encountered by those who settle in a wilderness; and yet, no small
degree of fortitude is requisite to support the mind of him who is
obliged to submit to them. It is a grievance of no inconsiderable
magnitude to be compelled, after a day of severe labour, to stretch
one’s weary limbs on the bare ground in the cold month of November, and
to be protected from the fierce north wind, and from the chilling frost,
only by a miserable hut, with a fire sufficiently near it to counteract,
in some degree, their benumbing effects.
But the hope of independence is sufficient to sustain the mind under
privations still greater than these; and he who can bring himself to
think, when lying down to rest on the bare earth, that the day is not
far distant when he may happily repose on a more inviting couch, without
one anxious thought respecting the future prospects of himself and his
family, regards these transient sufferings with a kind of feeling nearly
allied to actual pleasure. He sees the time fast approaching when the
wilderness to him shall be ‘a fruitful field, and the desert shall
blossom as the rose;’ when the productive soil shall gratefully yield an
ample reward to his toils; and when the hardships of his situation
shall, by the blessing of Heaven on his exertions, gradually disappear,
and leave him in possession of health, plenty, and independence. While
indulging in such joyful and ecstatic visions, the wooden pillow of a
new and industrious settler becomes softer than bolsters of down, and
his solitary blanket feels more comfortable than sheets of Holland.
* * * * *
We have presented the views of almost every class of observers on this
interesting country; but there yet remains unquoted an observer of the
difficulties, toils, and trials to which woman is subjected in Canada;
and from her admirable, graphic, and womanly record we make large
extracts. The book is the “Backwoods of Canada,” and the authoress the
wife of an emigrant officer.
“It is now settled that we abide here till after the government sale has
taken place. We are, then, to remain with —— and his family till we
have got a few acres chopped, and a log-house put up on our own land.
Having determined to go at once into the bush, on account of our
military grant, which we have been so fortunate as to draw in the
neighbourhood of S——, we have fully made up our minds to enter at
once, and cheerfully, on the privations and inconveniences attending
such a situation, as there is no choice between relinquishing that great
advantage and doing our settlement duties. We shall not be worse off
than others who have gone before us to the unsettled townships, many of
whom, naval and military officers with their families, have had to
struggle with considerable difficulties, but who are now beginning to
feel the advantages arising from their exertions.
“In addition to the land he is entitled to as an officer in the British
service, my husband is in treaty for the purchase of an eligible lot by
Small Lakes. This will give us a water frontage, and a further
inducement to bring us within a little distance of S——; so that we
shall not be quite so lonely as if we had gone on to our government lot
at once.”
We have experienced some attention and hospitality from several of the
residents at Peterborough. There is a very genteel society, chiefly
composed of officers and their families, besides the professional men
and storekeepers. Many of the latter are persons of respectable family
and good education. Though a store is, in fact, nothing better than what
we should call in the country towns at home a “_general shop_,” yet the
storekeeper in Canada holds a very different rank from the storekeeper
of the English village. The storekeepers are the merchants and bankers
of the places in which they reside. Almost all money matters are
transacted by them; and they are often men of landed property and
consequence, not unfrequently filling the situations of magistrates,
commissioners, and even members of the provincial parliament.
As they maintain a rank in society which entitles them to equality with
the aristocracy of the country, you must not be surprised when I tell
you that it is no uncommon circumstance to see the sons of naval and
military officers and clergymen standing behind a counter, or wielding
an axe in the woods with their fathers’ choppers; nor do they lose their
grade in society by such employment. After all, it is education and
manners that must distinguish the gentleman in this country, seeing that
the labouring man, if he is diligent and industrious, may soon become
his equal in point of worldly possessions. The ignorant man, let him be
ever so wealthy, can never be equal to the man of education. It is the
mind that forms the distinction between the classes in this country.
“Knowledge is power!”
