ON THE LAKE.
"Dreaming again, May! Are you saying a last fond good-bye to the
Falls? I'm afraid you've left your heart up there," said Mrs.
Sandford, as she smilingly laid her hand on the shoulder of her niece,
who stood alone at the stern of the steamboat, silently gazing in the
direction of the faint, distant cloud of spray that rose, just
traceable against the clear blue sky, with a wistful regret in her
soft gray eyes--regret at parting from that wonderful revelation of the
sublime which had so powerfully impressed her imagination, and which,
just at present, overpowered even the happy anticipations of the
further revelations of beauty and grandeur that still lay in the
future progress of this wonderful voyage down the glorious river to
the sea.
They had a delightful morning drive through the long stretch of
charming rural scenery that lies between the Falls and Niagara,
studded with pretty bowery old homesteads, long green lawns flecked
with the long shadows of spreading walnut and tulip trees, and dark
stately pines, through which they could catch glimpses of
old-fashioned, pillared piazzas, or of old gray farm buildings, till
at last they reached the picturesque suburbs of the quiet little town
of "Niagara-on-the-Lake." As they drove through the grove of fine oaks
that skirts the edge of the town, and admired the pretty little church
of St. Mark's, making a charming picture in the foreground, Mrs.
Sandford, who in her youth had often sojourned in the vicinity,
pointed out the spot where she remembered having seen the "hollow
beech-tree,"--long since gone,--commemorated by Moore in his poem of
"The Woodpecker," though, it must be added, that this same beech-tree
has been also located in the neighborhood of Kingston. Beyond the oak
grove lay a broad green or "common" stretching away to the wide blue
lake, on which the Iroquois used to hold an annual encampment to
receive their yearly gifts and allowances. To the right of the road,
just above the river, Mrs. Sandford pointed out the grassy mound and
bit of massive masonry, which is all that is left of old Fort George,
with its eventful history, and a little further on the tower of Fort
Mississauga, built after the final retreat of the American troops in
1813, out of the ruins of the original town, burned by the American
soldiers on a dreary December day. No traces of these old conflicts
can now be seen, being long since smoothed over by the gentle yet
strong hand of time, and a beneficent Nature. Just opposite them,
across the broad blue-green river, which has now lost all traces of
its turbulent passion, and subsided into a most peaceful and
easy-going stream, they could see the white walls of the American Fort
Niagara, which had exchanged so many rounds of cannonade with its
opposite neighbor. May, fresh from reading Parkman, was eager to fix
the exact spot where her special hero, LaSalle, had built his
ill-fated "Griffin," the first sailing vessel that ever floated on
these waters; but here her aunt could give her no information. _Her_
interest was entirely in later history, and she pointed out the place
where Governor Simcoe had opened the first Parliament of Upper Canada
and delivered his first speech, with all the usual formalities, to an
assembly of eight members and two Legislative Councilors; after which
the Governor, with his two Secretaries, departed in due pomp attended
by a guard of honor of fifty soldiers from the old fort; and also,
how, with less ceremonial, during the warm summer days, the Governor
and his Council met on the green sward, under the spreading trees, and
arranged the affairs of the Provinces, passing, among other useful
measures, the memorable one which put an end forever to all
possibilities of negro slavery in the young colony, thereby saving it
from much future difficulty and dishonor.
The mention of this last subject had brought on a discussion of the
history of slavery in the American Republic, which much interested
Hugh Macnab, whose Celtic sympathies had been rather with the South in
the great struggle, while Kate was a warm partisan of the North, and
argued their cause so well that her cousin had at last to confess
himself mistaken on several important points. The argument lasted
until they found themselves on board the Cibola, getting up her steam
to carry them from Niagara and its glories. While Mrs. Sandford had
been dilating on the attractions of Niagara-on-the-Lake as a
delightful and quiet health resort, May, who had been very quiet
during the drive, had stolen off to a quiet corner in the stern, where
the others found her at last, sitting very still and trying to fix the
glorious Falls in her memory by calling up once again the picture of
them as she had seen them last.
"So this is Lake Ontario!" said Hugh Macnab, looking around with keen
enjoyment. "How well I remember stumbling over the name at school in
my geography lessons, and reading with awe that line of Campbell's
about the tiger roaming along Ontario's shores!"
"Oh, did he really say that?" said Kate. "Who would have thought a
great poet would have made such a mistake in his zoology?"
"Oh, as for that," said Hugh, smiling, "poets, especially when they
are city-bred--are very apt to make mistakes about natural facts. And
Ruskin had not written then, you know. But what a magnificent lake!"
he exclaimed again, inhaling the fresh, bracing breeze, and surveying
with delight the turquoise-blue expanse of water, whose horizon-line
blended softly with a pale azure sky, banked here and there by
delicate violet clouds which might have passed for distant mountains.
"Over there," he added, "one could imagine it the ocean, at least on
one of the rare days when the ocean sleeps at peace!"
"It can be stormy enough, too," remarked Mrs. Sandford, with a
grimace, called forth by some vivid remembrance of it in that aspect.
"I've been on it when even good sailors at sea have had to give in.
For, you see, the short, chopping waves are more trying than the big
ocean rollers."
"And how long shall we be on it, after leaving Toronto?" asked Hugh,
with some anxiety, for he was by no means a good sailor in such
circumstances.
