THE OUTBREAK.
THE long-protracted harvest was at length brought to a close. Moodie had
procured another ox from Dummer, by giving a note at six months' date
for the payment; and he and John E---- were in the middle of sowing
their fall crop of wheat, when the latter received a letter from the old
country which conveyed to him intelligence of the death of his mother,
and of a legacy of two hundred pounds. It was necessary for him to
return to claim the property, and though we felt his loss severely, we
could not, without great selfishness, urge him to stay. John had
formed an attachment to a young lady in the country, who, like himself,
possessed no property. Their engagement, which had existed several
years, had been dropped, from its utter hopelessness, by mutual consent.
Still the young people continued to love each other, and to look forward
to better days, when their prospects might improve so far that E----
would be able to purchase a bush farm, and raise a house, however lowly,
to shelter his Mary. He, like our friend Malcolm, had taken a fancy to
buy a part of our block of land, which he could cultivate in partnership
with Moodie, without being obliged to hire, when the same barn, cattle,
and implements would serve for both. Anxious to free himself from the
thraldom of debts which pressed him sore, Moodie offered to part with
two hundred acres at less than they cost us, and the bargain was to be
considered as concluded directly the money was forthcoming.
It was a sorrowful day when our young friend left us; he had been a
constant inmate in the house for nice months, and not one unpleasant
word had ever passed between us. He had rendered our sojourn in the
woods more tolerable by his society, and sweetened our bitter lot by his
friendship and sympathy. We both regarded him as a brother, and parted
with him with sincere regret. As to old Jenny, she lifted up her voice
and wept, consigning him to the care and protection of all the saints
in the Irish calendar. For several days after John left us, a deep gloom
pervaded the house. Our daily toil was performed with less cheerfulness
and alacrity; we missed him at the evening board, and at the evening
fire; and the children asked each day, with increasing earnestness, when
dear E---- would return.
Moodie continued sowing his fall wheat. The task was nearly completed,
and the chill October days were fast verging upon winter, when towards
the evening of one of them he contrived--I know not how--to crawl down
from the field at the head of the hill, faint and pale, and in great
pain. He had broken the small bone of his leg. In dragging, among the
stumps, the heavy machine (which is made in the form of the letter V,
and is supplied with large iron teeth) had hitched upon a stump, and
being swung off again by the motion of the oxen, had come with great
force against his leg. At first he was struck down, and for some time
was unable to rise; but at length he contrived to unyoke the team, and
crawled partly on his hands and knees down the clearing.
What a sad, melancholy evening that was! Fortune seemed never tired
of playing us some ugly trick. The hope which had so long sustained
me seemed about to desert me altogether; when I saw him on whom we all
depended for subsistence, and whose kindly voice ever cheered us under
the pressure of calamity, smitten down hopeless, all my courage and
faith in the goodness of the Divine Father seemed to forsake me, and I
wept long and bitterly.
The next morning I went in search of a messenger to send to Peterborough
for the doctor; but though I found and sent the messenger, the doctor
never came. Perhaps he did not like to incur the expense of a fatiguing
journey with small chance of obtaining a sufficient remuneration.
Our dear sufferer contrived, with assistance, to bandage his leg; and
after the first week of rest had expired, he amused himself with making
a pair of crutches, and in manufacturing Indian paddles for the canoe,
axe-handles, and yokes for the oxen. It was wonderful with what serenity
he bore this unexpected affliction. Buried in the obscurity of those
woods, we knew nothing, heard nothing of the political state of the
country, and were little aware of the revolution which was about to work
a great change for us and for Canada.
The weather continued remarkably mild. The first great snow, which for
years had ordinarily fallen between the 10th and 15th of November, still
kept off. November passed on, and as all our firewood had to be chopped
by old Jenny during the lameness of my husband, I was truly grateful
to God for the continued mildness of the weather. On the 4th of
December--that great day of the outbreak--Moodie was determined to take
advantage of the open state of the lake to carry a large grist up to
Y----'s mill. I urged upon him the danger of a man attempting to manage
a canoe in rapid water, who was unable to stand without crutches; but
Moodie saw that the children would need bread, and he was anxious to
make the experiment.
