LETTERS FROM MUSKOKA.
BY
AN EMIGRANT LADY.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1878.
[_All Rights Reserved._]
PREFACE TO THE “LETTERS OF AN EMIGRANT LADY.”
In laying before the public a sketch of our “Bush” experiences during
the first year after our arrival in Muskoka, Ontario, Canada, I desire
to state the reasons which prompted us to such an imprudent step as
emigration, without even the moderate capital necessary for any one who
would start with the slightest chance of success. The Franco-German War
in 1870 was the means of breaking up our happy home in France, which,
with one short interval, had been the shelter of my family and myself
during fifteen years of widowhood.
The commencement of the war found us living in the outskirts of St.
Pierre-lès-Calais, a suburb of Calais, and a busy place, full of lace
factories. Our house and grounds, quite open to the country at the
back, fronted the canal which communicates with the sea at Calais.
When the war had made some progress, and the German army appeared to
be steadily advancing through France, we found ourselves in a most
unpleasant dilemma--in fact, literally between fire and water!
The civic authorities made known that, in case of the approach of a
German army, it was their fixed intention to cut the sluices, and to
lay the adjacent country under water for a distance of ten miles, and
to a depth of seven feet. Our large, rambling, convenient old mansion,
which shook with every gale of wind, and had no cellarage nor secure
foundation of any kind, we felt would surely be submerged.
Moreover, the military commandant notified that in case Calais were
threatened with siege, all houses and buildings within the military
zone would be blown up, to allow free range for the cannon on the
ramparts. This was pleasant intelligence to people in the direct line
of fire, and with a certainty of very short notice to quit being given.
Still, we took the chances, and stood our ground.
We felt the deepest sympathy for the French, and would willingly have
helped them to the extent of our very limited means, but could only do
so by lending beds and bedding for the wounded, which we did, and which
were all scrupulously returned at the close of the war.
At this time I had a married daughter residing at Guiñes, where her
husband was mathematical professor in the principal English school,
conducted by a French gentleman. In the middle of August, about
midnight, we heard a carriage drive to the door, and found that my
son-in-law had thought it more prudent to bring his family to a safer
place than Guiñes, which, being quite an open town, was at any time
liable to incursions from the dreaded Uhlans. He was obliged to return
to his employers, who could not be left with the sole responsibility of
a numerous school consisting mostly of English scholars.
A few days afterwards, on an alarm that the Germans had entered Amiens,
we all took refuge in Calais, where, as soon as the war broke out,
I had taken the precaution to secure apartments. We had most of our
property hastily packed up and placed in store. In Calais we remained
till nearly the beginning of winter, when my son-in-law took his family
back to Guiñes and we returned to our house. In fact it began to be
recognised that Calais was too far out of the way, and presented too
little temptation to a conquering army to make it likely we should be
molested.
The spring of 1871 brought great changes, both public and private. The
war ended, but France was no longer the same country to us. My eldest
son had left us to take a situation in London in the office of the kind
friends who had known him from boyhood, and whose father, recently
dead, had been our neighbour for fifteen years, his beautiful garden
and pleasure-grounds joining our more humble premises.
Before the summer was over, my son-in-law, whose health suffered from
his scholastic duties, made up his mind to emigrate to Canada, and
to join my youngest son who, after many misfortunes, had settled on
the “free-grant lands” of Muskoka, and who wrote frequently to urge
other members of the family to come out before all the good land near
his location was taken up. At this time he was himself thriving, but
immediately after suffered great reverses. He had a rheumatic fever
which lasted many weeks, and threw him back in his farming; he lost one
of his two cows from the carelessness of a neighbour, and most of his
crops from the dry season and their being put in too late, and was only
beginning to recover when his sister and her family arrived, having
with them his affianced wife.
My eldest daughter and myself were thus left alone in France, and were
obliged to give up our cherished home, my reduced income being quite
insufficient to maintain it.
Virulent small-pox and other epidemics, the result of effluvia from
the battle-fields, broke out, and I had dangerous illness in my
own family. Provisions rose to an enormous price, taxation greatly
increased, and the country bid fair to be long in an unsettled
condition. Under these circumstances we, too, began to think of
emigration; and finding that my eldest son, always accustomed to a
domestic circle, was very dull in London without one, and at the same
time not disinclined to try farming, being fond of an outdoor active
life, we came to the decision to emigrate.
He relinquished his excellent situation, his employers behaving
with the greatest kindness and liberality. We read up a few books
on emigration which invariably paint it in the brightest colours,
and being quite ignorant of the expense of so long a journey, of the
hardships of the “Bush,” and of the absolute necessity for a sum of
money to begin with, we came out hoping in our innocence that strong
hearts, willing hands, and the pension of an officer’s widow would be
inexhaustible riches in the wilderness.
The problem remains to be solved whether we can continue our farming
without capital, or whether we shall be compelled to go to one of
the large towns in Canada or the “States,” to seek for remunerative
employment.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE v
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY 1
PART II.--LETTERS WRITTEN TWO YEARS AFTERWARDS 153
A WEDDING IN MUSKOKA 187
ANECDOTES OF THE CANADIAN BUSH, THIRTY YEARS AGO 233
TERRA INCOGNITA; OR, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA 261
A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS 279
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY.
LETTER I.
You ask me, my dear child, to give you a few particulars of our voyage
across the Atlantic to Canada, our journey from Quebec to the Bush of
Muskoka, and our residence here as emigrant farmers for the last year.
As in my diary I have only chronicled the bare events of each passing
day, you must only expect outlines of Bush life, and not well filled up
pictures. I pass over the anguish of my separation from you and your
dear ones, and can only say that when I thought of the attached circle
of friends we were leaving behind us, both in France and England, whom
probably we should never see again, I felt strongly tempted to remain;
but the fact that others of the family had preceded us, and would be
expecting our arrival, that our baggage was already shipped, and that
your brother had taken leave of his friendly employers, who to the last
counselled him to retain his situation, had weight enough with me to
prevent any change of plan. We went on board the good ship _T----s_
lying in the Thames, at least twenty-four hours too soon, and lay awake
the whole of the first night, as the carpenters never ceased working,
the ship having met with an accident on her previous voyage.
The next morning I was greatly grieved to find that your brother had
only engaged _two_ first-cabin berths for your sister and myself;
and finding that our purse was very scantily filled, had, with his
usual self-denial, taken a steerage passage for himself, and got a
good-natured quartermaster to take charge of our dear French dog old
“Nero,” who forthwith became a _stowaway_, and was smuggled out of
sight.
When the vessel was ready, we dropped down the river to Gravesend, and
having taken in more passengers and emigrants, we started for Plymouth.
We remained there for a few hours, and I pointed out to your brother
and sister the beautiful spot called “Drake’s Island,” where, long
before _they_ were born, I had passed a delightful summer and autumn
with your dear papa and my two babies. Our regiment was then stationed
at Plymouth, and your papa commanded the guard placed on the island for
the protection of the powder magazine.