"Oh, you can have fourteen or fifteen hours of it, if you wish,"
replied Kate, mischievously, suspecting the reason for his question.
"But I've been planning a little variation that, because, of course,
you see nothing of the country in traveling by lake, and I want you to
see some of our really pretty places by the way; and besides, the
Armstrongs, our Port Hope cousins, want to have a glimpse of you, of
course, and would like us all to give them a day, at least, _en
route_. And my plan is, that we take the lake steamer to Port Hope,
which we reach in a lovely hour,--just in the gloaming, as Flora would
say. We can all stay with the Armstrongs, for they have a good large
house and some of the family are away; and we can have some very
pretty drives about Port Hope next day. And then, the following
morning, we can take the train, and go by the 'Grand Trunk' to a
pretty little town called Belleville, on a charming bay called the Bay
of Quinte, on which we can have a lovely sail down to Kingston. That
will be better than spending the night on the lake--seeing nothing of
the scenery and having to turn out of our berths at the unearthly hour
of four o'clock in the morning, which is about the time the steamboat
from Toronto arrives at that good old city."
"That's a splendid plan, Cousin Kate," exclaimed both Hugh and Flora
at once. "What a schemer you are, to be sure," continued Hugh. "I
don't know how we should ever get on without you."
May had been sitting by, silently watching the little group, as she
had rather a way of doing; Kate's bright face, Hugh's more reserved
and sensitive one,--yet seeming so much more animated and healthful
than when she had first met him, only a few days ago,--and Flora's
sweet, rosy, good-humored countenance,--they made a pleasant picture.
How much better Hugh seemed already, and how much he seemed to depend
on Kate! May was much addicted to weaving little romances for the
people about her,--often on very slender foundation,--and she had
already begun to weave one for her cousin. How well they would
supplement each other, she thought,--Kate's quick, practical sense and
Hugh's more contemplative tendencies. From which it will be seen that
May was somewhat given to theories, as well as to modern fiction.
Meantime, they had been swiftly steaming across the azure surface of
the lake, and, even by straining her eyes, May could barely discern
the faint cloud of mist that represented so much to her inward eye.
Indeed they had all begun to look onward for Toronto, and could dimly
trace the long succession of buildings and spires that had begun to
separate itself from the blue line of distant shore towards which they
were approaching.
"We shall be there very soon now," said Mrs. Sandford, rising to
collect her numerous satchels, wraps, etc., long before there was any
occasion for it. It was a sort of occupation, and she had
relinquished, for the time, the sedative of her knitting. While she
was thus busied, Kate pointed out, as they drew nearer, the principal
landmarks, and the strangers were surprised to find so extensive and
imposing a city.
"That low bar of land, there," she said, somewhat slightingly, "is
what they call their Island, though it really is only a sandbar cut
through. I suppose it's better than nothing, for at least they get the
fresh lake breezes; but no one who has seen our beautiful 'Thousand
Islands' in the St. Lawrence could be content with that for an island.
But it is the Coney Island, the Nantasket Beach, the Saratoga, of
Toronto!"
"Toronto is an Indian name, I suppose," said Hugh. "Do you know what
it means?"
"I do," said May, when Kate had confessed her ignorance. "At least I
have read somewhere that it means 'The Place of Meeting,' from having
been the point where the roving bands of Indians and the French
traders used to meet in the old French time. At first it was only a
little stockaded fort, called Fort Kouilly, after a French Colonial
Minister, I think, and there the traders and Indians used to make
their bargains."
"And after that," said Mrs. Sandford, "it was never known at all until
Governor Simcoe made it the first capital, instead of Niagara, which
was too near the frontier, and called it York, after the then Duke of
York."
"What a pity!" exclaimed Hugh. "But they went back to the Indian name,
after all!"
"Yes," replied Mrs. Sandford, "they got tired of hearing it called
'muddy little York,' and changed back to Toronto about fifty years
ago; and Toronto it has remained ever since. My father has often told
me about the first Parliament buildings here, and the Vice-Regal
residence, which the 'Queen City' would not think good enough now for
a school building. At the time when it was made the capital, the woods
clothed the shore down to the water's edge, and there were only two
wigwams here, in which lived two families of Mississauga Indians, from
whom the whole site of the city is said to have been bought for _ten
shillings sterling_, with some beads, blankets, and, I'm afraid, a
little fire-water thrown in."
"Well," said Hugh, "everything is relative; I suppose that represented
a small fortune to them, and it has taken a good while to get the
'unearned increment' up to its present value."
"I don't understand your new-fangled terms," said Mrs. Sandford.
"There weren't any of them in my day. Now, make haste and get your
traps together, for we'll be at the dock in two minutes. Look for the
Arlington carriage, Hugh, that's where we're going; I think you will
find it there."
And in a few minutes they were all stowed into the carriage, and
driven rapidly away from the noisy dock to the quiet family hotel on
King Street, which seemed an inviting resting place in the very warm
afternoon. They felt the heat all the more after the cool lake breeze
they had been enjoying; and they were all tired enough with their
early start to enjoy a _siesta_ before their luncheon, which was also
much appreciated in its turn. The afternoon was to be devoted to
seeing Toronto, and a large double hack was soon at the door, in which
the whole party ensconced themselves for a leisurely drive about the
busy and beautiful city. Kate, as usual, directed the route, and Hugh
sat on the box beside the driver, where he could hear all the
information given behind, as well as secure some more on his own
account from the communicative charioteer.
