we turned into the Bush, and quite so when we were put down at the
point from which we had to walk home. Here we were luckily met by your
brother C----s and C. W., with a lantern and a rope for our parcels,
according to promise. C----s took charge of me, and led the way with
the lantern. I tried to follow in his steps, but the track was so
narrow, and the light so uncertain, that I found myself, every few
moments, up to my knees in soft snow, if I diverged only a step from
the track.
I became almost unable to go on, but after many expedients had been
tried, one only was found to answer. C----s tied a rope round my waist,
and then round his own, and in this safe, but highly ignominious
manner, I was literally towed through the forest, and reached home
thoroughly exhausted, but I am bound to say almost as much from
laughter as from fatigue. I found all well, and the children were
highly pleased with the little presents I had brought for them.
LETTER V.
The first months of this year found us very anxious to get the
log-house finished, which had been so well begun by our four gentlemen,
and as soon as the weather moderated a little, and our means allowed
us to get help, we had it roofed, floored, chinked, and mossed. It was
necessary to get it finished, so that we might move before the great
spring thaw should cover the forest-paths with seas of slush and mud,
and before the creek between us and our domicile should be swollen so
as to render it impassable for ladies.
When the workmen had finished, we sent to the nearest town for a
settler’s stove; and as the ox-team we hired could bring it no farther
than the corner of the concession road which skirts one end of my lot,
your brothers had the agreeable task of bringing it piecemeal on their
backs, with all its heavy belongings, down the precipitous side of my
gully, wading knee-deep through the creek at the bottom, and scrambling
up the side nearest here. It was quite a service of danger, and I felt
truly thankful that no accident occurred.
About this time our young friend C. W. left us, and we were very sorry
to lose him, for more particularly in “Bush” life the taking away of
one familiar face leaves a sad blank behind. He could not, however,
make up his mind to remain, finding the life very dull and cheerless,
and suffering moreover most severely from the cold of the climate. He
went to Toronto, and at last got a tolerably good situation in a bank,
where his thorough knowledge of French and German made him very useful.
Another important event also took place, and this was the christening
of our dear little “Bush” girl, who by this time was thriving
nicely. Our Church of England clergyman at B----e very kindly came
over to perform the ceremony, but as no special day had been named,
his visit took us by surprise, and the hospitality we were able to
extend to him was meagre indeed. This christening certainly presented
a marked contrast to our last. It was no well-dressed infant in a
richly-embroidered robe and French lace cap like a cauliflower ring,
that I handed to our good minister, but a dear little soft bundle
of rumpled flannel, with just enough of face visible to receive the
baptismal sprinkling.
We all stood round in our anomalous costumes, and a cracked slop-basin
represented the font. Nevertheless, our little darling behaved
incomparably well, and all passed off pleasantly. With our minister
afterwards, a very kind and gentlemanly man, we had an hour’s pleasant
conversation, which indeed was quite a treat, for in the Bush, with
little or no time for intellectual pursuits, for the practice of any
elegant accomplishment, or indeed for anything but the stern and hard
realities of daily labour; conversation even among the well-educated is
apt to degenerate into discussions about “crops” and “stock,” and the
relative merits of _timothy_ or _beaver hay_.
We saw but little of your brother Edward at this time, for he was fully
occupied in the log-house, where he lit a large fire every day that
it might be thoroughly aired for our reception, and then engaged in
carpentering extensively for our comfort. He put up numerous shelves
for the crockery and kitchen things, made two very good and substantial
bedsteads, a sofa fixed against the wall which we call the “daïs,” and
a very comfortable easy-chair with a flexible seat of strips of cowhide
interlaced--an ingenious device of your brother Charles, who made one
for his wife.
At last the house being finished, quite aired enough, and otherwise
made as comfortable as our very slender means would permit, we resolved
to move, and on the 7th of April we took our departure from dear
F----’s, who, however glad to have more room for the children, sadly
missed our companionship, as we did hers. The day of our exodus was
very clear and bright, and the narrow snow-track between our lots was
still tolerably hard and safe, though the great thaw had begun, and the
deep untrodden snow on either side of the track was fast melting, and
every careless step we took plunged us into two or three feet of snow,
from which we had to be ignominiously dragged out. It was worse when
we sank into holes full of water, and the narrow path treacherously
giving way at the edges, we had many of these falls. All our trunks,
chests, and barrels had to be left at F----’s, and we only took with
us packages that could be carried by hand, and our bedding, which was
conveyed on the shoulders of the gentlemen.
Of course we travelled in Indian file, one after the other.
When we finally departed, your brother-in-law and Sister P----e
preceded me, laden with all manner of small articles, and every few
yards down they came. I followed with a stout stick which helped me
along considerably, and as I was not allowed to carry anything, and
picked my way very carefully, I managed to escape with comparatively
few falls, and only two of any consequence, one when I pitched forward
with my face down flat on the ground, and another when my feet suddenly
slipped from under me and sent me backwards, rolling over and over in
the snow before, even with help, I could get up. The effects of this
fall I felt for a long time.
At length we arrived at our new home, but in spite of the magic of that
word, I felt dreadfully depressed, and as we were all thoroughly wet
and weary, and on looking out of the windows in front saw nothing but a
wall of snow six feet deep, which encircled the house and quite hid the
clearing from our eyes, I need not say that we were anything but a gay
party. Your kind brother-in-law, to console me a little, went home and
brought back in his arms, as a present for me, the little cat of which
I had been so fond at his house. I cheered up immediately, and had so
much trouble to prevent little Tibbs from running away and being lost
in the snow, that it was quite an occupation for me. One member of our
party made himself at home at once, and from the moment of our entrance
took possession of the warmest place before the stove. This was dear
old Nero, who, as a “French seigneur,” had great privileges, was much
admired in the settlement, and was always called the “Frenchman!” His
chief delight seemed to be incessantly barking at the squirrels.
The thaw continuing, we were quite prisoners for some weeks, and as to
our property left at your sister’s, it was nearly three months before
we could get it, as your brother-in-law with your brothers had to cut
a path for the oxen between our clearings, and to make a rough bridge
over his creek, which, though not so deep as the one on my land, was
equally impassable for a wagon and team.
