Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Bidwell and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
LIFE IN THE BACKWOODS,
A Sequel To Roughing It In The Bush.
By Susanna Moodie
Author Of “Life In The Clearings,” “Flora Lyndsay,” “Geoffrey Moncton,”
Etc., Etc.
I sketch from Nature, and the picture's true;
Whate'er the subject, whether grave or gay,
Painful experience in a distant land
Made it mine own.
New York:
John W. Lovell Company,
14 And 16 Vesey Street.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.--A Journey to the Woods--Corduroy Roads--No Ghosts in Canada
CHAPTER II.--The Wilderness and our Indian Friends--The House on
Fire--No Papoose; the Mother all alone
CHAPTER III.--Running the Fallow--A Wall of Fire--“But God can save us
yet.”
CHAPTER IV.--Our Logging Bee--“Och! my ould granny taught me.”--Signal
Mercies
CHAPTER V.--A Trip to Stony Lake--A Feast in an Outhouse--The Squatter's
Log Hut
CHAPTER VI.--Disappointed Hopes--Milk, Bread and Potatoes our only
Fare--The Deer Hunt
CHAPTER VII.--The Little Stumpy Man--Hiding from the Sheriff--An
ill-natured volunteer
CHAPTER VIII.--The Fire--“Oh, dear Mamma, do save Papa's Flute”--“No
time to be clane!”
CHAPTER IX.--The Outbreak--Moodie joins the Volunteers--“Scribblin' and
Scrabblin' when you should be in bed”
CHAPTER X.--The Whirlwind--Two Miles of Trees Levelled to the
Ground--Sick Children
CHAPTER XI.--The Walk to Dummer--Honest, Faithful Jenny--A sad
History--Tried and Found most Faithful
CHAPTER XII.--A Change in our Prospects--In a Canoe--Nearing the
Rapids--Dandelion Coffee
CHAPTER XIII.--The Magic Spell--“The Sleighs are Come!”--Leaving the
Bush--End of Life in the Backwoods
LIFE IN THE BACKWOODS
A SEQUEL TO ROUGHING IT IN THE BUSH.
CHAPTER I.
A JOURNEY TO THE WOODS.
'Tis well for us poor denizens of earth
That God conceals the future from our gaze;
Or Hope, the blessed watcher on Life's tower,
Would fold her wings, and on the dreary waste
Close the bright eye that through the murky clouds
Of blank Despair still sees the glorious sun.
It was a bright, frosty morning when I bade adieu to the farm, the
birthplace of my little Agnes, who, nestled beneath my cloak, was
sweetly sleeping on my knee, unconscious of the long journey before us
into the wilderness. The sun had not as yet risen. Anxious to get to our
place of destination before dark, we started as early as we could. Our
own fine team had been sold the day before for forty pounds; and one of
our neighbours, a Mr. D----, was to convey us and our household goods to
Douro for the sum of twenty dollars. During the week he had made several
journeys, with furniture and stores; and all that now remained was to
be conveyed to the woods in two large lumber-sleighs, one driven by
himself, the other by a younger brother.
It was not without regret that I left Melsetter, for so my husband
had called the place, after his father's estate in Orkney. It was a
beautiful, picturesque spot; and, in spite of the evil neighbourhood, I
had learned to love it; indeed, it was much against my wish that it
was sold. I had a great dislike to removing, which involves a necessary
loss, and is apt to give to the emigrant roving and unsettled habits.
But all regrets were now useless; and happily unconscious of the life
of toil and anxiety that awaited us in those dreadful woods, I tried my
best to be cheerful, and to regard the future with a hopeful eye.
Our driver was a shrewd, clever man, for his opportunities. He
took charge of the living cargo, which consisted of my husband, our
maid-servant, the two little children, and myself--besides a large
hamper, full of poultry--a dog, and a cat. The lordly sultan of the
imprisoned seraglio thought fit to conduct himself in a very eccentric
manner, for at every barnyard we happened to pass, he clapped his wings,
and crowed so long and loud that it afforded great amusement to the
whole party, and doubtless was very edifying to the poor hens, who lay
huddled together as mute as mice.