They drove first eastward, along the fine stretch of King Street,
admiring on their way the pretty, shady grounds of Government House,
and the massive Norman architecture of St. Andrew's Church opposite,
in which Hugh, as a Scotchman, took a special interest. Passing on,
along the favorite resort of Toronto promenaders, they admired the
stately rows of buildings, though Hugh and Flora protested against the
monotonous white brick, so new to their English eyes. They turned up
the busy thoroughfare of Yonge Street, and, after a few blocks, left
the region of shops and turned aside into the cool shadiness of Jarvis
and Sherbourne Streets, with their handsome residences, surrounded by
well-kept grounds; and so up to the rural quiet of Bloor Street. They
crossed the fine bridge over the ravine at Rosedale, and admired the
picturesque bits of scenery lying about that romantic spot. Then,
after following Bloor Street into the new section of the city that has
grown up so rapidly about Spadina Avenue, they turned into the
beautiful "Queen's Park," and drove through its shady precincts, the
Scottish strangers surveying with great interest the new academic
buildings that are springing up about the University as a center. At
the University, of course, they halted for a closer inspection of the
beautiful building, which, as Kate remarked, had just risen,
Ph[oe]nix-like, from the conflagration that had, a short time ago, left
it a mass of magnificent ruins.
"You see they are building the library quite separate, over there,
now," Kate said, pointing to where the graceful library building was
beginning to show its beauty of design. "It is really wonderful," she
added, "how generous people everywhere have been in restoring the loss
of the books."
"Yes," replied Hugh. "And I have no doubt the University will be the
gainer in the end, as the _trash_ will have been all disposed of, and
the scientific books will be all new and up to date. But I can imagine
what a catastrophe it must have been at the time. It made quite a
sensation, even among us students in Edinburgh. Though, apart from the
associations, I'm afraid some of us wouldn't have been sorry to have
had our old building and old books renewed in the same way! It's too
bad for a Scotch university to be eclipsed, architecturally, by a
Canadian one!"
"Ah, well, you see, we had the improved taste of this age to guide
us," remarked Kate.
"And the taste of a Scotchman, at that, if I am not mistaken," added
Hugh.
"Oh, yes, we must grant you the credit of Sir Daniel Wilson and his
Edinburgh training. But look at this fine gateway. Fortunately it was
not injured by the fire, and is just as it was. I think it's the
finest bit of the building."
Hugh admired it all so enthusiastically that May, who had of course
seen very little of fine architecture, was glad to have her own
admiration endorsed by one who had seen so much more. And, happily,
they encountered a stray professor, well known to Mrs. Sandford, who
insisted on looking up the janitor, and personally conducting them
through the interior of the building, which the tourists were very
anxious to see, and which Hugh inspected with the critical eye of a
student, approving of the various improvements everywhere introduced,
and only regretting the lost glories of the Convocation Hall, on which
the professor regretfully descanted.
"But we must wait for some Canadian millionaire to give us a Canadian
Christ's Church," he said, smiling.
"Indeed, I think it is wonderful, as it _is_, for a new country," said
Hugh, as they exchanged a cordial adieu, Hugh promising in return to
show him Edinburgh University if he would look him up over there.
From the University they drove down the fine shady avenue, to show the
strangers, a little way from the University, on a little knoll in its
picturesque grounds, a monument to the young volunteers who fell at
Ridgeway. Hugh and Flora had already heard the story of the Fenian
_emeute_ that caused so much temporary excitement, and they looked
with respectful sympathy at the monument so justly raised to these
gallant young men, as true patriots as if the field on which they fell
had been one of the historic battle-grounds of the world. The monument
to George Brown also claimed their attention for a few moments, and
Hugh triumphantly declared to Kate, that, so far as he could see, all
the great leaders of Canada had been his fellow-countrymen.
Then they continued their drive down the fine avenue, past the School
of Technology, and the great, new Parliament buildings, fast rising to
completion, and down the alley of chestnuts on to which, under the
spreading horse-chestnuts, leads down Queen Street, where they duly
admired the classic stateliness of Osgoode Hall,--the law center of
Ontario. Then they returned to King Street once more, and followed its
coarse westward for some miles, to see the former site of the Old Fort
near the Exhibition buildings, and the various great institutions of
Toronto along its line. The old red brick building of Upper Canada
College,--one of the oldest grammar schools in Canada; the handsome
front of Trinity College, farther on, in its beautiful park, the
grounds and buildings of which Hugh would fain have stopped to
explore; the great gloomy-looking, high-walled inclosure of the
Lunatic Asylum, with its saddening associations; and then, still
sadder sight, the grim Central Prison and the Mercer Reformatory for
women. A somewhat more cheerful object of contemplation was the large
pile of buildings that form the beautiful Home for Incurables, which
Kate declared was quite an ideal institution, at least so far as its
plan and appointments were concerned. "But it is a rather melancholy
place too," she admitted, "though, if people _are_ incurable, it is
nice to know that they will be comfortably provided for!"