We had heard so much of the odious manners of the Yankees in this
country, that I was rather agreeably surprised by the few specimens of
native Americans that I have seen. They were, for the most part, polite,
well-behaved people. The only peculiarities I observed in them were a
certain nasal twang in speaking, and some few odd phrases; but these
were only used by the lower class, who “_guess_,” and “_calculate_,” a
little more than we do. One of their most remarkable terms is to
“_Fix_.” Whatever work requires to be done, it must be _fixed_. “Fix the
room,” is, set it in order. “Fix the table,”—“Fix the fire,”—says the
mistress to her servants; and the things are fixed accordingly.
I was amused one day by hearing a woman tell her husband the chimney
wanted fixing. I thought it seemed secure enough, and was a little
surprised when the man got a rope and a few cedar boughs, with which he
dislodged an accumulation of soot that caused the fire to smoke. The
chimney being _fixed_, all went right again. This odd term is not
confined to the lower orders alone; it becomes a standard word even
among the later emigrants from our country.
With the exception of some few remarkable expressions, and an attempt at
introducing fine words in their every-day conversation, the lower orders
of Yankees have a decided advantage over our English peasantry in the
use of grammatical language; they speak better English than you will
hear from persons of the same class in any part of England, Ireland, or
Scotland—a fact that we should be unwilling, I suppose, to allow at
home.
If I were asked, what appeared to me the most striking feature in the
manners of the Americans that I had met with, I should say it was
coldness, approaching to apathy. I do not at all imagine them to be
deficient in feeling or real sensibility, but they do not suffer their
emotion to be seen. They are less profuse in their expressions of
welcome and kindness than we are, though probably quite as sincere. No
one doubts their hospitality; but, after all, one likes to see the
hearty shake of the hand, and hear the cordial word that makes one feel
oneself welcome.
Persons who come to this country are very apt to confound the old
settlers from Britain with the native Americans; and when they meet with
people of rude, offensive manners, using certain Yankee words in their
conversation, and making a display of independence, not exactly suitable
to their own aristocratical notions, they immediately suppose they must
be genuine Yankees, while they are, in fact, only imitators; and you
well know the fact, that a bad imitation is always worse than the
original.
You would be surprised to see how soon the new comers fall into this
disagreeable manner and affectation of equality, especially the inferior
class of Irish and Scotch; the English less so. We were rather
entertained by the behaviour of a young Scotchman, the engineer of the
steamer, on my husband addressing him with regard to the management of
the engine. His manners were surly, and almost insolent. He scrupulously
avoided the least approach to courtesy or outward respect; nay, he even
went so far as to seat himself on the bench close beside me, and
observed, that, among the many advantages this country offered to
settlers like him, he did not reckon it the least of them, that he was
not obliged to take off his hat when he spoke to people, (meaning
persons of our degree,) or address them by any other title than their
name; besides, he could go and take his seat beside any gentleman, or
lady either, and think himself to the full as good as them.
“Very likely,” I replied, hardly able to refrain from laughing at this
sally; “but I doubt you greatly overrate the advantage of such
privileges, for you cannot oblige the lady or gentleman to entertain the
same opinion of your qualifications, or to remain seated beside you,
unless it pleases them to do so.” With these words I rose up and left
the independent gentleman, evidently a little confounded at the
manœuvre: however, he soon recovered his self-possession, and continued
swinging the axe he held in his hand, and said, “It is no crime, I
guess, being born a poor man.”
“None in the world,” replied my husband; “a man’s birth is not of his
own choosing. A man can no more help being born poor than rich; neither
is it the fault of a gentleman being born of parents who occupy a higher
station in society than his neighbour. I hope you will allow this?”
The Scotchman was obliged to yield a reluctant affirmative to the latter
position, but concluded with again repeating his satisfaction at not
being obliged in this country to take off his hat, or speak with respect
to gentlemen, as they styled themselves.
“No one, my friend, could have obliged you to be well-mannered at home
any more than in Canada. Surely you could have kept your hat on your
head, if you had been so disposed; no gentleman would have knocked it
off, I am sure. As to the boasted advantage of rude manners in Canada, I
should think something of it, if it benefited you in the least, or put
one extra dollar in your pocket; but I have my doubts if it has that
profitable effect.”