“That 'ere rooster thinks he's on the top of the heap,” said our driver,
laughing. “I guess he's not used to travelling in a close conveyance.
Listen! How all the crowers in the neighbourhood give him back a note
of defiance! But he knows that he's safe enough at the bottom of the
basket.”
The day was so bright for the time of year (the first week in February),
that we suffered no inconvenience from the cold. Little Katie was
enchanted with the jingling of the sleigh-bells, and, nestled among
the packages, kept singing or talking to the horses in her baby lingo.
Trifling as these little incidents were, before we had proceeded ten
miles on our long journey, they revived my drooping spirits, and I began
to feel a lively interest in the scenes through which we were passing.
The first twenty miles of the way was over a hilly and well-cleared
country; and as in winter the deep snow fills up the inequalities, and
makes all roads alike, we glided as swiftly and steadily along as if
they had been the best highways in the world. Anon, the clearings began
to diminish, and tall woods arose on either side of the path; their
solemn aspect, and the deep silence that brooded over their vast
solitudes, inspiring the mind with a strange awe. Not a breath of wind
stirred the leafless branches, whose huge shadows, reflected upon the
dazzling white covering of snow, lay so perfectly still, that it seemed
as if Nature had suspended her operations, that life and motion had
ceased, and that she was sleeping in her winding-sheet, upon the bier of
death.
“I guess you will find the woods pretty lonesome,” said our driver,
whose thoughts had been evidently employed on the same subject as our
own. “We were once in the woods, but emigration has stepped ahead of us,
and made our'n a cleared part of the country. When I was a boy, all
this country, for thirty miles on every side of us, was bush land. As
to Peterborough, the place was unknown; not a settler had ever passed
through the great swamp, and some of them believed that it was the end
of the world.”
“What swamp is that?” asked I.
“Oh, the great Cavan swamp. We are just two miles from it; and I tell
you the horses will need a good rest, and ourselves a good dinner, by
the time we are through it. Ah! Mrs. Moodie, if ever you travel that
way in summer, you will know something about corduroy roads. I was 'most
jolted to death last fall; I thought it would have been no bad notion to
have insured my teeth before I left C----. I really expected that they
would have been shook out of my head before we had done manoeuvring over
the big logs.”
“How will my crockery stand it in the next sleigh?” quoth I. “If the
road is such as you describe, I am afraid that I shall not bring a whole
plate to Douro.”
“Oh! the snow is a great leveller--it makes all rough places smooth. But
with regard to this swamp, I have something to tell you. About ten years
ago, no one had ever seen the other side of it; and if pigs or cattle
strayed away into it, they fell a prey to the wolves and bears, and were
seldom recovered.
“An old Scotch emigrant, who had located himself on this side of it, so
often lost his beasts that he determined during the summer season to try
and explore the place, and see if there were any end to it. So he
takes an axe on his shoulder, and a bag of provisions for the week, not
forgetting a flask of whiskey, and off he starts all alone, and tells
his wife that if he never returned, she and little Jock must try and
carry on the farm without him; but he was determined to see the end
of the swamp, even if it led to the other world. He fell upon a fresh
cattle-track, which he followed all that day; and towards night he found
himself in the heart of a tangled wilderness of bushes, and himself half
eaten up with mosquitoes and black-flies. He was more than tempted to
give in, and return home by the first glimpse of light.
“The Scotch are a tough people; they are not easily daunted--a few
difficulties only seem to make them more eager to get on; and he felt
ashamed the next moment, as he told me, of giving up. So he finds out
a large, thick cedar-tree for his bed, climbs up, and coiling himself
among the branches like a bear, he was soon fast asleep.
“The next morning, by daylight, he continued his journey, not forgetting
to blaze with his axe the trees to the right and left as he went along.