"I don't believe much in institutions," said Flora, in her soft voice
and pretty Scotch accent; "I would rather have one of the plainest
little rooms, in a wee, real home, than the most luxurious one in
these great institutions!" and May warmly endorsed the sentiment.
"Still, if people can't have even that," said Hugh, "it's well there
_are_ institutions. I must say myself, that I don't care much for
doing things by wholesale, so I for one could never be a socialist.
Things were better planned originally. 'He setteth the solitary in
families.'"
"That was long ago, my dear boy," remarked Mrs. Sandford. "It's
getting to be an old world, and a cold world, too, I fear."
"Oh, I hope not, Aunt Bella. The old order faileth, giving place to
new, only the new hasn't got well worked out yet."
On their way back they took a look at the Old Fort Barracks, and at
the site of the old French Fort, near which the exhibition buildings,
or "Fair grounds," yearly present such a striking contrast to what
must have been the silence and loneliness of the spot when it first
became a British settlement. And the cool lake breeze was most
refreshing after the heat of the July day, and sent them back to the
hotel, reinforced for dinner, after which they were not disposed to do
more than sit quietly on one of the balconies of the hotel, Mrs.
Sandford knitting with great satisfaction, and the others amusing
themselves with observing the ever-varying line of pedestrians
constantly passing to and fro on their way from places of evening
entertainment.
Next morning all the junior members of the party started for a ramble
on foot, going first along King Street and looking in a more leisurely
fashion at the various handsome public buildings, the banks, the great
newspaper offices, a little off King Street, the fine post-office on
Adelaide Street, the attractive picture and bookstores, and then
turning up Church Street, pursued their way to the Normal School
buildings, where Kate exhibited to her companions with some pride, the
various educational appliances of that center of the public school
education of the province, the handsome, and even luxurious
lecture-rooms, class-rooms, library, and last, but not least, the
spacious and delightful Kindergarten, a paradise of infantine
education, which was Kate's especial delight, and which to Hugh and
Flora was a charming novelty in "school-keeping." After that they
continued their walk in a desultory fashion along the shady streets of
that quarter of the city, admiring the handsome churches and
villa-like residences which there abound. Then they crossed the Park
to take one more look at the beautiful University buildings, and came
back to the Arlington by the way of St. George Street with its fine
residences, and Spadina Avenue, just in time for an early luncheon
before preparing for their departure by the good steamer _Corsican_.
The early afternoon found them all on the deck of the steamer, gliding
swiftly out of Toronto Bay, leaving in the distance the long mass of
fine buildings that extends along Front Street and gives the stranger
some idea of the wealth and business of Toronto; past the long
sandbar, which at once protects Toronto Harbor and serves as a "health
resort" and "_villegiature_" for so many Torontonians. Very soon, as
the steamer ploughed her way through the blue lake, calm as a
millpond, Toronto had become invisible, and the high land of Scarboro
Heights rose to the left, while to the right the blue horizon line
again reminded the travelers of the sea. Presently, there arose the
fresh, bracing afternoon breeze, most grateful to the strangers
especially, who had felt the heat at Toronto rather oppressive. It was
a delicious afternoon, and as the sparkling and quivering golden
pathway thrown on the waters by the westering sun showed them that it
was passing away all too soon, Hugh declared that if he lived in
Canada he should want to spend most of the summer on a yacht on such
halcyon waters.
"Yes," said Mrs. Sandford, "yachting is very well in summer weather,
when it is calm like this, but it's dangerous at best on these great
lakes where sudden squalls are apt to rise at any moment. Don't you
remember, Kate----"
"Oh, yes, Auntie," Kate interposed, hurriedly, "don't talk about it
now. It's too sad. But, Hugh, how would you like to 'paddle your own
canoe' all the way down from Toronto to the foot of the lake, as they
used to do in the brave days of old?"
"I shouldn't fancy any one would try such an experiment in these days
of rapid locomotion," said Flora.
"Indeed, some people _would_, and think it great fun," replied Kate.
"A friend of ours, with his wife and little girl, paddled down the
whole way to the St. Lawrence one summer, just for the pleasure of it.
And his wife--just as the squaws used to do--helped him with the
paddling."
"And how long did it take them?" asked Hugh.
"About ten or eleven days. And they kept a log, or at least a diary of
each day's events, for future edification. Of course, they stopped
over night at some place where they could sleep comfortably and have a
good breakfast to start with."
"Oh, I should think _that_ might be very pleasant. But, in 'the brave
days of old,' they had not any of these conveniences, and I suppose
they did not take it so leisurely."
"Poor LaSalle had many a hard paddle up and down the lakes in all
sorts of weather," said May. "It makes one shudder to think of some of
his voyages, and with so many hardships, too!"
"Well," said Hugh, "I think I prefer the more expeditious way, where
there's no particular scenery to tempt one."
"Oh, of course, there isn't _much_ of what you would call scenery
along this coast," said Kate. "Nothing like what there is along Lake
Superior or Lake Huron. But still, if you were to keep close along
shore, there are many pretty little 'bits' to enjoy; and just think
what a delicious lotus-eating life it would be."
"Except for the paddler," interposed Hugh.