Finding that I could not induce him to give up the journey, I determined
to go with him. Old Wittals, who happened to come down that morning,
assisted in placing the bags of wheat in the little vessel, and helped
to place Moodie at the stern. With a sad, foreboding spirit I assisted
to push off from the shore. The air was raw and cold, but our sail was
not without its pleasure. The lake was very full from the heavy rains,
and the canoe bounded over the waters with a free, springy motion. A
slight frost had hung every little bush and spray along the shores
with sparkling crystals. The red pigeon-berries, shining through their
coating of ice, looked like cornelian beads set in silver, and strung
from bush to bush. We found the rapids at the entrance of Bessikakoon
Lake very hard to stem, and were so often carried back by the force of
the water that, cold as the air was, the great exertion which Moodie had
to make use of to obtain the desired object, brought the perspiration
out in big drops upon his forehead. His long confinement to the house
and low diet had rendered him very weak.
The old miller received us in the most hearty and hospitable manner;
and complimented me upon my courage in venturing upon the water in such
cold, rough weather. Norah was married, but the kind Betty provided us
an excellent dinner, while we waited for the grist to be ground.
It was near four o'clock when we started on our return. If there had
been danger in going up the stream, there was more in coming down. The
wind had changed, the air was frosty, keen, and biting and Moodie's
paddle came up from every dip into the water, loaded with ice. For my
part, I had only to sit still at the bottom of the canoe, as we floated
rapidly down with wind and tide. At the landing we were met by old
Jenny, who had a long story to tell us, of which we could make neither
head nor tail--how some gentleman had called during our absence, and
left a large paper, all about the Queen and the Yankees; that there was
war between Canada and the States; that Toronto had been burnt, and
the governor killed, and I know no what ether strange and monstrous
statements. After much fatigue, Moodie climbed the hill, and we were
once more safe by our own, fireside. Here we found the elucidation of
Jenny's marvellous tales: a copy of the Queen's proclamation, calling
upon all loyal gentlemen to join in putting down the unnatural
rebellion.
A letter from my sister explained the nature of the outbreak, and the
astonishment with which the news had been received by all the settlers
in the bush. My brother and my sister's husband had already gone off to
join some of the numerous bands of gentlemen who were collecting from
all quarters to march to the aid of Toronto, which it was said was
besieged by the rebel force. She advised me not to suffer Moodie to
leave home in his present weak state; but the spirit of my husband was
aroused, he instantly obeyed what he considered the imperative call of
duty, and told me to prepare him a few necessaries, that he might be
ready to start early in the morning. Little sleep visited our eyes that
night. We talked over tie strange news for hours; our coming separation,
and the probability that if things were as bad as they appeared to
be, we might never meet again. Our affairs were in such a desperate
condition that Moodie anticipated that any change must be for the
better; it was impossible for them to be worse. But the poor, anxious
wife thought only of a parting which to her put a finishing stroke to
all her misfortunes.
Before the cold, snowy morning broke, we were all stirring. The
children, who had learned that their father was preparing to leave
them, were crying and clinging round his knees. His heart was too deeply
affected to eat; the meal passed over in silence, and he rose to go. I
put on my hat and shawl to accompany him through the wood as far as
my sister Mrs. T----'s. The day was like our destiny, cold, dark, and
lowering. I gave the dear invalid his crutches, and we commenced our
sorrowful walk. Then old Jenny's lamentations burst forth, as, flinging
her arms round my husband's neck, she kissed and blessed him after the
fashion of her country.
“Och hone! oeh hone!” she cried, wringing her hands, “masther dear, why
will jou lave the wife and the childher? The poor crathur is breakin'
her heart intirely at partin' wid you. Shore an' the war is nothin' to
you, that you must be goin' into danger; an' you wid a broken leg. Och
hone! Och hone! come back to your home--you will be kilt, and thin what
will become of the wife and the wee bairns?”
Her cries and lamentations followed us into the wood. At my sister's,
Moodie and I parted; and with a heavy heart I retraced my steps through
the wood. For once, I forgot all my fears. I never felt the cold. Sad
tears were flowing over my cheeks; when I entered the house, hope seemed
to have deserted me, and for upwards of an hour I lay upon the bed and
wept. Poor Jenny did her best to comfort me, but all joy had vanished
with him who was my light of life. Left in the most absolute uncertainty
as to the real state of public affairs, I could only conjecture what
might be the result of this sudden outbreak. Several poor settlers
called at the house during the day, on their way down to Peterborough;
but they brought with them the most exaggerated accounts. There had
been a battle, they said, with the rebels, and the loyalists had been
defeated; Toronto was besieged by sixty thousand men, and all the men in
the backwoods were ordered to march instantly to the relief of the city.
In the evening, I received a note from Emilia, who was at Peterborough,
in which she informed me that my husband had borrowed a horse of Mr.
