I have been for some time journeying through the province of Upper
Canada, and, on the whole, I consider it the finest portion of all North
America. In America every degree of longitude which you proceed west,
is equal to a degree of latitude to the southward in increasing the
mildness of the temperature. Upper Canada, which is not so far west as
to sever you from the civilised world, has every possible advantage of
navigation, and is at the same time, from being nearly surrounded by
water, much milder than the American States to the southward of it.
Every thing grows well and flourishes in Upper Canada; even tobacco,
which requires a very warm atmosphere. The land of this province is
excellent, but it is a hard land to clear, the timber being very close
and of a very large size. A certain proof of the value of the land of
Upper Canada is, that there are already so many Americans who have
settled there. Most of them had originally emigrated to establish
themselves in the neighbouring state of Michigan; but the greater part
of that state is at present so unhealthy from swamps, and the people
suffer so much from fever and agues, that the emigrants have fallen back
upon Upper Canada, which (a very small portion of it excepted) is the
most healthy portion of North America. I have before observed, that the
Rideau and Welland canals, splendid works as they are, are too much in
advance of the country: and had the Government spent one-half the money
in opening communications and making good roads, the province would have
been much more benefited. In the United States you have a singular
proof of the advantages of communication; in the old continent, towns
and villages rise up first, and the communications, are made afterwards;
in the United States, the roads are made first, and when made, towns and
villages make their appearance on each side of them, just as the birds
drop down for their aliment upon the fresh furrows made across the
fallow by the plough.
From Hamilton, on Lake Ontario, to Bradford, the country is very
beautifully broken and undulating, occasionally precipitate and hilly.
You pass through forests of splendid timber, chiefly fir, but of a size
which is surprising. Here are masts for "tall admirals," so lofty that
you could not well perceive a squirrel, or even a large animal, if upon
one of the topmast boughs. The pine forests are diversified by the oak;
you sometimes pass through six or seven miles of the first description
of timber, which gradually changes, until you have six or seven miles of
forest composed entirely of oak. The road is repairing and levelling,
preparatory to its being macadamised--certainly not before it was
required, for it is at present execrable throughout the whole province.
Every mile or so you descend into a hollow, at the bottom of which is
what they term a _mud hole_, that is, a certain quantity of water and
mud, which is of a depth unknown, but which you must fathom by passing
through it. To give an Englishman an idea of the roads is not easy; I
can only say that it is very possible for a horse to be drowned in one
of the _ruts_, and for a pair of them to disappear, waggon and all, in a
_mud hole_.
At Bradford, on Grand River, are located some remnants of the Mohawk
tribe of Indians; they are more than demi-civilised; they till their
farms, and have plenty of horses and cattle. A smart looking Indian
drove into town, when I was there, in a waggon with a pair of good
horses; in the waggon were some daughters of one of their chiefs; they
were very richly dressed after their own fashion, their petticoats and
leggings being worked with beads to the height of two feet from the
bottom, and in very good taste; and they wore beaver hats and feathers
of a pattern which used formerly to be much in vogue with the ladies of
the seamen at Plymouth and Portsmouth.
From Bradford to London the roads are _comparatively_ good; the country
rises, and the plain is nearly one hundred feet above the level of the
river Thames, a beautifully wide stream, whose two branches join at the
site of this town. The land here is considered to be the finest in the
whole province, and the country the most healthy.
From London to Chatham the roads are really _awful_. I had the pleasure
of tumbling over head and ears into a mud hole, at about twelve o'clock
at night; the horses were with difficulty saved, and the waggon remained
_fixed_ for upwards of three hours, during which we laboured hard, and
were refreshed with plentiful showers of rain.
Chatham, on the river Thames, is at present a sad dirty hole; but, as
the country rises, will be a place of great importance. From Chatham I
embarked in the steam-boat, and went down the Thames into Lake St
Clair, and from thence to Sandwich, having passed through the finest
country, the most beautiful land, and about the most infamous roads that
are to be met with in all America.