[Illustration: _Wellington, on Lake Ontario._
(Fishing Nets.)]
“There is a comfort, I guess, in considering oneself equal to a
gentleman.”
“Particularly if you could induce the gentleman to think the same.” This
was a point that seemed rather to disconcert our candidate for equality,
who commenced whistling and kicking his heels with redoubled energy.
“Now,” said his tormentor, “you have explained your notions of Canadian
independence, be so good as to explain the machinery of your engine,
with which you seem very well acquainted.”
The man eyed my husband for a minute, half sulking, half pleased with
the implied compliment on his skill, and, walking off to the engine,
discussed the management of it with considerable fluency, and from that
time treated us with perfect respect. He was evidently struck with my
husband’s reply to his question, put in a most discourteous tone, “Pray,
what makes a gentleman; I’ll thank you to answer me that?” “Good
manners, and good education,” was the reply. “A rich man, or a high-born
man, if he is rude, ill-mannered, and ignorant, is no more a gentleman
than yourself.”
This put the matter on a different footing; and the engineer had the
good sense to perceive that rude familiarity did not constitute a
gentleman.
But it is now time I should give you some account of Peterborough,
which, in point of situation, is superior to any place I have yet seen
in the Upper Province. It occupies a central point between the townships
of Monaghan, Smith, Cavan, Otanahee, and Douro: and may, with propriety,
be considered as the capital of the Newcastle District.
It is situated on a fine elevated plain, just above the small lake,
where the river is divided by two low wooded islets. The original or
government part of the town is laid out in half-acre lots; the streets,
which are now fast filling up, are nearly at right-angles with the
river, and extend towards the plains to the north-east. These plains
form a beautiful natural park, finely diversified with hill and dale,
covered with a lovely greensward, enamelled with a variety of the most
exquisite flowers, and planted, as if by Nature’s own hand, with groups
of feathery pines, oaks, balsams, poplars, and silver birch. The views
from these plains are delightful; whichever way you turn your eyes they
are gratified by a diversity of hill and dale, wood and water, with the
town spreading over a considerable tract of ground.
The plains descend with a steep declivity towards the river, which
rushes with considerable impetuosity between its banks. Fancy a long
narrow valley, and separating the east and west portions of the town
into two distinct villages.
The Otanahee bank rises to a loftier elevation than the Monaghan side,
and commands an extensive view over the intervening valley, the opposite
town, and the boundary forest and hills behind it: this is called
Peterborough East, and is in the hands of two or three individuals of
large capital, from whom the town lots are purchased.
Peterborough, thus divided, covers a great extent of ground, more than
sufficient for the formation of a large city. The number of inhabitants
is now reckoned at 700 and upwards; and if it continues to increase as
rapidly in the next few years as it has done lately, it will soon be a
very populous town.
There is great water-power, both as regards the river and the fine broad
creek which winds its way through the town, and falls into the small
lake below. There are several saw and grist-mills, a distillery,
fulling-mill, two principal inns, besides smaller ones, a number of good
stores, and a government school-house, which also serves for a church
till one more suitable should be built. The plains are sold off in pack
lots, and some pretty little dwellings are being built; but I much fear
the natural beauties of this lovely spot will be soon spoiled.
I am never weary with strolling about, climbing the hills in every
direction, to catch some new prospect, or gather some new flowers,
which, though getting late in the summer, are still abundant.
