BURNING THE FALLOW.
It is not my intention to give a regular history of our residence in the
bush, but merely to present to my readers such events as may serve to
illustrate a life in the woods.
The winter and spring of 1834 had passed away. The latter was uncommonly
cold and backward; so much so that we had a very heavy fall of snow upon
the 14th and 15th of May, and several gentlemen drove down to Cobourg in
a sleigh, the snow lying upon the ground to the depth of several inches.
A late, cold spring in Canada is generally succeeded by a burning, hot
summer; and the summer of '34 was the hottest I ever remember. No rain
fell upon the earth for many weeks, till nature drooped and withered
beneath one bright blaze of sunlight; and the ague and fever in the
woods, and the cholera in the large towns and cities, spread death and
sickness through the country.
Moodie had made during the winter a large clearing of twenty acres
around the house. The progress of the workmen had been watched by me
with the keenest interest. Every tree that reached the ground opened
a wider gap in the dark wood, giving us a broader ray of light and a
clearer glimpse of the blue sky. But when the dark cedar swamp fronting
the house fell beneath the strokes of the axe, and we got a first view
of the lake my joy was complete: a new and beautiful object was now
constantly before me, which gave me the greatest pleasure. By night and
day, in sunshine or in storm, water is always the most sublime feature
in a landscape, and no view can be truly grand in which it is wanting.
From a child, it always had the most powerful effect upon my mind, from
the great ocean rolling in majesty, to the tinkling forest rill, hidden
by the flowers and rushes along its banks. Half the solitude of my
forest home vanished when the lake unveiled its bright face to the blue
heavens, and I saw sun and moon and stars and waving trees reflected
there. I would sit for hours at the window as the shades of evening
deepened round me, watching the massy foliage of the forests pictured in
the waters, till fancy transported me back to England, and the songs of
birds and the lowing of cattle were sounding in my ears. It was long,
very long, before I could discipline my mind to learn and practise all
the menial employments which are necessary in a good settler's wife.
The total absence of trees about the doors in all new settlements had
always puzzled me, in a country where the intense heat of summer seems
to demand all the shade that can be procured. My husband had left
several beautiful rock-elms (the most picturesque tree in the country)
near our dwelling, but, alas! the first high gale prostrated all my fine
trees, and left our log cottage entirely exposed to the fierce rays of
the sun. The confusion of an uncleared fallow spread around us on
every side. Huge trunks of trees and piles of brush gave a littered and
uncomfortable appearance to the locality, and as the weather had been
very dry for some weeks, I heard my husband daily talking with his
choppers as to the expediency of firing the fallow. They still urged him
to wait a little longer, until he could get a good breeze to carry the
fire well through the brush.
Business called him suddenly to Toronto, but he left a strict charge
with old Thomas and his sons, who were engaged in the job, by no means
to attempt to burn it off till he returned, as he wished to be upon the
premises himself in case of any danger. He had previously burnt all the
heaps immediately about the doors. While he was absent, old Thomas
and his second son fell sick with the ague, and went home to their own
township, leaving John, a surly, obstinate young man, in charge of the
shanty, where they slept, and kept their tools and provisions. Monaghan
I had sent to fetch up my three cows, as the children were languishing
for milk, and Mary and I remained alone in the house with the little
ones. The day was sultry, and towards noon a strong wind sprang up that
roared in the pine tops like the dashing of distant billows, but without
in the least degree abating the heat. The children were lying listlessly
upon the floor for coolness, and the girl and I were finishing
sun-bonnets, when Mary suddenly exclaimed, “Bless us, mistress, what a
smoke!” I ran immediately to the door, but was not able to distinguish
ten yards before me. The swamp immediately below us was on fire, and the
heavy wind was driving a dense black cloud of smoke directly towards us.
“What can this mean?” I cried, “Who can have set fire to the fallow?”
As I ceased speaking, John Thomas stood pale and trembling before me.
“John, what is the meaning of this fire?”
“Oh, ma'am, I hope you will forgive me; it was I set fire to it, and I
would give all I have in the world if I had not done it.”
“What is the danger?”
“Oh, I'm terribly afeard that we shall all be burnt up,” said the
fellow, beginning to whimper.
“Why did you run such a risk, and your master from home, and no one on
the place to render the least assistance?”
“I did it for the best,” blubbered the lad. “What shall we do?”
“Why, we must get out of it as fast as we can, and leave the house to
its fate.”
“We can't get out,” said the man, in a low, hollow tone, which seemed
the concentration of fear; “I would have got out of it if I could; but
just step to the back door, ma'am, and see.”
I had not felt the least alarm up to this minute; I had never seen a
fallow burnt, but I had heard of it as a thing of such common occurrence
that I had never connected with it any idea of danger. Judge then, my
surprise, my horror, when, on going to the back door, I saw that the
fellow, to make sure of his work, had fired the field in fifty different
places. Behind, before, on every side, we were surrounded by a wall of
fire, burning furiously within a hundred yards of us, and cutting off
all possibility of retreat; for could we have found an opening through
the burning heaps, we could not have seen our way through the dense
canopy of smoke; and, buried as we were in the heart of the forest, no
one could discover our situation till we were beyond the reach of help.