"Oh, indeed, you don't know how the paddlers get to love it! There
seems a sort of fascination about it, and it gets to be a passion with
them. There is much more interest and variety about it than about
rowing. Do you know, there's a great American Canoe Association to
which many Canadians belong, which has its 'meets' every summer, at
some pleasant spot, with good boating. They have all sorts of
exercises, races, canoe-gymnastics, prize contests, and a splendid
time generally. And ladies belong to it as well as men. This year it
is to be held at one of the 'Thousand Islands'; and, by the way, I
shouldn't wonder if you might have a glimpse of it. You know we are
all invited to spend a few days at the summer cottage of a friend
there, with whom I have often stayed, and it isn't very far from where
they have the Canoe Camp; so we may just manage to have a look at it."
"That would be charming! I should like that," exclaimed Hugh and Flora
both together; while May began to think that too many delights were
clustering about this wonderful expedition, and that she should
suddenly awake to find it all a dream; and Cinderella at home again,
amid her dusters and her stocking-mending--as if there were no Niagara
and no "Thousand Islands" in the world.
Meantime, they were ploughing their way through the gleaming blue and
gold waves, with water and sky meeting at the horizon line, all around
them, save for a blue strip of shore to their left, while the steering
was done by compass, a new experience for the strangers, on an inland
lake.
"I don't wonder," Hugh remarked, "now that I've seen this lake for
myself, I don't wonder that the British Foreign Office, long ago,
should have sent out water-casks for the frigates here, as you were
telling me. It is hard to realize that this great blue expanse is
really _fresh_ water." And May felt delighted that she now could the
better picture to herself what the _sea_ was actually like.
But the soft shadows of evening were falling on the woods and hills
before them, as the steamer glided into the beautiful harbor of Port
Hope--a noted harbor even in the old Indian times, under the name of
Ganeraske. The placid water, afire with rich sunset tints, and smooth
as a mirror, was dotted with the skiffs of pleasure seekers, and the
pretty little town looked most attractive, as, half in shadow, it
nestled in its picturesque valley and straggled up the sides of its
protecting hills. The long railway viaduct seemed to lend it an
additional charm, and Flora McNab appealed to her brother whether it
were not more like one of their old-country towns, than any they had
yet seen. On the pier were a number of strollers, who had come out to
catch the evening breeze, or to see the arrival of the daily boat;
and, among them, Kate's quick eye easily recognized Nellie Armstrong
and her brother, who gave them all a warm welcome, and speedily packed
them into a dog-cart and a light-covered carriage, in which they were
driven through the shady, sloping streets to the pretty bowery home of
the Armstrongs, where another kind welcome awaited them from the host
and hostess, and where an inviting supper was laid out in a cool,
pleasant dining-room, opening on a velvety lawn overshadowed by a
great "bass-wood" or linden tree. To May it all seemed like a
delightful romance, nor did she mind a bit the soft rain, which,
during the night, she heard through her dreams, pattering on the great
leafy bough with that peculiarly tranquilizing effect which a soft
summer rain has on the sleepy listener at night.
The morning was wet and misty, but their host declared the latter to
be a good sign. And so it proved, for by the time the carriages,
ordered for a long drive, were at the door, the mists were rolling
gently up the sides of the hills, giving to the charming landscape
just the touch of poetry that could best enhance its charm. It was a
delightful drive, taking in most of the hills around the town, and the
fine view from the one called "Fort Orton" was particularly enjoyed by
the travelers.
"It's very like a pretty English or Scotch view," said Flora. "Not
what one is apt to imagine _Canadian_ scenery."
"Well, you see, this is one of the oldest settled parts of Canada,"
said Mr. Armstrong. "The whole vicinity is associated with the early
French Missions to the Indians, and with some of the early French and
Indian wars. There was an old Sulpician Mission at the Indian village
on the very site of Port Hope--a mission whose director was the Abbe
Fenelon, the first explorer of this lake shore, and no other than a
brother of the celebrated Fenelon, who was the distinguished
Archbishop of Cambray, and instructor of the Dauphin of France."
"And who wrote 'Telemaque?'" said Kate.
"Precisely. And while he was writing it for his royal pupil, his
brother, devoted to the spiritual good of the poor ignorant Indians,
was trying to teach the Catechism and the Lord's Prayer to the little
Indian children, and enduring among the fierce Senecas, hardships far
greater than those through which his brother was leading Telemaque. He
was a real hero, that Abbe Fenelon."
"I must read up those old French Missions," said Hugh. "They seem to
be wonderfully rich in heroic deeds."
"They are, indeed," said Mr. Armstrong, "but I wish you had time to go
back to the neighborhood of Rice Lake and Peterboro', with its lovely
little lakes. By the way, there is a pretty waterfall thereabout,
named after this Abbe Fenelon, and the whole country is full of
associations, not only with those old French explorers and
missionaries, but also with the almost equally gallant fight of the
old U. E. Loyalist settlers, with hardships and privation."
"And what _is_ a 'U. E. Loyalist?'" asked Hugh. "I've seen the
expression before, but have no idea what it means."
"We should not expect you to understand our Canadian terms, without
explanation," said Mr. Armstrong, laughingly. "Well, a U. E. Loyalist
means one of those first settlers of Canada who were driven to take
refuge here at the time of the American revolution, because they would
not give up their allegiance to the British Empire, and so they left
their farms and possessions behind, and came to settle in the
wilderness under the 'old flag.'"