The weather was beautiful when we left Plymouth, and was expected to
remain so till the end of the voyage; but after a few days, when well
out in the Atlantic, a tremendous gale set in which lasted for several
days and nights.
I had been in storms two or three times off the Irish coast, but
confess that I never felt so frightened as when at every roll our ship
gave (and she _was_ a _roller_), we heard a horrid grating sound which
we shrewdly suspected to be caused by part of our cargo of iron which
had shifted its place, and kept moving with every motion of the ship.
We were told on arriving at Quebec that this unexpected storm was
occasioned by a hurricane in the West Indies. Most of the passengers,
as well as ourselves, were possessed by the demon of sea-sickness, and
your sister was hardly able to get up during the whole passage.
The tedium of our confinement was, however, much relieved by the
pleasant society and kindness of two most amiable English ladies, who
were going out to reside with a near relative at Montreal. Every day,
after the saloon dinner, they came to our cabin, which they christened
the “drawing-room,” and our pleasant conversations there laid the
foundation of a friendship which I trust will ever remain unbroken. Our
nights from various causes were weary and sleepless, but in the early
morning and for some hours we had a diversion, which the proximity of
our cabin to the steward’s pantry procured for us. Almost as soon as
it was light, _Jupiter thundered from Olympus_, or in other words our
black steward, who was punctiliously addressed as “Mr. H----s,” began
the day’s proceedings by having the crockery and glass broken during
the night by the rolling of the ship removed, and every order was given
with a dignified pomposity which was most amusing.
We gave him and his assistants the sobriquet of “Jupiter and his
satellites!” Mr. H----s was a portly negro of an imposing presence,
and a benign expression of countenance which a little reminded one
of “Uncle Tom” in Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s celebrated work. He exacted
implicit obedience, but he was a very good man, strictly honest to
his employers, and very considerate to those over whom he had any
authority. Not once during the voyage did we hear from his lips an oath
or an unseemly word.
The stewardess told us that he had a very pretty wife in London, a
young Englishwoman, with a remarkably fair complexion. She also told us
an amusing anecdote of Mr. H----s as steward of a troop-ship going out
to India. One Sunday afternoon the young officers, tired of playing off
practical jokes on each other, and half dead with _ennui_, applied to
Mr. H----s to lend them a book to read.
“You know the sort of book we want, H----s,” said they; “plenty of
love and fighting, and battles, and all that sort of thing!”
“I understand, gentlemen,” said Mr. H----s, and presently returned with
a _large Bible_ which he placed before them. “There, gentlemen, you
will find in that book all you want--beautiful love stories, fierce
wars, and plenty of battles!”
His colour, however, was somewhat against him, and I could hardly keep
my countenance when a young under-steward, to whom we were indebted for
much attention, said to me with quite an injured air, “You know, ma’am,
it does take it out of a feller to have to say ‘sir’ to a nigger!”
Of the young friend C. W., who came out with us, we saw but little, for
though he had a first-class berth, he was a great deal in the steerage
with your brother, who was a veritable “Mark Tapley” among the poor
emigrants. He helped the minister in charge to keep order among them,
he procured all manner of little extra comforts for the sick women from
the surly cooks, and was the delight of all the children, who followed
him in troops. He managed to be a good deal in our cabin when we were
too ill to move, and also came to us on deck when we were able to crawl
there. He was a favourite with all our fellow-passengers, and every
lady knew she might depend upon his gentlemanly attentions if required.
This comforted me a little for his being in such a disagreeable
position.
The sea continued very rough indeed even after we were in the Gulf of
St. Lawrence, and though I thought the _real blue water_ which I saw
for the first time very beautiful, yet I could by no means join in the
raptures of my fellow-passengers, but strictly averred, that although
a passionate admirer of “Old Ocean,” it was most decidedly when I
viewed it from _terra-firma_. I will not weary you with minute details
of our slow passage up the beautiful St. Lawrence, nor dilate upon the
interest I felt in watching, first the thinly-scattered white huts,
and afterwards the thickly-clustered villages of the “habitants,” with
their curious churches and shining spires, backed by the dark pine
forests, and behind them ranges of blue-capped mountains, compared with
which the hills of my own dear England were as hillocks.
We landed at Quebec and went to the Victoria Hotel, where your sister
and I passed a few miserable hours of suspense and anxiety. We found
ourselves at the very beginning of an immense journey utterly without
means to carry us on beyond the first few stages. The little extra
expenses paid on leaving the ship, and the clearing our baggage as far
as Toronto, had all but emptied our purse. We were rich in nothing
but delusive hopes and expectations, doomed, like the glass basket of
celebrated “Alnaschars,” to be shattered and broken to pieces.
We half expected to find a letter with a small remittance waiting
for us at the Quebec P. O. Our young friend C. W. was in the same
strait, as his money-order was only payable in a bank at Toronto. Both
the gentlemen left us and crossed the water to the town of Quebec,
where, finding on due inquiry no letter of any kind, your brother was
compelled to pledge his gold watch and seal, upon which, though so
valuable, he could only get five pounds advanced. This unavoidable
delay lost us the mid-day train to Montreal, by which we saw our kind
friends depart after taking a most affectionate leave and engaging
us to correspond with them. When our two gentlemen returned we were
nearly starving, as we did not like to go to the _table-d’hôte_ without
them, and the dinner had long been over. We all sallied forth, and
found in a small wayside tavern a homely but excellent meal, and best
of all, a private room to take it in. From thence we went to the
station and started by the seven p.m. train for Montreal, being quite
thankful that our journey had at length begun.
LETTER II.
My last letter left us starting from Quebec in the seven p.m. train for
Montreal. Our party consisting of four people, we had a compartment
to ourselves, but were some time in settling comfortably, as our old
dog “Nero” had to be smuggled in and kept quiet under your sister’s
waterproof-cloak, for fear the vigilant guard should consign him to the
luggage-car, where he would infallibly have barked himself to death.
I noticed very little in the neighbourhood of Quebec, being too much
occupied with my own sad thoughts, and regrets for those I had left
behind; but I did observe that the cows, horses, and pigs all appeared
very small and manifestly inferior to the cattle in England.
During this journey I could not help contrasting the mode of travelling
in Canada with the same in the “old country,” and giving a decided
preference to the former. It would be almost impossible for either
murder, robbery, or any kind of outrage to be perpetrated where the
compartments are all open, and the supervision of the guard walking
up and down incessant. It is also a great alleviation to the fatigue
of travelling to have the refreshment of iced water to drink, and the
option of washing faces and hands. Towards night we were beguiled into
“Pullman’s” sleeping-cars, little imagining how greatly it would add to
the expense of the journey. Sleep, however, I found to be impossible
in these close boxes, tier above tier, and towards midnight, half
smothered, I made my way to the carriage we had occupied before
retiring.
