A JOURNEY TO TORONTO.
To make my narrative intelligible to those who are not familiar with the
times of which I am about to write, I must revert briefly to the year
1834. During that year I made my first business visit to Toronto, then
newly erected into a city. As the journey may be taken as a fair
specimen of our facilities for travelling in those days, I shall
describe it.
I left our shanty in Sunnidale in the bright early morning, equipped
only with an umbrella and a blue bag, such as is usually carried by
lawyers, containing some articles of clothing. The first three or four
miles of the road lay over felled trees cut into logs, but not hauled
out of the way. To step or jump over these logs every few feet may be
amusing enough by way of sport, but it becomes not a little tiresome
when repeated mile after mile, with scarcely any intermission, and
without the stimulus of companionship. After getting into a better
cleared road, the chief difficulty lay with the imperfectly "stubbed"
underbrush and the frequency of cradle-holes--that is, hollows caused by
up-turned roots--in roughly timbered land. This kind of travelling
continued till mid-day, when I got a substantial dinner and a boisterous
welcome from my old friend Root and his family. He had a pretty little
daughter by this time.
An hour's rest, and an easy walk of seven miles to Barrie, were pleasant
enough, in spite of stumps and hollows. At Barrie I met with more
friends, who would have had me remain there for the night; but time was
too valuable. So on I trudged, skirting round the sandy beach of
beautiful Kempenfeldt Bay, and into the thick dark woods of Innisfil,
where the road was a mere brushed track, easily missed in the twilight,
and very muddy from recent rains. Making all the expedition in my power,
I sped on towards Clement's tavern, then the only hostelry between
Barrie and Bradford, and situated close to the height of land whence
arise, in a single field, the sources of various streams flowing into
the Nottawasaga, the Holland, and the Credit Rivers. But rain came on,
and the road became a succession of water-holes so deep that I all but
lost my boots, and, moreover, it was so dark that it was impossible to
walk along logs laid by the roadside, which was the local custom in
daylight.
I felt myself in a dilemma. To go forward or backward seemed equally
unpromising. I had often spent nights in the bush, with or without a
wigwam, and the thought of danger did not occur to me. Suddenly I
recollected that about half a mile back I had passed a newly chopped and
partially-logged clearing, and that there might possibly be workmen
still about. So I returned to the place, and shouted for assistance; but
no person was within hearing. There was, however, a small log hut, about
six feet square, which the axe-men had roughly put up for protection
from the rain, and in it had left some fire still burning. I was glad
enough to secure even so poor a shelter as this. Everything was wet. I
was without supper, and very tired after thirty miles' walk. But I tried
to make the best of a bad job: collected plenty of half-consumed brands
from the still blazing log-heaps, to keep up some warmth during the
night, and then lay down on the round logs that had been used for seats,
to sleep as best I might.
But this was not to be. At about nine o'clock there arose from the
woods, first a sharp snapping bark, answered by a single yelp; then two
or three yells at intervals. Again a silence, lasting perhaps five
minutes. This kept on, the noise increasing in frequency, and coming
nearer and again nearer, until it became impossible to mistake it for
aught but the howling of wolves. The clearing might be five or six
acres. Scattered over it were partially or wholly burnt log heaps. I
knew that wolves would not be likely to venture amongst the fires, and
that I was practically safe. But the position was not pleasant, and I
should have preferred a bed at Clement's, as a matter of choice. I,
however, kept up my fire very assiduously, and the evil brutes continued
their concert of fiendish discords--sometimes remaining silent for a
time, and anon bursting into a full chorus _fortissimo_--for many long,
long hours, until the glad beams of morning peeped through the trees,
and the sky grew brighter and brighter; when the wolves ceased their
serenade, and I fell fast asleep, with my damp umbrella for a pillow.