"Oh, I see," said Hugh. "I have heard that many did so, but did not
know that they were called by that particular name."
"Well, they gave good proof of their loyalty," said Mrs. Sandford;
"for many of them had pretty hard times. Mrs. Moodie's experiences
which she records in her book, 'Roughing it in the Bush,' were endured
in this section of the country. I must try to get the book for you to
read. You know she was a sister of Miss Agnes Strickland, and she and
her sister, Mrs. Traill, may be called our pioneer authoresses, though
we can hardly call them Canadians."
"Yes, and this is a neighborhood full of Indian legend, too," said Mr.
Armstrong; "we have a village called _Hiawatha_, not many miles from
here, and a 'Minnehaha,' 'laughing water,' in the same neighborhood;
and not far from either dwelt the magician Megissogwon, who, 'guarded
by the black pitch-water, sends fever from the marshes,' as, indeed,
many a pale-face victim of fever and ague has known to his cost. And
old Indian battlefields have been discovered hereabout, besides the
connection of this point with warlike expeditions between white men in
later times."
"And so we can never get away from 'old unhappy things and battles
long ago,'" said Hugh, moralizingly.
"Well, let us give them the go-by, just now," said Kate and Flora
together. "On such a lovely evening, we don't want to think of battles
and unhappy things,--old or new."
"Only, somehow, they seem to add the touch of human interest, even if
it be a sad one," rejoined Hugh, who was so much interested in all he
could learn of the past history of the country that Kate laughingly
chaffed him about the book or magazine article he must be going to
write when he got home. However, the chaffing had no effect on his
thirst for knowledge, and when they returned in the lovely summer
twilight,--more than ready for the substantial repast which awaited
them, notwithstanding the luncheon they had enjoyed on the way,--Hugh
eagerly set to work thereafter, to devour, in addition, all the scraps
of information which Mr. Armstrong hunted up for him among the
historical works in his library. But his attention was somewhat
distracted by the songs which Nellie and Flora and May were singing,
sometimes in concert, sometimes separately, at the piano in the
adjoining drawing-room. Flora delighted them all with the sweetness
and pathos with which she sang some of the "Songs from the North,"
which the others had not previously heard. They gave her an
enthusiastic _encore_ for the spirited song "Over the Hills to Skye,"
and at last, after hearing it two or three times, they all joined in
the chorus.
"Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward! the sailors cry.
And carry the lad who was born to be King,
Over the hills to Skye."
And they were almost as much fascinated by the chorus of the other,
"The Bonnie, Bonnie Banks of Loch-Lomond," and sang again and again
the mournful refrain:--
"Oh, ye'll tak' the high road, an' I'll tak' the low road,
An' I'll be in Scotland afore ye;
But I'll never, never see my true love again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch-Lomond!"
"You see, you can't get away from the 'old unhappy things,'" said
Hugh, at last leaving his books and coming to join the group at the
piano. "It's always the same two minor chords we have in every
pathetic song or story--love and war--in some form!"
"Yes," said Mr. Armstrong, "see how the American war struck into life
the latent possibilities of pathos and poetry in the practical
American people."
"Oh, by the way, Kate," said Nellie, "don't you remember that Mr.
Winthrop we met at Old Orchard last summer, with whom you used to have
so many arguments about the North and South, and all the rest of it? I
think he made a convert of you."
"Nonsense!" said Kate; "but what of him?"
"Oh, he called here two or three weeks ago in the course of a tour he
was making, and he asked most particularly for you. I really believe
he was going to look you up; and you were away from home. What a
pity!"
"Indeed, I think it very unlikely that he would do anything of the
kind. It would be quite out of his way," said Kate, nonchalantly.
"Well, I do think he meant to do so," returned Nellie. "He made most
particular inquiries about just how to get there."
"I shall certainly be very much surprised to hear that he took any
such trouble. Was he as argumentative as ever?"
"No, for most of his time here was spent in making the inquiries I
referred to!" retorted Nellie, rather mischievously. "I only wonder
you have not stumbled across him in the course of your travels."
Hugh had looked up with a sudden air of interest. "I noticed the name
of Winthrop in the register of the _Clifton_, only a few days before
we arrived."
"Then we just missed him," said Kate, in an indifferent tone, though
with a somewhat heightened color. "You would have enjoyed meeting him,
Hugh. He would have given you the American side of everything at first
hand. What I have given you is only a very faint echo."
"But haven't you any Canadian songs to give me?" asked Hugh, as the
girls were about leaving the piano.
"There's the old 'Canadian Boat-song,'" said Nellie, doubtfully.
"No, no," said Kate, "that's all very well for singing on the river.
We'll have it _there_, by and by. Give Hugh something that has more of
a native flavor about it. Sing him one or two of those French Canadian
songs you used to be so fond of--'_La Claire_ _Fontaine_,' you know, or
'_En Roulant Ma Boule_.'"
"But they are so silly," objected Nellie.
"Dear me! who expects songs to be sensible nowadays, especially songs
of that sort? And Hugh can enjoy a little nonsense to a pretty air, as
well as anybody, I'm quite sure. Remember how much Mr. Winthrop used
to like them," said Mrs. Sandford.
"Well, I'll sing them," said Nellie; "only, as the air is so simple,
you must all of you join in the chorus, after the first time. You can
easily catch it up."