Happy would it have been for us, and for all the new settlers, if, when
the snow was quite melted, which was not till the second week in May,
fine dry weather had ensued. This would have enabled us to log and
burn the trees felled during the winter, and to clear up the ground
ready for cropping. Instead of this, drenching rain set in, varied by
occasional thunder-storms, so that even after the logging was done it
was June before we could venture to fire the heaps, the ground being
still quite wet, and even then the clearing was such a partial one that
by the 15th of June we had only three-fourths of an acre thoroughly
ready, and on this your brother planted eight bushels of potatoes,
happily for us regardless of the prognostics of our neighbours, who all
assured him that he was much too late to have any chance of a return.
He had, however, an excellent yield of eighty bushels, which fully
repaid him for his perseverance and steady refusal to be wet-blanketed.
He also, however late, sowed peas, French beans, vegetable-marrows, and
put in cabbages, from all of which we had a good average crop.
We had, of course, to hire men for our logging, with their oxen, and to
find their meals. I could not but observe how well they all behaved,
washing their faces and hands before sitting down to table, and also
scrupulously refraining from swearing, smoking, or spitting, while in
the house. A man who hires himself and his oxen out for the day, has
two dollars and food for himself and his beasts; and should he bring
any assistants, they each have seventy-five cents and their food. You
should have seen the gentlemen of our party after a day’s logging! They
were black from head to foot, and more resembled master chimney-sweeps
than anything else. Most of the settlers have a regular logging-suit
made of coarse coloured stuff; anything better is sure to be spoiled
during such work.
Our fire, though a bad one, was very picturesque. It did not burn
fiercely enough to clear off the log-heaps still wet from the late
rains, but it ran far back into the forest, and many of the tall trees,
particularly the decaying ones, were burning from bottom to top, and
continued in flames for some days and nights. During the logging I
sincerely pitied the poor oxen, who are yoked together and attached
by a heavy chain to one immense log after another, till they are all
brought into position, and the log-heaps are arranged for burning. It
is most distressing to see these patient animals panting after their
exertions, and too often, I regret to say, beaten and sworn at in a
most outrageous manner.
Great care is required to prevent accidents during logging, and fatal
ones sometimes occur. I was in conversation with the reeve of an
adjoining township this summer, and he told me that two years ago he
lost his eldest son, a young man of great promise, in this melancholy
way. The poor fellow made a false step while driving his team, and fell
right before the oxen who were coming on with a heavy log, quite a
tree, attached to them. Before it was possible to stop them, they had
drawn the tree over him and he was literally crushed to death.
Not having been able to get the land ready for corn of any kind,
and our only crops being the potatoes I have mentioned, and a few
garden vegetables, your brother thought it best to give his whole
attention to fencing our clearing all round, and putting gates at
the three different points of egress. This was the more necessary as
your brother Charles had a cow and heifer with a large circle of
acquaintances among our neighbour’s cattle, who came regularly every
morning to fetch them away into the Bush, where they all fed till
night. Your brother made three gates on the model of French ones, which
are both solid and simple in their construction, easy to open and easy
to shut.
Wonderful to say, some of the old settlers condescended to admire these
novelties. Your brother Charles worked with him till this necessary
labour was concluded, and we were glad enough when our four and a half
acres were securely protected from the daily inroads of stray cattle.
Before the fence was up, your sister and I spent half our time in
running out with the broom to drive away the neighbour’s cattle, and
protect our cherished cabbage plants, and the potatoes just coming up.
Two audacious steers in particular, called Jim and Charlie, used to
come many times during the day, trot round the house, drink up every
drop of soapy water in the washing-tubs, and if any linen was hanging
on the lines to dry, would munch it till driven away.
Two oxen and two or three cows used to come early every morning, and
cross our clearing to fetch their friends from your brother Charles’.
We used to hear the ox-bells, and after they had passed some time would
see them returning in triumph with Crummie and the heifer, and after
your brother-in-law got a cow, they would go for Dolly likewise, and
then the whole party would go off and feed together in the Bush till
night.
Fortunately, all the cattle in this part wear bells to prevent their
being lost. One day your sister and I went to bring F----e and the
children back to tea, when suddenly her own cow, Mistress Dolly, with
a neighbour’s oxen called Blindy and Baldface, came rushing down
the path we were in, and we had just time, warned by the bells, to
scramble out of the way with the children and get behind some trees,
while F----e, always courageous and active, drove them in an opposite
direction.
The being able to turn the cattle (a settler’s riches) into the Bush
during the whole summer, and thus to feed them free of all expense,
is a great boon to the settler; but this Bush-feeding has its
disadvantages, for the cattle will sometimes stray with what companions
they gather on the road, miles and miles away, to the great discomfort
of their masters who have to hunt for them.
All through the past summer, after his hard day’s work, we used to see
your youngest brother pass with a rope in one hand and his milk-pail
in the other, from our clearing into the Bush, to look for Crummie
and the heifer. Sometimes he would return with them, but much oftener
we had to go without the milk he supplied us with, as Crummie would be
heard of far away at some distant farm, and occasionally she and her
companion strayed as far as the Muskoka Road, many miles off, which
of course necessitated great loss of time and much fatigue the next
day in hunting her up. Both your brothers and your brother-in-law are
excellent at making their way through the Bush, and as each carries a
pocket-compass, are in little danger of being lost.
Just before we came here the whole settlement had to turn out in
search of a settler’s wife, who had gone to look for her cow one fine
afternoon with two of her own children and two of a neighbour’s, who
coveted the pleasant scrambling walk, and the chance of berry-picking.
As evening came on and they did not return, much alarm was felt; and
when the night had passed, it was thought best to call out all the
men in the immediate neighbourhood. Accordingly twenty men were soon
mustered, headed by a skilful trapper, who has been many years here,
and knows the Bush well. They made a “trapper’s line,” which means
placing the men in a straight line at considerable distances from each
other, and so beating the Bush in all directions as they advance,
shouting and firing off their guns continually. At length, towards the
afternoon, the trapper himself came upon the poor woman and the four
children, not many miles from her home, sitting under a tree, utterly
exhausted by hunger, fatigue, and incessant screaming for help. Her
account was, that she had found her cow at some distance from home,
had milked her, and then tried to return, but entirely forgot the way
she came, and after trying one opening after another became utterly
bewildered.