About this time the train came to a sudden stop, and at last I asked
the guard why we were so long stationary. He told me that a train which
ought to have been in before us was missing, that men had gone out with
lanterns to look for it, and that for fear of being run into we must
wait till it came up. A most dreary four hours we passed before we were
released. We were at a small station in a barren spot of country, where
nothing was to be seen in the dim light but a few miserable-looking
wooden houses scattered about. It was a cheerless prospect, and we were
thankful when at length we went on.
We passed the morning more agreeably, as the guard, a quiet,
intelligent man, entered into conversation with us. He was telling
us of a curious and erudite book about to be published at Boston,
Massachusetts, compiled by one of his relations, from numerous records
and papers treasured in the family, and handed down from one generation
to another, beginning with the first landing of the “Pilgrim Fathers.”
His ancestor, with his family, came out in the _Mayflower_, and from
that time to the present they had had an unbroken succession of godly
ministers, who in the early times of their settlement were called, in
the old Puritan phraseology, “sons of thunder.” In the spring of 1871,
he had attended the annual family gathering at Boston, to which the
remotest connections, if possible, came. I regret much that I did not
take down his name.
In consequence of our long delay in the night, we did not arrive at
Montreal in time for the early train, but had to breakfast there, and
remain a few hours. When we started, we found that we had a hot and
dusty journey before us. I greatly admired the environs of Montreal,
particularly some pretty villa residences, perched, as it were, in
terraces one above the other.
An incident occurred in the course of the day which afforded me a few
moments of exquisite satisfaction, which every mother will understand.
While our train was drawn up before a small station, an emigrant
train, going to some distant part, went past. Numbers of the emigrants
were there who had been steerage passengers on board our vessel from
England. As your brother was standing, with C. W., on the steps of one
of the carriages, he was recognised, and they immediately vociferated,
“Mr. K.! Mr. K.! three cheers for Mr. K.!” Then arose three deafening
cheers, which died away in the distance; but not before your sister
and I, looking out of the window, saw an indefinite number of
pocket-handkerchiefs, of all colours and dimensions, fluttering from
the windows in token of recognition.
Towards the evening of this day, as we were nearing Toronto, another
stoppage occurred, similar to the one of the night before. A
baggage-truck had got off the line, and might be expected at any moment
to run into our train.
On this occasion I could not but think our situation most alarming. We
were drawn up on a narrow bridge over a foaming torrent, with jagged
rocks sticking up from the bottom, suggesting a not very pleasant
fate had we been rolled over. Here we remained for four hours and a
half. Luckily I was so much occupied with my own thoughts, that I did
not hear a gentleman in an adjoining compartment recounting to his
horrified audience an accident on the Boston Railway, in which he had
been a reluctant participator, the week before, and which occurred
to a train in a similar position to ours. This train waited for many
hours, _was_ at last run into, and twenty-five of the passengers were
killed. Your sister heard every word, but took care not to disturb my
meditations.
This accident detained us so long, that it was past midnight when we
got into Toronto, and, hiring a carriage, were driven to a respectable,
cheap family hotel, strongly recommended to your brother by a kind and
gentlemanly Canadian, who was our fellow-passenger from England.
Unfortunately they were full, from garret to cellar, and could not
take us in. Our driver, left to his own devices, took us to the
“Rossin House,” where we remained till the next day, most _supremely
uncomfortable_, in a rambling hotel of immense extent, where I lost my
way every time I left the saloon; where, from not knowing the hours,
we were all but starved; and where it was hardly possible to obtain a
civil answer from any one of the attendants.
We started from Toronto at three p.m. the next day, leaving our young
friend C. W. behind, who, having drawn his money, was going back to
Montreal, to pass a little time there before joining us in the Bush.
He had also to present letters of introduction to Judge J----n, who
was _known_ to be _able_ and _presumed_ to be _willing_, to assist the
views of the son of his old friend.
The farther we went from Toronto, the more barren and ugly the country
appeared, and the hideous stumps in every clearing became more and
more visible. By degrees also the gardens by the roadside became more
denuded of floral vegetation, till at last my eyes rested for miles on
little but holly-hocks and pumpkins. Towards dusk, the lurid glare of
the burning trees in the far-off forest became appalling, as well as
magnificent. I was told that the season had been exceptionally dry,
no rain having fallen for three months, and that in different parts
the fires had been most destructive. In almost every case these fires
have been the natural result of some incidental carelessness. Some
wayfarer, far from his home, and camping out for the night, leaves the
smouldering ashes of his fire to be blown into a flame by a sudden
breeze, or flings the ashes of his pipe into the adjacent brushwood;
in leaving the place of his temporary halt, he little imagines the
loss of property, and even of life, which may be occasioned by his
thoughtlessness.
We slept that night at Belle Ewart, a rising town on Lake Simere, and
the next morning took the steamer to Orillia. This passage across the
lake was the most beautiful part of our journey. The day was bright
and clear, the water blue, and the scenery most beautiful. All was
changed when we landed at Orillia. We had to leave our nice, roomy,
well-appointed steamer for a filthy, over-crowded little boat, where we
had hardly standing-room.
I now saw, for the first time, _real live Indians_, both men and women,
some of each being on board the boat. Their encampment on the lake
was likewise pointed out to me. Alas for my enthusiasm! Alas for my
remembrance of youthful delight over Cooper’s enchanting novels! I was
never more disappointed in my life than when I first took notice of
these degenerate samples of “Red Men!”
The men appeared to me undersized and sinister-looking, the squaws
filthy and almost repulsive. No stretch of imagination could bring
before me in the persons of these very ordinary mortals the dignified
and graceful “Uncas,” or the stately and warlike “Chingachook!” We
landed at Washage, and after standing for more than an hour on the
quay, took the stage-wagon for Gravenhurst, the vehicle being so
crowded that even the personal baggage most essential to our comfort
had to be left behind. Oh! the horrors of that journey! The road was
most dreadful--our first acquaintance with “corduroy” roads. The
forest gradually closed in upon us, on fire on both sides, burnt trees
crashing down in all directions, here and there one right across the
road, which had to be dragged out of the way before we could go on.
Your brother with his arm round me the whole way (I clinging to the
collar of his coat), could hardly keep me steady as we bumped over
every obstacle. In the worst places I was glad to shut my eyes that I
might not see the danger. Your poor sister had to cling convulsively
to the rope which secured the passengers’ baggage (ours was left
behind and we did not see it for weeks) to avoid being thrown out,
and for long afterwards we both suffered from the bruises we received
and the strain upon our limbs. At last, long after dark, we arrived
at Gravenhurst, where we were obliged to sleep, as the steamer to
Bracebridge could not start before morning on account of the fog.
The steam-boat had no accommodation for sleeping, but we had a good
supper on board, and a gentlemanly Englishman, a passenger by the stage
and well acquainted with Muskoka, took us to a small hotel to sleep.
The next morning we went to Bracebridge, and there we found a letter
from your brother-in-law advising me to go before the commissioner of
crown-lands and sign for my land. The papers for my free grant of a
hundred acres had gone to France, but had missed me, as I had already
left. Unfortunately our means were too exhausted to allow of our
remaining even one day in Bracebridge, and we thought it more prudent
to start early in the stage-wagon, as the magistrate’s office would not
be open till ten a.m.