S----, and had joined a large party of two hundred volunteers, who had
left that morning for Toronto; that there had been a battle with the
insurgents; that Colonel Moodie had been killed, and the rebels had
retreated; and that she hoped my husband would return in a few days. The
honest backwoodsmen, perfectly ignorant of the abuses that had led
to the present position of things, regarded the rebels as a set of
monsters, for whom no punishment was too severe, and obeyed the call
to arms with enthusiasm. The leader of the insurgents must have been
astonished at the rapidity with which a large force was collected, as if
by magic, to repel his designs. A great number of these volunteers were
half-pay officers, many of whom had fought in the continental wars with
the armies of Napoleon, and would have been found a host in themselves.
In a week, Moodie returned. So many volunteers had poured into Toronto
that the number of friends was likely to prove as disastrous as that of
enemies, on account of the want of supplies to maintain them all. The
companies from the back townships had been remanded, and I received
with delight my own again. But this reunion did not last long. Several
regiments of militia were formed to defend the colony, and to my husband
was given the rank of captain in one of those then stationed in Toronto.
On the 20th of January, 1838, he bade us a long adieu. I was left with
old Jenny and the children to take care of the farm. It was a sad, dull
time. I could bear up against all trials with him to comfort and cheer
me, but his long-continued absence cast a gloom upon my spirit not
easily to be shaken off. Still his very appointment to this situation
was a signal act of mercy. From his full pay, he was enabled to
liquidate many pressing debts, and to send home from time to time
sums of money to procure necessaries for me and the little ones. These
remittances were greatly wanted; but I demurred before laying them out
for comforts which we had been so long used to dispense with. It seemed
almost criminal to purchase any article of luxury, such as tea and
sugar, while a debt remained unpaid.
The Y----'s were very pressing for the thirty pounds that we owed them
for the clearing; but they had such a firm reliance upon the honour of
my husband, that, poor and pressed for money as they were, they never
sued us. I thought it would be a pleasing surprise to Moodie, if,
with the sums of money which I occasionally received from him, I could
diminish this debt, which had always given him the greatest uneasiness;
and, my resolution once formed, I would not allow any temptation to
shake it. The money was always transmitted to Dummer. I only reserved
the sum of two dollars a month, to pay a little lad to chop wood for
us. After a time, I began to think the Y----'s were gifted with
second-sight; for I never received a money-letter, but the very next day
I was sure to see some of the family.
Just at this period I received a letter from a gentleman, requesting
me to write for a magazine (the Literary Garland), just started
in Montreal, with promise to remunerate me for my labours. Such an
application was like a gleam of light springing up in the darkness; it
seemed to promise the dawning of a brighter day. I had never been able
to turn my thoughts towards literature during my sojourn in the bush.
When the body is fatigued with labour, unwonted and beyond its strength,
the mind is in no condition for mental occupation.
The year before, I had been requested by an American author, of great
merit, to contribute to the North American Review, published for several
years in Philadelphia; and he promised to remunerate me in proportion to
the success of the work. I had contrived to write several articles after
the children were asleep, though the expense even of the stationery and
the postage of the manuscripts was severely felt by one so destitute of
means; but the hope of being of the least service to those dear to me
cheered me to the task. I never realized anything from that source; but
I believe it was not the fault of the editor. Several other American
editors had written to me to furnish them with articles; but I was
unable to pay the postage of heavy packets to the States, and they could
not reach their destination without being paid to the frontier. Thus,
all chance of making any thing in that way had been abandoned. I wrote
to Mr. L----, and frankly informed him how I was situated. In the most
liberal manner, he offered to pay the postage on all manuscripts to his
office, and left me to name my own terms of remuneration. This opened
up a new era in my existence; and for many years I have found in this
generous man, to whom I am still personally unknown, a steady friend. I
actually shed tears of joy over the first twenty-dollar bill I received
from Montreal. It was my own; I had earned it with my own hand; and it
seemed to my delighted fancy to form the nucleus out of which a future
independence for my family might arise. I no longer retired to bed when
the labours of the day were over. I sat up, and wrote by the light of
a strange sort of candles, that Jenny called “sluts,” and which the
old woman manufactured out of pieces of old rags, twisted together and
dipped in pork lard, and stuck in a bottle. They did not give a bad
light, but it took a great many of them to last me for a few hours.
The faithful old creature regarded my writings with a jealous eye. “An',
shure, it's killin' yerself that you are intirely. You were thin enough
before you took to the pen; scribblin' an' scrabblin' when you should be
in bed an' asleep. What good will it be to the childhren, dear heart! if
you die afore your time, by wastin' your strength afther that fashion?”