And she proceeded to sing, with much spirit and expression, two or
three of the lively French-Canadian airs, which have come down from
the old times of _voyageurs_ and trappers--and the whole party caught
the fascination and were soon singing, all together, the rollicking
chorus of:--
"_En roulant ma boule roulant,--en roulant ma boule._"
and the prettier, half-playful, half-serious love ditty, the refrain
to "_La Claire Fontaine_":
"_Il y'a longtemps que je t'aime_,
_Jamais je ne t'oublierai_,"
till every one was surprised to find that it was eleven o'clock, and
time for the travelers to seek their rest in preparation for an early
start.
It was with great regret that the good-byes were said next morning,
and the little party separated at the Grand Trunk station. May thought
she could see very well that Jack Armstrong had fallen a victim to the
fresh, rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed Flora, and, accordingly, was not
surprised when something was said about a possibility that he and
Nellie might meet them at Quebec, by and by, and go with them down the
Saguenay.
"At all events we will live in _Hope_," said Jack, who was too fond of
puns. "You know this is a _hopeful_ atmosphere."
And so they were off from old _Ganeraske_, as this Port of Good Hope
was first called, and on the road once more.
The next stage was not very long, however. At Cobourg they utilized
the "twenty minutes for refreshments" by driving rapidly about the
principal streets of this old town, commemorating in its name the
marriage of the young Queen with the good Albert of Cobourg. They got
a distant glimpse of the tower of the Victoria University, soon to be
removed to Toronto, where its name will not have the historical
significance which it had here. Mrs. Sandford informed Hugh how many
factories the little town contained, cloth, cars, leather, and more
besides. Then they had a run of some two hours through a fertile
farming country, leaving the train at Belleville, where they were to
spend the remainder of the day. Taking an early luncheon, they devoted
the rest of the afternoon and evening to pleasant drives about the
picturesque vicinity of the pretty little city, which, Mrs. Sandford
said, was first named _Belleville_ in honor of Arabella, the wife of
an early governor. That it deserved the added "e" no one doubted, for
all admired its fine situation at the head of the noble Bay of Quinte,
with two rapid rivers, the Trent and the Moira, running through the
town. Everywhere that they drove in the neighborhood they came upon
charming glimpses of bay and river, or rich fields of waving grain,
thriving orchards and pleasant old homesteads surrounded by their
farm-buildings, making many delightful rural pictures to carry away.
And again Mrs. Sandford reminded them how all that comfort and
prosperity was the late fruit of the hard labors and patiently borne
privations of the loyal old settlers, who chose to begin life over
again in the wilderness, rather than sacrifice their political
principles and disown the flag they loved so well.
"I'm afraid I'm not such a Tory as you are, Aunt Bella," said Hugh;
"few of us juniors are in these latter days. But, all the same, it was
a noble thing to do--to follow their principles to the bitter end, and
go out, like Abraham, into the wilderness."
"But I'm not sure that they were _all_ noble," interposed Kate, who
always loved to take the other side for argument's sake. "You know
some of them, at any rate, never thought that the American 'rebels'
would succeed; and when they did, of course, with feeling running so
high, they couldn't expect much comfort among _them_, in any case; and
many of the Loyalists had their farms confiscated, so that they hadn't
much choice but to move out!"
"Yes; and a burning shame it was for those who confiscated them!"
rejoined Mrs. Sandford, who had some traditions of the kind in her own
family. "And I know well enough you got these Yankee ideas from _that_
Mr. Winthrop!"
"Well," said Kate, calmly, "it was all for the best in the end,
though, of course, it was hard for the people who were driven from
their homes. But you see, if they had not _had_ to leave them, we
might never have had this glorious 'Canada of ours,' of which we are
so proud!"
"Yes," remarked Hugh, "Mr. Armstrong told me that the narrow and
mistaken policy of the American leaders at that time was really the
foundation of British Canada."
And then he went on give them some of the information he had got out
of Mr. Armstrong's books, the preceding evening, in regard to the
beautiful valley of the Trent, through which they were driving. He
told them how Champlain, three centuries ago, had sung its praises at
the Court of the _Grand Monarque_, as "a region very charming and
delightful," where the park-like aspect of the trees suggested the
previous occupancy of the country in bygone days by some superior
race. Then, putting aside this pre-historic period, it was here that
Champlain, on his way to his mistaken raid on the Iroquois, which was
the beginning of so much strife and trouble, had joined his savage
allies in an Indian "Chevy Chase"--in which, by mishap, he wounded one
of his dusky friends. But these old stories have long ago been
forgotten, in the interest of mines--gold and iron--which, found in the
vicinity, have, as usual, somewhat deteriorated the region to which
they have given an artificial stimulus. As they drove in from Trenton,
a small place at the confluence of the Trent with the bay, in the soft
falling dusk, Hugh entertained his companions by repeating some of his
favorite passages from "Hiawatha;" and May, who was poetical and
patriotic enough to be something of a student of Canadian poetry,
repeated a sonnet by one of Canada's earliest singers, Charles
Sangster, who, falling on evil days, has not achieved the fame which
his genius deserved:--
"My footsteps press, where, centuries ago,
The red man fought and conquered, lost and won;
Where tribes and races, gone like last year's snow,
Have found th' eternal hunting grounds, and run
The fiery gauntlet of their active days,
Till few are left to tell the mournful tale;
And these inspire us with such wild amaze,
They seem like spectres passing down a vale
Steeped in uncertain moonlight on their way
Towards some bourne where darkness blinds the day,
And night is wrapped in mystery profound.
We cannot lift the mantle of the past:
We seem to wander over hallowed ground,
We scan the trail of thought, but all is over-cast."
"Thank you," said Hugh, "I should like to see more of that poet. I
like his vein very much."
"Oh, May can give you screeds of any length from his 'St. Lawrence and
the Saguenay' as we go along. And I daresay you can get the book in
Kingston--he is a Kingstonian, I believe," said Kate, who was not
particularly poetical.
And then as the shadows of night drew softly about them, the fireflies
flashed in and out of the woods with unusual brilliancy, affording the
Scotch cousins a new subject for observation and delight.
"I declare," said Hugh, "one can scarcely get rid of the feeling that
they might set the woods on fire!"
"They are not common so late in the season," said Kate. "Only now and
then, for some reason best known to themselves, they show themselves,
but only in the woods."
"And there is the whip-poor-will!" exclaimed May, eagerly.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Flora, after listening attentively. "That is
one thing I _did_ want to see or hear!"
"You are much more likely to hear it than to see it," said May. "It is
very hard to get a good look at one, for it seldom appears in
daylight."
But soon the fireflies and the whip-poor-will were left behind, and
they were once more rattling over city streets. And then, after a
substantial tea, they went to rest, for the steamer for Kingston was
to start at six in the morning.
As the scenery of the Bay of Quinte depends very much on the weather,
the little party were fortunate in having a lovely changeful morning,
with soft mists and cloud-shadows that gave a charming variety of tint
and tone to the beautiful bay and its fair, gently sloping shores. The
little steamer "Hero" passed in rapid succession one picturesque point
after another--the bay sometimes expanding into a broad, wind-rippled
expanse; sometimes narrowing into calm reaches or inlets, mirroring
the foliage on either side. At the head of the largest reach or arm of
the bay, the steamer stopped at the pretty little town of Picton,
nestling beneath a noble wooded hill, with gentler slopes rising about
it in all directions. Whether Picton or Port Hope possessed the more
picturesque site was a question they found it hard to decide.
Returning down this long reach Hugh was seized with a desire to see
the "Lake of the Mountain," on the high table-land above the bay, of
which he had often heard. And Kate, who considered nothing impossible,
actually persuaded the obliging captain to keep the boat at the
landing below it for half an hour, in order to give them time for a
hurried visit. Mrs. Sandford, of course, graciously declined the
climb, but the others hastened up the steep ascent, where a mill-race
came rushing down the height, amid a lush growth of ferns that grew
luxuriously among the dark, wet rocks, between which they picked their
way. But, once at the top, what a glorious view! Right below their
feet stretched the lovely reach--widening out into the broad bay at the
end of a long promontory diversified with fields and farms and wooded
shores. Close beside them, on the other hand, lay the lovely little
lake they had come to see--calmly sleeping in the sunshine, with as
little apparent mystery about it as if its very existence were not an
unsolved problem; one supposition being, that, as it is at about the
same level as Lake Erie, it may be fed by a secret communication with
that distant sheet. But they had only a few minutes to stay beside the
beautiful mysterious little tarn, and to enjoy the lovely view spread
before their eyes, for the steamer just below was already whistling to
recall them, and they hurried down to rejoin her,--somewhat warm and
out of breath, but with all the satisfaction one feels in making the
best of one's opportunities.
As they left the reach, a sun-shower rolled up, accompanied with
distant thunder; but it only seemed to add a bewitching variety to the
tones of the distance, and of the water, and, when the sunshine broke
out again, conjuring up an exquisite rainbow, and the light and shade
chased each other over the golden fields of waving barley--the beauty
of the bay with the perspective of the "Long Reach" in the distance,
seemed still greater than before. The travelers were content to sit
still, passively absorbing the charm of the hour, while they looked on
in a dreamy fashion at the various points of interest; at Point
Mississauga, named, of course, in honor of the former "lords of the
soil," whose "_totem_," a crane, seemed to be appropriately keeping
guard over the spot; then at the various villages and townships;--at
Deseronto, a busy little lumbering place, named after an Indian chief,
whose formidable name signifies "Thunder and Lightning;"--at a
forsaken-looking little "Bath," with its ambitious name, and at a long
succession of "towns," or rather townships, named, by the overflowing
enthusiasm of the U. E. Loyalists, after the numerous olive branches
of old George the Third. There is Ernestown and Adolphustown, and
Ameliasburg and Marysburgh; and there is Amherst Island, named, like
Picton, after an English general, and said to have been lost by a
noble owner at a game of cards! Hugh declared that the loyalty and
_Britishness_ of everything were rather monotonous, and could not
refrain from heartily wishing that these good people had not, in their
zeal, undertaken to change to the commonplace name of Kingston the
melodious Indian name of Cataraqui! For here they were now coming in
sight of this old "limestone city"--the oldest settlement in Ontario,
the cradle of British Canada--and, to May, surrounded with a halo of
romance from its close association with the history and fortune of her
brave but hapless hero, the dauntless explorer, LaSalle.