The ground was so spongy and wet that at every step he plunged up to his
knees in water, but he seemed no nearer the end of the swamp than he had
been the day before. He saw several deer, a raccoon, and a groundhog,
during his walk, but was unmolested by bears or wolves. Having passed
through several creeks, and killed a great many snakes, he felt so weary
towards the second day that he determined to go home the next morning.
But just as he began to think his search was fruitless, he observed
that the cedars and tamaracks which had obstructed his path became less
numerous, and were succeeded by bass and soft maple. The ground, also,
became less moist, and he was soon ascending a rising slope, covered
with oak and beech, which shaded land of the very best quality. The old
man was now fully convinced that he had cleared the great swamp; and
that, instead of leading to the other world, it had conducted him to
a country that would yield the very best returns for cultivation. His
favourable report led to the formation of the road that we are about to
cross, and to the settlement of Peterborough, which is one of the most
promising new settlements in this district, and is surrounded by a
splendid back country.”
We were descending a very steep hill, and encountered an ox-sleigh,
which was crawling slowly up it in a contrary direction. Three people
were seated at the bottom of the vehicle upon straw, which made a cheap
substitute for buffalo robes. Perched, as we were, upon the crown of the
height, we looked completely down into the sleigh, and during the whole
course of my life I never saw three uglier mortals collected into such
a narrow space. The man was blear-eyed, with a hare-lip, through which
protruded two dreadful yellow teeth which resembled the tusks of a boar.
The woman was long-faced, high cheek-boned, red-haired, and freckled
all over like a toad. The boy resembled his hideous mother, but with the
addition of a villainous obliquity of vision which rendered him the most
disgusting object in this singular trio.
As we passed them, our driver gave a knowing nod to my husband,
directing, at the same time, the most quizzical glance towards the
strangers, as he exclaimed, “We are in luck, sir! I think that 'ere
sleigh may be called Beauty's egg-basket!”
We made ourselves very merry at the poor people's expense, and Mr.
D----, with his odd stories and Yankeefied expressions, amused the
tedium of our progress through the great swamp, which in summer presents
for several miles one uniform bridge of rough and unequal logs, all
laid loosely across huge sleepers, so that they jumped up and down, when
pressed by the wheels, like the keys of a piano. The rough motion and
jolting occasioned by this collision is so distressing that it never
fails to entail upon the traveller sore bones and an aching head for the
rest of the day. The path is so narrow over these logs that two wagons
cannot pass without great difficulty, which is rendered more dangerous
by the deep natural ditches on either side of the bridge, formed
by broad creeks that flow out of the swamp, and often terminate in
mud-holes of very ominous dimensions. The snow, however, hid from us all
the ugly features of the road, and Mr. D---- steered us through it in
perfect safety, and landed us at the door of a little log house which
crowned the steep hill on the other side of the swamp, and which he
dignified with the name of a tavern.
It was now two o'clock. We had been on the road since seven; and men,
women, and children were all ready for the good dinner that Mr. D----
had promised us at this splendid house of entertainment, where we
were destined to stay for two hours, to refresh ourselves and rest the
horses.
“Well, Mrs. J----, what have you got for our dinner?” said the driver,
after he had seen to the accommodation of his teams.
“Pritters and pork, sir. Nothing else to be had in the woods. Thank God,
we have enough of that!”
D---- shrugged up his shoulders, and looked at us.
“We've plenty of that same at home. But hunger's good sauce. Come, be
spry, widow, and see about it, for I am very hungry.”
I inquired for a private room for myself and the children, but there
were no private rooms in the house. The apartment we occupied was like
the cobbler's stall in the old song, and I was obliged to attend upon
them in public.
“You have much to learn, ma'am, if you are going to the woods,” said
Mrs. J----.
“To unlearn, you mean,” said Mr. D----. “To tell you the truth, Mrs.
Moodie, ladies and gentlemen have no business in the woods. Eddication
spoils man or woman for that location. So, widow (turning to our
hostess), you are not tired of living alone yet?”
“No, sir; I have no wish for a second husband. I had enough of the
first. I like to have my own way--to lie down mistress, and get up
master.”