Jenny never could conceive the use of books. “Shure, we can live and
die widout them. It's only a waste of time botherin' your brains wid the
like of them; but, thank goodness! the lard will soon be all done, an'
thin we shall hear you spakin' again, instead of sittin' there doubled
up all night, desthroying your eyes wid porin' over the dirthy writin'.”
As the sugar-making season drew near, Jenny conceived the bold thought
of making a good lump of sugar, that the “childher” might have something
to “ate” with their bread during the summer. We had no sugar-kettle,
but a neighbour promised to lend us his, and to give us twenty-eight
troughs, on condition that we gave him half the sugar we made. These
terms were rather hard, but Jenny was so anxious to fulfil the darling
object that we consented. Little Sol and the old woman made some fifty
troughs more, the trees were duly tapped, a shanty in the bush was
erected of small logs and brush and covered in at the top with straw;
and the old woman and Solomon, the hired boy, commenced operations.
The very first day, a terrible accident happened to us; a large log
fell upon the sugar-kettle--the borrowed sugar-kettle--and cracked it,
spilling all the sap, and rendering the vessel, which had cost four
dollars, useless. We were all in dismay. Just at that time Old Wittals
happened to pass, on his way to Peterborough. He very good-naturedly
offered to get the kettle repaired for us; which, he said, could be
easily done by a rivet and an iron hoop. But where was the money to come
from! I thought awhile. Katie had a magnificent coral and bells, the
gift of her godfather; I asked the dear child if she would give it to
buy another kettle for Mr. T----. She said, “I would give ten times as
much to help mamma.”
I wrote a little note to Emilia, who was still at her father's; and Mr.
W----, the storekeeper, sent us a fine sugar-kettle back by Wittals, and
also the other mended, in exchange for the useless piece of finery. We
had now two kettles at work, to the joy of Jenny, who declared that it
was a lucky fairy who had broken the old kettle.
While Jenny was engaged in boiling and gathering the sap in the bush, I
sugared off the syrup in the house; an operation watched by the children
with intense interest. After standing all day over the hot stove-fire,
it was quite a refreshment to breathe the pure air at night. Every
evening I ran up to see Jenny in the bush, singing and boiling down the
sap in the front of her little shanty. The old woman was in her element,
and afraid of nothing under the stars; she slept beside her kettles at
night, and snapped her fingers at the idea of the least danger. She was
sometimes rather despotic in her treatment of her attendant, Sol. One
morning, in particular, she bestowed upon the lad a severe cuffing. I
ran up the clearing to the rescue, when my ears were assailed by the
“boo-hooing” of the boy.
“What has happened? Why do you beat the child, Jenny?”
“It's jist, thin, I that will bate him--the unlucky omad-hawn! Has
he not spilt and spiled two buckets of syrup, that I have been the
live-long night bilin'. Sorra wid him; I'd like to strip the skin off
him, I would! Musha! but'tis enough to vex a saint.”
“Ah, Jenny!” blubbered the poor boy, “but you have no mercy. You forget
that I have but one eye, and that I could not see the root which caught
my foot and threw me down.”
“Faix! an' 'tis a pity that you have the one eye, when you don't know
how to make a betther use of it,” muttered the angry dame, as she picked
up the pails, and, pushing him on before her, beat a retreat into the
bush.
I was heartily sick of the sugar-making, long before the season was
over; however, we were well paid for our trouble. Besides one hundred
and twelve pounds of fine soft sugar, as good as Muscovado, we had
six gallons of molasses, and a keg containing six gallons of excellent
vinegar.
Fifty pounds went to Mr. T----, for the use of his kettle: and the rest
(with the exception of a cake for Emilia, which I had drained in a wet
flannel bag until it was almost as white as loaf sugar) we kept for our
own use. There was no lack, this year, of nice preserves and pickled
cucumbers, dainties found in every native Canadian establishment.
Besides gaining a little money with my pen, I practised a method of
painting birds and butterflies upon the white, velvety surface of the
large fungi that grow plentifully upon the bark of the sugar-maple.
These had an attractive appearance; and my brother, who was a captain
in one of the provisional regiments, sold a great many of them among
the officers, without saying by whom they were painted. One rich lady in
Peterborough, long since dead, ordered two dozen to send as curiosities
to England. These, at one shilling each, enabled me to buy shoes for the
children, who, during our bad times, had been forced to dispense with
these necessary coverings. How often, during the winter season, have
I wept over their little chapped feet, literally washing them with my
tears! But these days were to end; Providence was doing great things for
us; and Hope raised at last her drooping head to regard with a brighter
glance the far-off future.