Among the plants with whose names I am acquainted, are a variety of
shrubby asters, of every tint of blue, purple, and pearly white; a lilac
_monarda_, most delightfully aromatic, even to the dry stalks and
seed-vessels; the white _gnaphalium_, or everlasting flower; roses of
several kinds, a few late buds of which I found in a valley near the
church. I also noticed among the shrubs a very pretty little plant,
resembling our box; it trails along the ground, sending up branches and
shoots; the leaves turn of a deep copper red, yet, in spite of this
contradiction, it is an evergreen. I also noticed some beautiful
lichens, with coral caps surmounting the grey hollow foot-stalks, which
grow in irregular tufts among the dry mosses; or more frequently I found
them covering the roots of the trees or half-decayed timbers. Among a
variety of fungi, I gathered a hollow cup, of the most splendid scarlet
within, and a pale fawn colour without; another very beautiful fungi
consisted of small branches, like clusters of white coral, but of so
delicate a texture, that the slightest touch caused them to break.
The ground in many places was covered with a thick carpet of
strawberries, of many varieties, which afford a constant dessert during
the season to those who choose to pick them,—a privilege of which I am
sure I should gladly avail myself were I near them in the summer.
Besides the plants I have myself observed in blossom, I am told the
spring and summer produce many others; the orange lily; the phlox, or
purple _lichnidea_; the mocassin flower, or lady’s slipper; lilies of
the valley in abundance; and, towards the banks of the creek and the
Otanahee, the splendid cardinal flower (_lobelia cardinalis_) waves its
scarlet spikes of blossoms.
I am half inclined ta be angry, when I admire the beauty of the Canadian
flowers, to be constantly reminded that they are scentless, and
therefore scarcely worthy of attention; as if the eye could not be
charmed by beauty of form and harmony of colours, independent of the
sense of smelling being gratified.
To redeem this country from the censure cast on it by a very clever
gentleman I once met in London, who said, “the flowers were without
perfume, and the birds without song,” I have already discovered several
highly aromatic plants and flowers. The milkweed must not be omitted
among these—a beautiful shrubby plant, with purple flowers, which are
alike remarkable for beauty of colour and richness of scent.
I consider this country opens a wide and fruitful field to the inquiries
of the botanist. I now deeply regret I did not benefit by the frequent
offers —— made me of prosecuting a study which I once thought dry, but
now regard as highly interesting, and the fertile source of mental
enjoyment, especially to those who, living in the bush, must necessarily
be shut out from the pleasures of a large circle of friends, and the
varieties that a town or village offer.
On Sunday I went to church; the first opportunity I had had of attending
public worship since I was in the highlands of Scotland; and surely I
had reason to bow my knees in thankfulness to that merciful God, who had
brought us through the perils of the great deep, and the horrors of the
pestilence.
Never did our beautiful Liturgy seem so touching and impressive as it
did that day,—offered up in our lowly log-built church in the
wilderness.
This simple edifice is situated at the foot of a gentle slope on the
plains, surrounded by groups of oaks and feathery pines, which, though
inferior in point of size to the huge pines and oaks of the forest, are
far more agreeable to our eye, branching out in a variety of fantastic
forms. The turf here is of an emerald greenness; in short, it is a sweet
spot, retired from the noise and bustle of the town, a fitting place in
which to worship God in spirit and in truth.
There are many beautiful walks towards the Smith-town hills, and along
the bank that overlooks the river. The summit of this ridge is sterile,
and is thickly set with loose blocks of red and grey granite,
interspersed with large masses of limestone scattered in every
direction; they are mostly smooth and rounded, as if by the action of
water. As they are detached, and merely occupy the surface of the
ground, it seems strange to me how they came at that elevation. A
geologist would doubtless be able to solve the mystery in a few minutes.
The oaks that grow on this high bank are rather larger and more
flourishing than those in the valleys and more fertile portions of the
soil.
Behind the town, in the direction of the Cavan and Emily roads, is a
wide space, which I call the “squatters’ ground,” it being entirely
covered with shanties, in which the poor emigrants, commuted pensioners,
and the like, have located themselves and families. Some remain here
under the ostensible reason of providing a shelter for their wives and
children, till they have prepared a home for their reception on their
respective grants; but not unfrequently it happens that they are too
indolent, or really unable to work on their lots, often situated many
miles in the backwoods, and in distant and unsettled townships,
presenting great obstacles to the poor emigrant, which it requires more
energy and courage to encounter than is possessed by a vast number of
them. Others, of idle and profligate habits, spend the money they
received, and sell the land, for which they gave away their pensions,
after which they remain miserable squatters in the shanty ground.
