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[Illustration:
ANDY HELPS THE INDIAN SQUAW TO CONSTRUCT THE WIGWAM.--_Page_ 225.]
CEDAR CREEK
_FROM THE SHANTY TO THE SETTLEMENT_
A Tale of Canadian Life
BY THE AUTHOR OF
'GOLDEN HILLS, A TALE OF THE IRISH FAMINE'
'THE FOSTER-BROTHERS OF DOON,' ETC.
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56 PATERNOSTER ROW, 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
AND 164 PICCADILLY
MORRISON AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. WHY ROBERT WYNN EMIGRATED, 7
II. CROSSING THE 'FERRY,' 22
III. UP THE ST. LAWRENCE, 35
IV. WOODEN-NESS, 44
V. DEBARKATION, 52
VI. CONCERNING AN INCUBUS, 63
VII. THE RIVER HIGHWAY, 70
VIII. 'JEAN BAPTISTE' AT HOME, 78
IX. 'FROM MUD TO MARBLE,' 86
X. CORDUROY, 96
XI. THE BATTLE WITH THE WILDERNESS BEGINS, 105
XII. CAMPING IN THE BUSH, 115
XIII. THE YANKEE STOREKEEPER, 123
XIV. THE 'CORNER,' 133
XV. ANDY TREES A 'BASTE,' 138
XVI. LOST IN THE WOODS, 145
XVII. BACK TO CEDAR CREEK, 154
XVIII. GIANT TWO-SHOES, 166
XIX. A MEDLEY, 171
XX. THE ICE-SLEDGE, 180
XXI. THE FOREST-MAN, 186
XXII. SILVER SLEIGH-BELLS, 196
XXIII. STILL-HUNTING, 202
XXIV. LUMBERERS, 214
XXV. CHILDREN OF THE FOREST, 220
XXVI. ON A SWEET SUBJECT, 229
XXVII. A BUSY BEE, 235
XXVIII. OLD FACES UPON NEW NEIGHBOURS, 244
XXIX. ONE DAY IN JULY, 250
XXX. VISITORS AND VISITED, 259
XXXI. SUNDAY IN THE FOREST, 260
XXXII. HOW THE CAPTAIN CLEARED HIS BUSH, 274
XXXIII. THE FOREST ON FIRE, 280
XXXIV. TRITON AMONG MINNOWS, 291
XXXV. THE PINK MIST, 298
XXXVI. BELOW ZERO, 309
XXXVII. A CUT, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES, 315
XXXVIII. JACK-OF-ALL-TRADES, 324
XXXIX. SETTLER THE SECOND, 329
XL. AN UNWELCOME SUITOR, 338
XLI. THE MILL-PRIVILEGE, 343
XLII. UNDER THE NORTHERN LIGHTS, 351
XLIII. A BUSH-FLITTING, 359
XLIV. SHOVING OF THE ICE, 370
XLV. EXEUNT OMNES, 378
CEDAR CREEK.
CHAPTER I.
WHY ROBERT WYNN EMIGRATED.
A night train drew up slowly alongside the platform at the Euston Square
terminus. Immediately the long inanimate line of rail-carriages burst
into busy life: a few minutes of apparently frantic confusion, and the
individual items of the human freight were speeding towards all parts of
the compass, to be absorbed in the leviathan metropolis, as drops of a
shower in a boundless sea.
One of the cabs pursuing each other along the lamplit streets, and
finally diverging among the almost infinite ramifications of London
thoroughfares, contains a young man, who sits gazing through the window
at the rapidly passing range of houses and shops with curiously fixed
vision. The face, as momentarily revealed by the beaming of a brilliant
gaslight, is chiefly remarkable for clear dark eyes rather deeply set,
and a firm closure of the lips. He scarcely alters his posture during
the miles of driving through wildernesses of brick and stone: some
thoughts are at work beneath that broad short brow, which keep him thus
still. He has never been in London before. He has come now on an errand
of hope and endeavour, for he wants to push himself into the army of the
world's workers, somewhere. Prosaically, he wants to earn his bread,
and, if possible, butter wherewith to flavour it. Like Britons in
general, from Dick Whittington downwards, he thinks that the capital is
the place in which to seek one's fortune, and to find it. He had not
expected streets paved with gold, nor yet with the metaphorical plenty
of penny loaves; but an indefinite disappointment weighs upon him as he
passes through quarters fully as dingy and poverty-stricken as those in
his own provincial town.
