at once into the rude shanty that I described to you as the only
habitation on our land. This test of our fortitude was kindly spared us
by S——, who insisted on our remaining beneath his hospitable roof till
such time as we should have put up a house on our own lot. Here, then,
we are for the present _fixed_, as the Canadians say; and if I miss many
of the little comforts and luxuries of life, I enjoy excellent health
and spirits, and am very happy in the society of those around me.
The children are already very fond of me. They have discovered my
passion for flowers, which they diligently search for among the stumps,
and along the lakeshore. I have begun collecting, and though the season
is far advanced, my _hortus_ _siccus_ boasts of several elegant
specimens of fern; the yellow Canadian violet, which blooms twice in the
year, in the spring and fall, as the autumnal season is expressively
termed; two sorts of Michaelmas daisies, as we call the shrubby asters,
of which the varieties here are truly elegant; and a wreath of the
festoon pine, a pretty evergreen, with creeping stalks, that run along
the ground three or four yards in length, sending up, at the distance of
five or six inches, erect, stiff, green stems, resembling some of our
heaths in the dark, shining, green, chaffy leaves. The Americans
ornament their chimney glasses with garlands of this plant, mixed with
the dried blossoms of the life-everlasting (the pretty white and yellow
flowers we call love-everlasting); this plant is also called festoon
pine. In my rambles in the wood near the house, I have discovered a
trailing plant, bearing a near resemblance to the cedar, which I
consider has, with equal propriety, a claim to the name of ground or
creeping cedar.
As much of the botany of these unsettled portions of the country is
unknown to the naturalist, and the plants are quite nameless, I take the
liberty of bestowing names upon them according to inclination or fancy.
But while I am writing about flowers, I am forgetting that you will be
more interested in hearing what steps we are taking on our land.
My husband has hired people to log up, (that is, to draw the chopped
timbers into heaps for burning,) and clear a space for building our
house upon. He has also entered into an agreement with a young settler
in our vicinity to complete it for a certain sum, within and without,
according to a given plan. We are, however, to call the “bee,” and
provide every thing necessary for the entertainment of our worthy
_hive_. Now, you know that a “bee,” in American language, or rather
phraseology, signifies those friendly meetings of neighbours who
assemble at your summons to raise the walls of your house, shanty, barn,
or any other building: this is termed a “raising bee.” Then there are
logging-bees, husking-bees, chopping-bees, and quilting-bees. The nature
of the work to be done gives the name to the bee. In the more populous
and long-settled districts this practice is much discontinued; but it is
highly useful, and almost indispensable to new settlers in the remote
townships, where the price of labour is proportionately high, and
workmen difficult to be procured.
Imagine the situation of an emigrant with a wife and young family, the
latter possibly too young to render him the least assistance in the
important business of chopping, logging, and building, on their first
coming out to take possession of a lot of wild land: how deplorable
would their situation be, unless they could receive quick and ready help
from those around them!
This laudable practice has grown out of necessity; and if it has its
disadvantages,—such, for instance, as being called upon at an
inconvenient season for a return of help by those who have formerly
assisted you,—yet it is so indispensable to you that the debt of
gratitude ought to be cheerfully repaid. It is, in fact, regarded in the
light of a debt of honour; you cannot be forced to attend a bee in
return, but no one that can does refuse, unless from urgent reasons; and
if you do not find it possible to attend in person, you may send a
substitute in a servant, or in cattle, if you have a yoke.
In no situation, and under no circumstance, does the equalizing system
of America appear to such advantage as in meetings of this sort. All
distinctions of rank, education, and wealth are for the time voluntarily
laid aside. You will see the son of the educated gentleman and that of
the poor artisan, the officer and the private soldier, the independent
settler and the labourer who works out for hire, cheerfully uniting in
one common cause. Each individual is actuated by the benevolent desire
of affording help to the helpless, and exerting himself to raise a home
for the homeless. * * * * * * *
Our log-house is not yet finished, though it is in a state of
forwardness. We are still indebted to the hospitable kindness of S——
and his wife for a home. This being their first settlement on their
land, they have as yet many difficulties, in common with all residents
in the backwoods, to put up with this year. They have a fine block of
land, well situated; and S—— laughs at the present privations, to
which he opposes a spirit of cheerfulness and energy that is admirably
calculated to effect their conquest. They are now about to remove to a
larger and more commodious house that has been put up this fall, leaving
us the use of the old one till our own is ready.