The not being able to sign at once lost me the power of selling my
pine-trees, the new law (a most unjust one) coming into operation
before I was able to come in again. We were at the N. A. Hotel, and the
mistress of it, herself an Englishwoman and not long from Devonshire,
told me afterwards how sincerely she pitied us, and said to her husband
when we were gone, “That poor lady and her daughter little know what
hardships they are about to encounter in the ‘Bush!’” The drive from
Bracebridge to Utterson, the nearest post-town to our settlement and
distant from it six miles, was a long and fatiguing stretch of fifteen
miles, but unmarked by any incident of consequence. The forest fires
were burning fiercely, and our driver told us that a week before the
road had been impassable. At times when the trees were burning at
each side of the narrow road we felt a hot stifling air as we passed
rapidly along. It was a gloomy afternoon, with fitful gusts of wind
portending a change of weather, and we were almost smothered in
clouds of Muskoka dust, much resembling pounded bricks. When we got
to Utterson we were obliged to remain for two hours to rest the poor
horses, as no fresh ones were to be got. While at the little tavern we
heard that your brother C. had been married a few weeks before, as we
expected, and that your dear sister F., with her husband, children, and
the _fiancée_, had rested there on their way to the “Bush,” six weeks
before our arrival. We were more easy in our minds after this. We were
near our journey’s end, the dear ones who had preceded us were all
well, and the marriage which for four years I had been endeavouring
to secure for your youngest brother had been happily accomplished.
_I_ alone of all our party felt a hopeless depression of spirits, a
presentiment of long months of unhappiness. Our drive from Utterson was
short, but we went slowly, and it was late in the day before we turned
into the “Bush.” Our driver called the path we were going a “road;”
I saw nothing but a narrow track with frightful stumps, over which
our wagon jolted in a manner to endanger our limbs; indeed, though
more than three miles from your brother-in-law’s, we soon insisted
on walking, thinking it safer. We found the thick undergrowth of
“ground-hemlock” very trying to walk upon, as it caught our feet in an
alarming manner. Our path was intersected by deep gullies, the sides of
which were precipitous. I must say that the horses of this country,
like the mules of Spain, seem wonderfully sure-footed, and the drivers,
who mostly appear as reckless and daring as Irish carmen, guide them
very safely, and accidents rarely occur.
After we had crossed the second gully, our driver said he could go no
farther, as it would be dark before he got out of the “Bush,” a thing
much dreaded here. Accordingly your brother paid and dismissed him,
and we were left with all our packages by the roadside to find our way
as best we could. Luckily we came upon a very respectable settler,
working on a part of his clearing near the path, who most kindly left
his work and piloted us to your brother-in-law’s lot, where we found
a very small “clearing,” and a log-house in the middle of it. Your
sister F. and the dear children came running out to meet and welcome
us, and after the first warm congratulations, F. and your brother went
to fetch the newly-married couple, who at once came back with them.
There was much to hear and to tell, and you may judge how great was our
dismay to find that those we had come to burthen with our presence,
were for the time being as penniless as ourselves, and that weary and
fatigued as we were, the only refreshment my dear child could offer us
was linseed tea without sugar or milk, and sour, doughy bread which I
could not persuade myself to swallow. Our sleeping arrangements were of
the most primitive description. A scanty curtain shaded off a corner of
the room, where your dear sister made a regular shake-down of all her
little stock of bedding. Here your two sisters, your sister-in-law, the
two children and myself found an ark of refuge. The three gentlemen lay
down in their clothes before the fire; and thus passed our first night
in the “Bush” of Muskoka!
LETTER III.
The next morning, after a brief and very unsatisfactory toilet, and a
breakfast which needs no description, your brother C. and his wife left
us to return to their own log-house, entreating me to go and see them
as soon as I should have recovered from the fatigue of the journey. You
will perhaps wonder that they should have remained the night with us,
over-crowded as we were; but the fact is, when we first came here, the
forest-paths between our lots were so indistinctly marked out and so
little trodden, that to be out after dark was not safe; and, indeed,
it is a rule among the settlers here, that should any one be out after
dark, the nearest neighbour must afford him a shelter till the morning.
To go astray in the “Bush” is dreaded above everything.
I cannot describe how greatly we were shocked at the changed appearance
of your youngest brother. In spite of his present happiness as a
married man, he bore in his whole appearance the marks of the hardships
he had gone through. He had left us, only a year before, in France in
high health and spirits, expecting to find in America, and especially
in New York, an El Dorado where he might easily employ his little
capital to advantage. We found him now fearfully thin, his handsome
face pinched and worn, and looking certainly ten years older than his
brother, fully five years his senior. In some future letter I must give
you a sketch of his many misfortunes, his failure in New York, and
subsequent settlement in Muskoka, together with the amusing account of
his marriage given me by your sister F.
My first employment in the Bush was to write to my lawyer, entreating
a further advance of money, and to some kind friends who had already
helped us for the same purpose.
As soon as this necessary work was finished, I began to look about me,
both outside and inside of the log-house. I found that it was placed
in the centre of a very small “clearing” of not more than half an
acre; and the very sight of the dense forest circling us all round,
with hardly any perceptible outlet, gave me a dreadful feeling of
suffocation, to which was added the constant alarm of fire, for the dry
season had made every twig and leaf combustible.
Had it not been for these drawbacks, I should greatly have admired
the situation. An amphitheatre of rock behind the house, wooded to the
very top, and the trees tinged with the glowing hues of autumn, was
very picturesque; and the house itself, built upon an eminence, seemed
likely to be dry and comfortable. The house inside was simply one
tolerable-sized room, which, like the cobbler’s stall in the nursery
ballad, was
“Kitchen, and parlour, and all!”
It was built of rough, unhewn logs, chinks of wood between the logs,
and the interstices filled up with moss. There were two small windows,
and a door in the front. The size of the house, eighteen feet by
twenty-five.
When your brother-in-law’s logs for his house were cut, he called a
“raising bee,” which is the custom here. Fourteen of his neighbours
responded to the call. This is for building up the walls of the
log-house. Strength and willingness are most desirable at “bees;” but
for the four corners, which have to be “saddled,” skill is likewise
requisite, and, therefore, four of the best hands are always chosen for
the corners.
“Saddling” is cutting out a piece at the corner of each log, so that
the end of each succeeding log, when it is raised, rests in the niche
prepared for it, and thus the building, when finished, is as firm as
a rock. Nothing is paid for the assistance given, but good meals are
expected; and sometimes these “bees” are quite festive meetings, where
the wives and daughters of the settlers wait at table, and attend
to the wants of the hungry visitors. At a “bee” which your brother
attended some time ago, all the young women were in their Sunday attire.
At your brother-in-law’s “bee” the female element was entirely wanting,
and two or three little things went wrong; but excuses are always made
for the ignorance of a new settler, and in subsequent meetings the fare
has been better, and full satisfaction given.