The forest in summer is so unvarying that nothing is easier than to go
astray. As night came on, she divided the can of milk among the poor,
hungry, crying children, and at length, tired out, they all slept
under a large tree, the night providentially being fine and warm. In
the morning they renewed their fruitless efforts, getting farther and
farther astray, till at length they had sunk down incapable of longer
exertion, and unable to stir from the spot where they were found.
I conclude this letter with remarking, that instead of the spring which
I fondly anticipated, we burst at once from dull gloomy weather and
melting snow, to burning hot summer and clouds of mosquitoes and flies
of all kinds.
LETTER VI.
Summer and mosquitoes! Inseparable words in Canada, except in the large
towns, where their attacks are hardly felt.
In the Bush, the larger the clearing the fewer the mosquitoes. It is,
above all things, desirable to avoid building a log-house near swampy
ground, for there they will be found in abundance.
We have four acres and a half quite clear, but unfortunately our
log-house, instead of being placed in the middle, is at one end, with
a well-wooded hill and a portion of dense forest at the back and at
one end; delicious retreat for our enemies, from whence they issued in
myriads, tormenting us from morning till night, and all night long.
This Egyptian plague began in the end of May, and lasted till the end
of September. We being new-comers they were virulent in their attacks,
and we were bitten from head to foot; in a short time we felt more
like lepers than healthy, clean people, and the want of sleep at night
was most trying to us all, after our hard work. Our only resource was
keeping large “smudges” continually burning in pans. These “smudges”
are made of decayed wood, called “punk,” and smoulder and smoke without
flaming.
When I went to bed at night (my only time for reading) I used to turn
a long trunk end upwards close to my bolster, and place a large pan of
“punk” on it, so that myself and my book were well enveloped in smoke.
Many times in the night we had to renew our pans, and from the first
dawn of day the buzzing of these hateful insects, who seem then to
acquire fresh liveliness, prevented all chance of sleep. Nor were the
mosquitoes our only foes. Flies of all kinds swarmed around us, and one
in particular, the deer-fly, was a long black fly frightful to look at,
from its size and ugliness. Still, as the flies did not circle about in
the air as the mosquitoes did, we could better defend ourselves against
them.
We derived little or no benefit from the numerous remedies recommended
by different settlers. In one only I found some alleviation--a weak
solution of carbolic acid, which certainly deadened the irritation, and
was at least a clean remedy compared with the “fly-oil” with which most
of the settlers besmear themselves unsparingly.
Towards the end of June I entered upon an entirely new phase of
Bush-life, which was anything but pleasant to a person of a nervous,
susceptible temperament. This was my being in perfect solitude for many
hours of every day. Your sister-in-law expected her first confinement,
and we were so anxious that she should have proper medical advice,
that it was thought advisable to place her in lodgings at B----e till
the important event took place. Her brother coming to pay her a visit
entirely agreed in the necessity of the case, and as he kindly smoothed
away the money difficulty it was carried into execution. She could not
go alone, and therefore your eldest sister accompanied her, and thus I
lost for a time my constant and only companion.
I undertook now to keep house for both your brothers, as in his wife’s
absence Charles could have little comfort at home. I only saw them at
meal-times, and though your eldest brother came home always before
dusk, yet I could not but be very nervous at being so much alone.
The weather became so hot, that the stove was moved into the open air
at the back of the house, and to save me fatigue your brother cut a
doorway at the back, close to where the stove was placed. Unfortunately
there was a great press of work at this time, and moreover no lumber on
the premises, and therefore no door could be made, and the aperture,
which I had nothing large enough to block up, remained all the summer,
to my great discomfiture.
At first I was not so very solitary, for a settler’s daughter, who had
worked for your sister-in-law, came to me three times a week, and went
on the alternate days to your sister F----e. We liked her very well,
were very kind to her, and under our training she was learning to be
quite a good servant, when an incident occurred which occasioned our
dismissing her, which gave me great pain, and which has never been
cleared up to my satisfaction.
Our poor dog Nero, who was an excellent guard, and quite a companion,
was taken ill, and we fancied that he had been bitten by a snake in
Charles’ beaver meadow, where he had been with your brothers who were
hay-making. We nursed him most tenderly, you may be sure, but he got
worse and worse suffered agonies, and in less than a week I was obliged
to consent to our old favourite dog being shot. He was taken from my
bed well wrapped up, so that he knew nothing of what was coming, while
I walked far away into the wood, and your brother with one shot put the
faithful animal out of his pain. Two days before he died a large piece
of poisoned meat was found near the pathway of our clearing, and as
from before the time of his being ill no one but this servant girl had
gone backwards and forwards, as her father had a kind of grudge against
your brother for driving his cattle off the premises, and as she never
expressed the slightest sympathy for the poor beast, but seemed quite
pleased when he was dead, we could not but fear that she had been made
the medium of killing him. We found that he had been poisoned with blue
vitriol, but we knew this too late to save him.
We buried him honourably, and I planted a circle of wild violets round
his grave, and was not ashamed to shed many tears besides, which was a
well-deserved tribute to our old and faithful _friend_.
After the girl was dismissed I found more than enough of occupation,
for though your brother made and baked the bread, which I was not
strong enough to do, yet I cooked, washed for them, and did the
house-work, which I found sufficiently fatiguing, and was very glad
after dinner to sit down to my writing-table, which I took good care to
place so as to face the open door, never feeling safe to have it at my
back.
Your dear sister F. was so kind, that at great inconvenience to
herself, on account of the heat and the flies in the forest, she
managed to come nearly every day at four p.m. with the children, and
remained till your brother came back for the night.
He was occupied for many weeks in making hay with your brother and
brother-in-law in the beaver meadow, a large one and very productive.
They make a great deal of hay, and put it up in large cocks, but a
great deal of it was lost by rotting on the ground, from not being
carried away in proper time. The delay was occasioned by none of us
having oxen of our own, and from not having the means of hiring till
the season was passed.
The not getting money at the proper epochs for work is the greatest
drawback to the new settler. If it comes too soon it is apt to melt
away in the necessities of daily life; if it comes too late he must
wait for another year.
I fully realised during this summer, that solitude in the Bush is not
privacy. Though in case of any accident I was out of reach of all human
help, yet I was liable at any moment of the day to have some passing
settler walk coolly in, and sit down in my very chair if I had vacated
it for a moment. I got one fright which I shall not easily forget. I
had given your two brothers their breakfast, and they had started for
their hay-making in the distant beaver meadow. I had washed up the
breakfast-things, cleared everything away, and was arranging my hair in
the glass hanging in the bed-place, the curtain of which was undrawn on
account of the heat. My parting look in the glass disclosed a not very
prepossessing face in the doorway behind, belonging to a man who stood
there immovable as a statue, and evidently enjoying my discomfiture.