Still on--on--across 'the province covered with houses;' sometimes in a
great thoroughfare, where midnight is as noisy as noon-day, and much
more glaring; sometimes through a region of silence and sleep, where
gentility keeps proper hours, going to bed betimes in its respectable
streets. Robert Wynn began to wonder when the journey would end; for,
much as he knew of London by hearsay and from books, it was widely
different thus personally to experience the metropolitan amplitude. A
slight dizziness of sight, from the perpetual sweeping past of lamps and
shadowy buildings, caused him to close his eyes; and from speculations
on the possible future and the novel present, his thoughts went straight
home again.
Home to the Irish village where his ancestors had long been lords of the
soil; and the peasantry had deemed that the greatest power on earth,
under majesty itself, was his Honour Mr. Wynn of Dunore, where now,
fallen from greatness, the family was considerably larger than the
means. The heavily encumbered property had dropped away piece by piece,
and the scant residue clung to its owner like shackles. With difficulty
the narrow exchequer had raised cash enough to send Robert on this
expedition to London, from which much was hoped. The young man had
been tolerably well educated; he possessed a certain amount and
quality of talent, extolled by partial friends as far above the
average; but the mainstay of his anticipations was a promise of a
Civil Service appointment, obtained from an influential quarter; and
his unsophisticated country relatives believed he had only to present
himself in order to realize it at once.
He was recalled to London by the sudden stoppage of the cab. On the dim
lamp over a doorway was stained the name of the obscure hotel to which
he had been recommended as central in situation, while cheap in charges.
Cabby's fare was exorbitant, the passenger thought; but, after a faint
resistance, Mr. Wynn was glad to escape from the storm of h-less
remonstrances by payment of the full demand, and so entered the
coffee-room.
It was dingy and shabby-genteel, like the exterior; a quarter of a
century might have elapsed since the faded paper had been put up, or a
stroke of painting executed, in that dispiriting apartment. Meanwhile,
all the agencies of travel-stain had been defacing both. An odour of
continual meal-times hung about it; likewise of smoke of every grade,
from the perfumed havanna to the plebeian pigtail. The little tables
were dark with hard work and antiquity; the chair seats polished with
innumerable frictions. A creeping old waiter, who seemed to have known
better days in a higher-class establishment, came to receive the
new-comer's orders; and Robert sat down to wait for his modest chop and
glass of ale.
That morning's _Times_ lay on his table: he glanced over the broad sheet
of advertisements--that wondrous daily record of need and of endeavour
among the toiling millions of London. The inexplicable solitude in a
crowd came about the reader's heart: what a poor chance had a provincial
stranger amid the jostling multitude all eager for the prizes of comfort
and competence! Robert went back for anchor to one strong fact. The
Honourable Mr. Currie Faver, Secretary to the Board of Patronage, had
declared to the member for the Irish county of C----, on the eve of an
important division, that his young friend should have the earliest
appointment at his disposal in a certain department. Robert Wynn felt an
inward gratulation on the superiority of his auspices. True, the promise
made in January yet remained due in July; but there were numberless
excellent good reasons why Mr. Currie Faver had been as yet unable to
redeem his pledge.
Robert turned his paper to look for the news: a paragraph in the corner
arrested his attention.
'We learn from the best authority that, owing to the diminution of
business consequent upon recent Acts of the Legislature, it is the
intention of Her Majesty's Commissioners of Public Locomotion to reduce
their staffs of officials, so that no fresh appointments can be made for
some months.'
He gazed at this piece of intelligence much longer than was necessary
for the mere reading of it. The Board of Public Locomotion was the very
department in which he had been promised a clerkship. Robert made up his
mind that it could not be true; it was a mere newspaper report: at
all events, Mr. Currie Faver was bound by a previous pledge; whoever
remained unappointed, it could not be a friend of the hon. member for
C----.
There were voices in the next compartment, and presently their
conversation was forced on Mr. Wynn's attention by the strongly stated
sentiment, 'The finest country in the world--whips all creation, it
does.'
Some rejoinder ensued in a low tone.
'Cold!' with a rather scornful accent, 'I should think so. Gloriously
cold! None of your wet sloppy winters and foggy skies, but ice a yard
and a half thick for months. What do you think of forty degrees below
zero, stranger?'
Robert could fancy the other invisible person shrugging his shoulders.
'Don't like it, eh? That's just a prejudice here in the old country;
natural enough to them that don't know the difference. When a man hears
of seventy degrees below the freezing-point, he's apt to get a shiver.