We begin to get reconciled to our Robinson Crusoe sort of life; and the
consideration that the present evils are but temporary, goes a great way
towards reconciling us to them.
One of our greatest inconveniences arises from the badness of our roads,
and the distance at which we are placed from any village or town where
provisions are to be procured.
Till we raise our own grain, and fatten our own hogs, sheep, and
poultry, we must be dependent upon the stores for food of every kind.
These supplies have to be brought us, at considerable expense and loss
of time, through our beautiful bush roads; which, to use the words of a
poor Irishwoman, “can’t be no worser.” “Och, darlint,” she said, “but
they are just bad enough, and can’t be no worser. Och, but they arn’t
like to our iligant roads in Ireland.”
You may send down a list of groceries to be forwarded when a team comes
up, and when we examine our stores, behold rice, sugar, currants,
pepper, and mustard all jumbled into one mess! What think you of a rice
pudding seasoned plentifully with pepper, mustard, and, may be, a little
rappee or prince’s mixture added by way of sauce? I think the recipe
would cut quite a figure in the “Cook’s Oracle,” or Mrs. Dalgairn’s
“Practice of Cookery,” under the original title of a “Bush pudding.”
And then, woe and destruction to the brittle ware that may chance to
travel through our roads! Lucky, indeed, are we, if, through the
superior carefulness of the person who packs them, more than one-half
happens to arrive in safety. For such mishaps we have no redress. The
storekeeper lays the accident upon the teamster, and the teamster upon
the bad roads, wondering that he himself escapes with whole bones after
a journey through the bush.
This is now the worst season of the year,—this and just after the
breaking up of the snow. Nothing hardly but an ox-cart can travel along
the roads, and even that with difficulty, occupying two days to perform
the journey; and the worst of the matter is, that there are times when
the most necessary articles of provisions are not to be procured at any
price. You see, then, that a settler in the bush requires to hold
himself pretty independent, not only of the luxuries and delicacies of
the table, but not unfrequently even of the very necessaries.
One time no pork is to be procured; another time there is a scarcity of
flour, owing to some accident that has happened to the mill, or for the
want of proper supplies of wheat for grinding; or perhaps the weather
and the bad roads at the same time prevent a team coming up, or people
from going down. Then you must have recourse to a neighbour, if you have
the good fortune to be near one, or fare the best you can on potatoes.
The potatoe is, indeed, a great blessing here; new settlers would often
be otherwise greatly distressed; and the poor man and his family, who
are without resources, without the potatoe must starve.
Once our stock of tea was exhausted, and we were unable to procure more.
In this dilemma milk would have been an excellent substitute, or coffee,
if we had possessed it; but we had neither one nor the other, so we
agreed to try the Yankee tea—hemlock sprigs boiled. This proved to my
taste a vile decoction; though I recognised some herb in the tea that
was sold in London at five shillings a pound, which I am certain was
nothing better than dried hemlock leaves reduced to a coarse powder.
S—— laughed at our wry faces, declaring the potation was excellent;
and he set us an example by drinking six cups of this truly sylvan
beverage. His eloquence failed in gaining a single convert; we could not
believe it was only second to young hyson. To his assurance that to its
other good qualities it united medicinal virtues, we replied that, like
all other physic, it was very unpalatable.
“After all,” said S——, with a thoughtful air, “the blessings and the
evils of this life owe their chief effect to the force of contrast, and
are to be estimated by that principally. We should not appreciate the
comforts we enjoy half so much if we did not occasionally feel the want
of them. How we shall value the conveniences of a cleared farm after a
few years, when we can realise all the necessaries and many of the
luxuries of life!”