With the advancing day, I awoke, stiffened in every joint, and very
hungry. A few minutes' walk on my road showed me a distant opening in
the woods, towards which I hastened, and found a new shanty, inhabited
by a good-natured settler and his family, from whom I got some
breakfast, for which they would accept nothing but thanks. They had
lately been much troubled, they said, with wolves about their cattle
sheds at night.
From thence I proceeded to Bradford, fifteen miles, by a road interlaced
with pine roots, with deep water-holes between, and so desperately
rugged as to defy any wheeled vehicle but an ox-cart to struggle over
it. Here my troubles ended for the present. Mr. Thomas Drury, of that
village, had been in partnership with a cousin of my own, as brewers,
at Mile End, London. His hospitable reception, and a good night's
repose, made me forget previous discomforts, and I went on my way next
morning with a light heart, carrying with me a letter of introduction to
a man of whom I had occasionally heard in the bush, one William Lyon
Mackenzie.
The day's journey by way of Yonge Street was easily accomplished by
stage--an old-fashioned conveyance enough, swung on leather straps, and
subject to tremendous jerks from loose stones on the rough road,
innocent of Macadam, and full of the deepest ruts. A fellow-passenger,
by way of encouragement, told me how an old man, a few weeks before, had
been jolted so violently against the roof, as to leave marks of his
blood there, which, being not uncommon, were left unheeded for days. My
friend advised me to keep on my hat, which I had laid aside on account
of the heat of the day, and I was not slow to adopt the suggestion.
Arrived in town, my first business was to seek out Mr. William Hawkins,
well-known in those days as an eminent provincial land surveyor. I found
him at a house on the south side of Newgate (now Adelaide) street, two
or three doors west of Bay Street. He was living as a private boarder
with an English family; and, at his friendly intercession, I was
admitted to the same privilege. The home was that of Mr. H. C. Todd,
with his wife and two sons. With them, I continued to reside as often
as I visited Toronto, and for long after I became a citizen. That I
spent there many happy days, among kind and considerate friends, numbers
of my readers will be well assured when I mention, that the two boys
were Alfred and Alpheus Todd, the one loved and lamented as the late
Clerk of Committees in the Canadian House of Commons--the other widely
known in Europe and America, as the late Librarian of the Dominion
Parliament.
My stay in Toronto on that occasion was very brief. To wait upon the
Chief Emigrant Agent for instructions about road-making in Sunnidale; to
make a few small purchases of clothing and tea; and to start back again,
without loss of time, were matters of course. One thing, however, I
found time to do, which had more bearing upon this narrative, and that
was, to present Mr. Drury's letter of introduction to William L.
Mackenzie, M. P. P., at his printing-office on Hospital Street. I had
often seen copies, in the bush, of the _Colonial Advocate_, as well as
of the _Courier_ and _Gazette_ newspapers, but had the faintest possible
idea of Canadian politics. The letter was from one whose hospitality
Mackenzie had experienced for weeks in London, and consequently I felt
certain of a courteous reception. Without descending from the high stool
he used at his desk, he received the letter, read it, looked at me
frigidly, and said in his singular, harsh Dundee dialect: "We must look
after our own people before doing anything for strangers." Mr. Drury had
told him that I wished to know if there were any opening for
proof-readers in Toronto. I was not a little surprised to find myself
ostracized as a stranger in a British colony, but, having other views,
thought no more of the circumstance at the time.
This reminds me of another characteristic anecdote of Mackenzie, which
was related to me by one who was on the spot where it happened. In 1820,
on his first arrival in Montreal from Scotland, he got an engagement as
chain-bearer on the survey of the Lachine canal. A few days afterwards,
the surveying party, as usual at noon, sat down on a grassy bank to eat
their dinner. They had been thus occupied for half an hour, and were
getting ready for a smoke, when the new chain-bearer suddenly jumped up
with an exclamation, "Now, boys, time for work! we mustn't waste the
government money!" The consequence of which ill-timed outburst was his
prompt dismissal from the service.