I greeted him with a scream, which was almost a yell, and advanced pale
as a ghost, having the agreeable sensation of all the blood in my body
running down to my toes! His salutation was:
“Wall, I guess I’ve skeered you some!”
“Yes!” I replied, “you startled me very much.”
He then came in and sat down. I sat down too, and we fell into quite an
easy flow of talk about the weather, the crops, etc.
How devoutly I wished him anywhere else, and how ill I felt after my
fright, I need not say, but I flatter myself that nothing of this
appeared on the surface; all was courtesy and politeness.
At length he went way, and finding your brother in the beaver meadow,
took care to inform him that he “had had quite a pleasant chat with
his old woman!”
I knew this man by sight, for once in the early part of the summer he
came to inquire where Charles lived? On my pointing out the path, and
saying in my politest manner,
“You will have no difficulty, sir, in finding Mr. C. K.’s clearing,” he
coolly replied:
“I guess I shall find it; I knows your son well; _we always calls him
Charlie_!”
I had visitors during the summer, who were much more welcome. Two nice
intelligent little boys with bare feet and shining faces, the children
of an American from the “States,” settled in the Muskoka Road, used
to come twice a week with milk, eggs, and baskets of the delicious
wild raspberry at five cents a quart. While they were resting and
refreshing themselves with cold tea and bread-and-butter we used to
have quite pleasant conversations. They were very confidential, told
me how anxiously they were expecting a grandmother, of whom they were
very fond, and who was coming to live with them; of their progress and
prizes in the Sunday-school some miles from here, which they regularly
attended; of their garden and of many other little family matters; and
when I gave them some story-books for children, and little tracts, they
informed me that they would be kept for Sunday reading. They never
failed, with the things they brought for sale, to bring me as a present
a bunch of beautiful sweet-peas and mignonette, and occasionally a
scarlet gladiolus.
When they were gone I used to sit down to my letter-writing; and after
all my grubbing and house-work, I felt quite elevated in the social
scale to have a beautiful bouquet on my writing-table, which I took
care to arrange with a background of delicate fern leaves and dark,
slender sprigs of the ground-hemlock. The very smell of the flowers
reminded me of my beloved transatlantic home, with its wealth of
beautiful plants and flowering shrubs, and every room decorated with
vases of lovely flowers which I passed some delicious morning hours in
collecting and arranging.
When the fruit season had passed, I lost my little visitors, but
was painfully reminded of them at the beginning of the winter. Your
brother-in-law was called upon, in the absence of the clergyman, to
read the burial service over an old lady who had died suddenly in the
settlement. This was the grandmother of my poor little friends. She had
always expressed a wish to spend her last days with her daughter in
Muskoka, but put off her journey from the “States” till the weather was
so severe that she suffered much while travelling, and arrived with a
very bad cold. The second morning after her arrival she was found dead
in her bed.
I remained all the summer strictly a prisoner at home. The not being
able to shut up the log-house for want of the second door of course
prevented my leaving home, even for an hour; for the Bush is not
Arcadia, and however primitive the manners and customs may be, I have
failed to recognise primitive innocence among its inhabitants.
As to the berry-picking, which is the favourite summer amusement here,
I would sooner have gone without fruit than have ventured into the
swamps and beaver meadows, where the raspberries, huckleberries, and
cranberries abound. My fear of snakes was too overpowering. Charles
killed this summer no less than seven; and though we are told that in
this part of Canada they are perfectly innocuous, yet your brother
pointed out that three out of the seven he killed had the flat
conformation of head which betokens a venomous species.
In the meantime our news from B----e was not too good. After a
residence in the lodgings of five weeks, your sister-in-law had been
confined of a dear little boy, and at first all had gone well, but
after a week she became very ill, and also the baby; and as he had to
be brought up by hand, and there was great difficulty in getting pure,
unmixed milk in B----e, it was thought better, when he was five weeks
old, to bring the whole party back. That memorable journey must be
reserved for another letter.
I noticed this summer many times the curious appearance of our clearing
by moonlight. In the day the stumps stood out in all their naked
deformity, as we had no “crops of golden grain” to hide them; but at
night I never beheld anything more weird and ghostly. The trees being
mostly chopped in the winter, with deep snow on the ground, the stumps
are left quite tall, varying from five to seven feet in height. When
these are blackened by the burning, which runs all over the clearing,
they present in the dim light the appearance of so many spectres. I
could almost fancy myself in the cemetery in the Dunkirk Road, near
Calais, and that the blackened stumps were hideous black crosses which
the French are so fond of erecting in their churchyards.
They have in America a machine called a “stump-extractor;” but this is
very expensive. By the decay of nature, it is possible, in two or three
years, to drag out the stumps of trees with oxen; but the pine stumps
never decay under seven or eight years, and during all that time are a
perpetual blot on the beauty of the landscape.
I was much interested in a sight, novel to me, namely, the fire-flies
flitting about in the tops of the tall trees. They seemed like so many
glittering stars, moving so fast that the sight became quite dazzled.
In the cold weather, too, the aurora borealis is most beautiful; and
it is well worth being a little chilly to stand out and watch the soft
tints melting one into the other, and slowly vanishing away. But for
these occasional glimpses of beauty and sublimity, I should indeed have
found existence in the Bush intolerably prosaic.
I very much missed the flocks of birds I was accustomed to in Europe;
but as I always forbade any gun being fired off in my clearing, I
soon made acquaintance with some. It was a treat to me to watch two
audacious woodpeckers, who would come and nibble at my stumps, and let
me stand within a few feet of them without the least fear. There was
also a pretty snow-bird, which knew me so well that it would wait till
I threw out crumbs and bits of potato for it; and once, when we had
some meat hanging in a bag on the side of the house, which your brother
tied up tightly to prevent depredation, this sagacious creature perched
on the shed near, and actually looked me into untying the bag, and
pulling partly out a piece of the pork, upon which it set to work with
such goodwill, that in a few days some ounces of fat had disappeared.
LETTER VII.
All journeys to and from the Bush are prosecuted under such
difficulties, that it is very fortunate they are few and far between.