Within these last seven or eight years the lakes have risen; many
hypotheses have been offered to account for this change. I do not
coincide with any of the opinions which I have heard, yet, at the same
time, it is but fair to acknowledge that I can offer none of my own. It
is quite a mystery. The consequence of this rising of the waters is,
that some of the finest farms at the month of the river Thames and on
Lake St Clair, occupied by the old Canadian settlers, are, and have
been for two or three years under water. These Canadians have not
removed; they are waiting for the water to subside; their houses stand
in the lake, the basements being under water, and they occupy the first
floors with their families, communicating by boats. As they cannot
cultivate their land, they shoot and fish. Several miles on each side
of the mouth of the river Thames the water is studded with these houses,
which have, as may be supposed, a very forlorn appearance, especially as
the top rail of the fences is generally above water, marking out the
fields which are now tenanted by fish instead of cattle.
Went out with a party into the bush, as it is termed, to see some land
which had been purchased. Part of the road was up to the saddle-flaps
under water, from the rise of the lakes. We soon entered the woods, not
so thickly growing but that our horses could pass through them, had it
not been for the obstacles below our feet. At every third step a tree
lay across the path, forming, by its obstruction to the drainage, a pool
of water; but the Canadian horses are so accustomed to this that they
very coolly walked over them, although some were two feet in diameter.
They never attempted to jump, but deliberately put one foot over and the
other--with equal dexterity avoiding the stumps and sunken logs
concealed under water. An English horse would have been foundered
before he had proceeded fifty yards. Sometimes we would be for miles
wading through swamps; at others the land rose, and then it was clear
and dry, and we could gallop under the oak trees.
We continued till noon before we could arrive at the land in question,
forcing our way through the woods, and guided by the blazing of the
trees. _Blazing_ is cutting off a portion of the bark of the trees on
both sides of the road with an axe, and these marks, which will remain
for many years, serve as a guide. If lost in the woods you have but to
look out for a blaze, and by following it you are certain to arrive at
some inhabited place. We found the land at last, which was high, dry,
and covered with large oak trees. A herd of deer bounded past us as we
approached the river, which ran through it; and we could perceive the
flocks of wild turkeys at a distance, running almost as fast as the
deer. The river was choked by trees which had fallen across its bed,
damming up its stream, and spreading it over the land; but the scene was
very beautiful and wild, and I could not help fancying what a pretty
spot it would one day be, when it should be cleared, and farm-houses
built on the banks of the river.
On our way we called upon a man who had been in the bush but a year or
so; he had a wife and six children. He was young and healthy, and
although he had been used to a life of _literary_ idleness, he had made
up his mind to the change, and taken up the axe--a thing very few people
can do. I never saw a person apparently more cheerful and contented.
He had already cleared away about fifteen acres, and had procured a
summer crop from off a portion of it the year before, having no other
assistance than his two boys, one thirteen and the other fourteen years
old, healthy, but not powerfully built lads. When we called upon him,
he was busied in burning the felled timber, and planting Indian corn.
One of his boys was fencing-in the ground. I went with the man into his
log-hut, which was large and convenient, and found his wife working at
her needle, and three little girls all as busy as bees; the eldest of
these girls was not twelve years old, yet she cooked, baked, washed,
and, with the assistance of her two little sisters, did all that was
required for the household. After a short repose, we went out again
into the clearing, when one of my friends asked him how he got on with
his axe? "Pretty well," replied he, laughing; "I'll show you." He led
us to where a button-wood tree was lying; the trunk was at least ninety
feet long, and the diameter where it had been cut through between five
and six feet; it was an enormous tree. "And did you cut that down
yourself?" enquired my companion, who was an old settler. "Not quite;
but I cut through the north half while my two boys cut through the
south; we did it between us." This was really astonishing, for if these
two lads could cut through half the tree, it is evident that they could
have cut it down altogether. We had here a proof of how useful children
can be made at an early age.
We promised to call upon him on our return; which we did. We found him
sitting with his wife in his log-house; it was five o'clock in the
afternoon; he told us "work was over now, and that the children had gone
into the bush to play." They had all worked from five o'clock in the
morning, and had since learnt their lessons. We heard their laughter
ringing in the woods at a distance.
Now this is rather a remarkable instance among settlers, as I shall
hereafter explain. Had this man been a bachelor, he would have been, in
all probability, a drunkard; but, with his family, he was a happy,
contented, and thriving man. We parted with him, and arrived at
Windsor, opposite Detroit, very tired, having been, with little
exception, fourteen hours in the saddle.