But there, we don't mind it; the colder the merrier: winter's our time
of fun: sleighing and skating parties, logging and quilting bees, and
other sociabilities unknown to you in England. Ay, we're the finest
people and the finest country on earth; and since I've been to see
yours, I'm the steadier in that opinion.'
'But emigrants in the backwoods have so few of the comforts of
civilisation,' began the other person, with a weak, irresolute voice.
'Among which is foremost the tax-gatherer, I suppose?' was the
triumphant rejoinder. 'Well, stranger, that's an animal I never saw in
full blow till I've been to the old country. I was obliged to clear out
of our lodgings yesterday because they came down on the furniture for
poor-rate. Says I to the landlady, who was crying and wringing her
hands, "Why not come to the country where there's no taxes at all,
nor rent either, if you choose?" Then it would frighten one, all
she counted up on her fingers--poor-rate, paving-rate, water-rate,
lighting, income-tax, and no end of others. I reckon that's what you
pay for your high civilisation. Now, with us, there's a water privilege
on a'most every farm, and a pile of maple-logs has fire and gaslight in
it for the whole winter; and there's next to no poor, for every man
and woman that's got hands and health can make a living. Why, your
civilisation is your misfortune in the old country; you've got to
support a lot of things and people besides yourself and your family.'
'Surely you are not quite without taxes,' said the other.
'Oh, we lay a trifle on ourselves for roads and bridges and schools, and
such things. There's custom-houses at the ports; but if a man chooses to
live without tea or foreign produce, he won't be touched by the indirect
taxes either. I guess we've the advantage of you there. You can't hardly
eat or drink, or walk or ride, or do anything else, without a tax
somewhere in the background slily sucking your pocket.'
'A United States citizen,' thought Robert Wynn. 'What a peculiar accent
he has! and the national swagger too.' And Mr. Wynn, feeling intensely
British, left his box, and walked into the midst of the room with his
newspaper, wishing to suggest the presence of a third person. He glanced
at the American, a middle-aged, stout-built man, with an intelligent
and energetic countenance, who returned the glance keenly. There was
something indescribably foreign about his dress, though in detail it was
as usual; and his manner and air were those of one not accustomed to the
conventional life of cities. His companion was a tall, pale, elderly
person, who bore his piping voice in his appearance, and seemed an eager
listener.
'And you say that I would make an independence if I emigrated?' asked
the latter, fidgeting nervously with a piece of paper.
'Any man would who has pluck and perseverance. You would have to work
hard, though;' and his eyes fell on the white irresolute hands, dubious
as to the requisite qualities being there indicated. 'You'd want a
strong constitution if you're for the backwoods.'
'The freedom of a settler's life, surrounded by all the beauties of
nature, would have great charms for me,' observed the other.
'Yes,' replied the American, rather drily; 'but I reckon you wouldn't
see many beauties till you had a log shanty up, at all events. Now that
young man'--he had caught Robert Wynn's eye on him again--'is the very
build for emigration. Strong, active, healthy, wide awake: no offence,
young gentleman, but such as you are badly wanted in Canada West.'
From this began a conversation which need not be minutely detailed. It
was curious to see what a change was produced in Robert's sentiments
towards the settler, by learning that he was a Canadian, and not a
United States man: 'the national swagger' became little more than a
dignified assertion of independence, quite suitable to a British
subject; the accent he had disliked became an interesting local
characteristic. Mr. Hiram Holt was the son of an English settler, who
had fixed himself on the left bank of the Ottawa, amid what was then
primeval forest, and was now a flourishing township, covered with
prosperous farms and villages. Here had the sturdy Saxon struggled with,
and finally conquered, adverse circumstances, leaving his eldest son
possessed of a small freehold estate, and his other children portioned
comfortably, so that much of the neighbourhood was peopled by his
descendants. And this, Hiram's first visit to the mother country--for
he was Canadian born--was on colonial business, being deputed from his
section of the province, along with others, to give evidence, as a
landed proprietor, before the Secretary of State, whose gate-lodge
his father would have been proud to keep when he was a poor Suffolk
labourer.
'Now there's an injustice,' quoth Mr. Holt, diverging into politics.
'England has forty-three colonies, and but one man to oversee them
all--a man that's jerked in and out of office with every successive
Ministry, and is almost necessarily more intent on party manoeuvres
than on the welfare of the young nations he rules. Our colony alone--the
two Canadas--is bigger than Great Britain and Ireland three times over.
Take in all along Vancouver's Island, and it's as big as Europe.
_There's_ a pretty considerable slice of the globe for one man to
manage! But forty-two other colonies have to be managed as well;
and I guess a nursery of forty-three children of all ages left to
one care-taker would run pretty wild, I do.'