“And how we shall enjoy green tea after this odious decoction of
hemlock!” said I.
“Very true; and a comfortable frame-house, and nice garden, and pleasant
pastures, after these dark forests, log-houses, and no garden at all!”
“And the absence of horrid black stumps!” rejoined I. “Yes; and the
absence of horrid stumps! Depend upon it, my dear, your Canadian farm
will seem to you a perfect paradise by the time it is all under
cultivation; and you will look upon it with the more pleasure and pride
from the consciousness that it was once a forest wild, which, by the
effects of industry and well-applied means, has changed to fruitful
fields. Every fresh comfort you realise around you will add to your
happiness; every improvement within doors or without will raise a
sensation of gratitude and delight in your mind, to which those that
revel in the habitual enjoyment of luxury, and even of the commonest
advantages of civilization, must in a great degree be strangers. My
pass-words are—‘Hope, resolution, and perseverance!’” “This,” said my
husband, “is true philosophy; and the more forcible, because you not
only recommend the maxim, but practise it also.”
I had reckoned much on the Indian summer, of which I had read such
delightful descriptions; but I must say it has fallen far below my
expectations. Just at the commencement of this month (November) we
experienced three or four warm hazy days, that proved rather close and
oppressive. The sun looked red through the misty atmosphere, tinging the
fantastic clouds that hung in smoky volumes with saffron and pale
crimson light, much as I have seen the clouds above London look on a
warm sultry spring morning.
Not a breeze ruffled the waters, not a leaf (for the leaves had not
entirely fallen) moved. This perfect stagnation of the air was suddenly
changed by a hurricane of wind and snow that came on without any
previous warning. I was standing near a group of tall pines, that had
been left in the middle of a clearing, collecting some beautiful crimson
lichens, S—— not being many paces distant, with his oxen drawing
firewood: suddenly we heard a distant hollow rushing sound, that
momentarily increased, the air around us being yet perfectly calm; I
looked up, and beheld the clouds, hitherto so motionless, moving with
amazing rapidity in several different directions. A dense gloom
overspread the heavens. S——, who had been busily engaged with the
cattle, had not noticed my being so near, and now called to me to use
all the speed I could to gain the house, or an open part of the
clearing, distant from the pine-trees. Instinctively I turned towards
the house, while the thundering shock of trees falling in all directions
at the edge of the forest, the rending of the branches from the pines I
had just quitted, and the rush of the whirlwind sweeping down the lake,
made me sensible of the danger with which I had been threatened.
The scattered boughs of the pines darkened the air as they whirled above
me; then came the blinding snow storm; but I could behold the progress
of the tempest in safety, having gained the threshold of our house. The
driver of the oxen had thrown himself on the ground, while the poor
beasts held down their meek heads, patiently abiding “the pelting of the
pitiless storm.” S——, my husband, and the rest of the household,
collected in a group, watched with anxiety the wild havoc of the warring
elements. Not a leaf remained on the trees when the hurricane was over;
they were bare and desolate. Thus ended the short reign of the Indian
summer.
I think the notion entertained by some travellers, that the Indian
summer is caused by the annual conflagration of forests by those Indians
inhabiting the unexplored regions beyond the larger lakes, is absurd.
Imagine for an instant what immense tracts of woods must be yearly
consumed to affect nearly the whole of the continent of North America;
besides, it takes place at that season of the year when the fire is
least likely to run freely, owing to the humidity of the ground from the
autumnal rains. I should rather attribute the peculiar warmth, and hazy
appearance of the air that marks this season, to the fermentation going
on of so great a mass of vegetable matter that is undergoing a state of
decomposition during the latter part of October and the beginning of
November. It has been supposed by some persons that a great alteration
will be effected in this season, as the process of clearing the land
continues to decrease the quantity of decaying vegetation. Nay, I have
heard the difference is already observable to those long acquainted with
the American continent.