Indeed, few of the better class of settlers would remain, but for the
near prospect of Government granting roads in the township, and the
more distant one of the different companies for buying the pine-wood
bridging over the deep gullies on the lots to facilitate their taking
away the timber. When one of the expectant members for Muskoka paid us,
in the course of the summer, an election visit, this was the point on
which we mainly insisted. Our courteous visitor promised everything;
but as his subsequent election was declared null and void, we have as
yet reaped no benefit from his promises.
Towards the end of August, I was compelled to pay my half-yearly visit
to B----e, for the purpose of getting my pension-lists signed and
duly forwarded. Your brother likewise had to take in two settlers in
the vicinity, to swear off some land before taking it up. At first we
thought of making our way to the post-office, three miles off, and
from thence taking places in the mail-cart; but as we had to take
in our settlers, and to pay all their expenses to and from B----e,
your brother thought it best to send to the town for a wagon and team
expressly for ourselves. This arrived; but, alas! in the afternoon
instead of the morning, which had been specially mentioned.
On this day we fully proved the glorious uncertainty of the Canadian
climate. The morning had been lovely, but towards three p.m. a soft,
drizzling rain began to fall, which increased in volume and power till
it became a drenching torrent.
Your brother-in-law took charge of me, and assisted me in scrambling
over the different gullies; but by the time I considered it safe to get
into the wagon, I was already wet through. The horses were so tired,
having come from a distant journey, that we travelled very slowly, and
it was dark when we drew up at the half-way house, where we were to
have tea and to rest the poor animals. Here we remained for two hours;
and when we again started it was pitch dark, with torrents of rain
still falling, and the addition of occasional peals of thunder and
flashes of lightning.
I have heard and read much of the tropical rains of India and other
southern countries, but it would be impossible to imagine a more
persistent drenching than we got on this unlucky afternoon. The whole
eight miles from the half-way house the horses could only walk very
slowly, the night being unusually dark. We greatly need in this country
such a law as they have in France, where it is enacted, under a heavy
penalty, that no carriage, cart, or wagon shall travel after dark
without carrying a good and sufficient light to prevent dangerous
collisions. I should have been very nervous but for my implicit faith
in the sagacity of the horses, and the great care of the driver, whom
we only knew under his sobriquet of “Canadian Joe.” He was a quiet,
careful man, a French Canadian, who beguiled the way by singing very
sweetly, and with whom it was pleasant to converse in the language we
loved so well. He took us safely into B----e, with the addition to our
party of two travellers we overtook on the road, and upon whom we had
compassion.
When we got in, the hotel was about closing for the night; the fires
were out, and the landlady had gone to bed ill; but the master
bestirred himself, showed me to a comfortable bedroom, and made me some
negus, which your brother, himself wet to the skin, soon brought me,
and which at least warmed me a little after so many hours of exposure
to cold and wet.
The next morning, as soon as we could get into thoroughly-dried
clothes, we went to see our invalids. Your poor sister-in-law was still
suffering much, but her dear baby (a very minute specimen of humanity)
was improving, and, after more than two months’ absence, I was thankful
to see your sister only looking very pale, and not, as I expected,
utterly worn out by her arduous duties and compulsory vigils and
anxieties. Your brother was obliged to return to the Bush on Saturday;
but I remained to come home with your sister and sister-in-law the next
week.
In the meantime, having been to the magistrate’s office and transacted
all our business, I greatly enjoyed with your brother walking about
the neighbourhood. It was, indeed, a treat to walk on a good road, and
to see signs of life and progress everywhere, instead of the silent
monotony of the forest.
We noticed an amazing change for the better in this “rising village
of the Far West,” which we had not seen for six months. The hotels
and stores seemed to have quadrupled themselves, good frame-houses
were springing up in every direction, and a very pretty little church,
since opened for Church of England service, was nearly finished. These
lumber-houses are very ugly at first, on account of the yellow hue of
the wood; but this is soon toned down by exposure to the weather, and
climbing-plants and pretty gardens soon alter their appearance, and
make them picturesque.
The dull, primitive life of the Bush certainly prepares one to be
pleased with trifles. I revelled like a child in the unwonted stir and
hum of life about me, and felt half ashamed of the intense amusement I
derived from the lordly airs of an old gander, who marshalled his flock
of geese up and down the road all day long. I felt quite angry with a
young man at the breakfast-table of the hotel, who complained loudly
that this old gentleman’s cackling and hissing had kept him awake all
night. I too, in the intervals of sleep, had heard the same sound, but
to me it was sweet music.
On Sunday morning I had a treat for which I was quite unprepared. The
Rev. Morley Punshon, head of the Wesleyan Methodist Church in Canada,
came to B----e, to lecture on the “Life and Writings of Lord Macaulay.”
On Sunday morning he preached in the open air, to accommodate the many
who could not have found room in the Wesleyan Chapel. A little secluded
dell, some distance from the main road, was thoroughly cleared of wood
and underbrush, and rough benches were placed in profusion for seats. I
was astonished at the numbers assembled--six hundred I was afterwards
told. After the benches were full, the hill-sides were densely
packed; and it was impossible not to go back in thought to the Scotch
Covenanters and the heathery hills, so often sprinkled with their
blood. All here was calm and peaceful; it was a lovely Sabbath morning,
the air indescribably balmy and fragrant, the service very simple and
impressive, the singing singularly sweet, and the discourse delivered
by the gifted minister full of fervid eloquence.
He preached from Psalm xlii. 4. My feelings nearly overcame me; it was
the very first time since I left England that I had had the opportunity
of publicly joining in worship with my fellow-Christians; and it
appeared to me a matter of very small importance that most of those
present were Wesleyans, while I was Church of England. The lecture on
“Macaulay” was duly delivered the next day, and was much liked; but I
did not go, preferring to pass the time with our poor invalid.
On Tuesday, September 2nd, your brother Charles came in and made
arrangements to take his wife, child, and your sister, back on the
following day. I made up my mind to go back with them, and again we
took care to secure Canadian Joe and his team. It was a perilous
journey for one in so much physical suffering, but it was admirably
managed. We laid a soft mattress in the bottom of the wagon, with
plenty of pillows, and on this we placed your sister-in-law with the
baby by her side. Charles sat with them to keep all steady; your sister
and I sat with the driver. Canadian Joe surpassed himself in the care
he took of the invalid; every bad piece of road he came to he walked
his horses quite softly, looking back at Charles with a warning shake
of the head, as much as to say, “Take care of her now!”