“You don't like to be put out of your _old_ way,” returned he, with a
mischievous glance.
She coloured very red; but it might be the heat of the fire over which
she was frying the pork for our dinner.
I was very hungry, but I felt no appetite for the dish she was preparing
for us. It proved salt, hard, and unsavoury.
D---- pronounced it very bad, and the whiskey still worse, with which he
washed it down.
I asked for a cup of tea and a slice of bread. But they were out of tea,
and the hop-rising had failed, and there was no bread in the house.
For this disgusting meal we paid at the rate of a quarter of a dollar
a-head.
I was glad when, the horses being again put to, we escaped from the rank
odour of the fried pork, and were once more in the fresh air.
“Well, mister; did not you grudge your money for that bad meat?” said
D----, when we were once more seated in the sleigh. “But in these parts,
the worse the fare the higher the charge.”
“I would not have cared,” said I, “if I could have got a cup of tea.”
“Tea! it's poor trash. I never could drink tea in my life. But I like
coffee, when 'tis boiled till it's quite black. But coffee is not good
without plenty of trimmings.”
“What do you mean by trimmings?”
He laughed. “Good sugar, and sweet cream. Coffee is not worth drinking
without trimmings.”
Often in after years have I recalled the coffee trimmings, when
endeavouring to drink the vile stuff which goes by the name of coffee in
the houses of entertainment in the country.
We had now passed through the narrow strip of clearing which surrounded
the tavern, and again entered upon the woods. It was near sunset, and we
were rapidly descending a steep hill, when one of the traces that
held our sleigh suddenly broke. D---- pulled up in order to repair
the damage. His brother's team was close behind, and our unexpected
stand-still brought the horses upon us before J. D---- could stop them.
I received so violent a blow from the head of one of them, just in the
back of the neck, that for a few minutes I was stunned and insensible.
When I recovered, I was supported in the arms of my husband, over whose
knees I was leaning, and D---- was rubbing my hands and temples with
snow.
“There, Mr. Moodie, she's coming to. I thought she was killed. I have
seen a man before now killed by a blow from a horse's head in the like
manner.” As soon as we could, we resumed our places in the sleigh; but
all enjoyment of our journey, had it been otherwise possible, was gone.
When we reached Peterborough, Moodie wished us to remain at the inn all
night, as we had still eleven miles of our journey to perform, and that
through a blazed forest-road, little travelled, and very much impeded by
fallen trees and other obstacles; but D---- was anxious to get back as
soon as possible to his own home, and he urged us very pathetically to
proceed.
The moon arose during our stay at the inn, and gleamed upon the
straggling frame houses which then formed the now populous and thriving
town of Peterborough. We crossed the wild, rushing, beautiful Otonabee
river by a rude bridge, and soon found ourselves journeying over the
plains or level heights beyond the village, which were thinly wooded
with picturesque groups of oak and pine, and very much resembled a
gentleman's park at home. Far below, to our right (for we were upon the
Smith-town side) we heard the rushing of the river, whose rapid waters
never receive curb from the iron chain of winter. Even while the rocky
banks are coated with ice, and the frost-king suspends from every twig
and branch the most beautiful and fantastic crystals, the black waters
rush foaming along, a thick steam rising constantly above the rapids, as
from a boiling pot. The shores vibrate and tremble beneath the force
of the impetuous flood, as it whirls round cedar-crowned islands and
opposing rocks, and hurries on to pour its tribute into the Rice Lake,
to swell the calm, majestic grandeur of the Trent, till its waters are
lost in the beautiful bay of Quinté, and finally merged in the blue
ocean of Ontario.
The most renowned of our English rivers dwindle into little muddy rills
when compared with the sublimity of the Canadian waters. No language can
adequately express the solemn grandeur of her lake and river scenery;
the glorious islands that float, like visions from fairy land, upon the
bosom of these azure mirrors of her cloudless skies. No dreary breadth
of marshes, covered with flags, hide from our gaze the expanse of
heaven-tinted waters; no foul mud-banks spread their unwholesome
exhalations around. The rocky shores are crowned with the cedar, the
birch, the alder, and soft maple, that dip their long tresses in the
pure stream; from every crevice in the limestone the harebell and
Canadian rose wave their graceful blossoms.