Hitherto my experience of the climate is favourable. The autumn has been
very fine, though the frosts are felt early in the month of September;
at first slightly, of a morning, but towards October more severely.
Still, though the first part of the day is cold, the middle of it is
warm and cheerful.
We see already the stern advances of winter. It commenced very decidedly
from the breaking up of the Indian summer. November is not at all like
the same month at home. The early part was soft and warm, the latter
cold, with keen frosts, and occasional falls of snow; but it does not
seem to possess the dark, gloomy, damp character of our British
Novembers. However, it is not one season’s acquaintance with the climate
that enables a person to form any correct judgment of its general
character, but a close observance of its peculiarities and vicissitudes
during many years’ residence in the country.
I must now tell you what my husband is doing on our land. He has let out
ten acres to some Irish choppers, who have established themselves in the
shanty for the winter. They are to receive fourteen dollars per acre for
chopping, burning, and fencing-in that quantity. The ground is to be
perfectly cleared of every thing but the stumps; these will take from
seven to nine or ten years to decay; the pine, hemlock, and fir remain
much longer. The process of clearing away the stumps is too expensive
for new beginners to venture upon, labour being so high that it cannot
be appropriated to any but indispensable work. The working season is
very short, on account of the length of time the frost remains on the
ground. With the exception of chopping trees, very little can be done.
Those that understand the proper management of uncleared land, usually
underbrush, (that is, cut down all the small timbers and brushwood,)
while the leaf is yet on them; this is piled in heaps, and the
wind-fallen trees are chopped through in lengths, to be logged up in the
spring with the winter’s chopping. The latter end of the summer and the
autumn are the best seasons for this work. The leaves then become quite
dry and sear, and greatly assist in the important business of burning
off the heavy timbers. Another reason is, that when the snow has fallen
to some depth, the light timbers cannot be cut close to the ground, or
the dead branches and other encumbrances collected and thrown into
heaps.
We shall have about three acres ready for spring crops, provided we get
a good burning of that which is already chopped near the site of the
house; this will be sown with oats, pumpkins, Indian corn, and potatoes:
the other ten acres will be ready for putting in a crop of wheat. So you
see it will be a long time before we reap a harvest. We could not even
get in spring-wheat early enough to come to perfection this year.
We shall try to get two cows in the spring, as they are little expense
during the spring, summer, and autumn; and by the winter we shall have
pumpkins and oat-straw for them. * * * * * *
But it is time that I should give you some account of our log-house,
into which we moved a few days before Christmas. Many unlooked-for
delays having hindered its completion before that time, I began to think
it would never be habitable.
The first misfortune that happened was the loss of a fine yoke of oxen,
that were purchased to draw in the house-logs; that is, the logs for
raising the walls of the house. Not regarding the bush as pleasant as
their former master’s cleared pastures, or, perhaps, foreseeing some
hard work to come, early one morning they took it into their heads to
ford the lake at the head of the rapids and march off, leaving no trace
of their route excepting their footing at the water’s edge. After many
days spent in vain search for them, the work was at a stand, and for one
month they were gone, and we began to give up all expectation of hearing
any news of them. At last we learned they were some twenty miles off, in
a distant township, having made their way through bush and swamp, creek
and lake, back to their former owner, with an instinct that supplied to
them the want of roads and compass.
Oxen have been known to traverse a tract of wild country to a distance
of thirty or forty miles, going in a direct line for their former haunts
by unknown paths, where memory could not avail them. In the dog we
consider it is scent, as well as memory, that guides him to his far-off
home; but how is this conduct of the oxen to be accounted for? They
returned home through the mazes of interminable forests, where man, with
all his reason and knowledge, would have been bewildered and lost.
It was the latter end of October before even the walls of our house were
up. To effect this we called “a bee.” Sixteen of our neighbours
cheerfully obeyed our summons; and, though the day was far from
favourable, so faithfully did our hive perform their tasks, that by
night the outer walls were raised.