I closed the door, and went back to the parlour. Fear was knocking
loudly at my heart, for our utter helplessness annihilated all hope of
being able to effect our escape--I felt stupefied. The girl sat upon
the floor by the children, who, unconscious of the peril that hung over
them, had both fallen asleep. She was silently weeping; while the fool
who had caused the mischief was crying aloud.
A strange calm succeeded my first alarm; tears and lamentations were
useless; a horrible death was impending over us, and yet I could not
believe that we were to die. I sat down upon the step of the door, and
watched the awful scene in silence. The fire was raging in the cedar
swamp, immediately below the ridge on which the house stood, and it
presented a spectacle truly appalling. From out the dense folds of a
canopy of black smoke, the blackest I ever saw, leaped up continually
red forks of lurid flame as high as the tree tops, igniting the branches
of a group of tall pines that had been left standing for sun-logs. A
deep gloom blotted out the heavens from our sight. The air was filled
with fiery particles, which floated even to the door-step--while the
crackling and roaring of the flames might have been heard at a great
distance. Could we have reached the lake shore, where several canoes
were moored at the landing, by launching out into the water we should
have been in perfect safety; but, to attain this object, it was
necessary to pass through this mimic hell; and not a bird could have
flown over it with unscorched wings. There was no hope in that quarter,
for, could we have escaped the flames, we should have been blinded and
choked by the thick, black, resinous smoke. The fierce wind drove the
flames at the sides and back of the house up the clearing; and our
passage to the road, or to the forest, on the right and left, was
entirely obstructed by a sea of flames. Our only ark of safety was the
house, so long as it remained untouched by the consuming element. I
turned to young Thomas, and asked him, how long he thought that would
be.
“When the fire clears this little ridge in front, ma'am. The Lord have
mercy upon us, then, or we must all go!”
“Cannot _you_, John, try and make your escape, and see what can be done
for us and the poor children?”
My eye fell upon the sleeping angels, locked peacefully in each other's
arms, and my tears flowed for the first time. Mary, the servant-girl,
looked piteously up in my face. The good, faithful creature had not
uttered one word of complaint, but now she faltered forth,
“The dear, precious lambs!--Oh! such a death!”
I threw myself down upon the floor beside them, and pressed them
alternately to my heart, while inwardly I thanked God that they were
asleep, unconscious of danger, and unable by their childish cries to
distract our attention from adopting any plan which might offer to
effect their escape.
The heat soon became suffocating. We were parched with thirst, and there
was not a drop of water in the house, and none to be procured nearer
than the lake. I turned once more to the door, hoping that a passage
might have-been burnt through to the water. I saw nothing but a dense
cloud of fire and smoke--could hear nothing but the crackling and
roaring of flames, which were gaining so fast upon us that I felt their
scorching breath in my face.
“Ah,” thought I--and it was a most bitter thought--“what will my beloved
husband say when he returns and finds that poor Susy and his dear girls
have perished in this miserable manner? But God can save us yet.”
The thought had scarcely found a voice in my heart before the wind rose
to a hurricane, scattering the flames on all sides into a tempest of
burning billows. I buried my head in my apron, for I thought that our
time was come, and that all was lost, when a most terrific crash of
thunder burst over our heads, and, like the breaking of a water-spout,
down came the rushing torrent of rain which had been pent up for so
many weeks. In a few minutes the chip-yard was all afloat, and the
fire effectually checked. The storm which, unnoticed by us, had been
gathering all day, and which was the only one of any note we had that
summer, continued to rage all night, and before morning had quite
subdued the cruel enemy, whose approach we had viewed with such dread.
The imminent danger in which we had been placed struck me more forcibly
after it was past than at the time, and both the girl and myself sank
upon our knees, and lifted up our hearts in humble thanksgiving to
that God who had saved us by an act of His Providence from an awful and
sudden death. When all hope from human assistance was lost, His hand
was mercifully stretched forth, making His strength more perfectly
manifested in our weakness:--
“He is their stay when earthly help is lost,
The light and anchor of the tempest-toss'd.”
There was one person, unknown to us, who had watched the progress of
that rash blaze, and had even brought his canoe to the landing, in the
hope of getting us off. This was an Irish pensioner named Dunn, who had
cleared a few acres on his government grant, and had built a shanty on
the opposite shore of the lake.
“Faith, madam! an' I thought the captain was stark, staring mad to fire
his fellow on such a windy day, and that blowing right from the lake to
the house. When Old Wittals came in and towld us that the masther was
not to the fore, but only one lad, an' the wife an' the chilther at
home,--thinks I, there's no time to be lost, or the crathurs will be
burnt up intirely. We started instanther, but, by Jove! We were too
late. The swamp was all in a blaze when we got to the landing, and you
might as well have tried to get to heaven by passing through the other
place.”
This was the eloquent harangue with which the honest creature informed
me the next morning of the efforts he had made to save us, and the
interest he had felt in our critical situation. I felt comforted for
my past anxiety, by knowing that one human being, however humble, had
sympathized in our probable fate; while the providential manner in which
we had been rescued will ever remain a theme of wonder and gratitude.
The next evening brought the return of my husband, who listened to the
tale of our escape with a pale and disturbed countenance; not a little
thankful to find his wife and children still in the land of the living.
For a long time after the burning of that fallow, it haunted me in my
dreams. I would awake with a start, imagining myself fighting with the
flames, and endeavouring to carry my little children through them to the
top of the clearing, when invariably their garments and my own took fire
just as I was within reach of a place of safety.