The fiercest droughts of summer may diminish the volume and power of
these romantic streams, but it never leaves their rocky channels bare,
nor checks the mournful music of their dancing waves. Through the
openings in the forest, we now and then caught the silver gleam of the
river tumbling on in moonlight splendour, while the hoarse chiding of
the wind in the lofty pines above us gave a fitting response to the
melancholy cadence of the waters.
The children had fallen asleep. A deep silence pervaded the party. Night
was above us with her mysterious stars. The ancient forest stretched
around us on every side, and a foreboding sadness sunk upon my heart.
Memory was busy with the events of many years. I retraced step by step
the pilgrimage of my past life, until arriving at that passage in its
sombre history, I gazed through tears upon the singularly savage scene
around me, and secretly marvelled, “What brought me here??”
“Providence,” was the answer which the soul gave. “Not for your own
welfare, perhaps, but for the welfare of your children, the unerring
hand of the great Father has led you here. You form a connecting link in
the destinies of many. It is impossible for any human creature to live
for himself alone. It may be your lot to suffer, but others will reap a
benefit from your trials. Look up with confidence to Heaven, and the sun
of hope will yet shed a cheering beam through the forbidden depths of
this tangled wilderness.”
The road became so bad that Mr. D---- was obliged to dismount, and lead
his horses through the more intricate passages. The animals themselves,
weary with their long journey and heavy load, proceeded at foot-fall.
The moon, too, had deserted us, and the only light we had to guide us
through the dim arches of the forest was from the snow and the stars,
which now peered down upon us through the leafless branches of the
trees, with uncommon brilliancy.
“It will be past midnight before we reach your brother's clearing,”
(where we expected to spend the night,) said D----. “I wish, Mr. Moodie,
we had followed your advice, and staid at Peterborough. How fares it
with you, Mrs. Moodie, and the young ones? It is growing very cold.”
We were now in the heart of a dark cedar swamp, and my mind was haunted
with visions of wolves and bears; but beyond the long, wild howl of
a solitary wolf, no other sound awoke the sepulchral silence of that
dismal looking wood.
“What a gloomy spot,” said I to my husband. “In the old country,
superstition would people it with ghosts.”
“Ghosts! There are no ghosts in Canada!” said Mr. D----. “The country is
too new for ghosts. No Canadian is afeard of ghosts. It is only in old
countries, like your'n, that are full of sin and wickedness, that people
believe in such nonsense. No human habitation has ever been erected in
this wood through which you are passing. Until a very few years ago,
few white persons had ever passed through it; and the Red Man would not
pitch his tent in such a place as this. Now, ghosts, as I understand the
word, are the spirits of bad men, that are not allowed by Providence to
rest in their graves, but, for a punishment, are made to haunt the spots
where their worst deeds were committed. I don't believe in all this;
but, supposing it to be true, bad men must have died here before their
spirits could haunt the place. Now, it is more than probable that no
person ever ended his days in this forest, so that it would be folly to
think of seeing his ghost.”
This theory of Mr. D----'s had the merit of originality, and it is not
improbable that the utter disbelief in supernatural appearances, which
is common to most native-born Canadians, is the result of the same very
reasonable mode of arguing. The unpeopled wastes of Canada must present
the same aspect to the new settler that the world did to our first
parents after their expulsion from the garden of Eden; all the sin which
could defile the spot, or haunt it with the association of departed
evil, is concentrated in their own persons. Bad spirits cannot be
supposed to linger near a place where crime has never been committed.
The belief in ghosts, so prevalent in old countries, must first have had
its foundation in the consciousness of guilt.