The work went merrily on with the help of plenty of Canadian nectar
(whisky), the honey that our _bees_ are solaced with. Some huge joints
of salt pork, a peck of potatoes, with a rice-pudding, and a loaf as big
as an enormous Cheshire cheese, formed the feast that was to regale them
during the raising. This was spread out in the shanty, in a _very rural
style_. In short, we laughed, and called it a _pic-nic in the_
_backwoods_; and rude as was the fare, I can assure you great was the
satisfaction expressed by all the guests of every degree, our “bee”
being considered as very well conducted. In spite of the difference of
rank among those that assisted at the bee, the greatest possible harmony
prevailed, and the party separated well pleased with the day’s work and
entertainment.
The following day I went to survey the newly-raised edifice, hut was
sorely puzzled, as it presented very little appearance of a house. It
was merely an oblong square of logs, raised one above the other, with
open spaces; for the doors and windows were not then chopped out, and
the rafters were not up. In short, it looked a very queer sort of a
place; and I returned home a little disappointed, and wondering that my
husband should be so well pleased with the progress that had been made.
A day or two after this I again visited it. The _sleepers_ were laid to
support the floors, and the places for the doors and windows cut out of
the solid timbers, so that it had not quite so much the look of a
bird-cage as before.
After the roof was shingled we were again at a stand, as no board could
be procured nearer than Peterborough, a long day’s journey through
horrible roads. At that time no saw-mill was in progress; now there is a
fine one building within a little distance of us. Our flooring-boards
were all to be sawn by hand, and it was some time before any one could
be found to perform this necessary work, and that at high
wages—six-and-sixpence per day. Well, the boards were at length down,
but of course of unseasoned timber; this was unavoidable; so as they
could not be planed, we were obliged to put up with their rough
unsightly appearance, for no better were to be had. I began to recall to
mind the observation of the old gentleman with whom we travelled from
Cobourg to Rice Lake. We console ourselves with the prospect that by
next summer the boards will all be seasoned, and then the house is to be
turned topsy-turvy, by having the floors all relaid, jointed, and
smoothed.
The next misfortune that happened, was, that the mixture of clay and
lime, that was to plaster the inside and outside of the house between
the chinks of the logs, was one night frozen to stone. Just as the work
was about half completed, the frost suddenly setting in, put a stop to
our proceeding for some time, as the frozen plaster yielded neither to
fire nor to hot water, the latter freezing before it had any effect on
the mass, and rather making bad worse. Then the workman that was hewing
the inside walls to make them smooth, wounded himself with the broad
axe, and was unable to resume his work for some time.
I state these things merely to show the difficulties that attend us in
the fulfilment of our plans; and this accounts, in a great measure, for
the humble dwellings that settlers of the most respectable description
are obliged to content themselves with at first coming to this
country,—not, you may be assured, from inclination, but necessity: I
could give you such narratives of this kind as would astonish you. After
all, it serves to make us more satisfied than we should be, on casting
our eyes around to see few better off than we are, and many not half so
comfortable, yet of equal, and, in some instances, superior pretensions
as to station and fortune.
Every man in this country is his own glazier; this you will laugh at;
but if he does not wish to see and feel the discomfort of broken panes,
he must learn to put them in his windows with his own hands. Workmen are
not easily to be had in the backwoods when you want them; and it would
be preposterous to hire a man at high wages, to make two days’ journey
to and from the nearest town to mend your windows. Boxes of glass of
several different sizes are to be bought at a very cheap rate in the
stores. My husband amused himself by glazing the windows of the house
preparatory to their being fixed in.
To understand the use of carpenter’s tools, I assure you, is no
despicable or useless kind of knowledge here. I would strongly advise
all young men coming to Canada to acquire a little acquaintance with
this valuable art, as they will often be put to great inconvenience for
the want of it.
I was once much amused with hearing the remarks made by a very fine
lady, the reluctant sharer of her husband’s emigration, on seeing the
son of a naval officer of some rank in the service busily employed in
making an axe-handle out of a piece of rock-elm.
“I wonder you allow George to degrade himself so,” she said, addressing
his father.