We travelled slowly, but by his great care arrived safely, and at
the cleared farm nearest to mine we were met by your brother and
brother-in-law, who had skilfully arranged a ship’s hammock on a pole,
and made of it a very tolerable palanquin. Into this your sister-in-law
was carefully lifted, and two of the gentlemen carried her, the third
relieving them at intervals. They got her safely over all the gullies,
and carried her past my log-house to her own home, where she was at
once put to bed, and in a very few days began to recover. Your sister
and I took charge of the dear little baby, and after a most fatiguing
walk and much dangerous scrambling with such a precious load, we got
him safely here, where he has remained our cherished nursling ever
since, and has thriven well. His dear young mother, having quite
recovered, comes every day to be with her little treasure.
We only just arrived in time; the rain began again and continued for
some days. We had much trouble with the rain drifting in through the
clap-boards of the roof. What would _Mr. Punch_ have said could he have
seen two ladies in bed with a baby between them, and a large umbrella
fixed at the head of the bed to save them from the roof-drippings!
We had two visits this autumn from which we derived much pleasure. One
from our old friend C. W., and one from a friend and connection of
your sister-in-law’s family, her eldest brother having married one of
his sisters. H. L. was quite an addition to our working party. More
than six feet high, strong and active, he fraternised at once with
your brothers, and cheerfully helped them in their daily labours. Your
brother hired a team of oxen for some days, and had the remaining
trees lying in our clearing logged up, and watched for the first
fine dry day to complete the burning begun in spring. Our two young
friends assisted him in his labours, and they managed so well that the
regular day’s work was not interfered with. Every evening they set
fire to some of the log-heaps, and diligently “branded” them up till
they were reduced to ashes. As we could not admit our friends into
the house after a certain hour in the evening, and as their vigils
extended far into the night, your brother used to provide the party
with plenty of potatoes, which they roasted in the ashes and ate with
butter and salt, with a large pot of coffee and an unlimited supply
of tobacco--they being all inveterate smokers. As they had all fine
voices and sang well together, the gipsy party was not a dull one,
and the forest echoed with their favourite songs. Fortunately there
was no one in our solitary neighbourhood to be disturbed from their
slumbers, and provided they did not wake the baby, we rather enjoyed
the unwonted noise, knowing how much they were enjoying themselves.
Perhaps the most amusing time of all was the Saturday afternoon,
when what we ladies called the “Jew trading” invariably took place.
I really think that every article belonging to our young men changed
hands at these times, and the amusing manner in which the stores of
each were laid out for public admiration and regularly haggled for,
cannot be forgotten. In this manner your eldest brother’s celebrated
chassepot gun, picked up on the field of Sedan, gave place to a Colt’s
revolver and a small fowling-piece; his heavy gold seal (a much-coveted
article) took the more useful form of corduroy trousers and heavy
boots; in like manner both your brothers gladly bartered their fine
dress shirts, and handkerchiefs, and satin ties, for coarser garments
better fitted for the Bush, of which both C. W. and H. L. had a good
stock now quite useless to them, as neither could make up his mind to
a Bush life. These amusing transfers of property came to a close at
last, after some weeks of incessant trafficking, with your brother’s
solemnly asking my permission to hand over to H. L., as a make-weight
in the scale, a large woollen comforter which I had knitted for him.
Some of the bartering went on at “Pioneer Cottage,” your brother
Charles’ place, a name most appropriately given, as he was the first
of our party in the settlement. I called my log-house “Cedar Lodge” at
first, and headed some of my letters to England with that elegant name,
understanding that I was the happy owner of a number of cedar trees,
but finding that my riches in cedar consisted in a small portion only
of a dirty cedar-swamp, from which not one tree fit for building could
be extracted, I dropped the grandiloquent nomenclature, and simply put
for heading to my letters, “The Bush--Muskoka.”
We felt quite dull when our friends left, but they correspond with both
your brothers, and H. L. is not far from us, having married and settled
at Toronto.
A very grave subject of consideration has arisen among us on the
subject of domestic servants. Should any providential improvement
in our circumstances take place, or our farms become even moderately
thriving, we should certainly once more require these social
incumbrances, but where to find them would be a question. Certainly
not in the settlement to which we belong. Not one of the ladies in our
three families has a special vocation for cooking and house-tidying,
though all have done it since we came here without complaint, and have
done it well. Indeed, a most respectable settler, who, with other men
and a team of oxen, was working for some days on our land to help
your brother, remarked to his wife that he was quite astonished that
a young lady (meaning your eldest sister), evidently unaccustomed to
hard work, could do so much and could do it so well. He had noticed how
comfortably all the different meals had been prepared and arranged.
Your sister F----e too, in spite of the hindrance of three little
children, has always given great satisfaction to the workmen employed
by her husband. We should of course hail the day when we could have the
help in all household matters we formerly enjoyed; but we must surely
seek for it at a distance from here.
The children of the settlers, both boys and girls, know well that on
attaining the age of eighteen years, they can each claim and take up
from Government a free grant of one hundred acres. They naturally
feel their incipient independence and their individual interest in
the country, and this makes them less inclined to submit to the few
restrictions of servitude still sanctioned by common sense and general
observance. They serve their temporary masters and mistresses under
protest as it were, and are most unwilling to acknowledge their title
to these obnoxious names. They consider it their undoubted right to be
on a footing of perfect equality with every member of the family, and
have no inclination whatever to “sit below the salt.”
When your sister-in-law returned from Bracebridge, her health was for
some time too delicate for her to do any hard work, and we, having
charge of the baby, could give her no assistance. Your brother Charles
looked about the settlement for a respectable girl as a servant. He
found one in every way suitable, about sixteen, and apparently healthy,
strong, willing, and tolerably competent. He liked her appearance,
and engaged her at the wages she asked. She entered upon her place,
did her work well, and gave entire satisfaction. Everything was done
to make her comfortable, even to the extent of giving her the whole
Sunday to herself, as she was in the habit of attending the church
some miles off and also the Sunday-school. In little more than a week
she suddenly left, assigning no reason but that she was “wanted at
home,” which we knew to be a falsehood, as she had two or three sisters
capable of assisting her mother. We were greatly puzzled to find out
her true reason for leaving. After a time it was made clear to us by
a trustworthy person who had it from the family themselves. The young
lady had found it _intolerably dull_, and it was further explained to
us that no settler would allow his daughter to be in service where she
was not allowed to sit at the same table with the family, and to join
freely in the conversation at all times!