After clearing this low, swampy portion of the wood, with much
difficulty, and the frequent application of the axe, to cut away the
fallen timber that impeded our progress, our ears were assailed by a
low, roaring, rushing sound, as of the falling of waters.
“That is Herriot's Falls,” said our guide. “We are within two miles of
our destination.”
Oh, welcome sound! But those two miles appeared more lengthy than the
whole journey. Thick clouds, that threatened a snow-storm, had blotted
out the stars, and we continued to grope our way through a narrow, rocky
path, upon the edge of the river, in almost total darkness. I now felt
the chillness of the midnight hour, and the fatigue of the long journey,
with double force, and envied the servant and children, who had been
sleeping ever since we left Peterborough. We now descended the steep
bank, and prepared to cross the rapids.
Dark as it was, I looked with a feeling of dread upon the foaming waters
as they tumbled over their bed of rocks, their white crests flashing,
life-like, amid the darkness of the night.
“This is an ugly bridge over such a dangerous place,” said D----, as he
stood up in the sleigh and urged his tired team across the miserable,
insecure log-bridge, where darkness and death raged below, and one false
step of his jaded horses would have plunged us into both. I must
confess I drew a freer breath when the bridge was crossed, and D----
congratulated us on our safe arrival in Douro.
We now continued our journey along the left bank of the river, but when
in sight of Mr. S----'s clearing, a large pine-tree, which had newly
fallen across the narrow path, brought the teams to a stand-still. The
mighty trunk which had lately formed one of the stately pillars in the
sylvan temple of Nature, was of too large dimensions to chop in two with
axes; and after half-an-hour's labour, which to me, poor, cold, weary
wight! seemed an age, the males of the party abandoned the task in
despair. To go round it was impossible; its roots were concealed in an
impenetrable wall of cedar-jungle on the right-hand side of the road,
and its huge branches hung over the precipitous bank of the river.
“We must try and make the horses jump over it,” said D----. “We may
get an upset, but there is no help for it; we must either make the
experiment, or stay here all night, and I am too cold and hungry for
that--so here goes.” He urged his horses to leap the log; restraining
their ardour for a moment as the sleigh rested on the top of the
formidable barrier, but so nicely balanced, that the difference of a
straw would almost have overturned the heavily-laden vehicle and its
helpless inmates. We, however, cleared it in safety. He now stopped,
and gave directions to his brother to follow the same plan that he had
adopted; but whether the young man had less coolness, or the horses in
his team were more difficult to manage, I cannot tell: the sleigh, as it
hung poised upon the top of the log, was overturned with a loud crash,
and all my household goods and chattels were scattered over the road.
Alas, for my crockery and stone china! Scarcely one article remained
unbroken.
“Never fret about the china,” said Moodie; “thank God, the man and the
horses are uninjured.”
I should have felt more thankful had the crocks been spared too; for,
like most of my sex, I had a tender regard for china, and I knew that
no fresh supply could be obtained in this part of the world. Leaving
his brother to collect the scattered fragments, D---- proceeded on his
journey. We left the road, and were winding our way over a steep hill,
covered with heaps of brush and fallen timber, and as we reached the
top, a light gleamed cheerily from the windows of a log house, and the
next moment we were at my brother's door.
I thought my journey was at an end; but here I was doomed to fresh
disappointment. His wife was absent on a visit to her friends, and it
had been arranged that we were to stay with my sister, Mrs. T----, and
her husband. With all this I was unacquainted; and I was about to quit
the sleigh and seek the warmth of the fire when I was told that I had
yet further to go. Its cheerful glow was to shed no warmth on me, and,
tired as I was, I actually buried my face and wept upon the neck of a
hound which Moodie had given to Mr. S----, and which sprang up upon the
sleigh to lick my face and hands. This was my first halt in that weary
wilderness, where I endured so many bitter years of toil and sorrow. My
brother-in-law and his family had retired to rest, but they instantly
rose to receive the way-worn travellers; and I never enjoyed more
heartily a warm welcome after a long day of intense fatigue, than I did
that night of my first sojourn in the backwoods.