St. Thomas is situated on a high eminence, to which the ascent is rather
abrupt. The view from it, over a fertile, well settled country, is very
beautiful and cheering. The place bears the christian name of Colonel
Talbot, who styles it his capital, and, from a combination of
advantages, it is rising fast into importance. The climate, from its
high position, is delicious and healthful; and the winters in this part
of the province are milder by several degrees than elsewhere. At the
foot of the cliff, or eminence, runs a deep rapid stream, called the
Kettle Creek[11] (I wish they had given it a prettier name), which,
after a course of eight miles, and turning a variety of saw-mills,
grist-mills, &c., flows into Lake Erie, at Port Stanley, one of the best
harbours on this side of the lake. Here steam-boats and schooners land
their passengers and merchandise, or load with grain, flour, and lumber.
The roads are good all round; and the Talbot road, carried directly
through the town, is the finest in the province. This road runs nearly
parallel with Lake Erie, from thirty miles below Port Stanley, westward
as far as Delaware. The population of St. Thomas is at present rated at
seven hundred, and it has doubled within two years. There are three
churches, one of which is very neat; and three taverns. Two newspapers
are published here, one violently tory, the other as violently radical.
I found several houses building, and, in those I entered, a general air
of cheerfulness and well-being very pleasing to contemplate. There is
here an excellent manufacture of cabinet ware and furniture: some
articles of the black walnut, a tree abounding here, appeared to me more
beautiful in colour and grain than the finest mahogany; and the elegant
veining of the maplewood cannot be surpassed. I wish they were
sufficiently the fashion in England to make the transport worth while.
Here I have seen whole piles, nay, whole forests of such trees, burning
together.
I was very much struck with this beautiful and cheerful little town,
more, I think, than with any place I have yet seen.
By the time my horses were refreshed, it was near seven o clock. The
distance from Port Talbot is about twelve miles, but hearing the road
was good, I resolved to venture. The sky looked turbulent and stormy,
but luckily the storm was moving one way while I was moving another;
and, except a little sprinkling from the tail of a cloud, we escaped
very well.
The road presented on either side a succession of farm-houses and
well-cultivated farms. Near the houses there was generally a patch of
ground planted with Indian corn and pumpkins, and sometimes a few
cabbages and potatoes. I do not recollect to have seen one garden, or
the least attempt to cultivate flowers.
The goodness of the road is owing to the systematic regulations of
Colonel Talbot. Throughout the whole "country" none can obtain land
without first applying to him, and the price and conditions are uniform
and absolute. The lands are divided into lots of two hundred acres, and
to each settler fifty acres are given gratis, and one hundred and fifty
at three dollars an acre. Each settler must clear and sow ten acres of
land, build a house (a log-hut of eighteen feet in length), and
construct one chain of road in front of his house, within three years;
failing in this, he forfeits his deed.
Colonel Talbot does not like gentlemen settlers, nor will he have any
settlements within a certain distance of his own domain. He never
associates with the people except on one grand occasion, the anniversary
of the foundation of his settlement. This is celebrated at St. Thomas by
a festive meeting of the most respectable settlers, and the colonel
himself opens the ball with one of the ladies, generally showing his
taste by selecting the youngest and prettiest.
The evening now began to close in, night came on, with the stars and the
fair young moon in her train. I felt much fatigued, and my driver
appeared to be out in his reckoning--that is, with regard to
distance--for luckily he could not miss the _way_, there being but one.
I stopped a man who was trudging along with an axe on his shoulder, "How
far to Colonel Talbot's?" "About three miles and a half." This was
encouraging; but a quarter of an hour afterwards, on asking the same
question of another, he replied, "About seven miles." A third informed
me that it was about three miles beyond Major Burwell's. The next person
I met advised me to put up at "Waters's," and not think of going any
farther to-night; however, on arriving at Mr. Waters's hotel, I was not
particularly charmed with the prospect of a night's rest within its
precincts. It was a long-shaped wooden house, comfortless in appearance;
a number of men were drinking at the bar, and sounds of revelry issued
from the open door. I requested my driver to proceed, which he did with
all willingness.
We had travelled nearly the whole day through open, well-cleared land,
more densely peopled than any part of the province I had seen since I
left the Niagara district. Suddenly we came upon a thick wood, through
which the road ran due west, in a straight line. The shadows fell deeper
and deeper from the depth of foliage on either side, and I could not see
a yard around, but exactly before me the last gleam of twilight lingered
where the moon was setting. Once or twice I was startled by seeing a
deer bound across the path, his large antlers being for one instant
defined, _pencilled_, as it were, against the sky, then lost. The
darkness fell deeper every moment, the silence more solemn. The
whip-poor-will began his melancholy cry, and an owl sent forth a
prolonged shriek, which, if I had not heard it before, would have
frightened me. After a while my driver stopped and listened, and I could
plainly hear the tinkling of cow-bells, I thought this a good sign, till
the boy reminded me that it was the custom of the settlers to turn their
cattle loose in the summer to seek their own food, and that they often
strayed miles from the clearing.
[Footnote 11: When I remonstrated against this name for so beautiful a
stream, Colonel Talbot told me that his first settlers had found a
kettle on the bank, left by some Indians, and had given the river, from
this slight circumstance, a name which he had not thought it worth while
to alter.]