'Yet we never hear of mismanagement,' observed Robert, in an unlucky
moment; for Mr. Hiram Holt retained all the Briton's prerogative of
grumbling, and in five minutes had rehearsed a whole catalogue of
colonial grievances very energetically.
'Then I suppose you'll be for joining the stars and stripes?' said the
young man.
'Never!' exclaimed the settler. 'Never, while there's a rag of the union
jack to run up. But it's getting late;' and as he rose to his feet with
a tremendous yawn, Robert perceived his great length, hitherto concealed
by the table on which he leaned. 'This life would kill me in six months.
In my own place I'm about the farm at sunrise in summer. Never knew
what it was to be sick, young man.' And so the party separated; Robert
admiring the stalwart muscular frame of the Canadian as he strode before
him up the stairs towards their sleeping-rooms. As he passed Mr. Holt's
door, he caught a glimpse of bare floor, whence all the carpets had been
rolled off into a corner, every vestige of curtain tucked away, and the
window sashes open to their widest. Subsequently he learned that to
such domestic softnesses as carpets and curtains the sturdy settler had
invincible objections, regarding them as symptoms of effeminacy not
suitable to his character, though admitting that for women they were
well enough.
Robert was all night felling pines, building log-huts, and wandering
amid interminable forests; and when his shaving water and boots awoke
him at eight, he was a little surprised to find himself a denizen
of a London hotel. Mr. Holt had gone out hours before. After a hasty
breakfast Mr. Wynn ordered a cab, and proceeded to the residence of the
hon. member for C---- county.
It was a mansion hired for the season in one of the fashionable squares;
for so had the hon. member's domestic board of control, his lady-wife
and daughters, willed. Of course, Robert was immensely too early; he
dismissed the cab, and wandered about the neighbourhood, followed by
suspicious glances from one or two policemen, until, after calling at
the house twice, he was admitted into a library beset with tall dark
bookcases. Here sat the M.P. enjoying the _otium cum dignitate_, in a
handsome morning gown, with bundles of parliamentary papers and a little
stack of letters on the table. But none of the legislative literature
engrossed his attention just then: the _Morning Post_ dropped from his
fingers as he arose and shook hands with the son of his constituent.
'Ah, my dear Wynn--how happy--delighted indeed, I assure you. Have you
breakfasted? all well at home? your highly honoured father? late sitting
at the House last night--close of the session most exhausting even to
seasoned members, as the Chancellor of the Exchequer said to me last
evening in the lobby;' and here followed an anecdote. But while he thus
ran on most affably, the under-current of idea in his mind was somewhat
as follows: 'What on earth does this young fellow want of me? His
family interest in the county almost gone--not worth taking pains to
please any longer--a great bore--yet I must be civil;--oh, I recollect
Currie Paver's promise--thinks he has given me enough this session'--
Meanwhile, Robert was quite interested by his agreeable small talk.
It is so charming to hear great names mentioned familiarly by one
personally acquainted with them; to learn that Palmerston and Lord John
can breakfast like ordinary mortals. By and by, with a blush and a
falter (for the mere matter of his personal provision for life seemed so
paltry among these world-famed characters and their great deeds, that he
was almost ashamed to allude to it), Robert Wynn ventured to make his
request, that the hon. member for C---- would go to the hon. Secretary
of the Board of Patronage, and claim the fulfilment of his promise.
Suddenly the M.P. became grave and altogether the senator, with his
finger thoughtfully upon his brow--the identical attitude which Grant
had commemorated on canvas, beaming from the opposite wall.
'An unfortunate juncture; close of the session, when everybody wants to
be off, and Ministers don't need to swell their majorities any longer.
I recollect perfectly to what you allude; but, my dear young friend,
all these ministerial promises, as you term them, are more or less
conditional, and it may be quite out of Mr. Currie Paver's power to
fulfil this.'
'Then he should not have made it, sir,' said Robert hotly.
'For instance,' proceeded the hon. gentleman, not noticing the
interruption, 'the new arrangements of the Commissioners renders it
almost impossible that they should appoint to a clerkship, either
supernumerary or otherwise, while they are reducing the ordinary staff.
But I'll certainly go to Mr. Faver, and remind him of the circumstance:
we can only be refused at worst. You may be assured of my warmest
exertions in your behalf: any request from a member of your family
ought to be a command with me, Mr. Wynn.'
Robert's feelings of annoyance gave way to gratification at Mr. A----'s
blandness, which, however, had a slight acid behind.
