increase of care.