LETTER VIII.
I begin this letter with a few observations in support of my
oft-repeated assertion that poor ladies and gentlemen form the worst,
or at least the most unsuccessful, class for emigration to Canada. I
must give you a slight sketch of the class of settlers we have here,
and of the conditions they must fulfil before they can hope to be in
easy circumstances, much less in affluent ones. Of course I am speaking
of settlers from the “old country,” and not of Canadians born who
sometimes find their way from the front to try their fortunes in the
backwoods. The settlers in this neighbourhood, for a circuit of about
eight miles, are all of the lower classes; weavers from Scotland,
agricultural labourers from England, artisans and mechanics from all
parts. Whatever small sum of money a family of this class can collect
with a view to emigration, very little of it is spent in coming over.
They are invariably steerage passengers, and on landing at Quebec are
forwarded, free of all expense, and well provided for on the road,
by the Emigration Society, to the part where they intend settling.
Say that they come to the free-grant lands of Muskoka. The intending
settler goes before the commissioner of crown-lands, and (if a single
man) takes up a lot of a hundred acres; if married and with children,
he can claim another lot as “head of a family.” He finds the conditions
of his tenure specified on the paper he signs, and sees that it will
be five years before he can have his patent, and then only if he has
cleared fifteen acres, and has likewise built thereon a log-house of
certain dimensions. He pays some one a dollar to point out his lot,
and to take him over it, and then selecting the best site, and with
what assistance he can get from his neighbours, he clears a small
patch of ground and builds a shanty. In the meantime, if he have a
wife and family they are lodged and boarded for a very small sum at
some near neighbour’s. When he and his family have taken possession,
he underbrushes and chops as much as he possibly can before the winter
sets in; but on the first approach of the cold weather he starts for
the lumber-shanties, and engages himself to work there, receiving from
twenty to twenty-five dollars a month and his food. Should he be of any
particular trade he goes to some large town, and is tolerably sure of
employment.
It is certainly a very hard and anxious life for the wife and children,
left to shift for themselves throughout the long dreary winter, too
often on a very slender provision of flour and potatoes and little else.
When spring at last comes, the steady, hard-working settler returns
with quite a little sum of money wherewith to commence his own farming
operations. One of the most respectable and thriving settlers near us
is a man who began life as a sturdy Kentish ploughboy. He is now an
elderly man with a very large family and a good farm. He has thirty
acres well cleared and under cultivation, has thirteen head of cattle
and some fine pigs, has the best barn in the place, and has just
removed his family into a large commodious plank house, with many rooms
and a very fine cellar, built entirely at odd times by himself and his
son, a steady, clever lad of eighteen.
This man for several years has gone at the beginning of the winter to
one of the hotels in Bracebridge, where he acts as “stable-boy,” and
makes a great deal of money besides his food, which, in such a place,
is of the best. He could very well now remain at home, and reap the
reward of his thrift and industry, but prefers going on for a year or
two longer, while he still has health and strength.
Now it is obvious that ladies and gentlemen have not, and cannot have
these advantages. The ladies of a family cannot be left unprotected
during the long winter, and indeed are, for the most part, physically
incapable of chopping fire-wood, drawing water, and doing other hard
outdoor work; I speak particularly of _poor_ ladies and gentlemen.
Should people of ample means _choose_ to encounter the inevitable
privations of the Bush, there are of course few which cannot be at
least alleviated by a judicious expenditure of money.
It may well be asked here, who is there with _ample means_ who would
dream of coming to Muskoka? I answer boldly, none but those who are
entirely ignorant of the miseries of Bush life, or those who have been
purposely misled by designing and interested people.
Here the settlers’ wives and daughters work almost as hard as their
husbands and fathers--log, burn, plant, and dig; and, in some
instances, with the work adopt the habits of men, and smoke and chew
tobacco to a considerable extent. This, I am happy to say, is not the
case with all, nor even, I hope, with the majority; but nearly all the
women, long before attaining middle age, look prematurely worn and
faded, and many of the settlers themselves bear in their faces the
unmistakable signs of hard work, scanty food, and a perpetual struggle
for existence.
I have not yet mentioned the subject of wild beasts, but I may truly
say that ever since I came out here, they have been a complete bugbear
to me, and my dread of them is still unconquerable. I have been much
laughed at for my fears, but as it is well-known that there _are_
wild animals in the recesses of these woods, and as they do sometimes
show themselves without being sought for, I cannot consider my fears
groundless.
I have been told by one settler, who has been here for many years,
and has often “camped out” all night in the woods, that he has never
seen anything “worse than himself;” but another settler, the trapper
mentioned in a former letter, kills some wild animals every year, and
two or three times he has been met going over our lots in search of
some bear or lynx which had escaped him.
We are told that when the clearings are larger, and more animals kept,
especially pigs, that our visits from Bruin at least will be more
frequent; and since your brother Charles, some months ago, got two fine
pigs, he has repeatedly found bear-tracks in his beaver meadow, and
even close up to the fence of his clearing. To say the least of it, the
pleasure of a solitary walk is greatly impaired by the vague terror
of a stray bear confronting you on the pathway, or of a spiteful lynx
dropping down upon your shoulders from the branch of a tree.
The morning before H. L. left us for Toronto, he went to the
post-office, but before he got to the end of our clearing, he saw at
some distance a grey animal, which at first he took to be a neighbour’s
dog; long before he got up to it, it cleared the fence at one bound,
and vanished into the Bush. He thought this odd, but went on; returning
in the twilight he was greatly astonished to see the same animal again
in the clearing, and this time he might have had a good shot at it,
but unfortunately he was encumbered with a can of milk, which he had
good-naturedly brought for me, and before he could bring his gun to
bear upon it, the creature was again in the depths of the Bush.
Much conversation ensued about it; some thought it must have been a
chance wolf, but Charles, whose opinion we all looked to, was more
inclined to the idea of its being a grey fox; he hardly thought that
any other wild animal would have come so fearlessly into the clearing.