I took cold, and was laid up with a fever. I mention this, not as any
thing interesting to the reader, but merely to show what you may expect
when you travel in these countries. I had been in bed three days, when
my landlady came into the room. "Well, captain, how do you find
yourself by this time?" "Oh, I am a little better, thank you," replied
I. "Well, I am glad of it, because I want to whitewash your room; for
if the coloured man stops to do it to-morrow, he'll be for charging us
another quarter of a dollar." "But I am not able to leave my room."
"Well, then, I'll speak to him; I dare say he won't mind your being in
bed while he whitewashes."
I have often remarked the strange effects of intoxication, and the
different manner in which persons are affected with liquor. When I was
on the road from London to Chatham, a man who was very much intoxicated
got into the waggon, and sat beside me. As people in that state
generally are, he was excessively familiar; and although jerked off with
no small degree of violence, would continue, until we arrived at the inn
where we were to sup, to attempt to lay his head upon my shoulder.
As soon as we arrived, supper was announced. At first he refused to
take any, but on the artful landlady bawling in his ear, that all
_gentlemen_ supped when they arrived, he hesitated to consider (which
certainly was not at all necessary) whether he was not bound to take
some. Another very important remark of the hostess, which was, that he
would have nothing to eat until the next morning, it being then eleven
o'clock at night, decided him, and he staggered in, observing, "Nothing
to eat till next morning! well, I never thought of that." He sat down
opposite to me, at the same table. It appeared as if his _vision was
inverted_ by the quantity of liquor which he had taken; everything close
to him on the table he considered to be out of his reach, whilst
everything at a distance he attempted to lay hold of. He sat up as
erect as he could, balancing himself so as not to appear _canned_, and
fixing his eyes upon me, said, "Sir, I'll trouble you--for some fried
ham." Now the ham was in the dish next to him, and altogether out of my
reach; I told him so. "Sir," said he again, "as a gentleman, I ask you
to give me some of that fried ham." Amused with the curious demand, I
rose from my chair, went round to him and helped him. "Shall I give you
a potato," said I, the potatoes being at my end of the table, and I not
wishing to rise again. "No, Sir," replied he, "I can help myself to
them." He made a dash at them, but did not reach them; then made
another, and another, till he lost his balance, and lay down upon his
plate; this time he gained the potatoes, helped himself, and commenced
eating. After a few minutes he again fixed his eyes upon me. "Sir,
I'll trouble you--for the pickles." They were actually under his nose,
and I pointed them out to him. "I believe, Sir, I asked you for the
pickles," repeated he, after a time. "Well, there they are," replied I,
wishing to see what he would do. "Sir, are you a gentleman--as a
gentleman--I ask you as a gentleman, for them 'ere pickles." It was
impossible to resist this appeal, so I rose and helped him. I was now
convinced that his vision was somehow or another inverted, and to prove
it, when he asked me for the salt, which was within his reach, I removed
it farther off. "Thank ye, Sir," said he, sprawling over the table
after it. The circumstance, absurd as it was, was really a subject for
the investigation of Dr Brewster.
At Windsor, which is directly opposite to Detroit, where the river is
about half a mile across, are stores of English goods, sent there
entirely for the supply of the Americans, by smugglers. There is also a
row of tailor shops, for cloth is a very dear article in America, and
costs nearly double the price it does in the English provinces. The
Americans go over there, and are measured for a suit of clothes which,
when ready, they put on, and cross back to Detroit with their old
clothes in a bundle. The smuggling is already very extensive, and will,
of course, increase as the Western country becomes more populous.
Near Windsor and Sandwich are several villages of free blacks, probably
the major portion of them having been assisted in their escape by the
Abolitionists. They are not very good neighbours from their propensity
to thieving, which either is innate, or, as Miss Martineau would have
it, is the effect of slavery. I shall not dispute that point; but it is
certain that they are most inveterately hostile to the Americans, and
will fight to the last, from the dread of being again subjected to their
former masters. They are an excellent frontier population; and in the
last troubles they proved how valuable they would become, in case their
services were more seriously required.