Slowly the winter rolled away; but he to whom every thought turned was
still distant from his humble home. The receipt of an occasional letter
from him was my only solace during his long absence, and we were still
too poor to indulge often in this luxury. My poor Katie was as anxious
as her mother to hear from her father; and when I did get the long
looked-for prize, she would kneel down before me, her little elbows
resting on my knees, her head thrown back, and the tears trickling down
her innocent cheeks, eagerly drinking in every word.
The spring brought us plenty of work; we had potatoes and corn to plant,
and the garden to cultivate. By lending my oxen for two days' work, I
got Wittals, who had no oxen, to drag me in a few acres of oats, and to
prepare the land for potatoes and corn. The former I dropped into the
earth, while Jenny covered them up with the hoe.
Our garden was well dug and plentifully manured, the old woman bringing
the manure, which had lain for several years at the barn door, down to
the plot, in a large Indian basket placed upon a hand-sleigh. We had
soon every sort of vegetable sown, with plenty of melons and cucumbers,
and all our beds promised a good return. There were large flights of
ducks upon the lake every night and morning; but though we had guns,
we did not know how to use them. However, I thought of a plan, which I
flattered myself might prove successful; I got Sol to plant two stakes
in the shallow water, near the rice beds, and to these I attached a
slender rope, made by braiding long strips of the inner bark of the
bass-wood together; to these again I fastened, at regular intervals,
about a quarter of a yard of whip-cord, headed by a strong perch-hook.
These hooks I baited with fish offal, leaving them to float just under
the water. Early next morning, I saw a fine black duck fluttering upon
the line. The boy ran down with the paddles, but before he could reach
the spot, the captive got away by carrying the hook and line with him.
At the next stake he found upon the hooks a large eel and a catfish.
I had never before seen one of those whiskered, toad-like natives of the
Canadian waters (so common to the Bay of Quinté, where they grow to a
great size), that I was really terrified at the sight of the hideous
beast, and told Sol to throw it away. In this I was very foolish, for
they are esteemed good eating in many parts of Canada; but to me, the
sight of the reptile-like thing is enough--it is uglier, and for more
disgusting-looking than a toad.
When the trees came into leaf, and the meadows were green, and flushed
with flowers, the poor children used to talk constantly to me of their
father's return; their innocent prattle made me very sad. Every evening
we walked into the wood, along the path that he must come whenever he
did return home, to meet him; and though it was a vain hope, and the
walk was taken just to amuse the little ones, I used to be silly enough
to feel deeply disappointed when we returned alone. Donald, who was
a mere baby when his father left us, could just begin to put words
together. “Who is papa?” “When will he come?” “Will he come by the
road?” “Will he come in a canoe?” The little creature's curiosity to see
this unknown father was really amusing; and oh! how I longed to present
the little fellow, with his rosy cheeks and curling hair, to his father;
he was so fair, so altogether charming in my eyes. Emilia had called
him Cedric the Saxon; and he well suited the name with his frank, honest
disposition, and large, loving blue eyes.
June had commenced; the weather was very warm, and Mr. T---- had sent
for the loan of old Jenny to help him for a day with his potatoes. I had
just prepared dinner when the old woman came shrieking like a mad thing
down the clearing, and waving her hands towards me. I could not imagine
what had happened.
“Ninny's mad!” whispered Dunbar; “she's the old girl for making a
noise.”
“Joy! joy!” bawled out the old woman, now running breathlessly towards
us. “The masther's come--the masther's come!”
“Where?--where!”
“Jist above in the wood. Goodness gracious! I have run to let you
know--so fast--that my heart--is like to--break.”
Without stopping to comfort poor Jenny, off started the children and
myself, at the very top of our speed; but I soon found that I could not
run-I was too much agitated. I got to the head of the bush, and sat down
upon a fallen tree. The children sprang forward like wild kids, all
but Donald, who remained with his old nurse. I covered my face with my
hands; my heart, too, was beating audibly: and now that he was come, and
was so near me I scarcely could command strength to meet him. The sound
of happy young voices roused me up; the children were leading him along
in triumph; and he was bending down to them, all smiles, but hot and
tired with his long journey. It was almost worth our separation, that
blissful meeting. In a few minutes he was at home, and the children upon
his knees. Katie stood silently holding his hand, but Addie and Dunbar
had a thousand things to tell him. Donald was frightened at his military
dress, but he peeped at him from behind my gown, until I caught and
placed him in his father's arms.