In the centre of each log-house stands out, hideously prominent and
ugly, a settler’s stove, with a whole array of pots, pans, and kettles
belonging to it, which, when not in use, are mostly hung up on the
walls, certainly not conducing to their ornamentation. Your sister,
always fertile in expedients, hangs a curtain before these unseemly
appendages; but my lively imagination pierces behind the veil, and
knowing they are _there_, gives me a feeling of irritation and disgust
which I cannot describe.
I may truly call the stove a voracious monster, for in the very cold
weather it takes nearly the whole day’s chopping of one person to keep
it filled up night and day.
You must not suppose that we had come into a furnished house. There
had as yet been neither time nor means to get furniture of any kind.
Dear F. had herself only been in possession a fortnight, and we were
only too glad to sleep on the floor, to sit on upturned boxes, and to
make our table of the top of a large chest. When at length, after many
weeks’ waiting, our baggage arrived, for some days we could hardly turn
round; but we were most thankful for the excellent bedding and the good
warm blankets we had brought from France, carefully packed in barrels.
All woollen goods are extremely dear in Canada, and, as contrasted with
our English manufactures, very poor in quality.
You know that, from boys, both your brothers have been excellent
amateur carpenters, and this fact they have turned to good account in
the “Bush.” As soon as time could be found, your eldest brother made a
bedstead for his sister’s confinement, and stools, and benches, which
we found most useful. For a long time after our arrival in the “Bush,”
and even after your brother-in-law and myself had received remittances
from England, we were in imminent danger of starvation from the coarse,
bad food, and the difficulty of procuring it from a distance.
At the time of which I write, the autumn of 1871, there was neither
store nor post-office nearer to us than that at Utterson, fully six
miles from our land. I have already told you what kind of a road we
found it on coming in. The gentlemen of our different families had to
bring all provisions in sacks slung upon their shoulders and backs, no
light work I can assure you.
The staple food of the settlers consists of hard salt pork, potatoes,
oatmeal, molasses, rice, and flour for bread, which every family makes
for itself. According to the “rising,” employed instead of yeast, the
bread was either bitter, sour, or salt, and we only began to get good
bread when our clergyman from Bracebridge, months after our arrival,
recommended us to use the “Twin Brothers’ yeast,” which we found answer
very well. With regard to other articles of consumption, such as tea,
sugar, coffee, etc., I was then, and still am, decidedly of opinion
that we were using up the refuse of all the shops in Toronto. The tea
was full of sloe-leaves, wild raspberry-leaves, and other natural
productions which never grew in China; and it was so full of bits
of _stick_ that my son informed the people at the store that we had
collected a nice little stock for winter fuel.
My chemical knowledge was not sufficient for me to analyse the coffee,
which we really could not drink, but it was a villanous compound, of
which the coffee-berry was the smallest ingredient; in short, we were
fain to fall back upon and take into favour real chickory or dandelion,
which, with a little milk and sugar, is tolerably nice, and as the
roots are plentiful among the potato-hills in autumn, many of the
settlers prepare it for their own use.
You know what a simple table we kept in France, but there our plain
food was well cooked and prepared, and was the best of its kind.
We found the change terrible, and very injurious to our health,
and, what was worse, the store was often out of the most necessary
articles, and our messengers were compelled to return, weary and
footsore, without what we wanted. We are much better off now, having
a post-office and store belonging to the settlement only three miles
away, kept by very civil and intelligent Scotch people, who do their
best to procure whatever is ordered.
We suffered much also from the want of fresh meat, for though at times
some one in the neighbourhood might kill a sheep, yet we seldom heard
of it before all the best parts were gone. We also greatly regretted
that in a country where even the smaller lakes abound with fish, we
were so far away from any piece of water that we could not obtain what
would have been a most agreeable change from the much-detested salt
pork.
I come now to speak of a delusion which is very general in the “old
country,” and in which I largely shared. I mean with regard to the
great abundance of venison and game to be found in these parts. This
fallacy is much encouraged by different books on emigration, which
speak of these desirable articles of food as being plentiful, and
within the reach of every settler.
I certainly arrived with a vague notion that passing deer might be shot
from one’s own door, that partridge and wild-duck were as plentiful as
sparrows in England, and that hares and rabbits might almost be caught
with the hand. These romantic ideas were ruefully dispelled! There is
little game of any kind left, and to get that good dogs are wanted,
which are very expensive to keep.
None of our party have caught the most distant glimpse of a deer since
we came, except your two brothers, who once saw a poor doe rush madly
across the corner of C----s’ clearing, hotly pursued by a trapper’s
deer-hound, at a season when it was against the law to shoot deer. Your
sister-in-law once, venturing from C----s’ clearing to ours without an
escort, was much alarmed at hearing a rustling in the “Bush” quite
near her, and a repeated “Ba--a, ba--a!” We were told that the noise
must have come from an ancient stag which is said to have haunted for
years the range of rock near us. This mythical old fellow has, however,
never been seen, even by the “oldest inhabitant.”
Your brothers have now and then shot a chance partridge or wild-duck,
but had to look for them, and the truth must be told that when
settlers, gentle or simple, are engaged in the daily toil of grubbing,
and as it were scratching the earth for bread, it is difficult to
find a day’s leisure for the gentlemanly recreation of shooting.
Your youngest brother was pretty successful in trapping beaver and
musk-rat, and in shooting porcupine; of the two former the skins can
be sold to advantage, but as to eating their flesh, which some of our
party succeeded in doing, your eldest brother and myself found that
impossible, and turned with loathing from the rich repasts prepared
from what I irreverently termed vermin!
I must now tell you how our lots are situated with regard to each
other. C----s, having come out a year before the rest of us, had
secured two hundred acres of free grant land, one lot in his own name,
and one in the maiden name of his present wife, who came out from
England to marry him, under the chaperonage of your sister and her
husband. This has enabled him, since the birth of his little boy, to
claim and obtain another lot of a hundred acres, as “head of a family.”
His land is good, and prettily situated, with plenty of beaver meadow
and a sprinkling of rock, and also a very picturesque waterfall, where,
in coming years, he can have a mill. I have the adjoining hundred
acres, good flat land for cultivation, but not so picturesque as any of
the other lots, which I regret, though others envy me the absence of
rock. My land lies between C----s’ and the two hundred acres belonging
to your brother-in-law, whose very pretty situation I have already
described.
I am sorry to say that the two hundred acres taken up before we came,
for your eldest brother and sister, are at a distance of five miles
from here; your brother, who went over to see about clearing a portion
of them, says the landscape is most beautiful, as in addition to rock
and wood there are good-sized lakes, which make the lots less valuable
for cultivation, but far more beautiful to the eye.
When we had been here about three weeks, our young friend C. W. came to
us from Montreal, where he had not succeeded in getting any situation,
though he brought letters of introduction to Judge J. It is quite
useless for young _gentlemen_, however well educated, to come out
from the “old country” expecting situations to be numerous and easily
attainable; all introductions from friends of _yours_ to friends of
_theirs_ are for the most part useless, unless indeed addressed to some
commercial firm. The best and surest introduction a man can have is to
be a steady and skilful workman at some trade, and then he can command
employment.
To return to C. W. He arrived, in fact, in the dusk of a chilly
evening, and was near losing his way in the “Bush,” having to pass
across my land, which was then almost untrodden. Fortunately as he
advanced he betook himself to shouting, and luckily was heard and
answered by C----s, who was just going indoors for the night. They soon
met, and C----s took him home, and with him and your sister-in-law he
boarded and lodged during the whole of his stay, for at your sister’s
we were already over-crowded.
As the autumn advanced, we began most seriously to give our attention
to building my log-house, hoping that I might settle my part of the
family before the winter set in. Accordingly an acre of my land was
cleared, and the logs for a house cut and prepared, a skilful workman
being hired to help; and when all was ready, we called a “bee,” and
took care to provide everything of the best in the shape of provisions.
Our well-laid plan was a signal failure, partly because settlers do
not like coming to a “bee” so late in the year (it was November), and
partly because some of the invitations had been given on Sunday, which,
as most of the settlers near us were Scotch and strict Presbyterians,
caused offence. Only three people came, and they were thanked and
dismissed.
The very next day (November 11th), snow-storms and hard winter weather
began; but in spite of this our four gentlemen, seeing my deep
disappointment at being kept waiting for a residence, most chivalrously
went to work, and by their unassisted efforts and hard labour actually
managed in the course of a fortnight to raise the walls and place the
rafters of a log-house not much smaller than the others. Their work was
the admiration of the whole settlement, and many expressed themselves
quite ashamed of having thus left us in the lurch.
After raising the walls, however, they were reluctantly compelled to
stop, for the severity of the weather was such, that shingling the
roof, chinking, and mossing became quite impossible. As it was, E.
nearly had his hands frost-bitten. We were thus compelled to remain
with your sister till the spring of 1872. We greatly felt, after we
came into the Bush, the want of all religious ordinances; but we soon
arranged a general meeting of all the members of the family on a Sunday
at your sister’s, when your brother-in-law read the Church of England
service, and all joined in singing the chants and hymns. Sometimes he
was unavoidably absent, as the clergymen at Bracebridge, knowing him
to have taken his degree at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and to be
otherwise qualified, would ask his assistance, though a layman, to do
duty for him at different stations in the district.
We found in our own neighbourhood a building set apart for use as a
church, but too far off for us to attend either summer or winter. Here
Church of England, Presbyterian, and Wesleyan ministers preached in
turn, and thus some semblance of worship was kept up. I hardly dare
describe the miserable change we found in our employments and manner
of life when we first settled down to hard labour in the Bush. It was
anguish to me to see your sisters and sister-in-law, so tenderly and
delicately brought up, working harder by far than any of our servants
in England or France.
It is one thing to sit in a pretty drawing-room, to play, to sing, to
study, to embroider, and to enjoy social and intellectual converse with
a select circle of kind friends, and it is quite another thing to slave
and toil in a log-house, no better than a kitchen, from morning till
night, at cleaning, washing, baking, preparing meals for hungry men
(not always of one’s own family), and drying incessant changes of wet
clothes.
I confess, to my shame, that my philosophy entirely gave way, and that
for a long time I cried constantly. I also took to falling off my
chair in fits of giddiness, which lasted for a few minutes, and much
alarmed the children, who feared apoplexy. I felt quite sure that it
was from continual fretting, want of proper exercise, the heat of the
stove, and inanition from not being able to swallow a sufficiency of
the coarse food I so much disliked. Fortunately we had brought out some
cases of arrow-root, and some bottles of Oxley’s Essence of Ginger,
and with the help of this nourishment, and walking resolutely up and
down the clearing, where we kept a track swept for the purpose, I got
better. Your eldest sister likewise had an alarming fit of illness,
liver complaint and palpitation of the heart, doubtless brought on by
poor food, hard work, and the great weight of the utensils belonging to
the stove. I was much frightened, but after a time she, too, partially
recovered; indeed we _had_ to get well as best we might, for there was
no doctor nearer than Bracebridge, eighteen miles off, and had we sent
for him, we had no means of paying either for visits or drugs.
Christmas Day at length drew near, and as we wished to be all
together, though our funds were exceedingly low, dear C----s insisted
on contributing to our Christmas-dinner. He bought a chicken from a
neighbouring settler who, in giving him a _scare-crow_, did not forget
to charge a good price for it. He sent it to us with some mutton. Your
sister has told me since, that while preparing the chicken for cooking,
she could have shed tears of disgust and compassion, the poor thing
being so attenuated that its bones pierced through the skin, and had
it not been killed, it must soon have died of consumption. In spite
of this I roused my dormant energies, and with the help of butter,
onions and spices, I concocted a savoury stew which was much applauded.
We had also a pudding! Well, the less said about that pudding the
better. Nevertheless, I must record that it contained a _maximum_ of
flour and a _minimum_ of currants and grease. The plums, sugar, spice,
eggs, citron, and brandy were conspicuous by their absence. Still, the
pudding was eaten--peace to its memory!
We all assembled on Christmas morning early, and had our Church service
performed by your brother-in-law. Cruel memory took me back to our
beloved little church in France, with its Christmas decorations of
holly and evergreens, and I could almost hear the sweet voices of the
choir singing my favourite hymn: “Hark! the herald angels sing!” There
was indeed a sad contrast between the festive meetings of other years,
when our little band was unbroken by death and separation, and when out
of our abundance we could make others happy, and this forlorn gathering
in a strange land, with care written on every brow, poverty in all
our surroundings, and deep though unexpressed anxiety lest all our
struggles in this new and uncongenial mode of existence should prove
fruitless. For the sake of others, I tried to simulate a cheerfulness
I was far from feeling, and so we got over the evening. We had a good
deal of general conversation, and some of our favourite songs were sung
by the gentlemen.
It was late when our party broke up; your brother C----s with his wife
and C. W. actually scrambled home through the forest by moonlight, a
track having been broken by snow-shoes in the morning.
A great grief to me at this time was the long interval between writing
letters to the “old country” and receiving the answers, an interval
which my vivid imagination filled up with all kind of horrors which
_might_ have happened to the dear ones we had left behind.
The close of the year silently came on, and I finish this letter with
a “Sonnet to the Pines,” my first composition in the Bush, written
partly to convince myself that I was not quite out of my wits, but had
still the little modicum of intellect I once possessed, and partly to
reassure your brothers and sisters, who were always predicting that I
should bring on softening of the brain by my unceasing regrets for the
past, and gloomy prognostications for the future.
SONNET TO THE MUSKOKA PINES!
Weird monarchs of the forest! ye who keep
Your solemn watch betwixt the earth and sky;
I hear sad murmurs through your branches creep.
I hear the night-wind’s soft and whispering sigh,
Warning ye that the spoiler’s hand is nigh:
The surging wave of human life draws near!
The woodman’s axe, piercing the leafy glade,
Awakes the forest-echoes far and near,
And startles in its haunts the timid deer,
Who seeks in haste some far-off friendly shade!
Nor drop ye stately Pines to earth alone.
The leafy train who shar’d your regal state--
Beech, Maple, Balsam, Spruce and Birch--lie prone,
And having grac’d your grandeur--share your fate!
LETTER IV.
New-Year’s Day of 1872 was one of those exceptionally beautiful days,
when hope is generated in the saddest heart, and when the most pressing
cares and anxieties retire for at least a time into the background of
our lives. The sky was blue and clear, the sun bright, and the air
quite soft and balmy for the time of year. We had had some bitter
cold and gloomy weather, and we found the change most delightful. As
in France we were in the habit of making presents among ourselves on
this day, I looked over all my stores with a view to keeping up the
same pretty custom here; but alas! in the absence of all shops I was
sorely puzzled. At last I made all right by giving pencils and paper
for scribbling to the children; Eau de Cologne, sweet-scented soap,
and pots of pomatum to the elders of the party; and finished off with
a box of Bryant and May’s “ruby matches” to C. W., who considered them
a great acquisition. Your brother E. came over for the whole day. He
now boarded and lodged with C----s, to make a little more room for your
sister F.’s confinement, which we expected at the end of the month. I
watched E. with delight as he felled an enormous birch tree in honour
of the day; but though placed in perfect safety myself, I could not
avoid a thrill of fear for him, as this monarch of the forest came
crashing down. Fatal accidents very seldom occur, but new settlers,
inexperienced and unused to the axe, sometimes give themselves serious
cuts. Your brother and brother-in-law have had many narrow escapes, but
fortunately, as yet, are uninjured. Your brother C----s before we came
gave himself a very severe cut, which prevented his chopping for some
weeks. One of the settlers told your brother that when he first began
chopping he had given himself a most dangerous wound, the axe having
glanced from the tree on to his foot; for weeks after the accident he
stood in a washing-tub for security while chopping his fire-wood. This
account much amused us, and E----d made a neat little caricature of P.
in his tub chopping.
I was greatly disappointed in the Canadian forest, and did not think
it half as beautiful as I had been led to expect, for though there are
certainly some very tall pines, and these of a considerable girth, yet
being so closely packed together and hemmed in with small trees and a
thick undergrowth of brushwood, they always seem cramped, and their
lofty tops unable to spread out to their full size. Hurricanes here are
of frequent occurrence, and at these times it is not unusual for full
half an acre of trees to be entirely laid flat, giving the greatest
trouble to the settler when he wants to clear. At times the “windfall,”
as it is called, is a narrow belt of uprooted trees extending for
miles, and distinctly marking the path of the hurricane through the
forest. I was less astonished at the constant fall of the trees after
examining an enormous pine lying on C----s’ land, which was blown down
last year. The roots of this tree seemed to have formed an enormous
web or network under the surface of the ground, and only a few large
fibres here and there appeared to have gone to any depth. I missed the
umbrageous oaks, elms, and beeches of our own parks, and also the open
forest glades which so greatly enhance the beauty of our woodland
scenery. I am told that the trees in the States are much larger and
finer, but of this I am of course incompetent to judge, never having
been there. The most beautiful tree here is certainly the “balsam,”
a slender, delicate tree whose feathery branches droop gracefully to
within a few feet of the ground.
We found the winter fearfully cold, the thermometer being at times
forty degrees below zero. We had great difficulty in keeping ourselves
sufficiently clothed for such a season. All people coming to the
Bush bring clothes far too good for the rough life they lead there.
In coming out we had no means of providing any special outfit, and
therefore brought with us only the ordinary wardrobes of genteel life.
We soon found that all silks, delicate shawls, laces and ornaments,
are perfectly useless here. Every article we possess of that kind is
carefully put away in our trunks, and will probably never see daylight
again, unless indeed that, like Mrs. Katy Scudder in the “Minister’s
Wooing,” we may occasionally air our treasures. What we found most
useful was everything in the shape of woollen or other thick fabrics,
winter dresses, warm plaid shawls, flannels, furs, etc.; of these we
had a tolerable stock, and as the cold increased we put one thing
over another till we must have often presented the appearance of
feather-beds tied in the middle with a string. Indeed, as our gentlemen
politely phrased it, we made complete “guys” of ourselves, and I must
say that they were not one whit behind us in grotesque unsightliness
of costume. Your brothers sometimes wore four or five flannels one
over the other, thick jerseys and heavy overcoats when not actually at
work, and pairs upon pairs of thick woollen socks and stockings, with
great sea-boots drawn over all; or in deep snow “moccasins” or else
“shoe-packs,” the first being made by the Indians, of the skin of the
moose-deer, and the second mostly of sheep-skins. The great mart for
these articles is at the Indian settlement of “Lachine” on the St.
Lawrence, near Montreal. They also wore snow-shoes, which are not made
like the Laplanders’ with skates attached for sliding, but simply for
walking on the surface of the deep snow. They consist of a framework
of wood three feet long by one and a half wide, filled up with strips
of raw deer-skin interlaced, and in shape resembling a fish, more like
a monstrous sole than any other. We ladies, too, were thankful to lay
aside our French kid boots and delicate slippers, and to wrap our
feet and legs up so completely that they much resembled mill-posts.
Had you or any of our dear friends seen us in our Esquimaux costume,
you would certainly have failed to recognise the well-dressed ladies
and gentlemen you had been in the habit of seeing. To crown all, your
brother-in-law and C----s had goat-skin coats brought from France, real
Robinson Crusoe coats, such as are worn by the French shepherds, and
these they found invaluable. We were very sorry that E----d had not one
likewise.
Our occupations were manifold; hard work was the order of the day for
every one but me; but all the work I was allowed to do was the cooking,
for which I consider that I have a special vocation. A great compliment
was once paid me by an old Indian officer in our regiment, who declared
that Mrs. K. could make a good curry, he was sure, out of the sole of a
shoe!
At other times I read, wrote letters, and plied my knitting-needles
indefatigably, to the great advantage of our little colony, in the
shape of comforters, baby-socks, mittens, Canadian sashes and
petticoats for the little children. Sometimes I read to the children
out of their story-books, but _their_ happiest time was when they could
get your sister P----e to give them an hour or two in the evening of
story-telling. You know what a talent she possesses for composing,
both in prose and verse, stories for little people, and with these she
would keep them spell-bound, to the great comfort of the elders of the
party, and of their poor mother especially, who towards night felt much
fatigued.
Dear children! they required some amusement after the close confinement
of the winter’s day. Meanwhile the gentlemen were busy from morning
till night chopping down trees in readiness for burning in spring. This
is mostly done in mid-winter, as they are reckoned to chop more easily
then.
You must not suppose that all this time we had no visitors. By degrees
many of the settlers scattered over the neighbourhood came to see
us, some, doubtless, from kindly motives, others from curiosity to
know what the strangers were like. I found some of them pleasant and
amusing, particularly those who had been long in the country, and who
could be induced to give me some of their earlier Bush experiences.
A few of them seemed to possess a sprinkling of higher intelligence,
which made their conversation really interesting.
One very picturesque elderly man, tall, spare, and upright, came to
fell some pine-trees contiguous to the house, which much endangered
its safety when the hurricanes, so frequent in this country, blew. He
had begun life as a ploughboy on a farm in my beloved county of Kent,
and had the unmistakable Kentish accent. It seemed so strange to me at
first, to be shaking hands and sitting at table familiarly with one of
a class so different from my own; but this was my first initiation
into the free-and-easy intercourse of all classes in this country,
where the standing proverb is, “Jack is as good as his master!”
I found all the settlers kindly disposed towards us, and most liberal
in giving us a share of their flower-seeds, plants, and garden produce,
which, as new-comers, we could not be supposed to have. They were
willing also to accept in return such little civilities as we could
offer, in the shape of books and newspapers from the old country,
and sometimes medicines and drugs, which could not be got in the
settlement. There might be a little quarrelling, backbiting, and petty
rivalry among them, with an occasional dash of slanderous gossip; but
I am inclined to think not more than will inevitably be found in small
communities.
As a body, they certainly are hard-working, thrifty, and kind-hearted.
Almost universally they seem contented with their position and
prospects. I have seldom met with a settler who did not think his own
land the finest in the country, who had not grown the _largest turnip
ever seen_, and who was not full of hope that the coveted railway would
certainly pass through his lot.
At this time I felt an increasing anxiety about your sister’s
confinement, which was now drawing near. That such an event should
take place in this desolate wilderness, where we had no servants, no
monthly-nurse, and not even a doctor within reach, was sufficiently
alarming. To relieve my mind, your brother-in-law went about the
neighbourhood, and at last found a very respectable person, a settler’s
wife, not more than three miles off, who consented to be our assistant
on this momentous occasion, and he promised to go for her as soon as
dear F----e should be taken ill.
We had been made a little more comfortable in the house, as your
brother-in-law and brother had made a very tolerable ceiling over our
bed-places, and your brother had chopped and neatly piled up at the
end of the room an immense stock of fire-wood, which prevented the
necessity of so often opening the door.
We felt now more than ever the want of fresh meat, as the children
could not touch the salt pork, and were heartily tired of boiled rice
and dumplings, which were all the variety we could give them, with the
exception of an occasional egg. In this emergency your brother C----s
consented to sell me a bull calf, which he intended bringing up, but
having also a cow and a heifer, and fearing to run short of fodder, he
consented to part with him. Thus I became the fortunate possessor of
an animal which, when killed, fully realised my misgivings as to its
being neither veal nor beef, but in a transition state between the two.
It had a marvellous development of bone and gristle, but very little
flesh; still we made much of it in the shape of nourishing broth and
savoury stews, and as I only paid seven dollars for it, and had long
credit, I was fully satisfied with my first Bush speculation.
The 18th of January arrived. The day had been very cold, with a
drifting, blinding snow; towards evening a fierce, gusty wind arose,
followed by pitch darkness. The forest trees were cracking and crashing
down in all directions. We went to bed. At two a.m., having been long
awake, I heard a stir in the room, and dear F.’s voice asking us to
get up. What my feelings were I leave you to imagine--to send for
help three miles off, in such a night, was impossible, for even with
a lantern your brother-in-law could not have ventured into the Bush.
Fortunately, we had no time to be frightened or nervous. We removed the
sleeping children to our own bed, made the most comfortable arrangement
circumstances would admit of for dear F----e, and about three a.m.,
that is to say, in less than an hour after being called, our first Bush
baby was born, a very fine little girl.
Your sister P----e, who had been reading up for the occasion, did all
that was necessary, with a skill, coolness and self-possession which
would have done honour to “Dr. _Elizabeth Black_!”
I did indeed feel thankful when I saw my child safe in bed, with her
dear baby-girl, washed, dressed, and well bundled up in flannel, lying
by her side, she herself taking a basin of gruel which I joyfully
prepared for her. God “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.”
We could well believe this when we found your sister recover even
more quickly than she had done in France, where she had so many more
comforts and even luxuries; nor was she this time attacked by ague and
low fever, from which she had always suffered before.
This sudden call upon our energies made me glad that my wandering life
in the army had rendered me very independent of extraneous help, and
that I had taught you all from childhood never to call a servant for
what you could easily do with your own hands. The very first thing
people _must_ learn in the Bush, is to trust in God, and to help
themselves, for other help is mostly too far off to be available.
At the end of this month, when I felt that I could safely leave dear
F----e, I determined to go to B----e and sign for my land. The not
having done so before had long been a cause of great anxiety.
I had been more than four months in the country, had begun to clear and
to build upon my lot, and yet from various causes had not been able to
secure it by signing the necessary papers. These having been sent to
France, and having missed me, had been duly forwarded here. Till the
signing was completed, I was liable at any moment to have my land taken
up by some one else. Accordingly your brother wrote to B---- for a
cutter and horse, and directed the driver to come as far into the Bush
as he could.
We started on a very bright, cold morning, but I had walked fully three
miles before we met our sledge, which was much behind time. I never
enjoyed anything in the country so much as this my first sleighing
expedition. The small sleigh, or cutter as it is sometimes called, held
only one, and I was nestled down in the bottom of it, well wrapped up,
and being delightfully warm and snug, could enjoy looking at the very
picturesque country we were rapidly passing through. I did, however,
most sincerely pity your brother and the driver, who nearly perished,
for sitting on the front seat they caught all the wind, which was
piercing. We stopped midway at a small tavern, where we dined, and I
can truly say that in spite of the dirty table-cloth and the pervading
slovenliness and disorder of the house and premises, I found everything
enjoyable, and above all the sense of being for a few hours at least
freed from my long imprisonment in the woods.
It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at B----e, where we
went to the N. A. Hotel, and were made very comfortable by its kind
mistress. The next morning at ten a.m. we went to the magistrate’s
office, where I signed for my one hundred acres, and of course came
away with the conscious dignity of a landed proprietor.
I was charmed with the kind and courteous manners of Mr. L----s. He
reminded me more of that nearly extinct race--the gentleman of the
old school--than any one I had seen since leaving England. His son,
who is his assistant, seems equally amiable and popular. Seeing from
my manner that I considered Muskoka, even at the present time, as the
_Ultima Thule_ of civilisation, he told us some amusing anecdotes of
what it had actually been when his grandfather first became a settler
in Canada. The towns and villages now called the “Front,” had then no
existence; all was thick forest, no steamers on the lakes, no roads of
any kind, and barely here and there a forest-track made by Indians or
trappers. From where his grandfather settled down, it was sixty miles
to the nearest place where anything could be got, and the first year
he had to go all this distance on foot for a bushel of seed potatoes
for planting, and to return with them in a sack which he carried on his
back the whole way.