The shanty is a sort of primitive hut in Canadian architecture, and is
nothing more than a shed built of logs, the chinks between the round
edges of the timbers being filled with mud, moss, and bits of wood; the
roof is frequently composed of logs split and hollowed with the axe, and
placed side by side, so that the edges rest on each other; the concave
and convex surfaces being alternately uppermost, every other log forms a
channel to carry off the rain and melting snow. The eaves of this
building resemble the scalloped edges of a clam shell; but, rude as this
covering is, it effectually answers the purpose of keeping the interior
dry, far more so than the roofs formed of bark or boards, through which
the rain will find entrance. Sometimes the shanty has a window,
sometimes only an open doorway, which admits the light and lets out the
smoke. A rude chimney, which is often nothing better than an opening cut
in one of the top logs above the hearth, and a few boards fastened in a
square form, serves as the vent for the smoke; the only precaution
against the fire catching the log-walls behind the hearth being a few
large stones, placed in a half circular form, or more commonly a bank of
dry earth raised against the wall.
Nothing can be more comfortless than some of these rude shanties,
reeking with smoke and dirt, the common receptacle for children, pigs,
and fowls. But I have given you the dark side of the picture; I am happy
to say all the shanties on the squatters’ ground were not like these. On
the contrary, by far the larger proportion were inhabited by tidy folks,
and had one or even two small windows, and a clay chimney, regularly
built up through the roof; some were even roughly floored, and possessed
similar comforts with the small log-houses.
You will, perhaps, think it strange when I assure you that many
respectable settlers, with their wives and families, persons delicately
nurtured, and accustomed to every comfort before they came hither, have
been contented to inhabit a hut of this kind during the first or second
year of their settlement in the woods.
I have listened with feelings of great interest to the history of the
hardships endured by some of the first settlers in the neighbourhood,
when Peterborough contained but two dwelling-houses. Then there were
neither roads cut, nor boats built, for communicating with the distant
and settled parts of the district; consequently the difficulties of
procuring supplies of provisions was very great, beyond what any one who
has lately come hither can form any notion of.
When I heard of a whole family having had no better supply of flour than
what could be daily ground by a small hand-mill, and for weeks being
destitute of every necessary, not even excepting bread, I could not help
expressing some surprise, never having met with any account in the works
I had read concerning emigration that at all prepared one for such
evils.
“These particular trials,” observed my intelligent friend, “are confined
principally to the first breakers of the soil in the unsettled parts of
the country, as was our case. If you diligently question some of the
families of the lower class that are located far from the towns, and who
had little or no means to support them during the first twelve months,
till they could take a crop off the land, you will hear many sad tales
of distress.”
Writers on emigration do not take the trouble of searching out these
things, nor does it answer their purpose to state disagreeable facts.
Few have written exclusively on the “Bush.” Travellers generally make a
hasty journey through the long-settled and prosperous portions of the
country; they see a tract of fertile, well-cultivated land, the result
of many years of labour; they see comfortable dwellings, abounding with
all the substantial necessaries of life; the farmer’s wife makes her own
soap, candles, and sugar; the family are clothed in cloth of their own
spinning, and hose of their own knitting. The bread, the beer, butter,
cheese, meat, poultry, &c., are all the produce of the farm. He
concludes, therefore, that Canada is a land of Canaan, and writes a book
setting forth these advantages, with the addition of obtaining land for
a mere song; and advises all persons who would be independent, and
secure from want, to emigrate.
He forgets that these advantages are the result of long years of
unremitting and patient labour; that these things are the _crown_, not
the _first-fruits_ of the settler’s toil; and that, during the interval,
many and great privations must be submitted to by almost every class of
emigrants.