His leave of absence only extended to a fortnight. It had taken him
three days to come all the way from Lake Erie, where his regiment was
stationed, at Point Abino; and the same time would be consumed in his
return. He could only remain with us eight days. How soon they fled
away! How bitter was the thought of parting with him again! He had
brought money to pay the J----'s. How surprised he was to find their
large debt more than half liquidated. How gently did he chide me for
depriving myself and the children of the little comforts he had designed
for us, in order to make this sacrifice. But never was self-denial more
fully rewarded; I felt happy in having contributed in the least to pay
a just debt to kind and worthy people. You must become poor yourself
before you can fully appreciate the good qualities of the poor--before
you can sympathize with them, and fully recognize them as your brethren
in the flesh. Their benevolence to each other, exercised amidst want and
privation, as far surpasses the munificence of the rich towards them,
as the exalted philanthropy of Christ and his disciples does the
Christianity of the present day. The rich man gives from his abundance;
the poor man shares with a distressed comrade his all.
One short, happy week too soon fled away, and we were once more alone.
In the fall, my husband expected the regiment in which he held his
commission would be reduced, which would again plunge us into the same
distressing poverty. Often of a night I revolved these things in my
mind, and perplexed myself with conjectures as to what in future was to
become of us. Although he had saved all he could from his pay, it was
impossible to pay several hundreds of pounds of debt; and the steamboat
stock still continued a dead letter. To remain much longer in the woods
was impossible, for the returns from the farm scarcely fed us; and but
for the clothing sent us by friends from home, who were not aware of our
real difficulties, we should have been badly off indeed.
I pondered over every plan that thought could devise; at last, I prayed
to the Almighty to direct me as to what would be the best course for us
to pursue. A sweet assurance stole over me, and soothed my spirit, that
God would provide for us, as He had hitherto done--that a great deal of
our distress arose from want of faith. I was just sinking into a calm
sleep when the thought seemed whispered into my soul, “Write to the
Governor; tell him candidly all you have suffered during sojourn in this
country; and trust to God for the rest.”
At first I paid little heed to this suggestion; but it became so
importunate that at last I determined to act upon it as if it were a
message sent from heaven. I rose from my bed, struck a light, sat down,
and wrote a letter to the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir George Arthur, a
simple statement of facts, leaving it to his benevolence to pardon the
liberty I had taken in addressing him.
I asked of him to continue my husband in the militia service, in the
same regiment in which he now held the rank of captain, which, by
enabling him to pay our debts, would rescue us from our present misery.
Of the political character of Sir George Arthur I knew nothing. I
addressed him as a man and a Christian; and I acknowledge, with the
deepest and most heartfelt gratitude, the generous kindness of his
conduct towards us. Before the day dawned, my letter was ready for the
post The first secret I ever had from my husband was the writing of that
letter; and, proud and sensitive as he was, and averse to asking the
least favour of the great, I was dreadfully afraid that the act I
had just done would be displeasing to him; still, I felt resolutely
determined to send it. After giving the children their breakfast, I
walked down and read it to my brother-in-law, who was not only much
pleased with its contents, but took it down himself to the post-office.
Shortly after, I received a letter from my husband, informing me that
the regiment had been reduced, and that he should be home in time to get
in the harvest. Most anxiously I awaited a reply to my application to
the Governor; but no reply came.
The first week in August our dear Moodie came home, and brought with
him, to our no small joy, J. E----, who had just returned from Ireland.
E---- had been disappointed about the money, which was subject to
litigation; and, tired of waiting at home until the tedious process of
the law should terminate, he had come back to the woods, and, before
night, was reinstated in his old quarters.
His presence made Jenny all alive; she dared him at once to a trial of
skill with her in the wheat-field, which E---- prudently declined. He
did not expect to stay longer in Canada than the fall, but, whilst he
did stay, he was to consider our house his home.
That harvest was the happiest we ever spent in the bush. We had enough
of the common necessaries of life. A spirit of peace and harmony
pervaded our little dwelling, for the most affectionate attachment
existed among its members. We were not troubled with servants, for the
good old Jenny we regarded as an humble friend, and were freed, by that
circumstance, from many of the cares and vexations of a bush life. Our
evening excursions on the lake were doubly enjoyed after the labours of
the day, and night brought us calm and healthful repose.