'And though times are greatly altered, I don't forget our old
electioneering, when your father proposed me on my first hustings.
Greatly altered, Mr. Wynn; greatly altered. I must go to the morning
sitting now, but I'll send you a note as to the result of my interview.
You must have much to see about London. I quite envy you your first
visit to such a world of wonders; I am sure you will greatly enjoy it.
Good morning, Mr. Wynn. I hope I shall have good news for you.'
And so Robert was bowed out, to perambulate the streets in rather
bitter humour. Was he to return to the poor, scantily supplied home,
and continue a drag on its resources, lingering out his days in
illusive hopes? Oh that his strong hands and strong heart had some
scope for their energies! He paused in one mighty torrent of busy faces
and eager footsteps, and despised himself for his inaction. All these
had business of one kind or other; all were earnestly intent upon their
calling; but he was a waif and a straw on the top of the tide, with
every muscle stoutly strung, and every faculty of his brain clear and
sound. Would he let the golden years of his youth slip by, without
laying any foundation for independence? Was this Civil Service
appointment worth the weary waiting? Emigration had often before
presented itself as a course offering certain advantages. Mr. Holt's
conversation had brightened the idea. For his family, as well as
for himself, it would be beneficial. The poor proud father, who had
frequently been unable to leave his house for weeks together, through
fear of arrest for debt, would be happier with an ocean between him and
the ancestral estates, thronged with memories of fallen affluence: the
young brothers, Arthur and George, who were nearing man's years without
ostensible object or employment, would find both abundantly in the
labour of a new country and a settler's life. Robert had a whole
picture sketched and filled in during half an hour's sit in the dingy
coffee-room; from the shanty to the settlement was portrayed by his
fertile fancy, till he was awakened from his reverie by the hearty
voice of Hiram Holt.
'I thought for a minute you were asleep, with your hat over your eyes. I
hope you're thinking of Canada, young man?'
Robert could not forbear smiling.
'Now,' said Mr. Holt, apparently speaking aloud a previous train of
thought, 'of all things in this magnificent city of yours, which I'm
free to confess beats Quebec and Montreal by a long chalk, nothing seems
queerer to me than the thousands of young men in your big shops, who are
satisfied to struggle all their lives in a poor unmanly way, while our
millions of acres are calling out for hands to fell the forests and own
the estates, and create happy homes along our unrivalled rivers and
lakes. The young fellow that sold me these gloves'--showing a new pair
on his hands--'would make as fine a backwoodsman as I ever saw--six feet
high, and strong in proportion. It's the sheerest waste of material to
have that fellow selling stockings.'
But Mr. Holt found Robert Wynn rather taciturn; whereupon he observed:
'I'm long enough in the world young man, to see that to-day's experience,
whatever it has been, has bated your hopes a bit; the crest ain't so
plumy as last night. But I say you'll yet bless the disappointment,
whatever it is, that forces you over the water to our land of plenty.
Come out of this overcrowded nation, out where there's elbow-room and
free breathing. Tell you what, young man, the world doesn't want you in
densely packed England and Ireland, but you're wanted in Canada, every
thew and sinew that you have. The market for such as you is overstocked
here: out with us you'll be at a premium. Don't be offended if I've
spoke plain, for Hiram Holt is not one of them that can chop a pine
into matches: whatever I am thinking, out with the whole of it. But if
you ever want a friend on the Ottawa'--
Robert asserted that he had no immediate idea of emigration; his
prospects at home were not bad, etc. He could not let this rough
stranger see the full cause he had for depression.
'Not bad! but I tell you they're nothing compared to the prospects you
may carve out for yourself with that clever head and those able hands.'
Again Mr. Holt seized the opportunity of dilating on the perfections of
his beloved colony: had he been a paid agent, he could not have more
zealously endeavoured to enlist Robert as an emigrant. But it was all
a product of national enthusiasm, and of the pride which Canadians may
well feel concerning their magnificent country.
Next morning a few courteous lines from the hon. member for C---- county
informed Mr. Wynn, with much regret, that, as he had anticipated, Mr.
Currie Faver had for the present no nomination for the department
referred to, nor would have for at least twelve months to come.
'Before which time, I trust,' soliloquized Robert a little fiercely, 'I
shall be independent of all their favours.' And amidst some severe
reflections on the universal contempt accorded to the needy, and the
corrupted state of society in England, which estimates a man by the
length of his purse chiefly, Robert Wynn formed the resolution that he
would go to Canada.