H. L. went to Toronto, and in a few days your brother received a letter
from him saying that he had just seen a lynx newly killed which had
been brought into the town, and that in colour, shape, and size, it
exactly resembled the animal he had seen in my clearing. It has since
been supposed that this might be the lynx the trapper said he was
tracking when he passed near here in the spring.
I have often spoken of the broad deep gully at the end of my lot near
the “concession” road. We had an old negro located on the strip of land
between for more than five weeks. One fearfully cold day last winter,
during a heavy snow-storm, your brother Charles came upon the poor old
man “camping” for the night on the road near here. He talked to him a
little, gave him all the small change he happened to have about him,
and coming home and telling us, we made a small collection, which with
a loaf of bread, he took to the old man next morning before he went
away.
Before the close of this autumn, Charles again met his old
acquaintance, looking more ragged and feeble than ever. He had with him
only his axe and a small bundle. He said that he was making his way
to a lot which he had taken up eight miles off, where he was going to
locate himself and remain. He spoke too of having friends in the front
who would give him some assistance, and at least send him some flour.
Again he camped out for the night, and we held a family consultation
about him. Your brothers proposed going with him to his lot, and
helping him to build his shanty. They talked of taking provisions and
being out for some days. They also spoke of taking him food twice a
week during the winter for fear he should starve, as he complained that
his neighbours were very unkind to him, and did not want him located
among them.
We all loudly protested against this plan as being altogether quixotic,
and reminded them that to carry out their plan they must periodically
neglect their own work, leave us alone, and run the risk of being often
weather-bound, thus causing injury to their own health, and much alarm
to us. We suggested an expedient, to let poor Jake settle himself near
my gully for the winter; your brothers to build him a shanty there, and
to take him every day sufficient warm food to make him comfortable.
Charles promised to join with us in giving him so much bread and
potatoes every week. I paid one visit to the old negro, whom I found
dirty, and with only one eye, yet not at all repulsive-looking, as he
had a very pleasant countenance, and talked well and intelligently.
He agreed to our plan, and your brothers soon raised the logs of a good
shanty, and till it was completed he built himself a wigwam, Indian
fashion, which he made very warm and comfortable. We told him also that
if he liked to make a small clearing round his shanty, we would pay
him for his chopping when he left. The winter soon came, and the snow
began to fall. The first very frosty night made us anxious about our
old pensioner, and your brother went to him early the next morning with
a can of hot tea for his breakfast. What was his astonishment when he
crossed the gully to hear loud voices in Jake’s little encampment.
On reaching it he asked the old man who was with him. He significantly
pointed to the wigwam, from which a woman’s voice called out:
“Yes! I’m here, and I’ve got the hagur!” (ague).
A few minutes afterwards the owner of the voice issued from the hut,
in the person of a stout, bold-looking, middle-aged woman, (white),
who evidently considered old Jake, his shanty, his wigwam, and all his
effects, as her own undoubted property. We found that this was the
“Mary” of whom Jake had spoken as being the person with whom he had
boarded and lodged in the front, and who had found him out here. In
the course of the day both your brothers paid the old man a visit, and
signified to him that it would be as well if he and his companion took
their departure, as we knew he was not married to her, and we had a
wholesome dread of five children, whom Jake had incidentally mentioned,
following in the wake of their mother.
We gave them leave, however, to remain till the Monday following, as
we did not wish to drive any one out precipitately who was suffering
from the “hagur.” Till they went, we supplied them with provisions.
On the following Monday they departed. Your brothers gave poor Jake
two dollars for the little bit of chopping he had done, and we gave
him some bread, coffee, and potatoes, as provisions for his journey.
Your brothers saw him and Mary off with all their bundles, and returned
home, leaving my gully as silent and solitary as ever.
We heard afterwards that Jake did not go to his own lot, as he seemed
to intend, but was seen with his companion making his way to the main
road out of the Bush. A settler overtook them, and told us they were
quarrelling violently for the possession of a warm quilted French
counterpane, which we had lent to old Jake to keep him warm in his
wigwam, and had allowed him to take away.
We were disappointed this year in not having a visit from the old
colporteur of Parry’s Sound. He came last year during a heavy storm
of snow, with a large pack of cheap Bibles and Testaments, and told us
he was an agent for the Wesleyan Society, and had orders to distribute
gratis where there was really no means of paying. In answer to some
remark of mine, he said that “the Bible must always follow the axe.”
I recognised more than ever, how, by the meanest and weakest
instruments, God works out His mighty designs. This poor man was
verging towards the decline of life; had a hollow cough, and was in
frame very feeble and fragile, yet he was full of zeal, travelled
incessantly, and dispensed numbers of copies of the Word of God as he
passed from settlement to settlement. I bought two New Testaments for
eight cents each, well printed, and strongly bound.
I am at work occasionally at my pleasant task of recording Bush
reminiscences. My labours have at least kept me from vain and
fruitless regrets and repinings.
“_Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’entrate!_” How often have I repeated
these dismal words to myself since I came into the Bush, and felt them
to be the knell of hope and happiness! But time flies whether in joy or
sorrow. We are now in the middle of our second winter, those dreadful
winters of close imprisonment, which last for nearly seven months, and
which your sister and I both agree, form the severest trial of Bush
life. My aspirations, in former years, were manifold; but were I asked
now what were the three absolute essentials for human happiness, I
should be tempted to reply, “Roads to walk upon, a church to worship
in, and a doctor within reach in case of necessity!” All these are
wanting in the Bush; but as we have incessant daily occupation, an
extensive correspondence, and as providentially we brought out all
our stock of cherished books, we manage to live on without too much
complaining.
Your brother Charles is doing pretty well, and hopes to bring his few
animals safely through the winter. Your brother-in-law also is making
progress, and is expecting from England a partner (a young relation of
his own) whose coming will probably insure him success. We remain just
as we were, striving, struggling, and hoping against hope, that success
may yet crown our endeavours. Our farm stock is easily counted, and
easily taken care of: your brother’s dog, with three very fat puppies;
my pretty cat “Tibbs,” with her little son “Hodge,” and a magnificent
tom puss, whose real home is at “Pioneer Cottage,” but who, being of
social habits and having a general invitation, does me the honour to
eat, drink, and sleep here.
My sketches of Bush life are an occupation and an amusement to me, but
I can truly say that they very faintly portray our sufferings and our
privations.
LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY.