Twenty-Seven Years in Canada West;

or The Experience of an Early Settler

by MAJOR STRICKLAND, C.M


EDITED BY AGNES STRICKLAND,
Author of “The Queens of England,”, etc.


And when those toils rewarding,
Broad lands at length they’ll claim,
They’ll call the new possession,
By some familiar name.

Agnes Strickland.—_Historic Scenes_.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1853.




PREFACE.


No one can give an adequate view of the general life of a colonist,
unless he has been one himself. Unless he has experienced all the
various gradations of colonial existence, from that of the pioneer in
the backwoods and the inhabitant of a shanty, up to the epoch of his
career, when he becomes the owner, by his own exertions, of a
comfortable house and well-cleared farm, affording him the comforts and
many of the luxuries of civilization, he is hardly competent to write
on such a subject. I have myself passed through all these grades. I
have had the honour of filling many colonial appointments, such as
Commissioner of the Court of Requests, and Justice of the Peace. My
commission in her Majesty’s Militia, and my connection with the Canada
Company, have also afforded me some opportunities of acquiring
additional information. I was in the Company’s service during the early
settlement of Guelph and also of Goderich, in the Huron tract. I am,
therefore, as intimately acquainted with those flourishing settlements
as with the townships in my own county of Peterborough.

Upon my return to my native country in August, on a visit to my
venerable mother, I was advised by my family to give my colonial
experience to the world in a plain, practical manner. I followed the
flattering suggestions of relatives so distinguished for literary
attainments, and so dear to my affections, and “Twenty-seven Years in
Canada West; or, The Experience of an Early Settler,” is the result of
my compliance with their wishes.

The subject of colonization is, indeed, one of vital importance, and
demands much consideration, for it is the wholesome channel through
which the superfluous population of England and Ireland passes, from a
state of poverty to one of comfort. It is true that the independence of
the Canadian settler must be the fruit of his own labour, for none but
the industrious can hope to obtain that reward. In fact, idle and
indolent persons will not change their natures by going out to Canada.
Poverty and discontent will be the lot of the sluggard in the Bush, as
it was in his native land—nay, deeper poverty, for “he cannot work, to
beg he is ashamed,” and if he be surrounded by a family, those nearest
and dearest to him will share in his disappointment and regret.

But let the steady, the industrious, the cheerful man go forth in hope,
and turn his talents to account in a new country, whose resources are
not confined to tillage alone—where the engineer, the land-surveyor,
the navigator, the accountant, the lawyer, the medical practitioner,
the manufacturer, will each find a suitable field for the exercise of
his talents; where, too, the services of the clergyman are much
required, and the pastoral character is valued and appreciated as it
ought to be.

To the artizan, the hand-loom weaver, and the peasant, Canada is indeed
a true land of Goshen. In fact, the stream of migration cannot flow too
freely in that direction. However numerous the emigrants may be,
employment can be obtained for all.

That the industrial classes do become the richest men cannot be denied,
because their artificial wants are fewer, and their labours greater
than those of the higher ranks. However, the man of education and
refinement will always keep the balance steady, and will hold offices
in the Colony and responsible situations which his richer but less
learned neighbour can never fill with ease or propriety.

The Canadian settler possesses vast social advantages over other
colonists. He has no convict neighbours—no cruel savages, now, to
contend with—no war—no arid soil wherewith to contend. The land is,
generally speaking, of a rich quality, and the colonist has fire-wood
for the labour of cutting, fish for the catching, game for the pleasant
exercise of hunting and shooting in Nature’s own preserves, without the
expense of a licence, or the annoyance of being warned off by a surly
gamekeeper.

The climate of Canada West is healthier and really pleasanter than that
of England or Ireland. The cold is bracing, and easily mitigated by
good fires and warm clothing; but it is not so really chilling as the
damp atmosphere of the mother-country. Those who have not visited the
Canadas are apt to endow the Upper Province with the severe climate of
the Lower one, whereas that of Western Canada is neither so extremely
hot nor so cold as many districts of the United States.

Emigration to Canada is no longer attended with the difficulties and
disadvantages experienced by the early settlers, of which such
lamentable, and perhaps exaggerated accounts have frequently issued
from the press. The civilizing efforts of the Canada Company have
covered much of the wild forest-land with smiling corn-fields and
populous villages. Indeed, the liberal manner in which the Company have
offered their lands on sale or lease, have greatly conduced to the
prosperity of the Western Province.

If the facts and suggestions contained in the following pages should
prove useful and beneficial to the emigrant, by smoothing his rough
path to comfort and independence, my object will be attained, and my
first literary effort will not have been made in vain.




CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.


CHAPTER I.
Embarkation for Canada.—Voyage out.—Sea-life.—Icebergs.—Passage up the
St. Lawrence.—Quebec.—Memorials of General
Wolfe.—Cathedral.—Hospitality.—Earthquakes.—Nuns.—Montreal.—Progress up
the Country.—My Roman Catholic Fellow-traveller.—Attempt at
Conversion.—The Township of Whitby.

CHAPTER II.
Arrival at Darlington.—Kind Reception.—My Friend’s Location.—His
Inexperience.—Damage to his Land by Fire.—Great Conflagration at
Miramichi.—Forest Fires.—Mighty Conflagration of the 6th of
October.—Affecting Story of a Lumber-foreman.—His Presence of Mind, and
wonderful Preservation.—The sad Fate of his Companions.

CHAPTER III.
Inexperience of my Friend.—Bad State of his Land—Fall
Wheat.—Fencing.—Grasses.—Invitation to a “Bee.”—United Labour.—Canadian
Sports.—Degeneracy of Bees.

CHAPTER IV.
My Marriage.—I become a Settler on my own Account—I purchase Land in
Otonabee.—Return to Darlington.—My first Attempt at driving a
Span.—Active Measures to remedy a Disaster.—Patience of my
Father-in-law.—My first Bear-hunt.—Beaver-meadows.—Canadian
Thunder-storms.—Fright of a Settler’s Family

CHAPTER V.
Canadian Harvest.—Preparing Timber for Frame-buildings.—Raising
“Bee.”—Beauty of the Canadian Autumn.—Visit to Otonabee.—Rough
Conveyance.—Disaccommodation.—Learned Landlord.—Cobourg.—Otonabee
River.—Church of Gore’s Landing.—Effects of persevering industry

CHAPTER VI.
Wood-duck Shooting.—Adventure on Rice Lake.—Irish Howl.—Arrival at
Gore’s Landing.—General Howling for the Defunct.—Dangers of our
Journey.—Safe Arrival at Cobourg.—Salmon-fishing.—Canoe-building after
a bad Fashion.—Salmon-spearing.—Canadian Fish and Fisheries.—Indian
Summer.—Sleighs and Sleighing.—Domestic Love

CHAPTER VII.
Employments of a Man of Education in the Colony.—Yankee Wedding.—My
Commission.—Winter in Canada.—Healthiness of the Canadian
Climate.—Search for Land.—Purchase Wild Land at Douro.—My Flitting.—Put
up a Shanty.—Inexperience in Clearing.—Plan-heaps

CHAPTER VIII.
A Logging-Bee.—Lime-burning.—Shingling.—Arrival of my
Brother-in-law.—Birth of my Son.—Sad Journey to Darlington.—Lose my
Way.—Am refused a Lift.—My boyish Anger.—My Wife’s Death.—The
Funeral.—I leave Darlington

CHAPTER IX.
Return to Otonabee.—Benevolence of my Neighbour.—Serious Accident to a
Settler.—His singular Misfortunes.—Particulars of his Life

CHAPTER X.
Preparations for my second Marriage.—Dangerous Adventure.—My Wife’s
nocturnal Visitor.—We prepare for the Reception of our uninvited
Guest.—Bruin’s unwelcome Visit to an Irish Shanty.—Our Bear-hunt.—Major
Elliott’s Duel with Bruin.—His Wounds and Victory

CHAPTER XI.
Canada the Poor Man’s Country.—Disadvantages of Inexperience.—Township
of Harvey Settlement.—Pauper Emigration.—Superior Advantages of the
Labourer Colonist.—Temperance and Temperance Societies.—A dry Answer to
watery Arguments.—British and Foreign Temperance Society

CHAPTER XII.
Want of Home-pasturage in Canada.—Danger of being lost in the
Woods.—Plain Directions to the Traveller in the Bush.—Story of a
Settler from Emily.—An old Woman’s Ramble in the Woods.—Adventure of a
Trapper.—Fortunate Meeting with his Partner

CHAPTER XIII.
Directions for ascertaining the Quality of Land in the Bush.—Site of
Log-shanty.—Chopping.—Preparation for Spring-crops.—Method of planting
Indian Corn.—Pumpkins and Potatoes.—Making Pot-ash

CHAPTER XIV.
My first Shot at a Buck.—Hunting and Shooting Parties.—Destructiveness
of Wolves.—Loss of my Flocks.—Cowardice of the Wolf.—The Lady and her
Pet.—Colonel Crawford’s Adventure.—Ingenious Trick of an American
Trapper.—A disagreeable Adventure.—How to poison Wolves.—A stern Chase

CHAPTER XV.
Formation of the Canada Company.—Interview with Mr. Galt.—His personal
Description and Character.—Guelph.—Dr. Dunlop.—My Medical Services at
Guelph.—Dr. Dunlop and the Paisley Bodies.—An eccentric Character.—An
unfortunate wife

CHAPTER XVI.
Porcupine-catching.—Handsome Behaviour of Mr.
Galt.—Owlingale.—Introduction to the Son of the celebrated Indian
Chief, Brandt.—Expedition to Wilmot.—Sham Wolves.—Night in a Barn with
Dr. Dunlop.—The Doctor and his Snuffbox.—His Bath in the Nith.—Louis
XVIII. and his Tabatiere.—Camp in the Woods.—Return to Guelph

CHAPTER XVII.
A new Way of keeping a Birthday.—Lost in the Woods.—Kindness of Mr.
Galt.—Advice to new Settlers.—Unexpected Retirement of Mr. Galt.—I
accompany him to the Landing-place.—Receive orders to leave Guelph for
Goderich.—Whirlwinds at Guelph and Douro

CHAPTER XVIII.
The Huron tract.—Journal of Dr. Dunlop.—His Hardships.—I leave Guelph
for Goderich.—Want of Accommodation.—Curious Supper.—Remarkable
Trees.—The Beverly Oak.—Noble Butter-wood Trees.—Goderich.—Fine Wheat
Crop.—Purchase a Log-house.—Construction of a Raft

CHAPTER XIX.
My new House at Goderich.—Carpentry an essential Art.—American
Energy.—Agreeable Visitors.—My Wife’s Disasters.—Hints for Anglers.—The
Nine-mile Creek Frolic.—The Tempest.—Our Skipper and his
Lemon-punch.—Short Commons.—Camp in the Woods.—Return on
Foot.—Ludicrous termination to our Frolic

CHAPTER XX.
Choice of a Location.—The Company’s Lands.—Crown Lands.—Tables
published by the Canada Company.—Progressive Improvement of the Huron
Tract

CHAPTER XXI.
The King proclaimed in the Bush.—Fete and Ball in the Evening.—My
Yankee Fellow-traveller.—Awful Storm.—My lonely Journey.—Magical Effect
of a Name

CHAPTER XXII.
Visit of the Passenger-pigeon to the Canadas.—Canadian
Blackbirds.—Breeding-places of the Passenger-pigeons.—Squirrels

CHAPTER XXIII.
The Rebel, Von Egmond, the first agricultural Settler on the
Huron.—Cutting the first Sheaf




TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS IN CANADA WEST.




CHAPTER I.


EMBARKATION FOR CANADA.—VOYAGE OUT.—SEA-LIFE.—ICEBERGS.—PASSAGE UP THE
ST. LAWRENCE.—QUEBEC.—MEMORIALS OF GENERAL
WOLFE.—CATHEDRAL.—HOSPITALITY.—EARTHQUAKES.—NUNS.—MONTREAL.—PROGRESS UP
THE COUNTRY.—MY ROMAN CATHOLIC FELLOW-TRAVELLER.—ATTEMPT AT
CONVERSION.—THE TOWNSHIP OF WHITBY.

A preference for an active, rather than a professional life, induced me
to accept the offer made by an old friend, of joining him at
Darlington, in Upper Canada, in the year 1825. I therefore took leave
of my family and pleasant home, in Suffolk, and engaged a passage in
the brig “William M’Gilevray,” commanded by William Stoddart, an
experienced American seaman.

On the 28th of March we left the London Docks, and dropped down the
river to Gravesend, and on the following day put our pilot ashore off
Deal, and reached down as far as the coast of Sussex, where we were
becalmed for two days. Here one of our cabin-boys, a German, met with a
very serious accident by falling down the after hatchway, and
fracturing several of his ribs. On this occasion I officiated as a
surgeon, and bled him twice, with excellent effect, for he quickly
recovered from the severe injury he had received. Before quitting
Suffolk I had learned the art of blood-letting from our own medical
attendant. Every person intending to settle in a distant colony ought
to acquire this simple branch of surgery: I have often exercised it
myself for the benefit of my fellow-creatures when no medical
assistance could be procured.

It blew so fresh for two or three days, that we made up for our lost
time, and were soon out of sight of Scilly: then I bade a long farewell
to old England. I had often been on the sea before, but this was my
first long voyage; every object, therefore, was new to me. I caught
some birds in the rigging they were of a species unknown to me, but
very beautiful. Being in want, too, of something to do, I amused myself
with cleaning the captain’s guns, which I hoped to use for our joint
benefit before the end of the voyage.

The 18th and 19th of April were very stormy: the sea ran mountains
high; we had a foot of water in the cabin, and all hands were at the
pumps to lessen the growing evil. The gale lasted till the following
morning. In the night the aurora borealis was particularly brilliant;
but though the storm lulled, the wind was against us. On the 26th of
April, I saw a whale, and, boy-like, fired at the huge creature: the
shot must have hit him, for he made the water fly in all directions.

To vary the monotony of a sea-life, I sometimes played draughts with
the mate, whom I always beat; but he took his defeats in good part,
being a very easy-tempered fellow.

I awoke on the 21st of April literally wet to my skin by the deluge of
water pouring down the cabin. I dressed myself in great haste and
hurried upon deck to learn the cause of this disaster, which I found
originated in the coming on of a terrible hurricane, which would not
permit us to show a stitch of canvas, and found us continual employment
at the pumps; my chest in the cabin shipped a sea which did not improve
the appearance of my wardrobe. The following day we had calmer weather,
and pursued our course steadily, no longer exposed to the fury of the
elements.

On the following day I killed several birds, and saw two whales and
many porpoises. The weather was foggy, but the wind favourable for us.
As we were near the bank of Newfoundland, we got our fishing tackle
ready, with the hope of mending our fare with cod; but the water was
not calm enough for the purpose, and the fish would not bite. We passed
over the Great Bank without any danger, though the wind was high and
the sea rough.

On the 29th of April we fell in with some icebergs. A more magnificent
and imposing spectacle cannot be conceived; but it is very fearful and
sufficiently appalling. Suddenly, we found ourselves close to an
immense body of ice, whose vicinity bad been concealed from us by the
denseness of the fog. Our dangerous neighbour towered in majestic
grandeur in the form of a triple cone rising from a square base, and
surpassed the tallest cathedral in altitude. The centre cone being
cleft in the middle by the force of the waves, displayed the phenomenon
of a waterfall, the water rushing into the sea from the height of
thirty feet. If the sun had pierced the vapoury veil which concealed it
from our view, the refraction of his rays would have given to the ice
the many-coloured tints of the rainbow. We took care to keep a good
look out; but the fog was thick. We fell in with many other icebergs;
but none so beautiful as this.

We doubled Cape Ray, and entered, on the 5th of May, the Gulf of St.
Lawrence. The thermometer fell many degrees a change caused by the
vicinity of the ice. On the 5th of May we passed the Bird Rocks, three
in number, to windward, so called from the immense number of geese and
aquatic birds which resort thither to rear their broods. These rocks
rise to the height of four hundred feet, perpendicularly from the sea.
The fishermen, nevertheless, contrive to climb them for the sake of the
eggs they find there.

The 6th of May found us in the river St. Lawrence, between the
westernmost point of Anticosti to the north, and Cape Gaspe to the
south, in the middle of the channel, surrounded by ships tacking up the
stream, bound for Quebec and Montreal. We had plenty of sea-room, as
the river was more than ninety miles in breadth, and it is supposed to
be full a hundred at its _embouchure_.

The land was partially covered with snow, which fell throughout the
day. On the 8th of May we sailed as far as the Seven Islands. The day
was glorious, and the prospect most beautiful. Our vicinity to “the
cold and pitiless Labrador,” rendered the air chilly, and we could hear
the howling of the wolves at night, to me a new and dismal sound. The
aurora borealis was particularly splendid, for the air was clear and
frosty.

On the 10th of May we stood for the Island of Bic, and took on board a
pilot. He was a handsome young man, a French-Canadian, under whose
guidance we made the place, but we were becalmed before it for the
whole forenoon.

The beauty of the scenery atoned, however, for the delay. Nothing,
indeed, could surpass it in my eyes, which had then only been
accustomed to the highly-cultivated and richly-wooded tracts in Suffolk
and Norfolk, and therefore dwelt with wonder and delight upon the
picturesque shores and lofty heights that crowned the noble St.
Lawrence.

The wind changing in our favour, carried us swiftly up the stream,
which was still thirty-six miles in breadth, though distant 280 miles
from the Gulf. We passed Green Island and the Kamouraska Island, and
Goose and Crane Islands. These beautiful islets, which stud the broad
bosom of the St. Lawrence, are evidently of volcanic origin. That of
Kamouraska displays vast masses of granite, which rise in the form of
conical hills, one of which attains the height of five hundred feet.
The same features are discernible in the Penguins, and even the strata
about Quebec still indicate the same mysterious agency.[1]

 [1] “Encyclopædia of Geography,” p. 1304.


Our progress through the river continually presented the new continent
in an attractive point of view. The shores were dotted with farmhouses
and adorned with fine gardens and orchards, while lovely islands,
covered with lofty trees, rose from the river and delighted the eye. I
thought Canada then and I have never changed my opinion since the most
beautiful country in the world.

On the 13th of May we passed the Island of Orleans, which we no sooner
rounded than the Falls of Montmorenci burst upon my sight. I was
unprepared for the scene, which I contemplated in silent astonishment.
No words written down by the man, at this distance of time, can
describe the vivid feelings of the boy. I have since beheld the mighty
cataracts of Niagara, so finely described by its Indian name, “The
Thunder of Waters;” but I concur in the general opinion, that if those
of Niagara are more stupendous, the Falls of Montmorenci are more
beautiful and picturesque.

Quebec soon came in view, with its strong fortress crowning the
imposing height of Cape Diamond. No one can look upon the old capital
of Canada without remembering that the most gallant British soldier of
the age fell in the battle that added the colony to the other
dependencies of the English crown.

I remembered, too, with some pleasure, that the paternal dining-room
contained a looking-glass one of the fine old Venetian plates, framed
with ebony, which had once formed a part of the General’s personal
property. It had been for two centuries in his family, but had since
become a valued heirloom in mine. His manly features must often have
been reflected on its brilliant surface, and that circumstance, which
had formerly endeared it to his aged mother, had made it prized by
mine.

We have also a bureau, very complete, but evidently constructed more
for use than ornament, which might have once contained the papers of
this distinguished soldier, while the book-case, to which it was
annexed, had probably held his little library. His cruet-stand, which
looks as if it had been made in the patriarchal times, is still in use
at Reydon Hall.

The reader must pardon this digression, since distinguished worth and
valour give an interest even to trivial objects.

Quebec consists of two towns, the Upper and Lower, and is adorned with
a cathedral, whose metallic roof glitters in the sun like a vast
diamond. Indeed, the tin-roofs of the churches and public buildings
give this city a splendid look on a bright sunshiny day, testifying,
moreover, to the dryness of the air. Captain Stoddart took me all over
this curious city, and kindly introduced me to one of the partners of a
great mercantile house, who invited us both to dinner. We regaled
ourselves on smelts, fillet of veal, and old English roast beef, to
which hospitable meal we did ample justice, not forgetting to pledge
our absent friends in bumpers of excellent wine.

The inhabitants of Quebec are very kind to strangers, and are a fine
race of people. French is spoken here not, however, very purely, being
a _patois_ as old as the time of Henry IV. of France, when this part of
Canada was first colonized; but English is generally understood by the
mercantile classes.

This city is visited, at intervals, with slight shocks of
earthquake.[2] Nothing serious has yet followed this periodical
phenomenon. But will this visitation be only confined to the mountain
range north of Quebec, where the great earthquake that convulsed a
portion of the globe in 1663 has left visible marks of its influence,
by overturning the sand-stone rocks of a tract extending over three
hundred miles?[3] Quebec contains several nunneries, for the French
inhabitants are mostly Roman catholics. The nuns are very useful to
emigrants, who have often been bountifully relieved by these charitable
vestals, who employ themselves in nursing the sick and feeding the
hungry.

 [2] Lyell’s “Elements of Geology.”


 [3] “Encyclopædia of Geography.”


The inhabitants—or _habitans_, as the French Canadians are usually
termed—are an amiable, hospitable, simple people, kind in manner, and
generous in disposition. The women are lively and agreeable, and as
fond of dress in Quebec as in other civilized places. They are pretty
in early youth in the Lower Province, but lose their complexions sooner
than the English ladies, owing, perhaps, to the rigour of the
climate.[4] However, they possess charms superior to beauty, and seem
to retain the affections of their husbands to the last hour of their
lives.

 [4] Mac Taggart’s “Three Years’ Residence in Canada.”


Short as was my stay in Quebec, I could not leave without regret the
hospitable city where I had received from strangers such a warm
welcome. I have never visited the Lower Province since; but my
remembrance of its old capital is still as agreeable as it is distinct.
The next day our brig was taken in tow by the fine steam-boat, the
“Richelieu de Chambly,” and with a leading wind and tide in our favour
we proceeded at a rapid rate up the river.

I shall not attempt to describe the charming scenery of this most
beautiful of all rivers, which has already been so amply described by
abler writers. I was delighted with everything I saw; but nothing
occurred worthy of narration.

The next day saw us safely moored in the port of Montreal, just
forty-five days from our departure from the London Docks. Montreal is a
handsome town, well situated, and must eventually become the most
important city in British North America. The river here is very broad.
The Lachine rapids commence immediately above the town, which are an
impediment to the navigation, now obviated by a canal terminating at
the village of Lachine, I believe nine miles distant from Montreal.

I took my passage in a Durham boat, bound for Kingston, which started
the next day. We had hard work poling up the rapids. I found I had
fallen in with a rough set of customers, and determined in my own mind
to leave them as soon as possible, which I happily effected the next
evening when we landed at Les Cedres. Here the great Otawa pours its
mighty stream into the St. Lawrence, tinging its green waters with a
darker hue, which can be traced for miles, till it is ultimately lost
in the rapids below.

I now determined to walk to Prescot, where I knew I should be able to
take the steam-boat for Kingston, on Lake Ontario. At the Coteau du Lac
I fell in with a Roman Catholic Irishman, named Mooney. We travelled in
company for three days, and as I had nothing else to do, I thought I
might as well make an effort to convert him. However, I signally
failed; and only endangered my own head by my zeal.

In the heat of argument and the indiscretion of youth, I used
expressions which the Papist considered insulting to his religion. He
was not one to put up patiently with this, so he would fire up, twirl
his blackthorn round his head, and say, “By St. Patrick, you had better
not say that again!” In everything else we agreed well enough; but I
found, on parting, that all my eloquence had been entirely thrown away.
Mr. Mooney remained just as firm a Roman Catholic as ever. Indeed, it
was the height of presumption in me, a boy in my twentieth year, to
attempt the conversion of such a strict Romanist as this Irishman.

The weather was excessively fine. The trees were just bursting into
leaf. The islands in the St. Lawrence, which are here numerous, wore
the brightest hues, and presented a charming contrast to the foaming
rapids.

I remained two or three days at Prescot, waiting the arrival of my
baggage, which I had left on board the Durham boat. I amused myself
during the interval by taking walks in the neighbourhood. The land
appeared very sandy, the timber being chiefly hemlock: the situation of
the town is good. Steam-navigation commenced at this place, and now
that the Welland Canal is completed, it affords an uninterrupted
navigation be borne in mind that at the time of which I am to the head
of Lakes Huron and Michigan. It must speaking (1825), the great St.
Lawrence Canal and the Rideau were not commenced, but since their
completion the Durham boats and small steamers have given place to a
set of superb boats affording the best accommodation, whereby the
passage from Montreal to Toronto can be performed at half the expense,
and in one-third of the time.

My baggage having arrived, I left Prescot by boat in the evening for
Kingston, at that time the second town both in size and importance in
Canada West. It must, on account of its situation as a military and
naval post, always be a place of consequence. I fell in there with an
old sea-dog, who had commanded a vessel, for many years trading between
London and Quebec. He had had the misfortune to lose his vessel, which
was wrecked on the rocks at Gaspe, near the mouth of the St. Lawrence.
I was glad to find the friends I was going to reside with had come out
passengers in his ship, and that the schooner he then commanded was
bound for the Big-bay (now called Windsor), in the township of Whitby,
within six or seven miles of my friends’ residence, and that they would
sail in two days at farthest.

On our passage from Prescot to Kingston we passed Brockville, which
looked very pretty from the river, and soon afterwards we were
threading our way through the intricacies of the Thousand Islands.[5]
Who has not heard of the far-famed Thousand Islands—the Archipelago of
the St. Lawrence? Nothing can exceed the beauty of this spot. The river
is here several miles in width, studded with innumerable islands, of
every variety of form. The moon shone brightly on this lovely scene:
not a ripple stirred the mirror-like bosom of the stream—“There was not
a breath the blue wave to curl.”

 [5] “The Lake of the Thousand Isles. The expression was thought to be
 a vague exaggeration, till the Isles were officially surveyed, and
 found to amount to 1692. A sail through them presents one of the most
 singular and romantic succession of scenes that can be imagined—the
 Isles are of every size, form, height and aspect; woody, verdant,
 rocky; naked, smiling, barren; and they present as numerous a
 succession of bays, inlets, and channels as occur in all the rest of
 the continent put together.” “Encyclopædia of Geography,” iv. 1321.


The reflection of the trees in the water enhanced the natural beauties
I have endeavoured to describe.

The next morning, June the 3rd, I embarked on board the schooner
“Shamrock,” on my way to Darlington. We passed the Duck islands towards
evening, and found ourselves fairly launched on the bosom of the Great
Ontario. We anchored next day opposite the town of Cobourg, then a
small village, without a harbour, now a fine, handsome, well-built
town, containing a population of nearly 4,000 inhabitants. A large sum
of money has been laid out in the construction of a harbour, which
appears to answer very well.

Cobourg is the county-town for the counties of Northumberland and
Durham, which comprehend the following townships: Darlington, Clarke,
Hope, Hamilton, Haldimand, Cramache, Murray, Seymour, Percy, Alnwick,
South Monaghan, Cavan, Manvers, and Cartwright. The soil of most of
these townships is of excellent quality, particularly the fronts of
Hamilton, Haldimand, and all Cavan, being generally composed of a deep
rich loam.

These townships are well watered by numerous spring creeks, bounded to
the north and east by the river Trent, Skugog and Rice Lakes; and to
the south, for about sixty miles, by Lake Ontario. The chief towns are
Cobourg, Port Hope, and Bournauville. As I shall have occasion in
another place to speak more fully respecting these counties, I shall
take my readers again on board the “Shamrock.”

Our captain having to land some goods at Cobourg, we were detained
there all night. He invited a few friends to pass the evening. A jolly
set of fellows they were, and they initiated me into the mysteries of
brewing whiskey-punch, a beverage I had never before tasted, and which
I found very palatable. The song and the joke went round till the small
hours warned us to retire.

On Sunday morning, June the 5th, I landed at the Big-bay (Windsor), in
Whitby, and after bidding adieu to my fellow-voyagers commenced my
journey to my friends in Darlington on foot. Whitby, at the time of
which I am speaking, was only partially settled, and chiefly by
Americans. This township is justly considered one of the best between
Toronto and Kingston. At present the township is well settled and
well-cultivated. Nearly all the old settlers are gone, and their farms
have, for the most part, been purchased by old country farmers and
gentlemen, the log-buildings having given place to substantial stone,
brick, or frame houses. The village of Oshawa, in this township, now
contains upwards of one thousand inhabitants, more than double the
number the whole township could boast of when I first set foot on its
soil.




CHAPTER II.


ARRIVAL AT DARLINGTON.—KIND RECEPTION.—MY FRIEND’S LOCATION.—HIS
INEXPERIENCE.—DAMAGE TO HIS LAND BY FIRE.—GREAT CONFLAGRATION AT
MIRAMACHI.—FOREST FIRES.—MIGHTY CONFLAGRATION OF THE 6TH OF
OCTOBER.—AFFECTING STORY OF A LUMBER-FOREMAN.—HIS PRESENCE OF MIND, AND
WONDERFUL PRESERVATION.—THE SAD FATE OF HIS COMPANIONS.

I was now very near to my ark of refuge, and the buoyant spirit of
early youth, with its joyous anticipations of a radiant future, bore me
exultingly forward. It might have been said of me in the beautiful
lines of the poet:

“He left his home with a bounding heart,
    For the world was all before him;
And he scarcely felt it a pain to part,
    Such sun-bright hopes came o’er him.”[1]


 [1] Alarie A. Watts.


Two hours’ brisk walking brought me to the long-looked-for end of my
journey. I was received with the greatest kindness and hospitality;
and, in a few days, felt quite at home and comfortable in my new
quarters.

After some days’ rest, I commenced operations by assisting my friend on
the farm and in the store. From my practical knowledge of farming,
acquired upon my mother’s estate, I was soon installed as manager in
that department.

Our farm contained upwards of two hundred acres of cleared land, the
largest proportion of which consisted of meadows and pastures, but the
soil was light and sandy, and altogether very indifferent. My friend,
Colonel B—— had been imposed upon by the Yankee, of whom he had bought
it, and no wonder, when I tell you that my friend had formerly held a
situation under Government, and had lived in London all his life.

Only the first three concessions of this township were settled at this
time, the remainder of the land being generally in the hands of
absentee proprietors. I am happy to say, the absentee tax has had the
effect of throwing vast quantities of these lands into the market.

This township, like Whitby, is now well settled, and though not
generally equal in regard to soil, is still considered a good township.
Bowmanville is the principal town, containing about twelve hundred
inhabitants. In 1825 it only boasted a grist-mill, saw-mill, a store,
and half-a-dozen houses. I mention this, merely to show how much the
country has improved in a few years. This is not an isolated fact it
applies to nearly all Canada West.

My intention was, to stay with my friends till the ensuing spring, and
to get a little insight into Canadian farming, clearing land, &c., that
I might have some experience before commencing operations on my own
account.

The situation of my friend’s house was close to the Toronto road,
partly built of logs and framework: it had been designed by the former
Yankee proprietor, and could certainly boast of no architectural
beauties. We lived about a mile and a half from the lake shore, and I
took advantage of my vicinity to the water to bathe daily. I found
great refreshment in this, for the weather was very hot and dry. The
drought lasted for some time, and among its consequences, I may mention
the prevalence of extensive fires.[2] Several broke out in our
neighbourhood, and, at last, the mischief reached our own farm. It
destroyed several thousand rails, and spread over forty or fifty acres
of meadow land. We ultimately stopped its further progress in the
clearing, by ploughing furrows round the fire and a thunder-shower in
the evening completed its extinction. Fire seldom runs in the woods on
good land, and where the timber is chiefly deciduous, but on sandy,
pine, or hemlock lands, or where evergreens chiefly prevail.

 [2] Fires in Canada are of frequent occurrence, and are generally
 caused by the burning of brush-wood or log-heaps by the settlers. In
 dry weather, with a brisk wind, the fire is apt to run on the surface
 of the ground in the bush, where the dry leaves are thickest. In
 clearing the land a good deal of brush-wood and tops of trees are
 thrown into the edge of the woods. It follows, as a matter of course,
 that the greatest danger to be apprehended is the burning the
 boundary-fences of farms. I have heard it asserted that these fires
 are sometimes caused by spontaneous combustion, which I consider
 altogether a fallacy.


I have seldom known very serious damage by these fires done in Canada
West, although occasionally a barn or house falls a sacrifice to the
devouring element. Not so, however, in some parts of Nova Scotia and
New Brunswick, where extensive conflagrations often devastate the
country for miles round. Of such a character was the great fire at
Miramichi, which nearly destroyed Fredericton, and was attended not
only with an immense loss of property but with the sad loss of many
valuable lives. I will presently give in his own forcible and feeling
language the history of a lumberer who escaped from destruction after
being for some time in imminent peril of his life. He was one of the
few persons who had the good fortune of escaping the great
conflagration in Miramichi, which broke out in the October after my
arrival, and excited so much general sympathy. Fifteen of his comrades
perished in the flames.

The narrative which I introduce here, anticipating by a few months the
proper order of narration, was related to me by the man himself with
that native eloquence which often surprises, and always interests us in
the uneducated. The class to which he belongs is one peculiar to
America. Rough in manners, and often only half-civilized, the lumberer,
as an individual, resembles little the woodsman of other lands. He is
generally a Canadian Frenchman, or a breed between the Irish and the
native of the Lower Province. However, some Yankees may be found among
these denizens of the woods and wilds of Canada. The fearful
conflagration to which our poor lumberer nearly fell a victim, has been
thus ably described in M’Gregor’s “British America.” “In October, 1825,
about a hundred and forty miles in extent, and a vast breadth of the
country on the north, and from sixty to seventy miles on the south side
of Miramachi river, became a scene of perhaps the most dreadful
conflagration that has occurred in the history of the world.

“In Europe we can scarcely form a conception of the fury and rapidity
with which fires rage through the forests of America during a dry hot
season, at which period the broken underwood, decayed vegetable
substances, fallen branches, bark, and withered trees, are as
inflammable as the absence of moisture can make them. To such
irresistible food for combustion we must add the auxiliary afforded by
the boundless fir forests, every tree of which in its trunk, bark,
branches, and leaves contains vast quantities of inflammable resin.

“When one of these fires is once in motion, or at least when the flames
extent over a few miles of the forest, the surrounding air becomes
highly rarefied, and the wind consequently increases till it blows a
perfect hurricane. It appears, that the woods had been on both sides of
the north-west partially on fire for some days, but not to an alarming
extent until the 7th of October, when it came on to blow furiously from
the westward, and the inhabitants along the river were suddenly
surprised by an extraordinary roaring in the woods, resembling the
crashing and detonation of loud and incessant thunder, while at the
same instant the atmosphere became thick darkened with smoke.

“They had scarcely time to ascertain the cause of this awful phenomenon
before all the surrounding woods appeared in one vast blaze, the flames
ascending from one to two hundred feet above the tops of the loftiest
trees; and the fire rolling forward with inconceivable celerity,
presented the terribly sublime appearance of an impetuous flaming
ocean. In less than an hour, Douglas Town and Newcastle were in a
blaze: many of the wretched inhabitants perished in the flames. More
than a hundred miles of the Miramichi were laid waste, independent of
the north-west branch, the Baltibag, and the Nappen settlements. From
one to two hundred persons perished within immediate observation, while
thrice that number were miserably burned or wounded, and at least two
thousand were left destitute of the means of subsistence, and were
thrown for a time on the humanity of the Province of New Brunswick. The
number of lives that were lost in the woods could not at the time be
ascertained, but it was thought few were left to tell the tale.

“Newcastle presented a fearful scene of ruin and devastation, only
fourteen out of two hundred and fifty houses and stores remained
standing.

“The court-house, jail, church, and barracks, Messrs. Gilmour, Rankin,
and Co.’s, and Messrs. Abrams and Co.’s establishment, with two ships
on the stocks, were reduced to ashes.

“The loss of property is incalculable, for the fire, borne upon the
wings of a hurricane, rushed on the wretched inhabitants with such
inconceivable rapidity that the preservation of their lives could be
their only care.

“Several ships were burned on shore, while others were saved from the
flames by the exertions of their owners, after being actually on fire.

“At Douglas Town scarcely any kind of property escaped the ravages of
the fire, which swept off the surface everything coming in contact with
it, leaving but time for the unfortunate inhabitants to fly to the
shore; and there, by means of boats, canoes, rafts of timber, logs, or
any article, however ill calculated for the purpose, they endeavoured
to escape from the dreadful scene and reach the town of Chatham,
numbers of men, women, and children perishing in the attempt.

“In some parts of the country all the cattle were either destroyed or
suffering greatly, for the very soil was parched and burnt up, while
scarcely any article of provision was rescued from the flames.

“The hurricane raged with such dreadful violence, that large bodies of
timber on fire, as well as trees from the forest and parts of the
flaming houses and stores, were carried to the rivers with amazing
velocity, to such an extent and affecting the water in such a manner,
as to occasion large quantities of salmon and other fish to resort to
land, hundreds of which were scattered on the shores of the south and
west branches.

“Chatham was filled with three hundred miserable sufferers: every hour
brought to it the wounded and burned in the most abject state of
distress. Great fires raged about the same time in the forests of the
River St. John, which destroyed much property and timber, with the
governor’s house, and about eighty private houses at Fredericton. Fires
raged also at the same time in the northern parts of the Province, as
far as the Bay de Chaleur.

“It is impossible to tell how many lives were lost, as many of those
who were in the woods among the lumbering parties, had no friends nor
connections in the country to remark on their non-appearance. Five
hundred have been computed as the least number that actually perished
in the flames.

“The destruction of bears, foxes, tiger-cats, martens, hares,
squirrels, and other wild animals, was very great. These, when
surprised by such fires, are said to lose their usual sense of
preservation, and becoming, as it were, either giddy or fascinated,
often rush into the face of inevitable destruction: even the birds,
except these of very strong wing, seldom escape. Some, particularly the
partridge, become stupified; and the density of the smoke, the rapid
velocity of the flames, and the violence of the winds, effectually
prevent the flight of others.”

It was from this mighty destruction that the forecast and admirable
presence of mind displayed by the lumberer, whose pathetic story I am
about to relate, saved him. I could not fail, while rejoicing in his
escape, to impute his self-possession to the compassion of the all-wise
Being who had made him such an instance of His mercy.

“The weather,” said he, “had been unusually dry for the season, and
there had been no rain for upwards of three weeks before this calamity
took place. We had only just completed our shanty, and had commenced
felling timber ready for squaring, when it occurred. We had heard from
our teamsters, who had brought us out pork and flour, the day previous,
that fires were raging in the woods some miles to the eastward of us.
However, we paid but little attention to what appeared to us a common
occurrence.

“After supper, one of our men went out of the shanty, but immediately
returned to tell us ‘that a dreadful conflagration was raging within a
mile or so of our dwelling.’ We immediately rushed out to ascertain the
truth of his assertion. I shall never forget,” he continued, “the sight
presented to our view: as far as the eye could reach we saw a wall of
fire higher than the tree-tops, and we heard the mighty sound of the
rushing flames mingled with the crashing fall of the timber.

“A single glance convinced us that not a minute was to be lost; we did
not stop even to try and secure our clothing, but made our way as
quickly as possible to a small river about two hundred yards from our
shanty, and which we knew was our only chance of preservation.

“We reached the stream in safety, where I determined to take my stand.
My comrades, however, were of a different opinion: they contended that
the fire would not cross the river, which was upwards of thirty yards
in width. Unfortunately, no argument of mine could induce them to stay,
though I was well aware, and represented to them that such a body of
flame would not be stayed a minute by such a barrier.

“My comrades, hoping to reach an old clearance of some acres, about
half a mile in advance, in spite of all entreaties crossed the stream,
and were soon lost to my view never more to be seen alive by me.

“I waded down the stream, till I found a place where the water was up
to my arm-pits, and the bank of the river rose about six feet over my
head. There I took my stand, and awaited the event in breathless
anxiety. I had no time to look around me. The few minutes which had
elapsed, had greatly added to the terrors of the scene.

“As the wall of fire advanced, fresh trees in succession were enveloped
by the flames. A bright glare crimsoned the clouds with a lurid glow,
while the air was filled with a terrible noise. The heat now became
intense. I looked up once more; the trees above me caught fire at that
instant, the next, I was holding my breath a foot beneath the surface
of the running stream. Every few seconds I was compelled to raise my
head to breathe, which I accomplished with great difficulty. In a few
minutes, which seemed ages to me, I was enabled to stand upright, and
look around me. What desolation a short half hour had effected! In
front, the conflagration was still raging with unabated fury, while in
the rear the fire had consumed all the under-brush and limbs of the
trees, leaving a forest of blackened poles still blazing fiercely,
though not with the intense heat caused by the balsam and
pine-brushwood.

“It was several hours before I durst quit my sanctuary to search for my
companions, the blackened remains of whom I found not a quarter of a
mile from the river.

“Our shanty,[3] and all that it contained, was utterly consumed. I,
however, succeeded in finding in the cellar beneath its ruins, as much
provisions uninjured as served to carry me through to the settlements,
which I ultimately reached, though not without great difficulty.”

 [3] A shanty is a building made with logs, higher in the front than
 the back, making a fall to the roof, which is generally covered with
 troughs made of pine or bass-wood logs; the logs are first split fair
 in the middle, and hollowed out with the axe and adze. A row of these
 troughs is then laid from the front or upper wall-plate, sloping down
 to the back plate, the hollowed side uppermost. The covering-troughs
 is then placed with the hollow reversed, either edge resting in the
 centre of the under trough. A door in the front and one window
 complete the building. Such is commonly the first dwelling of the
 settler. The lumber-shanty differs both in shape and size, being much
 larger, and the roof sloping both ways, with a raised hearth in the
 centre of the floor, with an aperture directly above for the escape of
 the smoke. It has no window. One door at the end, and two tier of bed
 berths, one above the other, complete the _tout ensemble_. These
 shanties are generally constructed to accommodate from two to three
 gangs of lumber men, with shed-room for twelve or fourteen span of
 oxen or horses span being the Canadian term for pair.




CHAPTER III


INEXPERIENCE OF MY FRIEND.—BAD STATE OF HIS LAND.—FALL
WHEAT.—FENCING.—GRASSES.—INVITATION TO A “BEE.”—UNITED LABOUR.—CANADIAN
SPORTS.—DEGENERACY OF BEES.

Colonel B—— was an old and valued friend of my family, who had held a
lucrative situation under Government for many years. His retirement
from public life, on some disgust, had eventually led to his settlement
in Canada.

Now, his literary tastes and sedentary habits had ill-fitted him for
the rough customs of the colony. Besides having scarcely seen a grain
of corn in its progressive state from the blade to its earing and
harvest, he knew nothing of agricultural operations. Of stock he was
equally ignorant, and of the comparative goodness or badness of soil he
was, of course, no judge. Such a man, in the choice of a farm, was sure
to be shaved by the shrewd Yankee proprietor, and my poor friend was
shaved accordingly.

I found my friend’s farm had been much neglected. His out-door
labourers were all from the south of Ireland, and had never before
followed farming operations. In consequence of their inexperience, half
the clearing was quite overrun with raspberries and Canadian thistles.
(The latter weed is far more troublesome to eradicate than any other I
know. It is the same as the common corn-thistle, or _Serratula
arvensis_, so well known to English agriculturists).

As we intended to prepare a large piece of ground for summer-fallow, it
was necessary to get rid of those stumps of the trees, which, according
to the practice of chopping them two or three feet from the ground,
present a continual obstacle to the advance of the plough. We, however,
succeeded in getting clear of them by hitching a logging-chain round
the stump near the top, when a sudden jerk from the oxen was generally
sufficient to pull it up. For the larger, and those more firmly fixed
in the ground, we made use of a lever about twenty feet long, and about
eight or nine inches in diameter, one end of which was securely chained
to the stump, the oxen being fastened to the other and made to go in a
circular direction, a manoeuvre which rarely fails of the desired
effect. This plan will not answer unless the roots are sufficiently
decayed. During dry weather the application of fire produces more
effectual results. A few embers shaken from a cedar-torch on the crown
of the stump are sufficient for the purpose: some hundreds of these
blazing merrily at night have a very pretty effect.

In ten or twelve years the hard woods, such as oak, ash, beech and
maple disappear; but the stumps of the evergreens, such as pine,
hemlock and cedar, are much more difficult to eradicate.

The land being of a sandy nature, we had but few stones to contend
with. When such is the case, we raise them above the surface, by the
help of levers. By these means, stones of half a ton weight can be
easily lifted from their beds. The larger ones are generally drawn off
the fields to make the foundations of fences, and those of a smaller
size are used in the construction of French drains.

To succeed well with your summer fallow, it is necessary to have the
sod all turned over with the plough by the end of May, or sooner if
possible. Shortly afterwards the fallow should be well harrowed; in
July it should be crossed, ploughed and harrowed, and rolled at least
twice before the final ploughing or ridging up, which should be
completed by the last week in August.

Fall-wheat should be sown between the first and fifteenth day of
September.[1] The sooner the better, in my opinion, because the plant
is stronger and better able to withstand the frost, and is decidedly
less liable to rust. Our fallow having been prepared in this manner,
and sown broad-cast with fall-wheat, the next object was to fence in
the field securely, which is done in the following way. Trees of a
straight growth and straight also in the grain are selected and cut
into twelve feet lengths, and are then, by the means of a beetle and
wedges, split into rails as nearly four inches square as possible. The
rails are then laid in a zigzag direction, crossing each other about a
foot from the end, making an angle of about six feet. Seven rails in
height, crowned by a stake and rider, complete the fence. The best
timbers for making rails, are pine, cedar, oak and black and white ash:
these kinds of timbers will last about thirty years. Bass-wood is more
commonly used for the first fences, because it is to be procured in
greater abundance, and splits more easily; but as it will not last more
than ten years, I would not recommend settlers to use it, if the other
sorts can readily be obtained.

 [1] “Fall” is the term usually applied to wheat sown in the autumn by
 the Canadian farmer, and will be used in this sense throughout a work
 especially written for the service of the inexperienced settler.


In this country, hay-cutting commences about the first or second week
in July. Timothy-grass and clover mixed or timothy alone are the best
for hay, and the most productive. The quantity of seed required for new
land is six quarts of grass-seed and two pounds of clover to the acre;
on old cleared farms nearly double this seed is required. Timothy is a
solid grass with a bulbous root. If the weather is hot and dry, the hay
should be carted the second day after cutting, for there is no danger
in carting it at once into your barn, the climate being so dry that it
never heats enough to cause spontaneous combustion. We have other sorts
of grasses, such as red-top, blue-joint, &c.: these grasses, however,
are inferior, and therefore never grown from choice.

Soon after my arrival at Darlington, one of my neighbours residing on
the lake-shore invited me to a mowing and cradling “Bee.”[2] As I had
never seen anything of the kind, I accepted the invitation. On my
arrival at the farm on the appointed day, I found assembled about forty
men and boys. A man with a pail of spring water with a wooden cup
floating on the surface in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey and glass
in the other, now approached the swarm, every one helping himself as he
pleased. This man is the most important personage at the “Bee,” and is
known by the appellation of the “Grog-bos.” On this occasion his office
was anything but a sinecure. The heat of the weather, I suppose, had
made our party very thirsty. There were thirty-five bees cutting hay,
among whom I was a rather awkward volunteer, and ten cradlers[3]
employed in cutting rye.

 [2] What the Canadian settlers call a “Bee” is a neighbourly gathering
 for any industrious purpose a friendly clubbing of labour, assisted by
 an abundance of good cheer.


 [3] The cradle is a scythe of larger dimensions than the common
 hay-scythe, and is both wider in the blade and longer. A straight
 piece of wood, called a standard, thirty inches long, is fixed
 upright; near the end of the snaith, or handle, are four fingers made
 of wood, the same bend as the scythe, and from six to seven inches
 apart, directly above the scythe, and fixed firmly into the standard,
 from which wire braces with nuts and screws to adjust the fingers.
 These braces are secured to the fingers about eight inches from the
 standard. The other end of the wire is then passed through the snaith
 and drawn tight by means of a screw-nut. These machines are very
 effective, and in the hands of a person who understands their use will
 cut from two to three acres a-day of either wheat, oats, barley, or
 rye.


At eleven o’clock, cakes and pailfuls of tea were served round. At one,
we were summoned by the sound of a tin bugle to dinner, which we found
laid out in the barn. Some long pine-boards resting on tressels served
for a table, which almost groaned with the good things of this earth,
in the shape of roast lamb and green peas, roast sucking-pig, shoulder
of mutton, apple-sauce, and pies, puddings, and preserves in abundance,
with plenty of beer and Canadian whiskey. Our bees proved so
industrious, that before six o’clock all Mr. Burke’s hay and rye were
finished cutting. Supper was then served on the same scale of
profusion, with the addition of tea. After supper a variety of games
and gymnastics were introduced, various trials of strength, wrestling,
running, jumping, putting the stone, throwing the hammer, &c.

About nine o’clock our party broke up, and returned to their respective
homes, well pleased with their day’s entertainment, leaving their host
perfectly satisfied with their voluntary labour. One word about bees
and their attendant frolic. I confess I do not like the system. I
acknowledge, that in raising a log-house or barn it is absolutely
necessary, especially in the Bush, but the general practice is bad.
Some people can do nothing without a bee, and as the work has to be
returned in the same manner, it causes a continual round of dissipation
if not of something worse. I have known several cases of manslaughter
arising out of quarrels produced by intoxication at these every-day
gatherings. As population increases, and labour becomes cheaper, of
course there will be less occasion for them.




CHAPTER IV.


MY MARRIAGE.—I BECOME A SETTLER ON MY OWN ACCOUNT.—I PURCHASE LAND IN
OTONABEE.—RETURN TO DARLINGTON.—MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT DRIVING A
SPAN.—ACTIVE MEASURES TO REMEDY A DISASTER.—PATIENCE OF MY
FATHER-IN-LAW.—MY FIRST BEAR-HUNT.—BEAVER-MEADOWS.—CANADIAN
THUNDERSTORMS.—FRIGHT OF A SETTLER’S FAMILY.

I must now say something of myself. During my domestication under my
friend’s roof, I became attached to one of his daughters. The affection
was mutual; and our happiness was completed by the approbation of our
friends. We were married; and it seemed that there was a goodly
prospect of many years of wedded happiness before us.

But it was necessary that I, who was now a husband, and might become a
father, should become a settler on my own account, and look about for
lands of my own. I examined, therefore, several locations in the
neighbourhood; but one objection or another presented itself, and I
declined fixing my settlement at Darlington. Ultimately, I bought two
hundred acres of land in the township of Otonabee, within a mile of the
newly laid out town of Peterborough. It was arranged that I should stop
at Darlington, and assist my father-in-law, until it was time to
commence operations in the spring. This arrangement proved very
beneficial to me, as I was able to learn many useful things, and make
myself acquainted with the manners and customs of the people with whom
I was going to live.

We kept two pair of horses and a yoke of oxen to work the farm. One
pair of our horses were French Canadian. Generally speaking, they are
rough-looking beasts, with shaggy manes and tails, but strong, active,
and stout for their size, which, however, is much less than that of the
Upper Canadian horse. I have seen, nevertheless, some very handsome
carriage-horses of this breed. Of late years, both the Upper and Lower
Canadian breed of horses have been much improved by the importation of
stallions.

The working oxen of this country are very docile and easily managed.
They are extremely useful in the new settlement; indeed, I do not know
what could be done without them. It is next to an impossibility to
plough among the green stumps and roots with horses the plough being
continually checked by roots and stones therefore, till these obstacles
are removed, which cannot be effectually done for seven or eight years,
oxen are indispensably necessary, particularly for logging up new
fallows. Yet notwithstanding their usefulness, I do not know a worse
treated set of animals than Canadian oxen. Their weight, when fat,
varies from seven to eight hundred weight. A yoke and bows, made of
birch or soft maple, is the only harness needed; and, in my opinion,
for double draught, better, and certainly less troublesome than the
collar and traces used in England.

The ox-yoke is made of a piece of wood, four feet in length, and nine
inches deep in the centre, to which a staple is fitted, and from which
an iron ring depends, about a foot from the middle of the yoke each
way, which is hollowed out, so as to fit on the top of the oxen’s
necks. A hole is bored, two inches in diameter, on each side of the
hollow, through which the bow is passed, and fastened on the upper side
of the yoke by a wooden pin. The bow is bent in the shape of a
horse-shoe, the upper, or narrow ends being passed through the yoke. If
the yoke and bows are properly made and fit the cattle, there is no
fear of galling the beast. The bows are made of hickory, white or rock
elm, in this way. Cut a piece of elm, five feet and a half long, large
enough to split into quarters, each of which will dress to two inches
in diameter; put them in a steam-box for an hour at least; take them
out hot, and bend on a mould made on purpose; tie the two bent-up ends
together until dry. Every settler should know how to do these things,
and to make his own axe-handles, and many other articles which are
constantly required in the bush.

My first attempt at driving oxen was accompanied by an unfortunate
accident, which gave me some trouble and mortification. My
father-in-law had lent a neighbour a plough, of which we were much in
want. I thought it would be a good opportunity for me to try my hand
with the oxen, to fetch it home. Now, it happened the cattle were
young, and not very well broken, so that I found some difficulty in
yoking and attaching them to the cart. However, I succeeded at last,
and drove up to the door of Mr. Stephens’ house in great style. I found
the family just going to dinner, which they courteously invited me to
partake with them. I accepted their hospitality, and left the oxen
standing before the door.

I discussed my neighbour’s good cheer with an excellent appetite, and
was in the very act of pledging mine host, when I heard the cattle
start off. We left the table with precipitation, but-were, alas! too
late to stop the refractory oxen, which galloping down a steep hill, on
the summit of which the house was built, stumbled in their descent, and
fell to the bottom, where we found them struggling, apparently, in the
agonies of death. We cut the bows from their necks as soon as possible,
but not in time to save the life of poor Spot, the near ox, who was
quite dead; and it was for some minutes doubtful if Dandy the off
“critter,” as the Yankees would style him would survive his companion.
I killed the dead one over again to make its flesh fit for consumption,
and bled the other, which happily saved its life. But, notwithstanding
my careful endeavour to make the best of a foolish matter, I felt
myself in an awkward predicament. To my worthy father-in-law the loss
of an animal worth thirty dollars was, at that time, particularly
inconvenient; but his moral justice was high and his temper mild; so he
listened meekly to my account of the misfortune, quietly remarking,
that it could not be helped, and that no blame attached to me. It is in
these worrying affairs of every-day life that we discern the real
beauty of the Christian character. My mother-in-law behaved as well, on
this trying occasion, as any lady could do who found her larder
suddenly stocked with a quantity of lean tough beef a prospect, indeed,
by no means cheering to any member of the household.

On my return home from my first essay in ox-driving, or rather
ox-killing, I found Dennis, our Irish servant, waiting for me with the
greatest impatience.

“Och, sir,” he exclaimed; “if you had but been with me you might have
shot a bear. I was out in the bush searching for the cows, and just as
I was crossing the Big creek, near the beaver meadow, I heard a noise
from a thicket of cedar bushes close by me, and thinking it might be
one of the lost cows I ran forward to see, when to my astonishment and
dismay I came suddenly upon a large bear.”

“Well,” said I, “what did you do?”

“Faith, then, sir, to tell you the truth, I did not do much only took
to my heels, and ran home as fast as I could to tell you; as I thought
yer honour might perhaps get a shot at the baste, and, troth! he warn’t
in the laste bit of a hurry to get out my way, sure.”

“Well, Dennis, only show me the brute, and it shall be a hard case if I
do not make the addition of fat bear to eat with the lean beef, with
which I have already stocked the larder.”

I loaded my gun with ball, and in company with Dennis and his father
started for the place where Master Bruin had been seen. I took Neptune
with me a remarkably fine Irish greyhound one of the most powerfully
built dogs of that breed I had ever seen, and well he proved his
strength and courage this day, as you shall hear.

After proceeding nearly two miles in an easterly direction close to the
edge of the beaver meadow,[1] Neptune suddenly raised his head and
looked round. In the next instant he was dashing along in full chase of
Mr. Bruin, who was making the best of his way up a hill on the opposite
side of the meadow.

 [1] These meadows are to be found within two or three miles of each
 other on almost every creek or small stream in Canada West. Those
 industrious animals, the beavers, build their dams across the creeks
 in a very ingenious manner, with clay and brush-wood. It is very
 astonishing what ingenuity they display, and what sagacity, almost
 amounting to reason, they show in the choice of situation for the
 erection of these dams. It has been asserted that some years ago, when
 the French were masters of the country, the Indians cut away the dams,
 and killed all the beavers they could possibly find, as they did not
 wish the reservoirs where the beavers bred to fall into the hands of
 their white brethren. The size of these meadows varies from two or
 three acres to two or three hundred, and in some few cases is much
 larger.


We joined in the chase with the greatest alacrity, but not in time to
witness the first set-to between these savage opponents; for while we
were gaining the brow of the hill a desperate fight was going on only a
few yards from us. Neptune sometimes having the best of it sometimes
Bruin. I found it quite impossible to fire for fear of killing the dog.
We then tried to pull him off so as to enable me to shoot the bear.
This we found equally difficult, the dog had such fast hold of his
throat. He was, indeed, perfectly furious.

Dennis, by my direction, cut a strong pole twelve or fourteen feet
long, which we laid across the brute’s back, and pressed him down as
tightly as we could, which, with the able assistance of Nep. kept my
gentleman tolerably quiet till the old man cut and twisted a couple of
withes, which he passed under the bear, near the hind and forelegs, and
secured him firmly to the pole, which my companions lifted on their
shoulders, from which the beast now hung suspended, and commenced our
march homewards.

I had great difficulty in keeping the dog off. He would rush in, every
minute, in spite of all I could do, and seize poor Bruin by the side
and shake him most unmercifully. I had enough to do with the help of a
stout stick to keep him and the bear in order. The latter was equally
violent striking with his fore-paws at the men who were luckily for
them just out of his reach, and particularly so for Dennis, who marched
in front, whose unmentionables not being in the best possible repair,
appeared to excite Master Bruin’s particular attention.

I very much wished to preserve this creature alive, that I might try
and tame him. In this, however, I was destined to be disappointed; for
what with the beating I was obliged to give him to keep him quiet, and
the savage attack of the dog, he died just as we came within sight of
the clearing. When we skinned him, we found his side much lacerated
where the dog had bitten him. From the exaggerated description Dennis
had given me of his size, I fully expected to find him as big as a
bullock. He, however, only weighed a hundred and fifty-seven pounds,
which, for a bear of two years old, which appeared to be his age, is, I
believe, the average weight.

The summer of 1825 was warm, even for Canada, where this season is
always hot. The thermometer often ranged above 90 degrees in the shade.
Such weather would be quite unbearable, were it not for a fine breeze
which almost invariably springs up from the westward between ten and
eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and continues till sunset.

The nights are cooler in proportion to the heat of the day, than in
England.

This climate is subject to violent thunder-storms, accompanied by vivid
forked lightning and heavy rain, which greatly tend to cool the air and
make the country more healthy. Fatal accidents, however, sometimes
occur, and houses and barns are burnt down by the electric fluid, and I
have no doubt that, were it not for the proximity of the woods, a great
deal more damage would be done.

The lofty trees serve as conductors, particularly the pine and hemlock,
the former, from its great height above all the other trees of the
forest, being much more likely to be struck by the lightning than any
other. It is a curious fact that the electric fluid invariably follows
the grain the wood. I have often noticed in pines which had been
struck, that the fluid had followed the grain in a spiral form,
encircling the tree three or four times in its descent to the earth. I
have myself witnessed some extraordinary effects produced by lightning.
I remember that, not more than two years since, I had occasion to go
out into the township of Douro to attend the sitting of the Council of
which I was then a member, and I had, on my way, to pass through a
small clearing occupied by an Irish settler, one James Lynch.

This man, to save trouble, had left several large hemlock trees near
his house. These trees had been dead for some years, consequently the
wood was tolerably dry.[2] The day before, there had been a terrific
thunder-storm which struck the largest, which was fully four feet in
diameter, shivering it from top to bottom, and throwing the pieces
around for upwards of sixty yards in every direction. If a barrel of
gunpowder had been placed under the tree, greater devastation could not
have been made. Lynch told me that the storm had been very severe in
that neighbourhood.

 [2] It is well knows that dry timber offers a greater resistance to
 the electric fluid than the green.


“We were at dinner,” he said, “when the dreadful flash came which
shattered that tree. We were all knocked down by the shock, and
narrowly escaped being killed, not only by the lightning, but by the
pieces of timber which were, as you may observe, scattered in all
directions.”

After a thunder-storm, attended by heavy rain, a substance very much
resembling sulphur is left floating on all the pools, which many people
believe to be sulphur. This, however, is quite a mistake, for it is, in
reality, nothing more than the farina from the cone of the pine trees.
I have observed this substance equally abundant on the Huron tract,
many miles from any pine grove. It must, therefore, from its lightness,
have been carried up into the air, from whence it has been beaten down
by the rain.




CHAPTER V.


CANADIAN HARVEST.—PREPARING TIMBER FOR FRAME-BUILDINGS.—RAISING
“BEE.”—BEAUTY OF THE CANADIAN AUTUMN.—VISIT TO OTONABEE.—ROUGH
CONVEYANCE.—DISACCOMMODATION.—LEARNED LANDLORD.—COBOURG.—OTONABEE
RIVER.—CHURCH OF GORE’S LANDING.—EFFECTS OF PERSERVING INDUSTRY.

Our harvest, with the exception of some late oats, was all carefully
housed by the 18th of August. Very little grain is stacked out in this
country: even the hay is put up in barns. As timber can be had for the
cutting, log or frame-barns can be built very cheaply. I would
certainly recommend frame in preference to log-buildings.

Square timber, fit for framing, can be purchased from four to five
dollars per hundred feet, running measure. Twelve hundred feet are
sufficient, varying in size from four inches to a foot square. This
quantity will frame a barn fifty feet long by thirty feet wide, and
sixteen in height, from the sill to the plate which supports the roof.
Twelve thousand feet of boards and plank, at five dollars per thousand,
superficial measure, will be enough to enclose the frame, and lay the
threshing-floor, and board the roof ready for shingling.

The best and cheapest method of barn-building is as follows: In the
winter season cut and square with the broad axe all the frame timber
you require, and draw it home to the place you have fixed on for the
building, and from the saw-mill all the lumber you require. As soon as
the weather is warm enough hire a framer, whose business is to mark out
all the tenons and mortices, and to make or superintend the making of
them. When ready, the building is put together in what is called bents,
each bent consisting of two posts, one on each side of the building,
connected together by a strong beam running across the building. The
foundation is composed of twelve cedar blocks, three feet long, sunk
two-thirds of their depth into the ground, one under each corner of the
barn, and under the foot of each post. These blocks support the sills,
which are firmly united at the corner to the cross sills. The bents,
four in number, are then laid on this foundation, and are ready for
raising, which is done by calling a “bee.” Thirty-five men are ample
for this service—more are only in the way. Every two persons should be
provided with a light balsam or cedar pole, fifteen feet in length,
shod at the end with a ring and strong spike. These pike-poles are laid
in order in front of the bent to be raised, one between each person.
All being ready, the framer-gives the word “attention,” when each man
lays hold of the bent, one man being stationed at the foot of each post
with a hand-spike, which he presses against it to prevent its slipping.
“Yeo heave!” is then shouted by the framer, at which every man lifts,
waiting always for the word, and lifting together. As soon as the bent
is lifted as high as they can reach, the pike-poles are driven into the
beam, and the bent is soon in a perpendicular position. Several pikes
are then stuck into the opposite side to keep the bent from being
swayed over, until the tenons on the foot of the post is entered into
the mortice on the sill: it is then secured by stays, until the next
bent is raised, when the girts connect them together. In this manner
all the bents are raised: the wall-plates are then lifted upon the
building which connect all the bents. The tenon on the top of each post
goes through the plate, and is firmly pinned; the putting up the
rafters completes the frame. The raising of a building of this size
should not occupy more than three quarters of a-day. No liquor should
be served out to the swarm of working bees till the raising is over, as
many serious accidents having occurred for want of this precaution.

I am particular in giving these descriptions, because I flatter myself
they may prove useful to the future colonist.

The first week in September we commenced sowing our fall-wheat, and
finished on the tenth, which is considered in good season. I would by
all means recommend early sowing, especially on old cleared farms. Late
sown wheat is more liable to winter-kill and rust. In fact, you can
hardly sow too early to ensure a good crop.

September is the most beautiful month in the Canadian year. The weather
is neither too hot nor too cold. Nothing can be more delightfully
pleasant; for, in this month, the foliage of the trees begins to put on
that gorgeous livery for which the North American continent is so
justly celebrated. Every variety of tint, from the brightest scarlet
and deepest orange, yellow and green, with all the intermediate shades
blended together, form one of the most beautiful natural pictures you
can possibly conceive.

I received a very pressing invitation from my wife’s brother-in-law,
who resided near the foot of Rice Lake, in the township of Otonabee, to
come and spend a few days with him. As an additional inducement, he
promised to show me some capital duck-shooting. I was too fond of
fowling to decline such an invitation as this. Besides, I wished to see
that new settlement. The township lies north of Rice Lake, which forms
its southern boundary: it is the largest in the county of Peterborough,
with the exception of Harvey. Otonabee contains above eighty thousand
acres, and is now the most populous as well as one of the most fertile
townships in the county, which, at the time of which I am writing, had
been just opened by the Government for location.

The only practicable road then to this settlement was from Cobourg,
distant twelve miles from the southern shore of Rice Lake, leading over
a chain of hills, the highest of which is, I believe, about seven
hundred feet above the level of Lake Ontario, and from whence, on a
very clear day, the opposite shore may be seen, though the distance is
nearly sixty-five miles. I have heard this statement disputed, but I am
perfectly convinced of the truth from having myself seen, on several
occasions, the United States’ shore of the lake from White’s Hill,
which is several hundred feet lower.

It was arranged that I should drive my wife as far as Cobourg, and
leave her with some friends till my return. I was to take out with me
from Cobourg the gentleman’s sister, Miss Jane W——, who was to return
with me.

We left Darlington in a one-horse pleasure-waggon so called, or rather
mis-called, by the natives. For my part, I never could find in what the
pleasure consisted, unless in being jerked every minute two or three
feet from your seat by the unevenness of the road and want of springs
in your vehicle, or the next moment being soused to the axletree in a
mud-hole, from which, perhaps, you were obliged to extricate your
carriage by the help of a lever in the shape of a rail taken from some
farmer’s fence by the roadside. You are no sooner freed from this
Charybdis, than you fall into Scylla, formed by half a mile of
corduroy-bridge, made of round logs, varying from nine to fifteen
inches in diameter, which, as you may suppose, does not make the most
even surface imaginable, and over which you are jolted in the roughest
style possible, at the expense of your breath and injury of your
person. I am happy to say that better roads and a better description of
pleasure-carriages have superseded these inconvenient conveyances.

Since the institution of county councils, and the formation of towns
and townships into municipalities, great attention has been bestowed,
and large sums of money voted, for the improvement of roads and
bridges; and several Joint-stock companies, chartered by the Provincial
Parliament, have completed sundry lines of plank and macadamized roads,
on which toll-gates have been erected. What has already been done in
this way has added greatly to the wealth and settlement of the
province. No one can understand, indeed, except the early settler, what
a blessing a good road is, especially to those who are too far back for
the benefit of water communication.

The day was fine and clear when we started, and we congratulated
ourselves on the prospect of a pleasant journey, which, I am sorry to
say, was not to be verified. Distant thunder soon warned us that we
might expect a storm. We hurried on as fast as possible, in hope we
might be able to get through the nine-mile woods, in the township of
Clarke, before the bursting of the storm. In this, however, we were
disappointed; for, before we were half through the woods, the rain fell
in torrents, accompanied by the loudest thunder and most vivid
lightning I had ever seen. After above an hour’s most pitiless pelting,
we found ourselves suddenly before a small log-house, in front of
which, swinging between two upright posts, a cross-bar connecting them
at the top, depended a sign, on which was described, in large
characters, for the information of all way-worn or thirsty-travellers,
“that good liquor, good beds, and good accommodations, both for man and
horse, could be had from the proprietor, Thomas Turner Orton.”

Although from the outward appearance of the premises we did not expect
the best accommodation, we thought anything better than being exposed
longer to the fury of the storm, so giving our horse and waggon to the
charge of the ostler, we entered Mr. Orton’s tavern, and demanded to be
shown into a private room, which request we found it was out of the
power of mine host to comply with, seeing he had only one apartment,
which answered the treble purpose of parlour, kitchen, and bar-room.
Besides this general apartment there were two small bedrooms on the
ground-floor. Luckily for us, a good fire blazed on the ample hearth,
its only occupant, in the shape of a guest, being a gentleman from Port
Hope, who, like ourselves, had just taken refuge from the storm.

While our clothes were being dried, our hostess prepared dinner, which
consisted of a boiled chicken, eggs, and fried ham, which we found
excellent, and, as a preventive against catching cold, after the
soaking we had got, I ordered some whiskey-punch, which I have always
found very efficacious on such occasions. Some people recommend tea
made from the boughs of the hemlock-pine, which, I dare say, is
excellent for some constitutions; but it never agreed half so well with
mine as the former antidote, which I can conscientiously recommend but,
like all other medicines, an over-dose may do more harm than good.

Our host, who appeared to make himself quite at home in his own house,
joined in the conversation, and being very communicative about his own
affairs, wanted us to be equally so about ours. His eccentricity
greatly amused us. He informed me that he was by birth a Yorkshireman,
and that he had been in business in London, where he had built some
fine “place” or “terrace,” which still bore his name. He spouted Latin
occasionally, and showed me a Greek lexicon, which he told me was his
constant companion. His real stock of Latin and Greek consisted only of
a few words and sentences he had picked up, and which he quoted
ostentatiously before the ignorant, who of course thought him a prodigy
of learning.

As it continued to rain all the evening, I was obliged to give orders
to have my horse put up for the night, and also to see what
accommodation could be had for ourselves. I found on examination that
this was bad enough at least I thought so then, though many a time
since I should have been happy to obtain any half as good.

We started early next morning, and reached Cobourg, without any farther
adventure, about noon on the same day. We halted there three days. I
left my wife with our friends, and took charge of Miss W—— to escort
her to her brother’s house.

We left Cobourg for Rice Lake which was distant about twelve or
thirteen miles from thence. It was a delightful morning in October; and
our road, though very bad, and in some places positively dangerous,
where it descended into the deep ravines, was at the same time so
picturesque that we were quite delighted with our drive, and
particularly so when, emerging from the woods, we entered
Hamilton-plains, and beheld in the distance the glittering waters of
Rice Lake, and the gem-like islands which adorn its unruffled surface.

Rice Lake, or the Lake of the Burning Plains, as it is called in the
Indian language, is a fine sheet of water, twenty-seven miles in length
from east to west, varying from two to three and a half miles in width.
About six miles from its head on the northern shore it receives the
waters of the Otonabee river, which, rising near the head-waters of the
Madawaska, flows in nearly a westerly direction, into Balsam Lake,
where it takes a more southerly direction, forming in its course a
succession of beautiful lakes for upwards of sixty miles. Ten miles
above Peterborough, and directly opposite my own farm in the township
of Douro, it suddenly contracts its channel and becomes a rapid and
impetuous stream. According to a survey ordered by the-government, it
was ascertained that from a point on my farm, at the foot of
Kawchewahnoonk Lake, and distant from Peterborough nearly ten miles,
there is a fall of one hundred and forty-seven feet, affording an
unlimited water-power, which has already been extensively applied not
only in the town of Peterborough, where several fine flour and
saw-mills have been erected, but also in the townships through which it
flows.

At Peterborough the rapids cease, from whence the river becomes
navigable for steam-boats to the Rice Lake, at the distance of
twenty-one miles, which it enters after a course of fully two hundred
and fifty miles.

The Indian river takes its rise close to Stony Lake, from which it is
only divided by a narrow ridge of granite: this ridge has been cut
across at the sole expense of the Hon. Zacheus Burnham and Dr. John
Gilchrist, for the purpose of obtaining a larger supply of water for
the use of their mills at Warsaw, in Dummer and Keane, in Otonabee,
thus connecting the two rivers by this canal. This river flows through
the townships of Dummer, Douro, and Otonabee, its whole course not
exceeding thirty-five or forty miles, with the exception of a few small
streams. No other river of consequence flows into Rice Lake.

Our drive over the plains was truly delightful. New beauties presented
themselves at every step. It can hardly be imagined what a relief it is
to the eye, after travelling for miles through a dense forest, to see
such a beautiful landscape suddenly burst on your sight.

For nearly three miles our road lay through natural park-like scenery,
flowery knolls, deep ravines, and oak-crowned hills, with every now and
then the blue waters of the lake glittering through the trees. Our path
now entered a deep and finely-wooded ravine, which wound round the base
of steep hills on either hand, rising to a considerable height, their
summits crowned here and there with beautiful clumps of oak.

For nearly a mile we followed the sharp descent and windings of the
beautiful valley, till a sudden turning of the road revealed to our
sight the whole expanse of this fine sheet of water. Not a ripple
dimpled the surface; but, mirror-like, it lay with all its lovely
islands thickly wooded to their summits with the sugar-maple, which
rose, tree above tree, up the steep ascent of these conical islets,
which, reflected in the clear lake, added new beauties to the scene.

A few minutes more brought us to the tavern, a small log-house, kept by
one David Tidy, a very respectable Scotchman. The situation of this
man’s farm is one of the best on the lake shore. It is now the property
of Mr. Alfred Hayward, whose good taste has added greatly to its
natural beauties. Mrs. Hayward, who is an accomplished artist, has
taken a view of the lake from her garden, and also one of Port Hope,
both of which have been lithographed, and are much admired.

Tidy’s tavern, and two other log-houses, were at this time the only
settlements on the Rice Lake plains, which extend for nearly twenty
miles along the south shore, forming the rear of the townships of
Hamilton and Alnwick, but which are now dotted over with fine
productive farms, substantial stone, brick, or frame-houses,
full-bearing orchards, and possessing in fact almost every comfort and
convenience a farmer could wish.

The pretty village of Gore’s Landing is built partly on the lot
formerly possessed by Tidy, and partly on the adjoining lot at present
occupied by Captain Gore, from whom the village takes its name. The
gentlemen in this neighbourhood have, nearly at their own expense,
built a very neat church, which is romantically situated on the top of
a high hill overlooking the lake. In summer time nothing can exceed the
beauty of this spot, or be more suitable for the erection of a fane
dedicated to Him

“Whose temple is all space!”


This village contains two excellent taverns, a large steam saw-mill,
two stores, and several other buildings. Two steam-boats, the “Royal
George” and “Forester,” leave it daily for Peterborough, distant
twenty-five miles, making their return-trip the same day. Another
steamer is being constructed to run from the village of Keane, on the
Indian river in Otonabee down the Trent as far as Heely’s Falls and
back to Gore’s Landing. These boats meet Weller’s line of mail stages
at one o’clock, P.M. A fine line of plank road has been constructed
from this place to Cobourg, avoiding all the high hills. The stage time
is an hour and a half between lake and lake.

As nearly all the lumber and shingles manufactured at Peterborough and
the neighbouring townships intended for exportation to the United
States, must be either landed here or at Bewdley, at the head of the
lake, whence it is conveyed across in waggons to Port Hope or Cobourg,
this village bids fair to become a stirring little place.

One of my objects in writing this work is to point out what the country
was twenty-seven years ago, and what it is now, showing clearly that
what appeared to the pioneer of those days insurmountable difficulties,
have by persevering industry been overcome, “and the howling wilderness
made to blossom as the rose.” The desolating torrent has been utilised
and restrained; mills and factories have been erected; bridges span our
broadest rivers, and magnificent steamers plough our inland seas. Nor
is this all: the first sod of a railway has been turned, which is
ultimately intended to connect Lake Huron with Halifax and Boston,
bringing the riches of the Far West through its natural channel to the
sea.

Nothing, indeed, but industry and enterprise is needed to change the
waste and solitary places of Upper Canada into a garden of Eden, which
it is designed by the Supreme Architect to become.




CHAPTER VI.


WOOD-DUCK SHOOTING.—ADVENTURE ON RICE LAKE.—IRISH HOWL.—ARRIVAL AT
GORE’S LANDING.—GENERAL HOWLING FOR THE DEFUNCT.—DANGERS OF OUR
JOURNEY.—SAFE ARRIVAL AT COBOURG.—SALMON-FISHING.—CANOE-BUILDING AFTER
A BAD FASHION.—SALMON SPEARING.—CANADIAN FISH AND FISHERIES.—INDIAN
SUMMER.—SLEIGHS AND SLEIGHING.—DOMESTIC LOVE.

After committing the care of my horse to our landlord, I ordered dinner
to be got ready immediately, as we had thirteen miles to row, and I
wished to reach Mr. W——’s before dark. Our hostess exerted herself, and
we soon sat down to a sumptuous feast, consisting of a brace of fine
fat wood-ducks and fried black bass, two dishes I am particularly fond
of, and which at this time of the year can always be obtained from the
lake.

The wood-duck is a delicious bird. It makes its appearance early in the
spring, as soon as the ice breaks up. Its plumage is very fine—I should
say the most beautiful of any of its species. Its head and upper part
of the neck are dark green; from the top of the head a long crest
depends, richly variegated with green, white, and dark purple feathers.
The lower part of the throat and breast is cinnamon speckled with
white, but under the wings and sides towards the tail, grey, speckled
and fringed with black; the back of the wings dark blue and black
feathers. The wood-duck frequents close-wooded streams, little bays,
and nooks, sitting upon old logs or the limbs of trees which have
fallen into the water. It feeds on the wild rice, and is very fat from
the middle of August to November, when it migrates to a warmer climate.
This kind of duck is more easily approached than any other. The
sportsman should be seated near the centre of a small canoe, his gun
lying before him ready cocked, when he should paddle very cautiously
through the rice, keeping his head as low as possible. A person who
understands the management of a canoe can generally get within
twenty-five or thirty yards before he is seen, which gives him ample
opportunity to put down his paddle and take his gun, in time to fire
both barrels. In this manner I have often killed from fifteen to twenty
brace in a few hours.

After dinner we hired a skiff and proceeded on our voyage. The lake was
calm, so we made good progress, passing the Indian village belonging to
the Mississauga tribe of Indians, a branch of the Chippewas, which I
shall have occasion to speak of hereafter, Pantaush’s point, Designs
Bay, and the _embouchure_ of the Indian river; and just at dusk landed
opposite my friend’s house, pretty well tired, though much delighted
with our day’s journey. We were received with a welcome such as only a
backwoodsman knows how to give. In half an hour I felt as much at home
as if I had belonged to the family.

During my stay here, which was upwards of a week, I amused myself with
fishing and shooting. The fall and winter duck were beginning to come
in from the north, a sure sign that hard weather was close at hand.

We had had an early spring and a long warm summer. Generally speaking,
the ground does not close till about the middle of November; but this
year the frost set in much earlier. It did not, however, continue, for
the ground again opened, and we had nearly two weeks of beautiful
Indian summer in the early part of November.

On the 17th the ice was sufficiently strong to skate upon. On the 27th
day of October the first hard weather commenced, and as there was some
fear of the lake freezing, we determined to start for Cobourg the
following morning. I accordingly made the necessary preparations, and
hired an old man-of-war’s-man, one Robert Redpath, to row us up the
lake to Tidy’s.

It froze hard during the night. The ice was fully half an inch thick on
the bays, and along the margin of the lake we were obliged to break a
passage for the skiff for upwards of fifty yards before we got into
clear water. It was cold, and blew fresh from the north-west, and the
wind being directly down the lake, caused a heavy swell, which
increased every minute. As the gale freshened, our skiff shipped so
much water that we thought it prudent to put across to the Alnwick
shore, which was more under the lee, being sheltered by islands. While
passing near one of these, I observed some person walking to and fro,
apparently making signals of distress. I called Redpath’s attention to
this, and bade him “row to the shore that we might ascertain what he
wanted.” This our boatman positively refused to do, saying that “he had
hired himself to ferry us to Tidy’s, and he was not bound to go half a
mile out of his way to hunt after every infernal Ingine (Indian) we
might see on our road.”

I, however, insisted on his immediately complying with my request. It
was fortunate I did so, for on landing we found a man walking backwards
and forwards, trying to keep himself warm. Indeed, the poor fellow
looked nearly frozen. He seemed to have lost all power over his limbs,
and was quite unable to articulate. I made Redpath light a fire, and in
the meantime I gave the man a dram from our whiskey-bottle, which
greatly revived him. We soon had a blazing fire, which had the desired
effect of unloosing the tongue of our new acquaintance, and he informed
us, “he was one of the Irish emigrants sent off by Government under the
superintendence of the Honourable Peter Robinson; that several hundreds
of them had been forwarded from Cobourg to Rice Lake, a few days
before, on their way to the new settlements up the Otonabee River, and
were now camped at Tidy’s. He and his friend, a man of the name of
Daly, a tailor by trade, wished to settle in the township of Asphodel,
on the River Trent. They had accordingly taken a boat and had rowed
down the lake in the hope of reaching Crook’s Rapids on the Trent
before nightfall. Irishman-like, their only stores for the voyage
consisted of a bottle of whiskey, to which it appears they applied
themselves more diligently than to the navigation of their boat, which
they let drift at the mercy of the winds and waves while they slept.

They did not wake up from their drunken slumbers till dark, when they
found themselves stuck in a rice bed, and unable to extricate
themselves from the dilemma in which they were placed; whereupon they
again had recourse to the bottle, which this time proved fatal to Daly
who, being very drunk, fell overboard. His companion, however, managed
to catch hold of him and succeeded in getting him into the boat only to
suffer a more lingering death, for he was frozen stiff before morning
dawned. The survivor had covered his unfortunate companion with a
blanket, the only one they had with them, in the hope it would keep him
from perishing with cold during the night, which care, however, proved
unavailing. He managed at dawn to extricate the boat from the rice bed,
but not being able to row so large a boat, especially in his present
condition, she drifted upon the point of the island on which we found
him.

As soon as he was well warmed and refreshed, we proceeded to the place
pointed out by him, where we found the boat thumping in the surf, on a
ledge of rocks. After hauling it up, we proceeded to lift the blanket,
when a shocking sight presented itself. The dead man was sitting
upright on the seat, with his mouth and eyes half-open. We lifted him
out, laid him under a tree, and spread the blanket over him. We found
our skiff too small to accommodate another passenger, so we determined
to leave it behind and take the large boat, which we accordingly did;
and we put our new-comer to the oar with Redpath, whilst I took the
helm.

We had a long, tedious row against the headwind, which now blew a gale.
Our new acquaintance, every now-and-then, would throw down his oar, and
howl and clap his hands to show his grief for the loss of his departed
friend. These pathetic lamentations elicited no sympathy from Redpath,
who abused him for “a lazy lubber,” and ordered him “to pull and not
make such an infernal howling, worse than a wild Ingin’s yell.”

We made the landing at Tidy’s, just before dark, and found several
hundred emigrants in the tavern, and camped round about it.

As soon as we came within hearing, our passenger commenced the loudest
howl he had yet perpetrated, which had the immediate effect of bringing
down to the landing the whole of his countrymen, who, as soon as they
learned the loss of their friend, gave us a genuine Irish howl, in
which the women took the most prominent part.

On our way up to the house, we were met by the landlord, who, with a
most woful look, informed us that our horse had strayed away from the
pasture, and that he had searched the plains in every direction, and
could hear no tidings of him, but as soon as he turned up he would send
him home. “I am sorry, sir.” he added, “this misfortune has happened,
and particularly as I am unable to accommodate you and the young lady,
for my house is full of drunken Irish, as you see. Indeed, the only
chance you have of getting to Cobourg to-night is by an ox-cart, which
will start about nine o’clock this evening.”

I was very angry with the landlord for his carelessness, and told him I
should look to him for payment unless my horse was forthcoming. I found
the owner of the ox-cart, and made a bargain with him to set us down at
my friend’s house in Cobourg.

Our equipage was very unique of its kind, it having been constructed
for the sole purpose of carrying barrels of flour and pork. The box was
a kind of open rack, with two rows of upright stakes instead of sides:
two long boards, laid on cross-bars, formed the bottom: we spread our
buffaloes on these, and fastened a strong piece of rope across the
cart, from stake to stake on either side, to hold on by.

Thus equipped, we commenced our journey. It was pitch-dark, so our
driver let the cattle go as they liked, for guiding them was perfectly
out of the question. I shall never forget the way our oxen galloped
down those steep hills. Miss W. was dreadfully frightened. All we could
do was to hold on and trust in Providence. Luckily, the oxen kept the
track; for had they deviated in the least, going down some of the steep
pitches, the cart would have been upset to a certainty, and very likely
we should have been seriously injured, or killed on the spot.

It was past one in the morning before we reached Cobourg, thoroughly
fatigued with our expedition.

I heard no tidings of my horse for upwards of four months, and had
given up all thoughts of beholding him again, when one morning I was
surprised to see him, waggon, harness and all, drive into the yard.
Upon inquiry, I found that the hard weather and snow had made him seek
the clearings for food, when he was easily secured; but one of his
fetlocks was cut almost to the bone by the piece of rope he had been
tethered with, and which was still upon him when he was found.

One of the most exciting amusements at this season of the year, is
salmon-fishing. In order to enjoy this sport, I made a canoe sixteen
feet in length, and two feet nine inches at its greatest breadth. It
was my first attempt, and, certainly the thing looked more like a
hog-trough than a boat. It, however, answered the purpose for which it
was intended, and I can assure the reader I felt not a little proud of
this, my first attempt at canoe-making.

Salmon-fishing commences in October, when the fish run up the rivers
and creeks in great numbers. The usual way of catching them is by
spearing, which is done as follows.—An iron grate—or jack, as it is
called by the Canadians—is made in the shape of a small cradle,
composed of iron bars three or four inches apart. This cradle is made
to swing in a frame, so that it may be always on the level, or the
swell would cause the pine-knots to fall out. Fat pine and light-wood
are used to burn in the jack, which give a very brilliant light for
several yards round the bow of the canoe. The fish can be easily seen
at the depth of from four to five feet. One person sits in the stern
and steers with a paddle, propelling the canoe at the same time. The
bowman either kneels or stands up with the spear poised ready for
striking. An expert hand will scarcely miss a stroke. I have known two
fishermen in this manner kill upwards of two hundred salmon in one
night. I believe, however, the fishing is not nearly so productive as
formerly.

Mr. Stephens showed me a small stream running through his farm, which I
could easily jump over. He told me that one afternoon he was watering
his horses, when he perceived a shoal of salmon swimming up the creek.
He had no spear at home, having lent it to a neighbour. He, however,
succeeded with a pitchfork in capturing fifty-six fine fish.

Thirty years ago, all the small streams and rivers, from the head of
the lake downwards to the Bay of Quinte, used to abound with salmon.
The erection of saw-mills on the creeks, and other causes, have tended
materially to injure the fisheries. White fish and salmon-trout are,
however, taken in vast quantities, particularly the former, which has
become quite an article of commerce. The most extensive fisheries are
on the Manitoulin island, in Lake Huron, and along the Canadian shore
of Ontario, opposite the township of Haldimand, Crambe, and Murray, in
the county of Northumberland, and part of the district of Prince
Edward. Very large seine nets being used, many barrels of fish are
often taken at a haul, which are cured and packed on the spot: the
usual price of a barrel varies from five to six dollars.

Lake Ontario abounds with herring, of much the same flavour as the sea
species, but not so strong and oily, nor so large. Sturgeon, pike,
pickerel, black bass, sheep-heads, mullets, suckers, eels, and a
variety of other fish, are plentiful in these waters: the spring-creeks
and mill-ponds yield plenty of spotted trout, from four ounces to a
pound weight: they are easily caught either with the worm or fly.

The best creek I ever fished in was the Speed, a branch of the Grand
River, or Ouse, which runs through the township of Guelph. In winter
you can catch them by fishing through a hole in the ice. The best way
is to dig and store by in a box filled with earth, a quantity of worms,
which must be kept in the cellar for use. A small piece of fat pork is
commonly employed as bait, but is not nearly so good as the other.

A friend of mine, living near Colborne, told me rather an amusing story
of a Yankee, who was fishing through the ice with the usual bait, a
piece of pork. He had been very unsuccessful, and tired of the sport,
he walked over to where my friend was throwing out the trout as fast as
possible, when the following colloquy took place:

“Wal, how, under Heaven, did you get all them ’ere fish?”

“Caught them.”

“Wal, I s’pose you did; but what kinder bait do you use?”

“Worms.”

“Varms! Why, under Heaven, where do you get varms at this time of the
year?”

“I got these out of my cellar.”

“Get out! how you do talk!”

“You may believe me or not, as you like; but I can assure you I did.”

“Wal, do tell. I guess I never thought of diggin’ in the cellar; I will
go to hum and try.”

My friend met him a few days afterwards, when the Yankee said—“I
calculate, Mister, you told me a tarnation lie, the other day, about
them ’ere varms. I went and dug up every bit of my cellar, and, I do
declare, I never got a single varm.”

My friend laughed very heartily at this “Yankee diggin,” but at the
same time kindly informed his neighbour of the method he pursued, to
provide worms for winter-fishing.

Before the winter fairly sets in, we generally have ten days or a
fortnight of the Indian summer; indeed, it is the sure harbinger of
winter. The air is mild and temperate; a haze, resembling smoke,
pervades the atmosphere, that at times obscures the sun, which, when
visible, is of a blood-red colour. Various causes have been assigned
for this appearance, but none very satisfactory.

Towards the end of November this year, the ice was strong enough to
bear the weight of a man, and the ground was soon whitened with snow,
but not in sufficient depth to make good sleighing. Just a week before
Christmas, we had a fall of eight or ten inches, which made pretty good
going: the sleighs were, of course, in immediate requisition.

A family sleigh is made to carry from six to ten persons; the more
stylish ones from four to six; a cutter, or single sleigh, two. These
are all for pleasure, but every farmer is obliged to have a
lumber-sleigh for general use. A much larger load can be drawn on
runners in winter than on wheels in summer. Sleighing is, without
doubt, the most delightful mode of travelling you can possibly
conceive, but it takes several falls of snow to make the sleighing
good. All the inequalities must be filled up and levelled, but the snow
soon packs solid by the constant friction of the sleigh-runner. The
horses are each provided with a ring of bells, the sound of which is
not unmusical; and I am assured is delightful indeed to the ears of the
anxious wife, watching for the return of her husband from a winter
journey. Some years ago, when the country was unsettled, the females of
the family had some cause for fear, since the absence of the father,
son, or husband, was not always followed by his safe return; and the
snow-storm, or the wolves, were thought of with alarm, till the music
of the sleigh-bells announced the safety of the beloved absentee.

In no country on the face of the earth does the torch of wedded love
beam brighter than in Canada, where the husband always finds “the wife
dearer than the bride.” I have seen many an accomplished and beautiful
English girl, “forgetting with her father’s house,” the amusements of a
fashionable life, to realize with a half-pay officer or “younger
brother,” the purer, holier pleasures of domestic love in this country,
where a numerous issue, the fruits of their union, are considered a
blessing and a source of wealth, instead of bringing with them, as in
the old country, an increase of care.




CHAPTER VII.


EMPLOYMENTS OF A MAN OF EDUCATION IN THE COLONY.—YANKEE WEDDING.—MY
COMMISSION.—WINTER IN CANADA.—HEALTHINESS OF THE CANADIAN
CLIMATE.—SERACH FOR LAND.—PURCHASE WILD LAND AT DOURO.—MY FLITTING.—PUT
UP A SHANTY.—INEXPERIENCE IN CLEARING.—PLAN-HEAPS.

The employments of a respectable Canadian settler are certainly of a
very multifarious character, and he may be said to combine, in his own
person, several professions, if not trades. A man of education will
always possess an influence, even in bush society: he may be poor, but
his value will not be tested by the low standard of money, and
notwithstanding his want of the current coin of the realm, he will be
appealed to for his judgment in many matters, and will be inducted into
several offices, infinitely more honourable than lucrative. My friend
and father-in-law, being mild in manners, good-natured, and very
sensible, was speedily promoted to the bench, and was given the
colonelcy of the second battalion of the Durham Militia.

At this time there was no place of worship nearer than Port Hope, where
the marriage ceremony could be legally performed. According to the
Colonial law, if a magistrate resides more than eighteen miles from a
church, he is empowered to marry parties applying to him for that
purpose, after three written notices have been put up in the most
public places in the township, with the names and residences of the
parties for at least a fortnight previous to the marriage. I witnessed
several of these marriages during my stay in Darlington, some of which
were highly amusing.

One morning a near neighbour presented himself and a very pretty young
woman, as candidates for matrimony. He was an American by birth, and a
shrewd, clever, sensible person. After the ceremony, the bridegroom
invited me to partake of the wedding-dinner, and I went.

The dinner was very good, though not served exactly in the English
fashion. We, however, managed to enjoy ourselves very much. After tea,
dancing commenced, to the music of two fiddles, when country-dances,
reels, and French fours were all performed with much spirit. The music
was very good, the dancing but indifferent. I could not help thinking

“How ill the motion with the music suits,
So Orpheus fiddled, and so danced the brutes.”


During the pauses between the dances; some lady or gentleman would
favour the company with a song. Then plays—as they are called—were
introduced; such as hunt the slipper, cross questions and crooked
answers, ladies’ toilette, and several others of the same kind, in
which forfeits had to be redeemed by the parties making mistakes in the
game—a procedure of course productive of much noise, kissing, and
laughter. Refreshments were handed round in great profusion, and the
entertainment wound up with a dance, which, I believe, is of purely
American origin. A chair is placed in the middle of the room, on which
a young lady is seated; the company then join hands, and dance round
her, singing these elegant lines:—

“There was a young woman sat down to sleep,
Sat down to sleep, sat down to sleep;
There was a young woman sat down to sleep,
Heigh-ho!—heigh-ho!—heigh-ho!

“There was a young man to keep her awake,
To keep her awake, to keep her awake;
There was a young man to keep her awake,
Heigh-ho!—heigh-ho!—heigh ho!

“John R—— his name shall be,
His name shall be, his name shall be;
John R—— his name shall be,
Heigh-ho!—heigh-ho!—heigh-ho!


The gentleman named walks up to the lady, salutes her, raises her from
the chair, and seats himself in her stead, the rest dancing round, and
singing as before, only substituting the gentleman, and naming the lady
who is to release the gentleman in the same way, till all the ladies
and gentlemen have been seated in their turn.

As soon as this queer species of Mazurka was concluded, the company
broke up, seemingly well pleased with their entertainment. The
introduction of English manners and customs during the last quarter of
a century has tended greatly to improve society. It is now only amongst
the lower orders that parties of this kind would be tolerated.

On my return home, I found an official letter from the Adjutant-general
of the Upper Canada Militia, in which I was informed I was appointed by
his Excellency Sir P. Maitland to an Ensigncy in the first regiment of
Durham Militia. The effective militia of this province is, I believe,
about 150,000 men. All persons, from sixteen to sixty, must enrol their
names once a year, and all from sixteen to forty, must muster for
general training on the 28th of June in each year. The officers, in
time of war, receive the same pay and allowances as those in the line.

The winters of 1825 and 1826 were considered cold, even for Canada. The
sleighing was good from the middle of December to the middle of March,
with the exception of the January thaw, which continued for upwards of
a week, and took away nearly all the snow. This thaw, though
periodical, is not every year of the same duration, nor does it always
take away the snow. Sometimes it is attended by strong gales of wind,
from the southward, and with heavy thunder and lightning, which was
particularly the case last January. The month of February is generally
considered the coldest of the winter months. I have frequently known
the thermometer range from 16 degrees to 20 degrees below zero, for a
week together. On one day of the winter of which I am speaking, it was
as low as 35 degrees. This, however, is unusual.

The coldest day I ever remember was in the winter of 1833. It was
called the “Cold Sunday.” The quicksilver in Fahrenheit’s thermometer
was frozen in the ball, which marks 39 degrees below zero. It was,
however, stated in the papers, both in Canada and the State of New
York, that the real cold was 40 degrees below zero, or 72 degrees below
freezing point. I dined at a friend’s that day, who resided three miles
from my farm in Douro. The day was clear, not a cloud being above the
horizon. The sun was of a dull copper-colour, and the horizon towards
the north-west tinged with the same hue. Not a breath of wind was
stirring. The smoke from the chimneys rose straight up into the air,
and appeared unable to disperse through the atmosphere. My horses were
as white as snow from the steam of their bodies freezing upon them; the
reins were frozen as stiff as rods; the air seemed to cut like a knife.
I was only a quarter of an hour upon the road, but even in that time I
felt the cold severely, and was very glad when I got into the house to
a large wood fire. The cold obliged the whole party at dinner to take
their plates upon their knees and sit round the fire. But, as I said
before, this is only an extreme case, and might not happen again for
twenty years.

The excessive cold seldom lasts more than three days at a time, when it
generally moderates, though not sufficiently to soften the snow. The
dryness of the atmosphere and snow makes you feel the cold much less in
proportion than in England. You do not experience that clinging,
chilly, damp sort of cold in Canada that you do in the British Isles.
For my part, I much prefer a Canadian winter, where the roads are good,
the sleighing good, and your health good. Sickness is scarcely known
here in the winter months.

If I could have purchased land on the lakeshore, I should have liked to
settle in Darlington; but I found the farms I fancied much too
high-priced for my pocket. So at last I made up my mind to go back to
the new settlement of Peterborough, and see what sort of a place it
was, and what it was likely to become.

Accordingly, I started on my journey, and travelled east, along the
Kingston road, parallel with the shore of lake Ontario for about
twenty-four or five miles to the boundary line, between the townships
of Hope and Hamilton. After this I walked for twenty-seven miles
through Cavan and Monaghan, to the town of Peterborough, which, at that
time contained one log-house and a very poor saw-mill, erected some
five or six years before by one Adam Scott to supply the new settlement
of Smith with lumber.

I found several hundreds of Mr. Robinson’s Irish emigrants camped on
the plains. Many had built themselves huts of pine and spruce boughs;
some with slabs and others with logs of trees. Three or four Government
store-houses and a house for the Superintendent, the Hon. Peter
Robinson, were in course of erection. I had letters of introduction to
that gentleman, and also to the Hon. T. A. Stewart, and Robert Reid,
Esq. The two latter gentlemen resided in the township of Douro, and
were at that time the only settlers in that part of Canada.

As I did not much like the appearance of the lodgings I was likely to
obtain in the new town, I went on to Mr. Stewart’s house, and presented
my credentials. Nothing could have been more cordial than the welcome I
received from him. This gentleman and his brother-in-law, Robert Reid,
Esq., obtained a grant of land from the Colonial Government, on
condition that they would become actual settlers on the land, and
perform certain settlement duties, which consisted in chopping out and
clearing the concession lines.[1] Before the Crown patent could issue,
the party contracting to perform the settlement duties was obliged to
appear before a magistrate, and make an affidavit that he or they had
chopped and cleared certain concession lines opposite the lots of land
mentioned in the certificate.

 [1] Every township is laid out by the surveyor in parallel lines,
 sixty-six chains apart. These lines are sixty-six feet in width, and
 are given by government as road allowances, for the use of the public,
 and are called concession lines. Cross lines run at right angles with
 the former every thirty chains, and are called lot-lines: they
 subdivide the township into two hundred acre lots: every fifth cross
 line is a road allowance.


This was a bad law, because many of these lines crossing high hills,
swamps or lakes, were impracticable for road-purposes: many thousand
pounds consequently were entirely and uselessly thrown away: besides,
it opened a door for perjury.

Land-speculators would employ a third party to perform their settlement
duties; all they required to obtain the deed, or “lift” as it is called
in Canadian parlance, was the sworn certificate for cutting the road,
allowances, and the payment of certain fees to Government. The
consequence of this was, that many false certificates were sworn to, as
few persons or magistrates would be at the trouble and expense of
travelling thirty or forty miles back into an uninhabited part of the
country, to ascertain if the parties had sworn truly or not.

A magistrate in my neighbourhood told me that a Yankee chopper came to
him one day and demanded to be sworn on a settlement duty certificate,
which he did to the following effect, “that he had cut a chain between
two posts opposite lots so and so, in the concession of—— township. The
road allowances are a chain in width, and posts are planted and marked
on each side of the concession, at the corners of each lot.

“I had some suspicions,” he said, “in my own mind that the fellow had
sworn falsely, so I determined to ascertain the truth. I knew a person
residing within a mile or two of the place, to whom I wrote for
information, when I found, as I expected, that not a tree bad been cut
on the line. I therefore summoned the Yankee, on the information of the
farmer, to appear before a brother magistrate and myself to answer for
his delinquency.

“So, sir,” I said, “you came before me and swore to a false
certificate. Do not you know you have committed perjury, which is a
very serious offence. What have you to say for yourself?”

“Wal, I guess, Mister, I han’t committed no perjury. I swore I cut a
chain between two posts opposite them lots, and I can prove it by Ina
Buck, for he was with me the hul time I was doing on’t.”

“Now, Mr. Buck, what can you prove?”

“Wal, gentlemen, I was along with Jonathan Stubbs when he went to chop
the settlement duties, and when we got to the posts opposite the lots,
he said, ‘Wal, this looks plaguy ugly any how! I calculate I must fix
these duties the short way,’ so he pulled out of his pocket a short
piece of trace-chain which he laid on a stone in a line between the two
posts, and with a stroke or two of his axe severed it in two. ‘Now,’
said he, ‘Ina Buck, I guess you are a witness that I cut a chain
between two posts, so they can’t fix me nohow?’”

“He was, however, a little out of his calculation, for we did fix him,
and sent him to jail, where I dare say he had ample time to plan some
new device for performing settlement duties.”

My new friend advised me to purchase land adjoining his grant, which
was very prettily situated on the banks of the Otonabee, in the
township of the same name, within a mile of Peterborough. The price
asked was fifteen shillings per acre, which was high for wild land at
that time, but the prospect of a town so near had improved the market
considerably.

I took his advice, closed the bargain, and became a landed proprietor
in Canada West. On the 16th of May, 1826, I moved up with all my goods
and chattels, which were then easily packed into a single horse waggon,
and consisted of a plough iron, six pails, a sugar kettle, two iron
pots, a frying pan with a long handle, a tea kettle, a chest of
carpenters’ tools, a Canadian axe, and a cross-cut saw. My stock of
provisions comprised a parcel of groceries, half a barrel of pork and a
barrel of flour.

The roads were so bad that it took me three days to perform a journey
of little more than fifty miles. We (that is to say myself and my two
labourers) had numerous upsets; but at last reached the promised land
without any further trouble. My friend in Douro turned out the next day
and assisted me to put up the walls of my shanty and roof it with
bass-wood troughs, which was completed before dark.

I was kept busy for more than a week chinking between the logs and
plastering up all the crevices, cutting out a doorway and place for a
window, casing them; making a door and hanging it on wooden hinges, &c.
I also made a rough table and some stools, which answered better than
they looked. Four thick slabs of lime-stone, placed upright in one
corner of the shanty with clay well packed behind them to keep the fire
off the logs, answered very well for a chimney with a hole cut through
the roof directly above, to vent the smoke.

I made a tolerably good bedstead out of some iron-wood poles, by
stretching strips of elm-bark across, which I plaited strongly together
to support my bed, which was a very good one, and the only article of
luxury I possessed.

I had very foolishly hired two Irish emigrants, who had not been longer
in Canada than myself, and of course knew nothing either of chopping,
logging, fencing, or, indeed, any work belonging to the country. The
consequence of this imprudence was, that the first ten acres I cleared
cost me nearly 5 pounds an acre[2]—at least 2 pounds more than it
should have done. Experience is often dearly bought, and in this
instance the proverb was fully verified.

 [2] The usual price for clearing land, and fencing it fit for sowing,
 is, for hard wood, from eleven to twelve dollars per acre; for
 evergreen, such as pine, hemlock, cedar, or where that kind of timber
 predominates, from twelve to fourteen dollars per acre. There is no
 fixed price for swamp.


I found chopping, in the summer months, very laborious. I should have
underbrushed my fallow in the fall, before the leaves fell, and chopped
the large timber during the winter months, when I should have had the
warm weather for logging and burning, which should be completed by the
first day of September. So, for want of experience, it was all up-hill
work with me.

This was the season for musquitoes and black flies. The latter are ten
times the worse of the two. This happened to be a bad fly year, and I,
being a new comer, was nearly devoured by them. Luckily, they do not
last more than a month, and it is only before rain that they are so
very annoying. I have seen children whose necks were one mass of sores,
from the poisonous nature of their bite: sheep, calves, and foals, are
sometimes killed by them. Nor is this, indeed, an unfrequent
occurrence. It must be, however, borne in mind that, as the country is
cleared up, and the woods recede, the flies disappear. In the clearings
along the front townships, the flies are not more troublesome than they
are in England.

The farm on which I now reside used to swarm terribly with flies,
lying, as it does, near the water; but, for the last three years, it
has been entirely free from them, especially from the black flies.[3]

 [3] These insects are always much worse, and more numerous, when the
 spring is backward, and the floods are higher than usual. From close
 observation, I believe the larvae are deposited during high water on
 the rocks, when, as soon as the water falls, the heat of the sun
 hatches the insects. I have remarked large stones, which had been
 under water during the flood, covered over with small brown coloured
 cells, exactly the shape, and very little bigger than a seed of
 buckwheat. From out of these cells, on a sunny day, the flies rise in
 clouds, for they bite through the envelope, and emancipate themselves.
 Being provided with a sharp appetite, they will attack you the minute
 they are at liberty. These pests begin to appear between the 10th of
 May and 1st of June, according to the earliness or lateness of the
 season. Towards the end of June, numbers of small dragon-flies make
 their appearance, which soon eat up all the black-flies, to which
 repast, you may be sure, they are heartily welcome.


A person who understands chopping, can save himself a good deal of
trouble and hard work by making what is called a plan-heap. Three or
four of these may be made on an acre, but not more. The largest and
most difficult trees are felled, the limbs only being cut off and
piled. Then all the trees that will fall in the same direction, should
be thrown along, on the top of the others, the more the better chance
of burning well. If you succeed in getting a good burn for your fallow,
the chances are, if your plan-heaps are well made, that they will be
mostly consumed, which will save a great many blows of the axe, and
some heavy logging.




CHAPTER VIII.


A LOGGING BEE.—LIME-BURNING.—SHINGLING.—ARRIVAL OF MY
BROTHER-IN-LAW.—BIRTH OF MY SON.—SAD JOURNEY TO DARLINGTON.—LOSE MY
WAY.—AM REFUSED A LIFT.—MY BOYISH ANGER.—MY WIFE’S DEATH.—THE
FUNERAL.—I LEAVE DARLINGTON.

My fallow was finished by the first week in July, but I did not put
fire to it until the first week in August, because the timber was so
green. Indeed, I did not expect the fire would run at all. I was,
however, agreeably deceived, for I got a very respectable burn, which
gave me great help.

As soon as the ground was cool enough, I made a logging Bee, at which I
had five yokes of oxen and twenty men, four men to each team. The
teamster selects a good place to commence a heap, generally against
some large log which the cattle would be unable to move. They draw all
the logs within a reasonable distance in front of the large log. The
men with hand-spikes roll them, one upon the top of the other, until
the heap is seven or eight feet high, and ten or twelve broad. All the
chips, sticks, and rubbish are then picked up and thrown on the top of
the heap. A team and four good men should log and pick an acre a day
when the burn has been good.

My hive worked well, for we had five acres logged and set fire to the
same evening. On a dark night, a hundred or two of these large heaps
all on fire at once have a very fine effect, and shed a broad glare of
light for a considerable distance. In the month of July in the new
settlements, the whole country at night appears lit up by these fires.

I was anxious to commence building my house, so that I might have it
ready to receive my wife in before the winter commenced. My first step
towards it was to build a lime-heap. I calculated I should require for
plastering my walls and building my chimneys, about a hundred bushels.

We set to work, accordingly, and built an immense log-heap of all the
largest logs I could get together. It took at least the timber growing
on half an acre of land for this purpose, and kept five men and myself
busy all day to complete it. We made a frame of logs on the top of the
heap, to keep the stone from falling over the side. We drew for this
purpose twenty cart-loads of lime-stone, which we threw upon the summit
of the heap, having broken it small with a sledge-hammer; fire was then
applied to the heap, which was consumed by the next morning. But it
left such a mass of hot coals, that it was a week before the lime could
be collected and covered. This is the easiest and most expeditious way
of burning lime; but the lime is not so white, and there are more
pieces of unburnt stone, which make it not so good for plastering.

I built my house of elm-logs, thirty-six feet long by twenty-four feet
wide, which I divided into three rooms on the ground-floor, besides an
entrance-hall and staircase, and three bed-rooms up stairs. I was very
busy till October making the shingles,[1] roofing, cutting out the door
and window-spaces, and hewing the logs down inside the house.

 [1] Shingles are made either of pine or cedar. I prefer the white
 pine, because it is less liable to gutter with the rain, and makes an
 evener roof. Every settler in the bush should know how to make
 shingles, and how to choose a tree fit for that purpose, or much
 labour may be thrown uselessly away. I do not know anything more
 annoying than, after cutting down a tree, perhaps more than four feet
 in diameter, and sawing a block eighteen inches long out of the
 centre, to find that it will not split fair, or (if it does) that the
 wood eats, which means, that the grain, though straight in the length
 of the shingle, makes short deep curves, which render it bad to split,
 and cause holes to appear in the shingle when you come to shave them.
 The grain of most trees naturally inclines towards the sun, or the
 same way round the tree as the sun’s course. Consequently, a tree may
 be perfectly straight in the grain, where you chop it down, yet, ten
 or twelve feet up, it may wind so much as to be totally useless. To
 obviate this difficulty, attend to the following hints.:—First, select
 a good-sized tree, the larger the better, perfectly clear of outside
 knots for fifty or sixty feet. The head should be luxuriant, and the
 large limbs drooping downwards. Peel off with your axe a stripe of
 bark as high as you can reach. If, on examination, the grain is the
 least inclined towards the sun, reject it. If, on the contrary, it
 curves slightly in the opposite direction, or against the sun, you may
 proceed to try it by cutting out a piece a foot long, and three or
 four inches deep. Place your axe in the centre, and split it open.
 Continue to do so till you have reduced the piece to the thickness of
 two shingles, which again divide neatly in the middle. If the timber
 is good and fit for your purpose, the pieces will fly apart with a
 sudden snap, and will be perfectly clear in the grain on both sides,
 while, if the timber be not good, the grain of the one piece will eat
 into the other, or run off without splitting clear the whole length of
 the block. The blocks should be cut eighteen inches long, and split
 into quarters, and the sap-wood dressed off. It is then ready for the
 frow—as the instrument used for splitting shingles is called. A good
 splitter will keep two men shaving and packing. The proper thickness
 is four to the inch: the packing-frame should be forty inches long,
 and contain fifty courses of shingles, which make a thousand. The
 price varies from five shillings to seven and sixpence, according to
 quality. The upper bar of the packing-frame should be wedged down very
 tightly across the centre of the bunch, which will keep them from
 warping with the sun.


I was anxious to complete the outside walls, roof, and chimneys before
the winter set in, so that I might be able to work at the finishing
part inside, under cover, and with the benefit of a fire.

As soon as my little fallow was ready for sowing with wheat, I
discharged my two Irishmen, of whom I was very glad to be rid. I would
advise new colonists never to employ men who have not been some time in
Canada: it is much better to pay higher wages than to be troubled with
fellows who know nothing about the work of the country. Besides, these
persons, though accustomed to bad wages and food at home, actually
expect better provisions and wages than men who thoroughly understand
their business: take the following for a fair example.

One day, a stout able-bodied fellow, a fresh importation from the
emerald isle, dressed in breeches open at the knees, long worsted
stockings, rucked down to the ankles, and a great-coat with at least
three capes, while a high-crowned black hat, the top of which opened
and shut with every breeze like the lid of a basket, completed his
costume—rather a curious one for July, with the thermometer above 80
degrees in the shade—accosted me with—“Does yer honor want to hire a
boy to-day?”

He stood at least six feet in his stockings.

“What can you do, and what makes you wear that great coat this hot
weather?”

“Why, sure, yer honour, it’s a good un to keep out the heat, and I can
do almost anything.”

“Can you log, chop, or fence?”

“No.”

“Can you plough?”

“No; but I think I could soon larn.”

“Can you mow or cradle wheat?”

“I can mow a trifle, but I don’t know what the other thing is at all,
at all.”

“Pray, then, what can you do?”

“Well, then, yer honour, I am illigant at the spade entirely.”

“What wages do you expect?”

“Twelve dollars, sir, and my boord, if it be plasing to you.”

“No, no, my good fellow; I do not please to do any such thing, and I do
not think any one else in his senses will, either. I think you had
better apply for work to the road-contractors, who require a good deal
of spade-labour, which I think is at present all you are fit for.”

Upon returning to my shanty in the evening, I was surprised to find
that my brother-in-law had just arrived with the intelligence of the
birth of my first-born son, and the dangerous illness of my dear wife.
Little hope was entertained of her recovery. My poor Emma had been
safely delivered of a fine boy, and was supposed to be progressing
favourably, when some alarming symptoms appeared which made it
necessary to send immediately for me.

Long before dawn I was some miles upon my sad journey to Darlington. I
had no horse. The way was long and toilsome; and I had had neither time
for rest nor appetite for food. I loved my amiable and excellent wife
with all the warmth of a youthful husband united to the object of his
affections. I am very fond of little children, and the idea of having
one of my own to pet and work for had given a stimulus to all my
labours. My first-born seemed dearly purchased now at the cost of his
poor mother’s peril. Still, my ardent temperament led me to hope that
my dear wife would be spared. Her loss seemed an event too dreadful to
realize, for the boy-husband had had no experience in sorrow then, and
his buoyant spirits had never anticipated the crushing blow that had
already annihilated his visions of domestic happiness. Fifty-five miles
lay between me and my suffering wife. The roads were heavy from the
effects of the late rains, and I had the misfortune to lose my way,
which added three miles to my long pedestrian journey. Once I overtook
a cart containing a boy and girl, whom I vainly entreated to give me a
ride. I told them the painful circumstances which induced me to solicit
their aid; but the boy was over-cautious, and the girl unusually
hard-hearted for one of her kind and compassionate sex. I could easily
have compelled them to give me a seat, but for a sense of moral justice
which would not permit me to take that by force which they denied to
pity. Mr boyish indignation, I recollect, was so great that I could
scarcely help throwing stones after my unkind fellow-travellers.

It was evening by the time I reached Darlington Mills, and I was still
five miles from my father-in-law’s house. It was quite dark, and I was
so overpowered with my fifty miles’ walk, that to proceed without
refreshment and rest appeared then to be impossible. I stopped at the
tavern and asked for some tea.

I had scarcely been seated two minutes before some men entered, in
whose conversation I became immediately and deeply interested. They
were discussing what to them was merely local news, but the question,
“When is the funeral to take place?” riveted my attention at once.

Putting down the much-needed but untasted refreshment, I demanded of
the speaker “Whose funeral?” My heart at once foretold from its inmost
depths what the dreaded answer would be.

Yes, she in whom I had placed my earthly hopes of a life-long happiness
was, indeed, no more. She was snatched away in the bright morning of
her existence with the rapturous feelings of maternity just budding
into life. I never knew how I got out of the house, or in what manner I
performed the last five miles of the journey. But I remember that in
the excitement of that hour I felt neither hunger, thirst, nor
weariness. Sometimes I doubted the truth of what I had heard. Indeed,
it seemed really too dreadful to be true.

On my arrival at my father-in-law’s house, I found that the information
I had accidentally heard was unfortunately a sad reality. My
brother-in-law had not left Darlington an hour on his journey to
Otonabee before my wife breathed her last. I had not even the
consolation of bidding her a last adieu. Few can comprehend my feelings
on this trying occasion, except those who have suffered under a similar
bereavement. I was not yet twenty-one years of age. I was in a strange
country—the tie severed between me and my only friends in a manner so
afflicting and melancholy—all my hopes and future prospects in life
dashed, as it were, to the ground. I had expended all my little capital
in providing a comfortable home for her, who, alas! was doomed never to
behold it; and I had a little son to bring up without the aid of my
poor Emma, whose piety and sweet temper would have been so invaluable
to our child.

A nurse was obtained for my poor motherless babe, the babe over whom I
shed so many tears—a sad welcome, this, to as fine a boy as ever a
father’s eye looked upon!

I followed the remains of my beloved wife to the grave; and then
tarried for a month in that house of sorrow. My only consolation was
derived from my knowledge that Emma loved her Saviour, and put her
trust in him while passing through the valley of the shadow of death.

“How many hopes have sprung in radiance hence;
Their trace yet lights the dust where thou art sleeping.
A solemn joy comes o’er me, and a sense
Of triumph blent with nature’s gush of weeping.”


I left my little son in the care of his Irish nurse, and quitted my
friend’s house, with a heavy heart, for my new settlement at Otonabee.




CHAPTER IX.


RETURN TO OTONABEE.—BENEVOLENCE OF MY NEIGHBOUR.—SERIOUS ACCIDENT TO A
SETTLER.—HIS SINGULAR MISFORTUNES.—PARTICULARS OF HIS LIFE.

I returned in sadness to my lonely and desolate home, feeling like a
shipwrecked mariner, cast upon a desert shore. In fact, I had to begin
life again, without the stimulus of domestic love to quicken my
exertions. I had left my land unsown, and therefore the prospect of a
crop of wheat for the next year’s harvest was, I felt assured, entirely
gone. Upon reaching my clearing, I was surprised to find my fallow not
only sown but showing the green blade, for some friendly hands had been
at work for me in my absence, that pecuniary losses might not be added
to my heavy domestic bereavement.

On inquiry, I found I was indebted to the considerate kindness of my
excellent neighbour Mr. Reid and his sons, for this act of Christian
benevolence. I hurried to his house to thank him for the important
service he had rendered one, to whom he was almost a stranger. He
considered, however, that he had done nothing more than a neighbourly
duty, and insisted that I should take up my abode with him, instead of
returning to my unfinished and melancholy home.

My residence under his hospitable roof increased my esteem for his
character, which my long experience of six-and-twenty years has never
diminished. Mrs. Reid treated me with maternal kindness; and in their
amiable family-circle my bruised heart recovered its peace, and my
spirits their healthy tone. The kindly disposition of my host in all
his domestic relations, his cheerful activity, pure morality, and
unaffected piety, presented an admirable example to a young man left
without guidance in a distant colony. But I did not at that time think
about becoming his son-in-law, though I had been several months
domesticated in his family, till the alacrity displayed by his eldest
daughter in hastening to the assistance of a wounded neighbour, through
the unknown intricacies of a Canadian forest, led me to consider her
character in a new and endearing point of view.

A Mr. G. and his family had just commenced a settlement, about four
miles east of Mr. Reid’s clearing, when, early one morning, his eldest
son, a lad of twelve or thirteen, with a face full of trouble ran to
tell us “that his father had nearly cut his foot off with an axe while
chopping logs to build his house, that his mother could not stop the
bleeding, and that they were afraid he would bleed to death.”

Mr. Reid’s eldest daughter immediately volunteered to return with the
boy, to render what assistance she could. Without any thought of
fatigue, or danger, or trial to her feelings, she set out instantly
with the proper bandages. Mr. Reid, his sons, and myself were all
chopping in the woods when the lad came, so that Mary followed the
spontaneous impulse of her own heart; but as soon as we heard what had
happened, her father sent over the river for our nearest neighbour, a
stout canny Scotchman, to assist us in carrying the wounded man through
the woods to his (Mr. Reid’s) house.

John Morison readily obeyed the summons; and had we required any
additional help we should have had no difficulty, in a case like this,
of finding plenty of volunteers. The only road leading to Mr. G.’s was
from the town, a mere bush-road, and full three miles farther than if
we could go straight back through the woods.

As the number of his lot was the same as the one[1] we resided on, we
knew that a direct east course would bring us within call of his
clearing. It was, therefore, agreed that Mr. Reid’s eldest son should
endeavour, with a pocket compass, to run a line in the direction which
we wanted to go, and that I should blaze[2] out the line with the axe,
while the rest chopped out the under-brush and levelled the path
sufficiently wide to allow the passage of a litter.

 [1] Each concession is divided into two hundred acre lots, numbering
 from the boundary line from number one upwards. According to the new
 survey, the lots run nearly east and west; therefore, number one in
 the first concession will have a corresponding number west across
 every concession in the township.


 [2] Blazing is a term used by the backwoodsman for chopping off a
 portion of the bark from each side of a tree to mark a surveyor’s line
 through the woods. All concession roads, or lot lines are marked in
 this manner; wherever a lot line strikes a concession, a short post
 with the number of the lot and concession is marked on each side of
 the post. If a tree comes directly on the line where the post should
 be planted, the tree is substituted. A blaze is made on each side,
 about three feet from the ground, and the numbers marked. I have
 frequently in the matter of disputed lines seen the surveyor cut the
 old blaze off, perhaps, of twenty years’ growth, and discover the
 numbers perfect, although the wood had made such a growth over the
 original blaze.


We had some difficulty in avoiding one or two small swamps and a high
hill, but finally succeeded in finding a good line of road; and so
accurate was our surveyor and engineer in this, his first attempt, that
his line actually struck the little chopping[3] of not more than a
quarter of an acre where poor G. lay.

 [3] This gentleman, John Reid, Esq. is now a deputy provincial
 surveyor and county engineer. As a land surveyor there are few better
 in the province.


It was past three o’clock in the afternoon before the road was
completed and the litter made, the last being effected by cutting two
iron-wood poles eight feet long, and fastening them together by broad
straps of bass-wood bark three feet apart. A blanket, doubled, was then
laid over these straps, upon which we placed the poor man, whose
bleeding wound had been stopped with some difficulty.

It appeared that a small twig had caught the axe, which caused it to
glance in its descent, and struck the instep of his right foot, making
a gash about five inches long, the edge of the axe coming out at the
sole of the foot. It was a dreadful cut,—one of the worst I ever
saw—and I have seen and dressed a great many axe wounds since my
residence in Canada.

Mr. G. was a very heavy man, and as _only_ four persons could
conveniently carry him at once, we found it very hard work. I was
completely done up when we reached the house.

Mr. Reid and his family did everything in their power to make him and
his wife comfortable. Mr. Stewart, his brother-in-law, kindly sent for
two of the children: the other two remained with their father and
mother.

It was ten months before the poor invalid was able to leave his
hospitable host, and resume his settlement in the bush. I mention this
little circumstance to show what kindly feelings exist between the
settlers, especially in cases of this kind. I shall also relate some
remarkable passages in this poor man’s life which present an almost
unparalleled train of misfortune. I shall tell his dismal story, as
nearly as possible, in his own words.

The experience of life proves to a certainty, that some persons are
compelled to drink deeper of the cup of adversity than others, nay even
to drain it to the dregs.

We know that the Jews of old and the heathen world still suppose that
such are visited for their sins by the judgment of Heaven; but the
Divine Teacher has taught us better things, and warned us against such
rash conclusions, instructing us indeed that

“There surely is some guardian power
    That rightly suffers wrong;
Gives vice to bloom its little hour,
    But virtue late and long.”


Poor G. was one of these unfortunate persons, whose melancholy history
I will now relate, in his own words.—He was, it seems, a native of
Ireland, from which country he emigrated soon after the last American
war, with his wife and two children, leaving three other children at
home with his father and mother, who were the proprietors of a small
estate in the county of Cork. He arrived safely with his family at the
Big Bay in Whitby (Windsor,) and purchased a lot of land close to the
lake-shore.

In those days, the emigrant’s trials were indeed hard, compared with
what they are now. The country was quite unsettled, excepting that here
and there the nucleus of a small village appeared to vary its
loneliness, for the clearings were mostly confined to the vicinity of
the Great Lake. There were no plank, gravel, or macadamized roads then;
saw and grist-mills were few-and-far-between. It was no uncommon thing
then for a farmer to go thirty or forty miles to mill, which cause
indeed sometimes detained him a whole week from his family; and, even
more, if any accident had happened to the machinery. Besides this
inconvenience, he had to encounter risks for himself and his
cattle,—from bad bridges, deep mud-holes, and many other annoyances—I
might say, with truth, “too numerous to mention.” The few farms in that
neighbourhood were then chiefly occupied by Americans, some of whom had
found it highly desirable to expatriate themselves; and might have
exclaimed with the celebrated pick-pocket, Barrington, in a prologue
spoken to a convict-audience in New South Wales,—

“Friends, be it understood,
We left our country for our country’s good.”


I have no intention of reflecting here on the national honour of the
American nation; but it is a well-known fact, that many of the early
frontier settlers were persons who had evaded the payment of their just
debts or, perhaps, legal penalties for worse offences, by crossing the
lines, and forming settlements in Canada. Such persons are not a fair
specimen of American character. Individually, I have nothing to say
against the Americans, but rather the contrary, for I have found them
good and obliging neighbours.

I have heard it generally asserted, that the Yankees are the greatest
rogues under the sun. If _smartness_ in trading, or barter, be roguery,
they richly deserve the epithet; but I deny that their intentions are
one whit more dishonest than those of the persons with whom they trade.
That their natural shrewdness and general knowledge give them an
advantage, I am quite ready to admit; and perhaps they are not
over-scrupulous in exercising it to the discomfiture of their
less-gifted neighbours.

Unfortunately, Mr. G. purchased his land of a squatter, who had no
title himself, and consequently could give none to the purchaser, who,
after three or four years of hard labour upon it—when he had fondly
hoped he had surmounted the greatest difficulties—found that the
Government had issued a deed for the benefit of another person before
he came into possession, who could not be induced to give up his legal
rights to the unfortunate cultivator. He was so disheartened by this
occurrence, that he determined to sell all he had and leave the
country, which resolution he put into immediate execution.

He took a passage for himself and family in a ship, timber-laden, from
Quebec, bound for Liverpool. It was late in the fall: the vessel was
one of the last that sailed; consequently, they experienced very rough
weather, accompanied with snow and sleet. Mid-way across the Atlantic,
they encountered a dreadful storm, which left the ship a mere wreck on
the ocean. To add to their misfortunes, a plank had started, owing, it
was supposed, to the shifting of some part of the cargo during the
gale; and so quickly did the vessel fill that they only saved two
eight-pound pieces of salt pork and a few biscuits.

“I had,” he said, “also in my pocket, a paper containing two or three
ounces of cream of tartar. Luckily, a cask of water, lashed on deck,
was providentially preserved, amidst the general destruction.

“Our ship’s company consisted of the captain, mate, and six seamen,
besides a medical man, myself, my poor wife, and two children, who were
cabin passengers. We made several unsuccessful attempts to procure a
supply of provisions; consequently, it became absolutely necessary to
give out what we had in the smallest possible rations.

“The fourth night was ushered in by another storm, more terrific even
than the last. A heavy sea struck the vessel, sweeping overboard the
captain and three seamen; and the poor doctor’s leg was broken at the
same time, by a loose spar.

“We passed a fearful night; nor did the morning add to our comfort, for
my daughter died from exposure and want, just as the day dawned.

“On the seventh morning, the doctor, who had suffered the greatest
agony from his swollen leg, sank at last; the paper of cream of tartar
I had in my pocket being the only relief for his dreadful fever, during
his misery. My poor wife and remaining child soon followed. We now had
fine dry weather, which was some relief to our intolerable misery.

“On the twentieth day, the last of our provisions was consumed. I had
an old pair of deer-skin mocassins on my feet: these we carefully
divided amongst us. We had now serious thoughts of drawing lots, to see
which of us should die, for the preservation of the rest. I, however,
begged they would defer such a dreadful alternative to the latest
minute.

“On the twenty-first night of our disaster, I had a most remarkable
dream: I thought I saw a fine ship bearing down to our assistance, and
that she was called “The London of London.” I related my dream to my
companions, in hopes it might raise their spirits, which, however, it
failed to do; for nothing was to be seen on that dreary waste of water,
though we scanned the horizon in every direction. For upwards of two
hours after, we scarcely spoke a word, when suddenly the sun, which had
been obscured all the morning, shone out brightly and warm for the
season of the year. I mechanically raised myself and looked over the
bulwarks, when, to my astonishment and delight, I beheld a ship, the
very counterpart of the one I had seen in my dream, bearing down
directly for the wreck.

“It is not easy to describe our various feelings on this occasion: we
could scarcely believe our senses when the boat came along side. We
were so reduced by famine and exposure, that we had to be lifted into
her. In this state of exhaustion every attention was paid us by the
humane captain and crew.

“As soon as I was on board, I asked the name of the vessel, when I was
surprised to find she was called the ‘Portaferry of Portaferry.’
Although the name was not that borne by the vessel of which I had
dreamed, it must be considered at least a remarkable coincidence.

“Great care was taken to prevent us eating too ravenously at first: we
received every kindness our weak condition required; but,
notwithstanding these precautions, two of my companions in misery died
before we reached Ireland.

“When we arrived at Strangford, in the north of Ireland, I was entirely
destitute—I had lost everything I possessed. Fortunately for me, I
belonged to the honourable fraternity of Free and Accepted Masons, who
kindly furnished me with clothing, and money sufficient to take me
home, which I reached in safety.

“Like almost every person who has resided a few years in Canada, I
found it impossible to content myself at home; and, although I had no
great reason to be fond of the country on account of the treatment I
had experienced, still, there is that indescribable charm in the free
life of a Canadian settler, which is wanting in a more civilized
country: I, therefore, determined once more to try my fortune.

“I accordingly embarked with the young wife I had lately married, and
the three children I had formerly left in Ireland with my parents. We
sailed early in the spring of 1825. My ill luck still attended me; for
owing to the dense fogs we experienced on the banks of Newfoundland, we
got out of our course, and our ship struck the shore near Cape Ray:
fortunately the sea was smooth and the weather fine: so that when
daylight broke we were able, without much difficulty, to be landed on
that most inhospitable shore,

“Where the bones of many a tall ship lie buried.”


“We saved little or nothing from the wreck; for, as the day advanced,
the wind freshened into a gale, which blowing on shore, soon settled
the fate of our gallant bark. The shore was soon strewn with casks,
bales, and packages, some of which we were able to secure. Our captain
chartered a small fishing-vessel, which landed us at last safely at
Quebec. And now, you see, after enduring almost unheard-of sufferings,
I am again prostrated by this unfortunate accident.”

Such was the account given me by Mr. G——, who put into my hand, at the
same time, an old Belfast newspaper, containing the account of his
first wreck and sufferings. So I have no reason to doubt the entire
truth of his statement.

After his foot healed he returned to his land, and, with the assistance
of his family, cleared up a large farm. His location, however, was not
well chosen; and, consequently, he was not a thriving settler. He,
however, managed to bring up a large family, who are now sufficiently
independent of him to maintain themselves and families comfortably.

On his father’s death, about three years since, he returned with his
wife to Ireland, where I believe he intends to pass the remainder of
his days.

I wish to make one remark before closing this chapter: does it not
speak well for Canada, when a person, who was neither an active nor a
clever person, and who had suffered almost unheard-of misfortunes, was
still able to gain a living and see his family settled in comparative
comfort? Under such circumstances, what would have been the fate of
these people in England or Ireland?—Abject pauperism.




CHAPTER X.


PREPARATIONS FOR MY SECOND MARRIAGE.—DANGEROUS ADVENTURE.—MY WIFE’S
NOCTURNAL VISITOR.—WE PREPARE FOR THE RECEPTION OF OUR UNINVITED
GUEST.—BRUIN’S UNWELCOME VISIT TO AN IRISH SHANTY.—OUR BEAR HUNT.—MAJOR
ELLIOTT’S DUEL WITH BRUIN.—HIS WOUNDS AND VICTORY.

I spent the spring of 1827 very pleasantly in the company of my new
friends. I used to go down to my farm every morning, and return in the
evening to a cheerful fire-side and agreeable society, which rewarded
me for the toils of the day. I had fenced in my fields, planted my
spring crops, Indian corn, and potatoes, which looked promising; and I
had my house nearly finished. I, therefore, considered it was time I
should go and reside in it, and not trespass any longer on the
hospitality of my kind and generous friends. As, however, I did not
like the thought of living the life of a hermit, and my little boy; for
whom I had sent, was weaned, and growing healthy and lovely under the
kind hospitality of my friends, required now a watchful parental care,
I proposed to, and was accepted by, my friend’s eldest daughter, in
whom I found what I sought—a faithful mother for my child, and the most
devoted and affectionate wife for myself. A better woman, indeed, never
existed. For upwards of twenty-two years she shared my various
fortunes, and formed my greatest earthly blessing. A few days before my
marriage—an event to which I naturally looked forward for an increase
of happiness—an accident occurred, which might have been attended with
fatal results to myself, and actually was so to a lad who was in my
service. A kind Providence, however, watched over my life, and
delivered me from this danger.

My farm was situated on the east shore of the Otonabee river, the town
of Peterborough being on the west of that line; and there was no bridge
communication between us and that place, so that we were obliged to
cross in skiffs, canoes, or any other craft we could get. When the
river is flooded in the spring, it is dangerous for persons crossing,
unless they are well acquainted with the management of a canoe. Several
fatal accidents have indeed happened to the inexperienced at that time
of the year, from this cause. Such was the state of the river, when I
had to cross it to reach the store, where I wanted to purchase some
articles for my intended marriage. The stream was then at its greatest
height, running with extreme rapidity, and I had, to contend with its
force, only a small log-canoe, about twelve feet in length, by thirty
inches at its greatest breadth, in which three of us ventured upon the
turbid water, namely, John Fontaine, a French boy; Michael Walsh, and
myself. We crossed a little above the new mill-dam, which had been
constructed at the expense of the Government for the Irish emigration,
and we managed to get over pretty well. Not so, however, on our return.
I was near the middle of the canoe, with a pair of small oars, one of
the boys at each end, and all seated at the bottom for greater
security. In this manner we got over the main channel; but owing to the
swiftness of the current, we were carried down much nearer the dam than
we intended. This alarmed the boys a good deal. I begged them to sit
still, assuring them I should be able to fetch the canoe into an eddy a
little lower down the stream. We were at this time close to an island,
which was deeply flooded, owing to the raising of the water by the
construction of the dam. From the point of this sunken island, a cedar
tree had fallen into the river. It was therefore necessary that we
should drop below this, before we could make the eddy. In the act of
passing, the boy Walsh—I suppose from fright—caught hold of the tree,
which caused the canoe to swing round broadside to the current, and it
instantly filled and upset.

A large quantity of timber had been cut on the island, for the use of
the mill and dam. The workmen had piled the tops and limbs of these
trees in large heaps, which now floated above the surface of the
island. To one of these I immediately swam, and succeeded in getting
upon it. I then perceived that Walsh had been swept from the tree to
which he had clung, by the force of the current, into the middle of the
river, and close to the edge of the falls. I saw at a glance, that his
only chance was to swim for the opposite side, which I called on him to
do, but he appeared to have lost all self-possession; for he neither
swam for one shore nor the other, but kept his head facing up the
stream, uttering wild cries, which, in a few seconds, were silenced for
ever.

In the meantime, John Fontaine, the French boy, had succeeded in
getting partly across the canoe, which was floating past the heap on
which I had taken refuge, and only a few yards from where I was
standing. I immediately plucked a long stick from the brush-heap, and
swam near enough to the lad for him to grasp one end of the pole,
bidding him leave the canoe, which I told him would be carried over the
dam to a certainty, and him with it, if he did not abandon his hold.
He, with apparent reluctance, followed my directions, but I had a hard
struggle to regain my former place of refuge, with the boy’s additional
weight. I had some trouble to persuade him to trust himself again in
the water. And no wonder; for darkness was fast approaching, and both
the island and a narrow channel of the river had still to be crossed.
However, trusting to the mercy of God, we again committed ourselves to
those wild, swollen waters, which, by the providence of the Almighty,
we successfully accomplished. I was obliged to hold the stick between
my teeth whilst crossing the channel, drawing along with me my
terrified companion, it being necessary for our preservation, that I
should have the free use of both my arms. I had on at the time a
velveteen shooting coat, the large pockets of which were filled with
things I had just purchased from the store; among which I remember
there was a dozen cups and saucers, which added no inconsiderable
weight to the swimmer.

As soon as we made the shore, we ran down to the falls, to see if we
could hear anything of the poor boy. We shouted, for it was now quite
dark, but all in vain; indeed, I had not the slightest hope, as I had
seen him carried backwards over the dam into the boiling rapids below,
where the best swimmer would not have had the least chance. We failed
to discover his remains then, but found his mangled body six days
afterwards in a small lake, a mile and a half below the dam.

I was much concerned at the fate of my poor young servant, but felt
deeply grateful for my own preservation and that of Fontaine.

A few weeks after my marriage, I was detained one night from home by
business, leaving my wife, her little sister, and a small dog, called
Suffolk—so named by me in honour of my native county—the sole occupiers
of my house, of which the kitchen was still in an unfinished state,
part of the floor only being laid. We, however, had to make use of it,
until I could procure more boards to finish it, which, in those days,
were not very easy to obtain.

In the middle of the night, my wife and her sister were awakened and
dreadfully alarmed by a terrible noise in the kitchen, accompanied by
the sharp barking of the little dog. They were quite sure by the low
growls and the fury of Suffolk, that it was some wild animal, but
whether a bear or wolf they could not tell. Towards morning, this
unwelcome visitor took himself off, to their infinite joy. When I came
home, they told me the story, at which I laughed very heartily, for I
thought their fears had magnified the visit of some neighbour’s dog
into a bear, or some other wild beast; but they appeared unconvinced,
being both frightened and positive. My wife declared, that in the
morning she found some of the salt-pork had been abstracted from the
barrel, which stood in one corner of the kitchen, by the savage guest.

Now, I knew very well that master Bruin was fond of fresh pork, and I
thought it possible that he might think the salt an improvement. At all
events, I resolved to be prepared, in case he should pay us a second
visit. Accordingly, before going to bed, I loaded my gun with ball, and
tied Suffolk up in the vicinity of the pork-barrel. At midnight we were
suddenly awakened by the piteous howlings of the poor dog, and by a
noise, as if everything in the room had been violently thrown down. I
jumped out of bed instantly, and seizing my gun, crept cautiously along
the passage, till I came to the kitchen-door, which I threw open,
whereupon some large dark-looking object made a rush for the unfinished
part of the floor. I immediately fired; but it was so dark, and the
beast so quick in its movements, that I had little chance of hitting
him. Whether or not, it had the effect of scaring him so much that he
never resumed his nocturnal visitation. Indeed, I stopped his supplies
from my larder by finishing the floor and building up the hole between
the lower log of the house and the ground.

But to return to my story. As soon as the beast had made his exit, we
lighted a candle and examined the room, which we found in confusion and
disorder. The barrel of pork was upset and the brine running in
miniature rivers over the floor, while poor little Suffolk was bleeding
from his wounds—indeed nearly killed. From what I could make out of the
footprints outside I am inclined to think my unwelcome visiter was a
bear; but this, of course, will for ever remain a mystery.

I have heard many stories of their boldness, to some instances of which
I have been an eye-witness. Not very long after the occurrence I have
just related, the wife of an Irish emigrant saw a large bear walking
very deliberately towards the shanty, which no doubt he mistook for a
pigsty, and the inmates for pigs, for they were quite as dirty,
therefore it was no great mistake, after all. The woman and her three
children had barely time to get into the potato-cellar and shut down
the trap-door, when his bear-ship made his forcible entrance through
the feeble barrier the door opposed to his strength, much to the dismay
and terror of the subterranean lodgers, who lay shaking and quaking for
more than an hour, till the dying screams of their fatted pig told them
he was after game of a more savoury nature.

In the fall of the year it is no uncommon thing for farmers to have
their pigs killed by the bears, particularly in the new settlements.

Bears are, we know, very fond of good things. They are epicures in
their way. They like honey, and love pork, and, you may be sure, often
pay the settler a visit for the sake of his pigs. As Bruin makes very
good eating himself, these visitations are sometimes made at the risk
of his own bacon; his warm jacket, which makes comfortable robes for
the settler’s sleigh, keeping him warm during his journeys on pleasure
or business throughout the long Canadian winters.

One day, I was assisting my father-in-law and his sons in logging up
his fallow, when we heard a great outcry among the pigs in a belt of
woods between Mr. Reid’s and Mr. Stewart’s clearing, when, suspecting
it was a bear attacking the swine, we ran for our guns, and made the
best of our way towards the spot from whence the outcry proceeded.

Near the edge of the clearing we met Mr. B——, who was on a visit to his
friend and relative Mr. Stewart, driving before him Mr. Reid’s sow,
which he had just rescued from the grip of an immense bear, that,
alarmed by his shouts, dropped his prey and made off in the direction
of a small cedar-swamp. We immediately proposed surrounding the place,
as there were three of us provided with double-barrelled guns. Mr.
B——took up his station behind a large tree, close to where a small
creek ran into the swamp. My brother-in-law John and myself went round
to the opposite side, which we entered a few yards apart. We had not
proceeded far, when an enormous brute popped up his head from behind
some fallen logs and brush, for we had disturbed him in the act of
devouring a pig. We both fired at the same instant, but apparently
without effect; for he scampered off, passing within a few feet of
where B—— was hid, who fired only one of his barrels, reserving his
second in case the bear should turn on him. We ran as fast as we could
to the river, for we knew he had gone in that direction. Indeed, Bruin
took to the water in fine style, swimming across gallantly. Before we
could get another shot at him he had gained the opposite bank. There we
gave him a second volley, which did not appear in the least to retard
his ascent, so we concluded that it was a regular miss all round. B——
maintained, however, that he had hit him, and wanted us to cross the
river and follow the track. We only laughed at him for not firing his
second shot, and returned home very much crestfallen at the ill success
of our expedition.

Had we but complied with B——’s wish, we should have found our hunt had
been more successful than we imagined, for eight or ten days afterwards
John Morison was going on the opposite side of the river to
Peterborough, when, upon crossing a small creek, he came quite
unexpectedly on the carcass of a large bear, not thirty yards from the
bank we had seen him climb. No doubt B——’s shot was the fatal one, as
he was not more than five or six yards from him when he fired. The
stream, where the beast was found, is in the township of Smith, about a
mile and a half from Peterborough, on the river road, and is well-known
by the name of Bear Creek to this day.

There is very little danger of being attacked by Bruin, unless you
first molest him. An old she-bear, with cubs, is the most dangerous
customer to meddle with.

Major Elliott, of the Canadian Militia, a gentleman with whom I was
well acquainted, residing near Rice Lake, in the township of Monaghan,
was out one day in the woods partridge-shooting, near the big swamp on
the boundary line between Monaghan and Cavan, when he fell in with
several old bears and their cubs. He had only one ball with him which
he fired at the biggest fellow he could see among them, and wounded him
very severely, though not enough to stop him from following his
companions. But Elliott was not the man to be baulked without an effort
to capture his wounded adversary; so, being in want of a ball, he cut
of from his waistcoat some open-work brass buttons, with which he
loaded his gun, and followed the track of the wounded bear, which he
soon overtook.

Bruin, however, being possessed of considerable pluck, immediately
faced about and attacked the major, who gave him a taste of the
buttons, as he advanced. But the bear, nothing daunted, returned to the
charge, which Elliott met with a blow from the butt-end of his gun,
that was instantly struck from his hand by his formidable antagonist,
who immediately closed with him. It now became a regular stand-up fight
between Major Elliott and Ursus Major. For a long time it was doubtful
which would come off victorious. Elliott was severely wounded about the
breast and arms; notwithstanding which, he boldly maintained his
ground, and ultimately succeeded in rolling the beast over the trunk of
a large pine tree which lay on the ground beside them. Bruin was too
much exhausted to climb over the tree, to renew the combat.

Luckily, Elliott received no internal injury, though his flesh was
severely lacerated in the contest, which only ended with the bear’s
life. Ireland, indeed, never sent from her shores a bolder hunter,
braver man, or more active backwoodsman, than Major Elliott.[1]

 [1] This gentleman was afterwards returned as Member of the Provincial
 Parliament for the county of Durham.




CHAPTER XI.


CANADA THE POOR MAN’S COUNTRY.—DISADVANTAGES OF INEXPERIENCE.—TOWNSHIP
OF HARVEY SETTLEMENT.—PAUPER EMIGRATION.—SUPERIOR ADVANTAGES OF THE
LABOURER COLONIST.—TEMPERANCE AND TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES.—A DRY ANSWER TO
WATERY ARGUMENTS.—BRITISH AND FOREIGN TEMPERANCE SOCIETY.

There is no colony belonging to the British Crown better adapted for
the poor industrious emigrant than the Canadas, particularly the Upper
Province, which is essentially the poor man’s country. Twenty-five
years ago, the expense of the voyage out to Quebec, and the difficulty,
delay, and additional outlay of the inland journey put it completely
out of the power of the needy agriculturist or artizan to emigrate; the
very classes, however, who, from their having been brought up from
their infancy to hard labour, and used to all sorts of privations, were
the best fitted to cope with the dangers and hardships attending the
settlement of a new country. The impossibility of the working hand
raising funds for emigration, confined the colonists to a set of men
less calculated to contend with difficulties—namely, half-pay officers
and gentlemen of better family than income, who were almost invariably
the pioneers of every new settlement.

Many high-spirited gentlemen were, doubtless, tempted by the grants of
land bestowed upon them by the Government, which made actual settlement
one of the conditions of the grant. It followed, as a matter of course,
that the majority of these persons were physically disqualified for
such an undertaking, a fact which many deserted farms in the rear
townships of the county in which I reside painfully indicate.

Eighteen or twenty years ago a number of gentlemen located themselves
in the township of Harvey. The spot chosen by them was one of great
natural beauty; but it possessed no other advantages, except an
abundance of game, which was no small inducement to them. They spent
several thousand pounds in building fancy log-houses and making large
clearings which they had neither the ability nor industry to cultivate.
But, even if they had possessed sufficient perseverance, their great
distance from a market, bad roads, want of knowledge in cropping after
they had cleared the land, lack of bridges, and poor soil, would have
been a great drawback to the chance of effecting a prosperous
settlement. In a few years not a settler remained of this little
colony. Some stayed till their means were thoroughly exhausted; others,
more wise, purchased ready-cleared farms in the settlements or followed
some profession more congenial to their taste, or more suited to their
abilities.

The only persons fit to undertake the hardships of a bush-life, are
those who have obtained a certain degree of experience in their own
country upon the paternal estate or farm. Men who have large families
to provide for, and who have been successful in wood-clearing, are
generally willing to sell their improvements, and purchase wild land
for their families, whose united industry soon places them in a better
farm than they owned before. They are thus rendered greater
capitalists, with increased means of providing for their children, who
soon take up their standing in society as its favoured class. Indeed, I
would strongly advise gentlemen of small capital to purchase
ready-cleared farms, which can be obtained in most parts of the
country, with almost every convenience, for half what the clearing of
bush-land would cost, especially by an inexperienced settler. In fact,
since grants of land are no longer given to the emigrant, there is less
inducement to go so far back into the woods.

Since 1826, a steady influx of the working classes from Great Britain
and Ireland has taken place. This has tended much to the prosperity of
the country, by cheapening labour, and the settlement of vast tracts of
wild land.

Several experiments have been made by Government in sending out pauper
emigration: that from the south of Ireland, under the superintendance
of the late Hon. Peter Robinson in 1824, was the most extensive, and
came more immediately under my own observation. I have understood that
some most obnoxious and dangerous characters were shipped off in this
expedition—no doubt to the great comfort of landlords, agents, and
tithe-proctors.

The Government behaved very liberally to these settlers. A grant of a
hundred acres of good land was given to each head of a family, and to
every son above twenty-one years of age.

A good milch cow, and rations of pork and flour were assigned to each
emigrant family. These provisions they continued to receive for upwards
of eighteen months, besides a variety of stores, such as axes, hammers,
saws, nails, grindstones, &c. A good log-shanty was also built on each
settler’s lot. These people have done as well as could be expected,
considering the material of which they were composed. It has been
observed that, whenever these people were located amongst the
Protestant population, they made much better settlers than when
remaining with Catholics.

In fact, a great improvement is perceptible in the morality, industry
and education of the rising generation, who grow up more virtuous and
less bigoted to their exclusive religious opinions.

As a general rule, the English, Scotch, and north of Ireland men make
much better and more independent colonists than emigrants from the
south of Ireland.

Seven years after the location of Robinson’s emigrants, a colony of
Wiltshire people settled in the township of Dummer under many more
disadvantages than those placed by Government in the township of Douro.

The Dummer people had no shanties built for them, no cows, and were
given much worse land; and yet they have done much more in a shorter
time. An air of comfort and cleanliness pervades their dwellings, and
there is a neatness about their farms and homesteads which is generally
wanted in the former.

It must, however, be borne in mind that paupers sent out by the
Government, or by their own parishes, are not a fair specimen by which
to judge the working classes, who emigrated at their own expenses. Of
the latter, I know hundreds who, upon their arrival in the Upper
Province, had spent their last shilling, and who, by persevering
industry, are now worth hundreds of pounds. No person need starve in
Canada, where there is plenty of work and good wages for every man who
is willing to labour, and who keeps himself sober. The working man with
a family of grown children, when fairly established on his farm, is
fully on a par, as regards his prospects, with the gentleman, the owner
of a similar farm, and possessing an income of 100 pounds per annum.
The reason is obvious. The gentleman and his family have been used to
wear finer clothes, keep better company, and maintain a more
respectable appearance, and if he has children, to give them a more
expensive education.

Then, again, the gentleman and his family are physically less qualified
to undergo the hardships and toil of a practical farmer’s life. On the
other hand, the working man thinks it no degradation to send his sons
and daughters out to service, and the united product of their wages
amount, probably to eight or ten pounds per month. He is contented with
home-spun cloth, while the spinning and knitting—and sometimes
weaving—required by the family, are done at home. Labour, indeed, is
money; and hence in a few years the gentleman with his income is soon
distanced, and the working hand becomes the man of wealth, while his
children eventually form a part of the aristocracy of the country, if
the father gives them a suitable education.

There is one thing, however, to be said in favour of the
gentleman—namely, his education, which fits him for offices and
professions which must remain for ever out of the reach of the
half-ignorant. It is, therefore, only in agricultural pursuits, and
mechanical operations, that the working man is able to obtain a
superiority; and then only if he be sober and industrious, for whiskey
has been the great bane of the colony. Hundreds of our cleverest
mechanics, and many of gentler blood, have fallen victims to its
influence.

It is said that temperance societies have done a great deal towards
checking this evil, and that the new society, the “Sons of Temperance,”
will complete what the others began. I am quite willing to admit it as
a fact, because I believe that the practice of temperance has gained
ground, both in Canada and the United States. But I am unwilling to
allow that the means taken to effect that much-desired object are the
best that might be adopted. Indeed, I think, in some instances, the
endeavour to prohibit the use of fermented drink altogether, has been
carried to unchristian lengths.

I believe that, if the same amount of money had been expended in
propagating the gospel, as has been laid out by these total abstinence
societies, more real converts to temperance would have been gained,
because principle and true religion would have been the bases on which
the reformation was founded.

Throughout the whole Bible and Testament, there is not a single command
to abstain totally from either wine or strong drink; but there is a
positive one respecting the abuse, and dreadful denunciations against
the drunkard. Then in respect to the prohibition, the false prophet
has, in the Koran, forbidden his followers to use wine at all. Now,
which do we profess to follow,—the precepts of Jesus Christ, or those
of Mahomet? But some will say, if your brother offends by his
intemperate habits, you should abstain altogether, that you may become
a good example to him. By the same rule, if my brother is a glutton, I
should abstain from food also. Now, I believe with the Apostle, “that
all the creatures of God are good,” and lawful for us to use; but we
are not to abuse them, “but to be temperate in all things,” thus acting
up to the rule of scripture, and setting a better example than if we
wholly abstained from fermented drink. Any other rule, excepting in
cases of notorious drunkenness, is, in my opinion, anti-scriptural, and
therefore wrong.

The new American society, “The Sons of Temperance,” which now takes the
lead of all other temperance or tee-total societies, is a secret and
benefit society, having its signs and pass-words. In the hands of
clever leaders and designing men, may not a society of this kind become
a great political engine?

Sometimes very ludicrous scenes occur at temperance meetings. A few
years ago, when this question was first agitated in Canada, a meeting
was held in a school-house on the English line, in the township of
Dummer. The lecturer, on that occasion, was an itinerant preacher of
the Methodist persuasion. After descanting some time in a very fluent
manner, on the evils arising from intemperance, and the great numbers
who had lost their lives by violent means, “for my part,” said the
lecturer, “I have known nearly three hundred cases of this kind
myself.”

This broad assertion was too much for one of the audience, an old
Wiltshire man, who exclaimed, in his peculiar dialect, “Now, I know
that ’ere be a lie. Can you swear that you did ever see three out of
them three hundred violent deaths you speak on?”

“Well, I have heard and read of them in books and newspapers; and I
once saw a man lying dead on the road, and a jar, half full of whiskey,
beside him, which, I think, you will allow is proof enough.”

“I thought your three hundred cases would turn out like the boy’s cats
in his grandmother’s garden. Now, I will tell thee, that I did know
three men that did kill themselves by drinking of cold water. There was
John H——, that over-heated hisself, walking from Cobourg, and drank so
much water at the cold springs, that he fell down and died in a few
minutes. Then there was that workman of Elliott’s, in Smith, who
dropped in the harvest-field, from the same cause; and the Irishman
from Asphodel, whose name I forget. So, you see, that more people do
die from drinking cold water than whiskey.” Then he turned round to a
neighbour, who, like himself, was not over-fond of cold water, and
said, “I say, Jerome, which would you rather have, a glass of cold
water, or a drap of good beer?”

“I know which I would take,” exclaimed Jerome; “I would like a drap of
good beer best, I do know.”

This dialogue raised such a laugh against the apostle of temperance,
that the meeting was fairly broken up, leaving the Wiltshire man
triumphing in his victory over cold water and oratory, in the person of
the lecturer. The dryness of his arguments prevailed against the
refreshing and copious draughts of the pure element recommended by his
discomfited opponent.

A good joke is not, however, a good argument, though it stood for one
at this meeting. Total abstinence is the best plan to be adopted by
habitual drunkards, who, if they can get at strong drink at all, seldom
keep their pledge of sobriety. The British and Foreign Temperance
Society, in fact, advises the habitually intemperate to abstain
altogether, while, at the same time, it aims at bringing the man to
repentance and reformation, by the renovating influence of the gospel.
If I differ in some respects from that society, in its prohibition
against the use of spirits altogether, in such a climate as Canada, I
still must consider its views far more liberal, and more consistent
with scripture rules, than that of any other for the promotion of
temperance, as, indeed, possessing more of that charity, without which
even the most fervent zeal is worse than useless.




CHAPTER XII.


WANT OF HOME-PASTURAGE IN CANADA.—DANGER OF BEING LOST IN THE
WOODS.—PLAIN DIRECTIONS TO THE TRAVELLER IN THE BUSH.—STORY OF A
SETTLER FROM EMILY.—AN OLD WOMAN’S RAMBLE IN THE WOODS.—ADVENTURE OF A
TRAPPER.—FORTUNATE MEETING WITH HIS PARTNER.

One of the greatest inconveniences belonging to a new settlement, for
the first four or five years, is the want of pasturage for your working
cattle and cows. Consequently, the farmer has to depend entirely on the
Bush for their support, for at least seven months out of the twelve.
The inconvenience does not arise from any want of food; for the woods,
beaver meadows, and the margins of lakes and streams yield an
abundance, and the cattle, towards the fall of the year, are sure to
grow fat. But it is the trouble of seeking for your cattle.

Sometimes, indeed, in the midst of your greatest hurry, your oxen are
nowhere to be found. I have myself often spent two or three days in
succession, searching the woods in vain; and it not unfrequently
happens that, while looking for the strayed beasts, you lose yourself
in the woods.

As we generally carry a gun with us in these excursions, we often fall
in with deer or partridges, which makes the way not only seem less
fatiguing, but even pleasant, unless during the season of musquitoes
and black flies, when rambling through the Bush is no pleasure to any
one.

New-comers are very apt to lose themselves at first, until they get
acquainted with the creeks and ridges; and even then, on a dark day or
during a snow-storm, they are very likely to go astray. If you have no
compass with you, and the sun is obscured, the best way of extricating
yourself is, to observe the moss on the trees, which—not every one
knows—grows more luxuriantly and in greater quantities on the north
side of the tree. It is of little use to look at any tree separately:
this will perhaps only mislead you; but if you observe the general
aspect of the woods around, the indications may be of great service to
you. Towards the north, the trunks of the trees will appear light and
cheerful, while the south side will look dark and spotted. This plan,
however, will only answer amongst hard woods.[1] The ridges mostly run
north-east and south-west, and the swamps parallel with them. Then,
again, in pine woods the general inclination of the timber is from the
north-west. All these indications have been successfully followed, and
should be borne in mind.

 [1] Deciduous trees are called hard-wood.


People who lose themselves in the Bush seldom persevere long enough in
any one direction. They fancy they are going wrong, and keep changing
their course; till probably, after four or five hours’ walking, they
find themselves near the spot from whence they started. This has
occurred to me more than once, and I shall relate a melancholy incident
which happened only a few years ago, and which proves what I have just
stated.

The person to whom I allude, resided in the township of Emily, and had
been all the summer working at his trade in the village of Bowmanville,
to earn money sufficient to pay for his land, which he had succeeded by
the fall in doing. As the cold weather had set in, he determined to
return home, and chop all the winter on his farm. He knew that by
crossing the township of Darlington and Manvers in an oblique
direction, twenty-five or six miles in length, he could reach his own
house in half the time, the distance by the road being more than double
that by which he proposed to travel. He therefore determined to try the
short way, although he was well aware that the last eight or ten miles
of his road was through the Bush, with not even a blazed line to guide
him. He was, however, young and active, and moreover considered himself
a good backwoodsman. He started one fine frosty morning early in
December, expecting he should be able to reach his own house sometime
before sundown.

For the first ten or twelve miles he got on pretty well, as he had a
sleigh-track to follow, and as long as the sun shone out he made a good
course. Unfortunately for him, a snow-storm came on and obscured his
only guide. He, however, struggled on manfully through cedar-swamps and
over ridges, with the snow half-way up to his knees, till the approach
of darkness compelled him to look out for some place to shelter him
from the storm, where he might best pass the weary hours of the coming
night.

He selected a dry spot beneath some spreading cedars, and busied
himself as long as daylight lasted in collecting as much fire-wood as
would last till the morning. He then gathered a quantity of
hemlock-brush for his bed, and by breaking off some large limbs from
the surrounding evergreens, succeeded at last in forming a temporary
shelter. For a long time he despaired of getting a fire, till he at
length found some dry cedar-bark, which he finally succeeded in
igniting with a piece of punk,[2] which every backwoodsman carries with
him for that purpose. Though the poor fellow had only taken with him
provisions for a day’s journey, he made a hearty supper, merely
reserving a portion for his breakfast, not suspecting that he should
fail in reaching his destination. He fully expected he should see the
sun in the morning, which would enable him to correct this course; for
he knew that he was in the township of Manvers, and not more than seven
or eight miles from his own home.

 [2] A substance obtained from the sugar-maple, similar to German
 tinder.


Wearied with his day’s journey, he slept the greater part of the night,
although awakened occasionally by the cold. At such times he would heap
fresh fuel on the fire, and again compose himself to sleep.

To his infinite joy the morning beamed brightly—the sun shone out. With
a light heart and renewed confidence he again shaped his course
eastward, following the direction in which his house lay; and there is
no doubt, had the day remained clear, he would in a few hours have
extricated himself from the dilemma into which he had fallen. His
disappointment was great when he again beheld the sky overcast, and the
snow falling thickly around him. He pushed on, however, bravely, till
at length a thick cedar-swamp lay before him. For some time he
travelled along its edge, in the hope of finding a narrow spot to
cross, but in this he was disappointed, so he determined to attempt the
passage. He fully believed, once on the other side, he should know the
face of the country, from his having so often hunted game, or searched
for his cattle in that direction.

For fully an hour he pressed on through a complete thicket of cedar;
but it was all random work, for the evergreens were so loaded with
snow, that it was quite impossible to go one hundred yards in a
straight course. At last he saw the tops of hard-wood trees before him,
which again revived his sinking spirits, for he thought he had crossed
the swamp. Alas, poor fellow! he was mistaken. He had come out on the
very side by which he had entered it, but of this he was not aware at
the time. He, however, wondered that he did not recognize any part of
the ground he was travelling over.

At length, to his great joy, he came upon the fresh track of a man,
which he had no doubt belonged to some person, who was then out from
the settlement, still hunting;[3] for he knew that Manvers was the most
celebrated township for deer in the Newcastle District. As he observed
that the footprints were going in a contrary direction to what he was,
this circumstance gave him increased confidence. Two or three times,
however, he thought some of the small swamps and ridges looked vastly
like what he had traversed in the early part of the day. At last, about
an hour before dark, he saw a thin wreath of blue smoke in a thicket
before him. Judge of his disappointment and dismay, when, on his nearer
approach, he found he had actually followed his own track, which had
brought him back to the spot where he had passed the night. To describe
his feelings on this occasion would be difficult and painful. He
thought of his wife and his young children, who were hourly expecting
his return, and who had, no doubt, prepared some little treat to
welcome the wanderer home.

 [3] Canadian term for deer-stalking.


Bitter were his reflections during the waking hours of that long night!
Hungry, tired, and unrefreshed, the morning’s light saw him struggling
through the snow, but whither he knew not; for though it had ceased
snowing, the sky was still overcast, and continued so till the middle
of the afternoon, when the wind suddenly veered round to the
north-west, attended with intense cold. He now renewed every effort;
for once or twice he thought he heard the sounds of civilized life—the
distant supper-horn or cattle-bell—but the fierce howling of the wind,
which blew half a gale, rendered his hearing indistinct.

As long as daylight lasted he dragged on his wearied limbs, till utter
exhaustion and coming darkness rendered his further progress
impossible. To add to his misfortune, on attempting to kindle a fire,
he found that his punk was damp, from the snow having come in contact
with it when pressing his way through the swamp. He now gave himself up
for lost, for the night was extremely cold, and he had neither fire to
warm him, nor roof to shelter his head. To sleep thus he knew was
certain death. He therefore paced up and down as long as he was able to
stand, but his boots were frozen stiff, and his feet numb with the
cold. After great difficulty he managed to pull off his boots, and
having wrapped up his feet in his woollen cap, he lay down on the path
he bad beaten in the snow, for he could no longer resist the
inclination to sleep.

While in the act of lying down, he distinctly heard a cock crow at no
great distance. By a great effort he roused himself, and called as
loudly as he was able. Once he thought he heard an answer to his
cry—again the horn seemed to ring in his ears,—and then all was blank.

At daylight he was found by some of his own neighbours; one of whom was
up early in the morning feeding his oxen, preparatory to a journey to
the front, when he heard the shouts, which sounded to him like those of
some person in distress. He immediately blew his dinner horn, that the
sound might guide the lost person, and having collected three or four
of his neighbours, they started into the woods in the direction from
whence the shouts of the lost man had proceeded. Half a mile from the
clearing, they came across his track, which they only followed for a
few yards, when to their surprise they found their poor neighbour, whom
at first they concluded to be dead. It was some time indeed before they
could wake him, so overpowered was he with fatigue and the death-like
sleep he had fallen into.

His friends lost no time in carrying him home; but unfortunately they
placed him near a large fire, instead of rubbing his hands and feet
with snow. The too sudden reaction of the blood caused him the most
excruciating agony, for both his hands and feet were badly frozen. At
length Dr. Hutchinson[4] was sent for from Peterborough, who found
mortification had commenced, and that there was no chance of the poor
fellow’s recovery which proved too true, for he expired the next day, a
week from the morning he was found.

 [4] Dr. Hutchinson, is a medical practitioner of great note, and one
 of the first settlers and oldest magistrates in that section of the
 country. I had the particulars of this story from him; though, as it
 was some years ago, I may have made some mistake as to the exact
 locality.


He, however, died in the arms of his afflicted wife, and was surrounded
by his family, a privilege purchased at the expense of severe pain, but
still one to the husband and father—even though he had been snatched
from his pangless death-sleep to possess it, poor fellow!

The mischances consequent upon being lost in the woods, which were so
frequent in the early settlement of Western Canada, are of rare
occurrence now. Since, roads have been cut, and the clearings have
brought the Bush-settlers nearer together. In my young time I have
often searched for missing persons, and indeed have sometimes been lost
myself.

I remember, the first summer I passed in Canada, making one of a party,
who were for eight days looking for an old woman nearly eighty years of
age, and her little grandson, who were lost in the Bush.

The old lady was going by a foot-path across a piece of woodland
between her son-in-law’s house and a neighbour’s, which, by-the-by,
were almost within sight of each other. The little boy, it seems, ran a
short distance off the path to gather some wild-flowers, and was
followed by his grandmother, who, either from her defectiveness of
sight, or, more probably, from having crossed without perceiving it,
was, unable to regain the track. Her friends finding that she did not
return, went over to their neighbour’s house to see if she was there;
but they only learned that neither she nor her grandson had found their
way thither. Search was instantly made till night came on, but without
success.

The next day, all their friends and neighbours turned out, myself among
the number, to search for the unfortunate woman and the boy. We
concluded, from her advanced age and the tender years of the child,
that they could not be very far off; consequently we confined our
search for several days within a radius of two or three miles.

On the fifth day, tracks were discovered near the edge of a small
creek, which from being the prints of a small and large foot, left no
doubt as to whom they belonged. Strange as it may appear, this was the
only sure indication of the lost ones that we had yet seen. No further
trail was seen till the evening of the seventh day, when fresh signs
were found. Our party therefore determined to camp out all night, and
follow these new indications early in the morning, which object they
succeeded in effecting. The lost ones were then found, and both were
discovered alive.

The old woman had suffered the most; but the two had sustained
themselves by eating roots and beech-mast: the little boy was quite
frightened when he saw the men coming, and hid himself; such were the
consequences of solitude and privation on his mind.

The place where they were found was in the township of Beach, at least
fourteen miles due east from the place where they were lost; and it is
more than probable, in their wanderings, that they had more than
doubled that distance—a most extraordinary circumstance, when the ages
of the parties are considered.

About three years since, two young men, with whom I was well
acquainted, went back into the uninhabited township of Methuen, to trap
for fur, and hunt deer. They set a line of marten-traps,[5] extending
upwards of three miles. One or other of them used to go every alternate
morning, to examine these traps—to re-set any that were sprung; and
bring back to their camp any furry animal that might chance to be
captured.

 [5] The method pursued by the trappers and Indians is to blaze a line
 through the bush for several miles. Along this line is set, at
 intervals of one or two hundred yards, a kind of trap, called a dead
 fall, which is constructed thus:—Two rows of short sticks are driven
 into the ground about one foot apart, open only at one end, the top
 being covered with brush-wood at the entrance. A piece of wood two or
 three feet long is bedded into the ground, or snow, as the case may
 be. The falling pole is supported immediately over this by three
 pieces of stick notched together in the form of a figure of four. The
 centre-piece is made long and sharp at the point, to which the bait is
 attached, and projects well into the miniature house. The marten or
 fisher, allured by the bait, reaches in to snatch it, which springs
 the trap, and causes the pole to fall across the neck of the animal,
 which is instantly killed by the blow.


One morning, the less-experienced trapper of the two, this being his
first season, went along the line to look at the traps, as usual. He
had his gun with him, but only two or three charges of powder. After
proceeding to the extreme end of the line, he thought he would go on
and look for some partridges, which he heard “drumming”[6] some little
distance a-head.

 [6] This sound is made by the Canadian partridge (a species of the
 grouse) during its season of courtship. The cock-bird perches himself
 on the top of a large hollow log, or fallen tree, and with his wings
 produces a vibratory sound, like the distant roll of a drum, which, in
 still weather, can easily be heard at the distance of a mile in the
 woods.


In the pursuit of his game, he was induced to go further than he had at
first intended. He never doubted that he should easily find his way
back to the line. In this, however, he was woefully deceived, for the
day was cloudy, and the face of the country was very rough. It formed,
indeed, a part of the great granite range, which is said to cross the
St. Lawrence, at the Lake of the Thousand Islands, traversing the rear
of the Midland District and the counties of Hastings and Peterborough,
through the unsurveyed lands north of Lake Simcoe, to the shores of
Lake Huron. This granite formation is supposed to have an average
breadth of ten or twelve miles, being intersected with small lakes,
deep ravines and precipitous rocks. The woods of this region being
composed principally of pine, hemlock, and cedar, are of a peculiarly
gloomy character. In such a difficult country as this, it was no wonder
that our inexperienced trapper went astray.

After an hour’s fruitless search for the line, he came to the
conclusion that he was lost, and that his only chance was to fire off
his gun, in the hope that his companion would hear and return it. As no
answering sound greeted his ear, he durst not fire his only remaining
charge of powder, for it was all he had to defend himself from wolves,
or to obtain some animal or bird whereupon to sustain his life.

For four days and three nights did this poor fellow wander through
these rugged wilds. On the afternoon of the fourth day he came upon a
ridge of land, which appeared better timbered and more open; so he
determined to follow this route, expecting it might lead him to the
lakeshore, where his camp was situated.

He had not walked a hundred yards in this new direction, when to his
surprise he saw quite a fresh blaze on a tree, and within a fear yards
of the spot on which he stood, a newly constructed marten-trap. Words
cannot express the joy he felt at this discovery; it was his own line
he had so fortunately come upon. Had he only gone the smallest distance
to his left, he would have missed it altogether; but he came,
providentially, upon the very spot where he had set his last trap, and
within a few feet of the place he had left four days before.

On his way to the camp, a sudden fear came over him! Had his companion
left it, supposing him to be irrecoverably lost? If so, what was to
become of him on the north shore of Stony Lake, without a canoe to
cross over to the settlement, food, or ammunition to procure any for
his support. His fears were, however, groundless, as the report of a
gun, and soon after the appearance of his companion convinced him; but
the danger had been great; for, from the statement of his
fellow-trapper, he found that the latter was then on his way to the end
of the line, hoping that he might see or hear something of him before
he broke up their camp, which he intended to have done in the morning,
if he had not unexpectedly fallen in with his friend. Thus had
Providence again interposed in his behalf, and a few days of rest
restored him to his wonted health, spirits, and activity.




CHAPTER XIII.


DIRECTIONS FOR ASCERTAINING THE QUALITY OF LAND IN THE BUSH.—SITE OF
LOG-SHANTY.—CHOPPING.—PREPARATION FOR SPRING-CROPS.—METHOD OF PLANTING
INDIAN CORN.—PUMPKINS AND POTATOES.—MAKING POT-ASH.

I shall now endeavour to give the emigrant some information to guide
him in the selection of his land, and other matters connected with a
settlement in the bush. In the first place, the quality of the land is
the greatest consideration, and to make a good choice requires a
practical knowledge as to the nature of the soils, and the different
kinds of timber growing thereon.

The best land is timbered with oak, ash, elm, beech, bass-wood, and
sugar maple. A fair mixture of this species of trees is best, with here
and there a large pine, and a few Canadian balsams scattered among the
hard-wood. Too great a proportion of beech indicates sand or light
loam: a preponderance of rock elm is a sign of gravel or limestone-rock
near the surface.

The timber should be lofty, clean in the bark and straight in the
grain, and of quick growth. The woods should be open, free from
evergreens, and with little under-brush. Generally speaking, the soil
is of excellent quality, when timbered in the manner described.

It however, often happens, that the best land is full of boulders,
which are both troublesome and expensive to remove. Two-thirds of these
stones are not visible above the surface, and the remainder are so
covered with moss and leaves, that they require a practised eye to
detect them. I have no objection to a small quantity of stones, as they
are useful to construct French drains, or to roll into the bottoms of
the rail-fences.

When limestone-flag is near the surface, the stems of the trees will be
shorter, their heads more bushy, and the roots spreading along the top
of the ground. Such land is apt to burn in hot weather, and soon
becomes exhausted. White pine, or hemlock ridges, are almost always
sandy, and good for little—except the timber, which is valuable, if
near enough to water. White-pine, mixed with hard-wood, generally
indicates strong clay land, good for wheat; but the difficulty of
clearing off such heavy timber, and the long time it takes to get rid
of the stumps, render such a selection unprofitable, and add additional
toil to the emigrant.

The best land for wheat should be gently undulating soil, rich loam, on
a clay bottom. In the summer months you can judge the quality of the
land by the freshly turned-up roots of trees, which have fallen by the
wind.

In winter, when the surface of the ground is covered with snow, and
frozen hard, the growth and quality of the timber, as before described,
are your only mode of judging correctly.

A constant supply of water is absolutely necessary, in a country liable
to such extreme heat in summer. Canada West, abounding, as it does, in
small spring-creeks, rivers, and lakes, is, perhaps, as well watered as
any country in the world; and, in almost every section of the country,
even on the highest ridges, good water can be obtained by digging
wells, which seldom require to be sunk more than twenty feet; and in
many townships, not half that depth is required.

After the emigrant has selected a proper location, his next object is
to choose the best situation to build his shanty, and chop his first
fallow. Most settlers like to commence as near as possible to the
concession-line or public road; but sometimes the vicinity of a stream
of water or good spring is preferred. In fact, circumstances must, in
some measure, guide them in their choice.

The best time of the year to commence operations is early in September.
The weather is then moderately warm and pleasant, and there are no
flies in the Bush to annoy you.

A log shanty, twenty-four feet long by sixteen, is large enough to
begin with, and should be roofed either with shingles or troughs. A
small cellar should be dug near the fire-place, commodious enough to
hold twenty or thirty bushels of potatoes, a barrel or two of pork, &c.

As soon as your shanty is completed, measure off as many acres as you
intend to chop during the winter, and mark the boundaries by blazing
the trees on each side.

The next operation is to cut down all the small trees and brush—this is
called under-brushing. The rule is to cut everything close to the
ground from the diameter of six inches downwards.

There are two modes of piling, either in heaps or in wind-rows. If your
fallow is full of evergreens, such as hemlock, pine, balsam, cedar, and
such description of timber, then I should say wind-rows are the best;
but when the timber is deciduous, heaps are better.

The brush should be carefully piled and laid all one way, by which
means it packs closer and burns better. The regular price for
underbrushing hard-wood land, and cutting up-all the old fallen
timber—which is always considered a part of the underbrushing—is one
dollar per acre, and board. Rough land and swamp vary from seven
shillings and sixpence to ten shillings. Your under-brush should be all
cut and piled by the end of November, before the snow falls to the
depth of four inches, for after that it would be both difficult and
tedious.

The chopping now begins, and may be followed without any interruption
until the season for sugar-making commences. The heads of the trees
should be thrown upon the heaps or wind-rows. A skilful chopper will
scarcely ever miss a heap when felling the timber, besides it saves a
great deal of labour in piling the limbs.

The trunks of the trees must be cut into lengths, from fourteen to
sixteen feet, according to the size of the timber. Now and then a large
maple or beech, when felled, may be left without cutting up, with the
exception of the top, which is called a plan-heap, and is left to log
against: this is only done when the tree is too large to be cut through
easily with the axe.

All timber fit for making rails should be left in double and treble
lengths, as it is less likely to burn.

A good axe-man should be able, with fair chopping, to cut an acre in
eight days after the under-brushing is done. The regular price of
chopping is five dollars per acre, with board, or six without.

The emigrant should endeavour to get as much chopping done as possible
during the first three years, because after that time he has so many
other things to attend to, such as increase of stock, barn and
house-building, thrashing, ploughing, &c., which, of course, give him
every year less time for chopping, particularly if his family be small,
in which case fifty or sixty acres are enough to clear at first, till
his boys are old enough to give him assistance.

Clearing up too large a farm, when labour is so high, is not wise, for
it will not answer to disburse much for hire, at the present prices.
If, therefore, you are not able to cultivate what you have cleared
properly, it will grow up again with raspberries, blackberries, small
trees, and brush, and be nearly as bad to clear as it was at first.

The size of the farm must, however, depend on the resources of the
emigrant, the strength and number of his family, and the quantity of
acres he may possess.

In the month of May the settler should spring-burn three or four acres,
and log them up for his spring-crops, such as potatoes and Indian-corn.
The Indian-corn should be planted with the hoe in rows, three feet
apart and thirty inches in the row. A pumpkin-seed or two should be
sown in every second or third hole in each third row. The corn must be
earthed or hilled up by drawing the mould close round the roots, and
five or six inches up the stalks, which should be done when the plants
are fifteen or sixteen inches high. No further cultivation is necessary
until the time of cutting, except breaking off some shoots from the
roots, if too many are thrown out.

Potatoes on the new land are also planted with the hoe, and in hills of
about five thousand to the acre. A hole is scraped with the hoe, in
which four or five sets, or a whole potato is dropped. The earth is
then heaped over them in the form of a mole-hill, but somewhat larger.
After the plants have appeared above the surface, a little more mould
is drawn around them. Very large crops of potatoes are raised in this
manner. Two hundred and fifty bushels per acre are no uncommon crop. I
have assisted in raising double that quantity; but of late years, since
the disease has been prevalent, but poor crops have been realized.

Both white turnips and swedes do well, and grow to a large size,
particularly on new land: the roots must be either pitted or put in a
root-house, or cellar, as the winter is too severe for them to remain
unhoused.

The remainder of the fallow should be burnt off and logged up in July,
the rail-cuts split into quarters and drawn off to the site of the
fences, ready for splitting into rails. After the log-heaps are burnt,
you should either spread the ashes or rake them while hot into heaps,
if you intend to make potash,[1] with which, by the by, I should advise
the new-comer to have nothing to do until he has made himself
thoroughly acquainted with the process.

 [1] This article is very extensively made in nearly all the new
 settlements, and may be considered one of the staples of the country.
 The process is very simple; but great care must be taken in collecting
 the ashes clear of sand or dirt of any description. If your ashes are
 well saved and from good timber, ten acres should produce at least
 five barrels of potash, each barrel containing five hundred weight.
 Several things should be considered before the emigrant attempts the
 manufacture of this article. Firstly, his land should be well timbered
 with oak, elm, maple, and bass-wood. Secondly, it must have a stream
 of water, near which he may erect his works. And, lastly, it ought to
 be within reach of a market and a remunerating price, which, to pay
 the manufacturer, should not be less than twenty-five shillings,
 Halifax currency, per cwt.
    The best situation to erect an ashery upon, is the side of a bank,
    beside a running stream; and if there should be fall enough in the
    creek to bring a supply of water over head into the leaches, a
    great deal of labour will be saved. An ash-house, six or eight
    leach-tubs, a pot-ash kettle, and three or four coolers are all the
    requisites necessary. Most persons use a small portion of common
    salt and lime in the manufacture of pot-ash. After the lye is run
    off it is boiled down into black salts, which are melted into
    pot-ash, cooled off, and packed into air-tight barrels ready for
    market.


As soon as the settler has cleared up fifteen or twenty acres, his
first care should be to erect a frame or log-barn; I should strongly
recommend the former, if boards can be obtained in the neighbourhood,
as it is undoubtedly the best and cheapest in the long run. If I were
commencing life again in the woods, I would not build anything of logs
except a shanty or a pig-sty; for experience has plainly told me that
log buildings are the dirtiest, most inconvenient, and the dearest when
everything is taken into consideration.

As soon as the settler is ready to build, let him put up a good frame,
roughcast, or stone-house, if he can possibly raise the means, as
stone, timber, and lime, cost nothing but the labour of collecting and
carrying the materials. When I say that they “cost nothing,” I mean
that no cash is required for these articles, as they can be prepared by
the exertion of the family.

With the addition of from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds in
money to the raw material, a good substantial and comfortable dwelling
can be completed. Two or three years should be spent in preparing and
collecting materials, so that your timber may be perfectly seasoned
before you commence building.

Apple and plum orchards should be planted as soon as possible, and well
fenced from the cattle and sheep. The best kind of grafted fruit-trees,
from three to seven years old, can be obtained for a shilling a tree;
ungrafted, at four shillings the dozen.

The apple-tree flourishes extremely well in this country, and grows to
a large size. I gathered last year, out of my orchard, several Ribstone
Pippins, each of which weighed more than twelve ounces, and were of a
very fine flavour. The native plums are not very good in their raw
state, but they make an excellent preserve, and good wine.

Some of the particulars mentioned in this chapter have been glanced at
in an earlier portion of the work; but I make no apology for the
repetition. My object is, to offer instruction to the inexperienced
settler, and to impress these important matters more firmly upon his
mind and memory, that he may have his experience at a cheaper rate than
if he purchased it at the expense of wasted time, labour, and capital.




CHAPTER XIV.


MY FIRST SHOT AT A BUCK.—HUNTING AND SHOOTING PARTIES.—DESTRUCTIVENESS
OF WOLVES.—LOSS OF MY FLOCKS.—COWARDICE OF THE WOLF.—THE LADY AND HER
PET.—COLONEL CRAWFORD’S ADVENTURE.—INGENIOUS TRICK OF AN AMERICAN
TRAPPER.—A DISAGREEABLE ADVENTURE.—HOW TO POISON WOLVES.—A STERN CHASE.

My father-in-law had a large field of fall wheat, upon which, during
the night, the deer were very fond of grazing. Just before dark, the
herd used to make their appearance, and we tried repeatedly to get a
shot at them, but in vain. At the least noise, or if they winded us, up
went their tails, and they were off in an instant. I was determined,
however, not to be so continually balked. I had observed, by the
tracks, the direction they took in their way to the field; so, an hour
before their usual time of coming, I sallied out, and concealed myself
in the top of an old fallen tree which lay a few feet from the ground,
and about twenty yards from a path which I suspected had been beaten by
the deer, going backwards and forwards to the field.

The place I had selected to watch for them was an old settlement
duty-road, which had been cut out some years before, but was now
partially grown up again with a second growth of timber and underbrush.
Having seated myself very snugly, I took out of my pocket a volume of
Shakespeare to pass away the time. I had not been half-an-hour so
employed, before my attention was suddenly aroused by hearing a stick
break near me, when upon looking up I beheld the head and horns of a
large buck projecting from behind a thicket of trees. He appeared to be
in a listening attitude, so I durst not stir till he should have
lowered his head, as I knew the least movement then would make him
start off in an instant. Luckily, however, the wind was blowing from
his direction to mine. Presently, he walked into the open space; and
whilst I was cautiously raising my gun, he disappeared beneath the brow
of a small hill; but almost immediately, from the inequality of the
ground, his head and shoulders again became visible. On this, I
instantly fired.

Astonished and mortified was I, when I saw him scamper off with his
tail up, as if nothing had happened. Still, I was sure I must have hit
him, as he was not forty yards from where I sat, his broadside being
towards me. So I followed the track for about two hundred yards, but
without seeing any blood; and was in the act of turning back,
concluding, that as he had hoisted his tail, I had missed him
altogether. Indeed, I had often heard, that if they show the white
feather, as putting up their tail is called by Canadian sportsmen—they
are not hit. This, however, is a mistake; for, in the act of turning
round to retrace my steps, I saw a small drop of blood upon a dry leaf.
I now felt quite certain that I had struck him. On proceeding a few
yards further, I saw several large splashes of blood. There was now no
room left for doubt; and, in another minute I was standing beside the
first buck I had ever killed. On opening him, I found I had put a ball
and five buck-shot into him, which had entered just behind the
fore-shoulder; and though two of these shots had lodged in the lungs,
he had, notwithstanding this, continued to run on the full jump, more
than two hundred yards.

Not long after this adventure, my brother-in-law shot a deer through
the heart, which ran full a hundred yards before he dropped.

Two or three years after, in the township of Douro, where I now reside,
I was walking down to the saw-mill about half a mile from my house,
with my American rifle in my hand, when, on coming close to the river,
I saw a large buck swimming down the middle of the stream near the
mill-dam. I ran down to the spot as fast as I could, for I expected he
would land on the opposite shore, at the corner of the dam. The surmise
proved to be correct. He was in the act of climbing up the bank when I
fired, and he fell back into the river. Recovering himself, however, he
scrambled out and made off. I crossed the bridge and went round to the
spot where he landed, and followed on the track.

While in chase I was joined by an old hunter, who had been out since
day-light, still-hunting (deer-stalking); so he agreed to go with me
and examine the track, which we followed for about half a mile without
seeing any blood. But at last we came to a place where the buck had
stood and pawed up the ground. My companion, remarking upon the
circumstance, said—

“He was quite satisfied the fellow was hit; and you will find,” added
he, “if we get him, that he is hit on the top of the back, and that is
the reason there is no blood to be seen.”

The track led us round nearly in a circle; for we came back to the
river within a few yards of where I had fired at the buck. My companion
now suggested that we should recross the river and follow up the stream
on the opposite bank. “For,” said he, “we shall probably find him on
one of the islands opposite your house.”

Acting on his suggestion, we retraced our steps, and found, as he had
predicted, that the buck, after taking the water, had swum up the river
and taken refuge on the west side of the lower island. We saw him
standing near the edge of the water, partially hidden by the trunk of a
fallen pine, when we both fired our rifles at the same instant. This
did not, however, drop him, for he bounded across the island, and took
the opposite channel in gallant style.

As the distance from which we fired was less than a hundred yards, we
concluded that one of us at least had hit him. Reinforced by my old
hound Towler, who, attracted by the firing, had joined us, we recrossed
the river, and put the dog on the track. Towler was in high spirits,
and soon made the wood ring with music pleasant to the hunter’s ear.

We momentarily expected to see our quarry again take the water; but
from the continued howling of the hound in the same spot, I began to
think the buck was standing at bay, which was really the case; for on
my near approach he was busily employed with his head down, keeping off
old Towler by making sudden plunges at him every now and then. The
moment he saw me, he made a rush for the river, but as he passed me on
the full bound, I fired at his fore-shoulder; and though he still
continued his course to the river, I knew by the jet of blood which
followed my shot that his fate was sealed. Near the river he made a
sudden turn, striking his head against a hemlock tree, and at the same
instant a shot from my companion stretched him lifeless on the ground.
And thus concluded an exciting chase of more than two hours.

This was the largest buck I ever killed, for he weighed, after he was
skinned and dressed, two hundred and thirty pounds. We found that four
out of the five shots had hit him. The last shot I fired, cut away the
small end of his heart, though he actually managed to run thirty or
forty paces afterwards.

Deer-hunting is a very exciting sport; but I prefer still-hunting (or
deer-stalling, as it is called in the Highlands of Scotland) to driving
them into the lakes and rivers with hounds.

The deer are not now nearly so numerous as they formerly were.
Civilization has driven them back into the unsurveyed lands or less
populated townships. To give my readers some idea how plentiful these
wild denizens of the forest were, some years since, I need only mention
that a Trapper with whom I was acquainted, and four of his companions,
passed my house on a small raft, on which lay the carcasses of
thirty-two deer—the trophies of a fortnight’s chase near Stony Lake.
The greater number of these were fine bucks.

I once had seventeen deer hanging up in my barn at one time—the produce
of three days’ sport, out of which I had the good fortune to kill
seven. Parties are now made yearly every October to Stony Lake, Deer
Bay, or the River Trent. I do not know anything more pleasant than
these excursions, especially if you have agreeable companions, a warm
camp, and plenty to eat and drink. Indeed, poor hunters must they be
who cannot furnish their camp-larder with wild-ducks and venison. This
is one of the great charms of a Canadian life, particularly to young
sportsmen from the mother-country, who require here neither license nor
qualification to enable them to follow their game; but may rove about
in chase of deer, or other game, at will.

The greatest enemy the deer has to contend with is the wolf. In the
spring of the year, when the snow is in the woods, and a crust is
formed on the surface, the deer are unable to travel any distance, the
snow not being sufficiently hard to bear their weight. Consequently,
great numbers of them are destroyed by their more nimble adversaries,
who from their lighter make and rounder-shaped feet, are able to run on
the top of the crust, which gives the deer but little chance of escape.

The wolves commonly hunt in packs, and generally at night. The deer,
when pursued, always make straight for the water, which, if they
succeed in reaching it, saves them for that time.

When the wolves reach the shore and find their prey gone, they utter
the most diabolical yells. One night I was awakened by a pack of these
rascals, who were in chase of a deer. They ran through my wood-yard
within sixty feet of the house in full chorus. I think I never heard in
the stillness of the night a more wild and unearthly din.

For some years, till the country became more settled, I was obliged to
shut up my sheep at night for fear of these prowling wretches. The
first flock I ever had were all killed by these thieves. One night I
was awakened by my dog barking furiously, and from the manner in which
he kept rushing against the door I was sure some wild animals were
about the premises. At first I thought it was useless to get up; for
the night was dark, and I knew the sheep were housed. However, the
increased fury of my dog Grouse, who seemed intent on getting into the
house, as if he were frightened, obliged me to dress and turn out. On
my opening the door, Grouse rushed in looking dreadfully scared, so
with a lantern in one hand and a gun in the other, I marched towards
the sheep-pen, the door of which not having been securely fastened by
my lad, I found open, and six sheep out, and for these I now commenced
a cautious search.

About twenty yards from the pen, I found one of my best sheep lying on
the grass with his throat cut very scientifically just behind the ear.
A few paces further on, I found another, and so on, till five were
forthcoming. The sixth I did not get till the morning, which was the
only one that escaped the teeth of the marauders. It seems that my
appearance with the light drove the wolves from their prey.

Luckily for me, the weather was cold, my sheep fat, and well-butchered,
as far as bleeding was concerned, so that I was no great loser, except
by having a rather larger supply of mutton at one time than was quite
convenient for the housekeeping department.

About eleven or twelve years since, I lost in one season a flock of
sheep by the wolves. This misfortune occurred, unluckily for me, in the
hottest month of the Canadian year, July. I had not housed my sheep,
because I found that, in very sultry weather, during the fly-season,
they would not feed in the day-time, but would creep under the fences
and into the Bush for shade. I, therefore, thought it best to risk
losing some, than to spoil the whole flock; for I knew the only time
they would graze was during the night, or very early in the morning.
Consequently, for three or four years previously, I had allowed them to
run at large during the summer months.

One morning, I observed from the veranda in front of my house, a sheep,
which was standing on the opposite bank of the river. As I knew there
was no farm within two or three miles of the river in that direction, I
thought I would go over in a canoe, and see what brought it there. I
had not gone half way to the river when I discovered the mangled
carcass of one of my own sheep, and on further search found ten more,
lying, half-devoured, in different directions—the murder was now out.
The sheep I had seen on the opposite shore was one of my own, which had
taken to the water, and had thus escaped the fangs of the wolves. I saw
two more of my luckless flock on a shoal more than a mile down the
river, which—less fortunate than their companion—had been swept down by
the current and drowned. Exactly a week afterwards, I had a similar
number destroyed by the wolves. As far as I was personally concerned, I
may say that they were a total loss; for the weather was too hot to
keep the meat any length of time, so I gave the greater part of the
mutton to my neighbours. Since that time, I have had better luck, not
having lost any part of my flock, although I have invariably left my
sheep abroad during the night.

Notwithstanding his ravenous propensities and cruel disposition, the
wolf is a very cowardly animal in his solitary state. Indeed, it is
only when he hunts in a pack, that he becomes formidable to man. Nature
has, in some measure, checked his evil disposition, by rendering him
timid. If he falls into a snare, he never attempts to get out of the
scrape; but crouches in a corner, awaiting his fate, without the least
intention of displaying any pluck to the trapper.

That the cowardice of the wolf is very great, the following anecdote
will sufficiently prove.

My wife’s youngest sister had a pet-sheep that she had brought up from
a lamb, and to which she was much attached. One afternoon she was going
down to the spring for a pitcher of water, when she saw a large dog—as
she thought—worrying her sheep, upon which, being naturally courageous,
she picked up a large stick and struck the beast two or three strokes
with all her strength, thus compelling him to drop her favorite. This,
however, he did very reluctantly, turning his head at the same time,
and showing his teeth with a most diabolical snarl. She saw at once,
when he faced her, by his pricked ears, high cheek-bones, long
bushy-tail, and gaunt figure, that her antagonist was a wolf. Nothing
daunted, she again bravely attacked him; for he seemed determined, in
spite of her valiant opposition, to have her pet, which he again
attacked. She boldly beat him off the second time; following him down
the creek, thrashing him and calling for aid with all her might; when,
fortunately, one of her brothers, attracted by her cries, ran down with
the dogs and his gun, but was not in time for a shot; for when the
felon wolf saw the reinforcement, he scampered off with all his speed.

There are few dogs bred in the Canadas fit to cope with the wolf;
indeed, they seem in general to have a great dread of him.

Colonel Crawford, a gentleman with whom I am well-acquainted, for he
was many years one of my nearest and best neighbours, was one day
partridge-shooting, near Buckhorn Mills, in the township of Harvey,
when his sporting-dog, which had been ranging the bush a little in
advance, came running towards him, yelping in a most piteous manner,
followed by a large wolf. So intent was the beast on his prey, that he
did not perceive the gallant colonel, who met his advance with both
barrels, which stopped his earthly career, and rescued poor Carlo from
his impending fate. The colonel was very proud of this exploit, both
because he had killed so large an animal with partridge-shot and had
saved his dog at the same time.

According to an act of the Provincial Parliament, six dollars must be
paid by the county treasurer for every wolf-certificate, signed by a
magistrate. No certificate now will be granted, unless the scalp of the
animal is produced, which is then taken possession of by the
magistrate. This precaution is absolutely necessary; for, previously to
this arrangement, it was found that double the number of wolves were
killed, or, rather twice the number of scalps were brought in—one wolf
often furnishing two pates—a curious feature in Natural History.

Many petty frauds of this kind have been brought to light; amongst
other cases, that of a magistrate, not a hundred miles from the county
town, who forged seventeen wolf certificates, and succeeded in getting
the money for them; and, most likely, emboldened by his success, would
have continued to drive a flourishing trade, had not his career been
suddenly stopped in the following manner.

One of the persons, whose name had been made use of in one or more of
the certificates, was congratulated on his recent success. He, however,
denied that he had either shot or trapped a wolf during the last year,
and declared, “that there must certainly be some mistake.” An inquiry
was accordingly made, whereupon the whole nefarious transaction was
brought to light.

Our magistrate was not long in availing himself of the proximity of the
United States; for the next day saw him an inhabitant of the good city
of Rochester, in the State of New York, where, I make no doubt, over
gin-cocktail, or mint-julep, he entertains the free and enlightened
citizens with an account of his adroit manner of “sloping” the British
Government. Luckily for Rochester, there are no wolves in that
neighbourhood.

A celebrated wolf-trapper, in the township of Smith, once caught a fine
she-wolf, big with young. Her fore-paw broken below the knee, was the
only injury she had sustained. So he thought, if he could but keep her
alive till after her accouchement, he should be able to demand the
bounty for every scalp; for he considered that as there was no mention
made in the act respecting the size the wolves must be, he might as
well have the benefit of that oversight. He put his scheme,
accordingly, into effect, and it proved quite successful. Her wolfship
in a few days was safely delivered of five fine whelps, whose scalps,
with that of their mother, were duly presented to the magistrate. At
first he demurred respecting the certificate, but upon referring to the
statute, he found there was no provision to meet a case of this kind.
He, however, satisfied his moral justice by the reflection, “that if
the dam had remained at large a few days longer, and whelped in the
Bush, it would have amounted to the same thing, and that, perhaps, many
sheep had been saved from the greedy fangs of the growing family, by
the ingenious plan of the trapper.” It was a clever trick, no doubt—a
real Yankee shave; but one for which the sternest moralist can scarcely
get up an effective lecture.

The Canadian wolf is not nearly so ferocious as the European animal,
nor I believe quite so large. I have heard of very few
well-authenticated accounts of persons having been destroyed by these
creatures, though I must say I should not like again to be in their
vicinity in a dark night, as more than once I have been. I was
returning from Whitby after dark, and had just entered the woods,
through which my path lay for a full mile and a half. The night being
dark, and the road not particularly good, I gave Prince the rein, and
allowed him to choose his own pace. Presently, I thought I heard a
pattering on the leaves, like the tread of animals, at which sound my
horse pricked up his ears, snorted, and shied nearly across the road,
so suddenly that I was nearly thrown out of the saddle. Well for me was
it, however, that I kept my seat; for instantly such an infernal
howling was raised all round me as made my heart leap up to my mouth,
and I must candidly own I felt horribly afraid I should fall into the
clutches of devouring wolves. My good steed Prince, I fancy, was as
scared as myself, for he galloped off, followed by the pack, who fairly
made the woods ring with their unearthly yells. They did not chase us
far, and ceased howling, having seemingly lost the scent; but in a few
minutes a fresh burst in the direction of the lake-shore plainly told
me they had regained it, and were on the track of a deer, which most
probably had crossed the road at the time when I first heard their
chorus. It is not very easy to describe one’s feelings on such
occasions.

There is something particularly appalling in the full cry of a pack of
wolves, especially when alone in the woods, and at night. I have
frequently heard them at such times, when camped out on hunting
expeditions. However, we mustered strong and were well armed, so we
cared little for them or their yells.

The only instance of any one being killed by wolves, to which I can
speak with certainty, occurred a few years back in the township of
Douro. A young lad of the name of M’Ewen was sent by his father to a
shoemaker, one George Disney, for his shoes. The distance was not more
than a mile by a path through the woods, and the boy was well
acquainted with the road. It appears, he went to Disney’s, and waited
for his shoes till nearly dark, when he started for home. But nothing
more was ever heard or seen of him till the thaw in the spring,
although diligent search was made at the time. Owing to a snow-storm
which fell the same night, he was lost. It was impossible to follow the
boy’s tracks, and as a pack of wolves had been heard the same night in
the immediate neighbourhood, no doubt was entertained that he had been
attacked and eaten by these ravenous monsters. Some bones and pieces of
clothing, supposed to have belonged to the unfortunate youth, were the
only memorials found of him.

I have heard the old settlers say, that very few instances have
occurred like this in their recollection, though from the many persons
lost in the woods and never again discovered, it is more than probable
that some of them, when weakened by fatigue and hunger and no longer
able to defend themselves, may have fallen victims to their insatiable
maws.

Several plans have been devised by the inhabitants for the destruction
of these animals. That most commonly resorted to, and which is
considered the least troublesome and the most efficacious, is poison.
The best and surest for that purpose is strychnine, one grain of which,
if genuine, will kill the largest wolf in Canada. I have used this
poison myself, when baiting for foxes. The properest method in the
winter-season, is to take a piece of hog’s-lard, about the size of a
walnut, make a hole in the centre, and insert it carefully with a quill
or the point of a small knife, taking care not to spill any on the
outside, then to fill up the puncture with some fresh lard.

If you have heard, or have reason to know, that wolves are in the
vicinity, your best way is to bait with pieces of carrion of any
description. This must be done at some distance from the clearing, or
you will be sure to lose your own dogs, or kill those of your
neighbours, when you come to lay your poison, which you need not do
till you see some of your bait taken, and observe their fresh tracks.

I know a gentleman who had lost an ox, which he had drawn away some
distance into the Bush. In a few days, finding the wolves had paid
their respects to the carcass, he laid out several poison-balls, and
actually killed six of them before the carcass was eaten. The value of
the wolves, including their skins and the bounty-money, amounted to
forty-four dollars, a nice little sum for a few hours’ trouble, not to
speak of the satisfaction of having contributed to extirpate this
devouring crew. I must, however, caution the uninitiated to be very
careful in the use of this deadly poison: indeed it should only be used
by the most experienced trappers, and then at some distance from the
settlement.

The price of the wolf-skin varies from 5 shillings to 7 shillings, 6
pence, Halifax currency, according to size and quality: they are always
in good demand for sleigh-robes.[1] Those made of this species of fur
are considered the most elegant and _distingué_.

 [1] Sleigh-robes are commonly made of bear or buffalo skins dressed
 with the hair on. The most fashionable are racoon or wolf. Several of
 these skins are sewn together, with the tails of the animals stitched
 to the bottom of the robe. The inside lining is generally scarlet or
 purple cloth. A well equipped sleigh should have two robes for each
 seat, one of which should cover the cushions, and fall gracefully over
 the back of the seat, whilst the other is drawn over the passengers,
 and wraps them securely from the cold.


A perilous adventure once befel my brother-in-law, James. He was a bold
brave boy, of ten years old at the time, and was on his return home
with a pair of oxen, with which he had been assisting a neighbour
residing about six miles from his father’s house. His road lay by the
river shore, which was dreary enough at the fall of the year and in the
evening hour: but the child was fearless, and saw the deepening shades
sink into night without experiencing anything like apprehension.

He was trudging on steadily, singing cheerfully as he walked, when a
sound came on the night-air that sent a shiver through the young
pedestrian’s frame—the war-cry of the wolves. At first he hoped he was
not the object of pursuit; but the hideous uproar came nearer and
nearer, and then he knew that he must instantly adopt some plan for his
escape.

His route lay by the river shore, and he could swim well; but the night
was dark, and he might be hurried into the rapids; and to be dashed to
pieces on the rocks was scarcely less dreadful than to be mangled and
devoured by wolves. In this extremity, the child lifted up his brave
young heart to God, and resolved to use the only chance left him of
escape. So he mounted Buck, the near-ox, making use of his goad,
shouting at the same time to the animal, to excite him to his utmost
speed.

In most cases, the horned steed would have flung off his rider, and
left him for wolves’ meat, without hesitation; but Buck set off with
the speed of a race-horse, as if fully aware of his young rider’s
peril. Nor was his companion less tardy. Fast, however, as the trio
fled, still faster came upon them the yelling pack behind; and James
could ever hear—

“Their long hard gallop which could tire
The hound’s deep hate and hunter’s fire.”


Fortunately for him, old Buck heard it too, and galloped on and on; but
still the wolves came neater and nearer. James shouted to keep them
off; the oxen almost flying; their chains rattling as they went. This
clanking sound, to which the hateful pack were unaccustomed, made them
pause whenever they came close upon the oxen, whilst the latter
redoubled their speed, till at length these gallant racers left the
wolves behind, and finding themselves within a short distance of home,
never stopped till they brought the brave little fellow safely to his
own door.

He had felt afraid but once; and that was when those dismal yells first
broke upon his ear—and _never_ lost his presence of mind. He trusted in
God, and used the means within his reach for his preservation, and
arrived safe at last.

Few boys would have displayed so much sense and spirit—but the boy is
almost always the father of the man; and what James was then, he is
now.




CHAPTER XV.


FORMATION OF THE CANADA COMPANY.—INTERVIEW WITH MR. GALT.—HIS PERSONAL
DESCRIPTION AND CHARACTER.—GUELPH.—DR. DUNLOP.—MY MEDICAL SERVICES AT
GUELPH.—DR. DUNLOP AND THE “PAISLEY BODIES.”—AN ECCENTRIC CHARACTER.—AN
UNFORTUNATE WIFE.

I remember on my first visit to the mouth of the river Maitland, now
the site of Goderich, a bridle-path for seventy miles through the
trackless forest was the only available communication between the
settlements and Lake Huron. This was only twenty-four years ago. This
vast and fertile tract of more than one million acres, at that time did
not contain a population of three hundred souls; no teeming fields of
golden grain, no manufactories, no mills, no roads; the rivers were
unbridged, and one vast solitude reigned around, unbroken, save by the
whoop of the red-man, or the distant shot of the trapper.

Reverse the picture, and behold what the energies and good management
of the Canada Company have effected. Stage-coaches travel with safety
and dispatch along the same tract where formerly I had the utmost
difficulty to make my way on horseback without the chance of being
swept from the saddle by the limbs of trees and tangled brushwood. A
continuous settlement of the finest farms now skirts both sides of this
road, from the southern boundary-line of this district to Goderich.

Another road equally good, traverses the block from the western
boundary. Thriving villages, saw and grist-mills, manufactories,
together with an abundance of horses, cattle, sheep, grain, and every
necessary of life enjoyed by a population of 26,000 souls, fully prove
the success caused by the persevering industry of the emigrants who
were so fortunate as to select this fruitful and healthy locality for
their future homes.

Much of this prosperity is due to the liberality and excellent
arrangements of the Canada Company, who have afforded every facility to
their settlers in regard to the payments for their land: I particularly
refer to their system of leasing, which affords the best chance
possible to the poor emigrant.

“This spirited and enterprising” Company’s principal tract of land lies
nearly in a triangular form, commencing in latitude 43 degrees, and
extending about sixty-miles along the coast. In 1824, this incorporated
company contracted with Government for this line of country and some
others, as well as for a portion of the clergy reserves, comprehending
in all about two million acres, payable in fifteen years.[1]

 [1] M’Gregor’s “British America.”


In the spring of 1827, a memorable year for Canada, the Company
commenced their operations at Guelph, under the superintendence of John
Galt, Esq.

I had heard a great deal about the fertility of their lands, especially
of those in the Huron tract, containing a million of acres in one
block, of which I shall hereafter speak more particularly.[2] As I was
enterprising, and fond of an active life, I resolved to go and judge
for myself; and as I heard the superintendent was then at Toronto, I
determined to call upon him there and collect all the information in my
power.

 [2] The territory from which the Huron tract has been selected, was
 explored previously to the selection being made, and the reports which
 were received from the parties employed on that mission were of the
 most satisfactory nature. This tract is bounded on the west by Lake
 Huron, along which it runs for nearly sixty miles, having within its
 limits one considerable river, at the mouth of which is a good
 harbour; another river, which may probably be rendered navigable, and
 numerous creeks and streamlets, many of which are large enough, and
 have fall sufficient to drive mills or machinery of any
 description.—Mac Taggart’s “Three Years in Canada.”


My first interview with Mr. Galt, the celebrated author of “Laurie
Todd,” took place at the Old Steam-boat Hotel, in February, 1828. He
received me with great kindness, and asked me many particulars of
Bush-life, connected with a first settlement.

I suppose my answers were satisfactory, for he turned towards me
abruptly, and asked me, “If I would like to enter the Canada Company’s
Service; for,” said he, “I want a practical person to take charge of
the out-door department in the absence of Mr. Prior, whom I am about to
send to the Huron tract with a party of men to clear up and lay off the
New-town plot of Goderich. You will have charge of the Company’s
stores, keep the labour-rolls, and superintend the road-making and
bridge-building, and indeed everything connected with the practical
part of the settlement.”

This was just the sort of life I wished; so I closed at once with his
offer. No salary was to be named, till I had been three months in the
Company’s employ. Indeed, I left everything to Mr. Galt, who, I felt
certain, would remunerate me according to my deserts.

In person, Mr. Galt was, I should think, considerably above six feet in
height, and rather of a heavy build; his aspect grave and dignified,
and his appearance prepossessing. His disposition was kind and
considerate; but at the same time he commanded respect; and I can say
with sincerity, I always found him an upright and honourable gentleman.

Of Mr. Galt’s fitness for the office of superintendent of the Canada
Company, it would, perhaps, be considered presumptuous in me to give an
opinion. His position was an unfortunate one, and from his first
residence in the country till his resignation, there appears to have
been a serious misunderstanding between him, the Governor, and the
Executive-council, in consequence of which, Galt’s character was
misrepresented at home as that of a meddling politician and troublesome
person. Other charges regarding the wasteful expenditure of money in
forming the new settlements were laid before the Directors, and these
repeated complaints against him left him no other alternative than to
resign his situation.

My own opinion is, that Galt was ill-used by the Canadian Government.
He says in his “Autobiography,” that his whole and sole offence
consisted of having accepted a file of the “Colonial Advocate,” and
shaken hands with the editor, the notorious William Lyon Mackenzie. In
those days of ultra-toryism, such an instance of liberality and freedom
from party-prejudice was sufficient to excite the displeasure of the
Governor and his council. There is no doubt that Galt acted imprudently
in this matter, though I fully believe without any intention of
opposing the Government.

In regard to the Company’s affairs, more might be said to his
prejudice—not in respect of his integrity, for, I believe him to have
been a most honourable man, and incapable of any meanness—but in regard
to his management. Although, as the original projector of the Canada
Company, he evinced much cleverness, and afterwards displayed
considerable judgment in the choice of the best situations for building
towns and villages, yet he committed some grievous mistakes. His ideas
were generally good; but often not well carried out in detail.

His first error was in the selection of persons to fill the various
offices belonging to the Company. For, instead of appointing men who
had long experience in the country, and who were, therefore,
practically qualified to superintend the workmen by their experience of
all the requirements of a new settlement, he filled these situations,
for the most part, with inexperienced young men, recently arrived from
the old country, who, of course, could know nothing of road-making and
bridge-building, and were, therefore, incapable of directing a number
of workmen. Then, again, most of the hands employed on the Company’s
works were new settlers, and, of course, knew nothing of chopping,
house-building, or clearing land; and yet these men were paid just as
much as if they had served a long apprenticeship in the country. If Mr.
Galt’s appointments had been judicious, there is no doubt, in my mind,
that half the outlay would have produced greater results.

It was arranged that I should meet Mr. Galt at Toronto, in April, at
the commencement of the spring operations. At the appointed time, I
again waited upon him, when he ordered me to Guelph, to take charge of
the department, as formerly agreed upon between us. He then introduced
me to Dr. Dunlop and Mr. Prior, who kindly invited me to take a seat in
their waggon, which would leave for Guelph in a few hours. The former
gentleman is well known in the literary world, as the author of the
“Backwoodsman.”

During our journey, I found that he deserved his celebrity for good
companionship, which was fully borne out on this occasion. He could,
indeed, speak well on any subject. He was full of sound information,
and overflowed with anecdote—in fact, his way of telling a story was
inimitable. He had a fund of wit, which seemed almost inexhaustible.

My fellow-travellers left me at Mr. Galt’s house, near Burlington
Heights, where, after taking some refreshment, I again proceeded on my
journey, and ultimately reached Guelph on the afternoon of the second
day.

The situation of the town I found exceedingly pleasant, and well
watered. It was built in an angle, formed by the confluence of the
rivers Speed and Eramosa. The town-plot also abounds with copious
never-failing springs, of the purest water.

I found some twenty or thirty log-houses, about as many shanties, a
large frame-tavern building, a store, two blacksmiths’ shops, and the
walls of two stone-buildings, one of which was intended, when finished,
for the company’s office. Besides these edifices, Dr. Dunlop and Mr.
Prior had each a good house, and there was the Priory, a large
log-building, afterwards occupied by the superintendent. This was
pretty well, considering that a year only had elapsed since the first
tree was felled.

Mr. Galt, in his “Autobiography,” has given an account of the founding
of the town of Guelph,[3] and how Mr. Prior, Dr. Dunlop, and himself,
cut down the first tree—a large sugar-maple, whereupon the Dr. produced
a flask of whiskey, and they named and drank success to the new town.
This was on St. George’s day, April 23rd, 1827. Eighteen months after
this, by Mr. Galt’s orders, I had the stump of that tree inclosed by a
fence, though, I make no doubt, it has long since decayed. The name of
the founder will, however, remain,—a better and more enduring memorial.

 [3] “This name was chosen in compliment to the royal family, both
 because I thought it auspicious in itself, and because I could not
 recollect that it had ever been before used in all the king’s
 dominions.”—Galt’s Autobioography.


On my arrival, I drove up to the only tavern in the place, a small
log-house, kept by one Philip Jones, an Englishman—or, rather, by his
wife—a buxom, bustling body, who was, undoubtedly, the head of the
establishment. In answer to my inquiry for lodgings, she courteously
informed me that she had neither bed nor blanket, but what was doubly
occupied, and, moreover, that she was sure I could not obtain one in
town, as every house was full of emigrants; but as the most of her
lodgers would leave for the Huron tract on the morrow, she should be
able and happy to accommodate me after their departure. With this
promise I was obliged to be satisfied.

I might, perhaps, have succeeded in obtaining a share of a bed, but as
I did not know what population I might gain, or, indeed, what might be
the unpleasant results of such an arrangement, I preferred a hay-loft,
in which I slept soundly till the break of day.

The superintendent and his staff arrived the next morning, when I was
duly installed in my office. Mr. Galt’s coach-house being unoccupied, I
took immediate possession, and converted it into a very respectable
store-house and office, till a building was completed for that purpose.
I was thus fairly established as an _employe_ in the service of the
Canada Company.

The township of Guelph contains upwards of forty thousand acres of
land, of a fair average quality, well timbered, and well watered. I
believe the Company have disposed of all their saleable lots in this
township. I was fully employed the whole summer in constructing two
bridges, one over the Speed, and the other over the Eramosa branch, and
also in opening a good road to each. These bridges were built of cedar
logs, and on a plan of my own, which Mr. Galt highly approved. I
should, however, have preferred square timber, framed in bents, which,
I think, would have been more durable, and better adapted for the
stream they were intended to cross.

Amongst the men under my charge, I had two Mohawk Indians, both of whom
were excellent choppers, and behaved themselves remarkably well. One of
them was called Henhawk, and the other William Fish. The Mohawks are
more civilized, and make better farmers than the Chippewas, and I think
are a finer-looking race of men.[4]

 [4] Benjamin West, the celebrated American painter, on being shown the
 Apollo Belvidere, astonished a number of Italian cognoscenti by
 comparing that _chef d’œuvre_ of ancient Greek art to a young Mohawk
 warrior. But the fine proportions of these savage warriors, and their
 free and graceful action, rendered the remark of this great artist a
 just and beautiful critique, and of a complimentary not a depreciating
 character.


My time passed pleasantly enough at Guelph, for I had plenty of work to
do, and in all labour there is profit. And what could be better for a
healthy, active young man than the employment of assisting in settling
a new country?

The only drawback to my comfort was the temporary loss of the society
of my wife; a pretty, sensible young woman, whose mental and personal
charms had, since my union with her, formed the happiness of my life.
We cannot, however, have every blessing at once, and I worked on
cheerfully in the hope of getting things comfortably round me for my
dear girl against the moment when she would join me.

Besides the services rendered to the Company, I performed _con amore_
some gratuitous ones for the benefit of the township of Guelph, which
will, doubtless, both surprise and astonish my readers. We had no
medical man in Guelph for some months after my arrival, so, for want of
a better, I was obliged to turn physician and surgeon, and soon became
very skilful in bleeding and tooth-drawing, and, as I charged nothing,
you may be sure I had plenty of customers. And so well pleased was Dr.
Dunlop with my proficiency, that he invariably sent all his patients to
me.

I remember one time in particular, he came over to my office and
inquired for me, when, on the store-porter telling him I had just gone
out, he said,

“Tell him when he comes back, to take the calomel and jalap down to my
house, and treat those Paisley bodies with a dose apiece.”

“What! all of them, sir?”

“Yes, to be sure; they are but just arrived, and have got as fat as
pigs on the voyage. Some of their bacon must be taken off, or with this
heat we shall have them all sick on our hands. And tell him not to
spare the jalap.”

When I returned and heard the message, I literally obeyed his order by
administering forty-two doses of various strengths to the men, women
and children, designated by the Doctor as the “Paisley bodies.”

This wholesale way of medical treatment was in this instance attended
with a good effect; for there did not occur a single case of sickness
amongst them during the summer.

Shortly after this, a medical man, a Mr. W——, applied for a town-lot
and commenced practice. This gentleman was certainly a great oddity. He
never had but two patients that I ever heard of, and they both died.
The settlers used to call him the “mad doctor,” and I believe not
without good reason. He built a log-house without any door, his mode of
entrance being through a square hole he had cut out of the end of the
house about six feet from the ground.

I walked over to his place one day to speak to him on some business,
and found him very busy in his garden, driving into the ground a great
quantity of short sticks.

I asked him “what all those sticks were for.”

“Why you see, sir, I have planted part of my garden with Indian corn,
and I am putting sticks down to mark the places where I have planted
them.”

A day or two afterwards I met him wearing his coat turned inside out,
the rough seams and red-edging of which had a very curious effect. I
inquired “what might be his reason for going about in such a costume?”

“Well, you see I call this my morning attire; in the evening I have
nothing to do but turn my coat, and, lo! I am dressed; a very capital
arrangement, and quite good enough for the Bush. Do not you think so?”

“As far as regards economy,” I replied, “it may do well enough, and as
you do not appear to care about being laughed at, your plan will
answer: and who knows but that you may have the pleasure of introducing
a new fashion into the colonies?”

Amongst other odd characters I had to deal with, was a Mr. W——, I
believe a portrait and miniature painter by profession, who had
travelled a good deal in Russia, and understood that language well. He
purchased a lot of land from the company on the Waterloo-road, about a
mile from the village. Under the ground-plot chosen by him to build on,
he found there existed a good quarry of limestone; so he made up his
mind to build a stone-house, although he had spent his last dollar, and
his profession in a new and poor settlement would avail him very
little.

However, he went to work, excavating the stone which he had found when
digging his cellar, for building the walls of his house: his only
assistant in the undertaking was a delicate ladylike young woman, whom
he had married in the United States, and brought here as a bride. He
treated his unfortunate partner like a slave. She had to mix and carry
all the mortar, and help him to raise the stone.

I often, on an evening, walked down to see how they were getting on
with their job, and was quite astonished to find how well they
progressed. But, at the same time, I pitied the poor wife exceedingly,
whom the neighbours said he treated very harshly, notwithstanding her
conjugal devotion to him.

At the end of three months his creditors began to threaten him. His
land was still unpaid for, and the walls of his house unfinished. When
too late, he counted the cost of completion, and found his best plan
was to take a Yankee leave, and clear out, leaving his unfinished home
as a legacy to his creditors.

How to beat a retreat, and take his goods and chattels with him,
without discovery, was a difficult matter. He, however, set his wits to
work, and adopted the following plan, which, in theory, looked feasible
enough, but, when put in practice, was found not quite so easy as he
had anticipated.

He knew that the river Speed, which ran at the rear of his lot, after a
course of fourteen or fifteen miles, debouched into the Grand River,
and was, from thence, navigable for boats to Lake Erie, a distance of
some seventy or eighty miles further. He, therefore, conceived the plan
of building a small scow,[5] large enough to hold his wife, himself,
and his effects, and silently dropping down with the current, bade
adieu to their sylvan retreat, and the great city of Guelph, which,
however, he was destined to see again, much sooner than he expected.

 [5] A long-shaped flat-bottomed boat of the same width the entire
 length, rising gently at each end, built of two-inch plank, and much
 used on shallow rivers and creeks.


He built his boat close to the river’s edge, having, with the
assistance of his wife, carried the planks down for that purpose. I
suppose he took a lesson from Robinson Crusoe, not to build his scow
too far from the water.

Everything being ready, the boat was launched and freighted, our hero
in the stern, with steering paddle in hand, and his patient _compagnon
de voyage_ acting, as bowman.

The Speed is a shallow, swift, running stream, seldom exceeding three
feet in depth during the dry season. For the first mile they got on
pretty well, till they came to a jam of drift wood; over this with
great difficulty they hauled their scow; every few yards fresh
obstructions occurred in the shape of snags, fallen trees, and drift
wood, which caused them to upset twice before they had accomplished the
second mile, till at last an extensive jam across the river many yards
in length, put a complete barrier to their further advance.

Wet and weary, half the day gone, and no chance of proceeding down the
stream, they determined to retrace their course. This was not easy to
accomplish, for the current was too swift to paddle against; so, tying
a short piece of rope to the stem of the scow, he ordered his
unfortunate wife to take the water and tow the boat, whilst he sat in
state in the stern assisting with his paddle.

In the evening, I was walking out with my wife; and as we were passing
I thought we would look in and see how their work progressed, when to
my astonishment I saw Mrs. W—— sitting on a stone, weeping bitterly. I
perceived at once that something extraordinary had occurred, for her
dress was sadly torn and saturated with wet. Upon making an inquiry
respecting her appearance, and the causes of her grief, she told me the
sad story I have just related, adding, that they had only just got back
from their expedition, and that all her clothes, bed, and blankets were
wringing wet.

My wife, who had lately joined me, and was of a most kind disposition,
always ready to help those in distress, offered her an asylum for a few
days, and a change of apparel, which she thankfully accepted. Her
brutal husband cleared out the next day, and she joined him the week
following.

Some time afterwards, I was told that Mrs. W—— had committed suicide,
goaded, doubtless, to desperation by the ill usage of her partner, and
the hardships she had to endure. As this, however, is only hearsay, I
will not vouch for its truth; though from my knowledge of the parties I
am afraid it was only too true.




CHAPTER XVI.


PORCUPINE-CATCHING.—HANDSOME BEHAVIOUR OF MR.
GALT.—OWLINGALE.—INTRODUCTION TO THE SON OF THE CELEBRATED INDIAN
CHIEF, BRANDT.—EXPEDITION TO WILMOT.—SHAM WOLVES.—NIGHT IN A BARN WITH
DR. DUNLOP.—THE DOCTOR AND HIS SNUFF-BOX.—HIS BATH IN THE NITH.—LOUIS
XVIII. AND HIS TABATIERE.—CAMP IN THE WOODS.—RETURN TO GUELPH.

One day, being out in the woods with an emigrant, examining a lot of
land, I was attracted by the barking of my dog, who had treed some
animal, which, upon coming up, I discovered was a porcupine. We cut
down the tree, a small beech, in which he had taken refuge, and secured
him alive. I did not notice my dog till I got home, when I found his
mouth was full of quills, which the porcupine, in self-defence, had
darted into him. The manner in which they accomplish this is, by
striking the object that offends them with their tail, when the outside
points of the quills, being finely barbed, if inserted ever so
slightly, retain their hold, and are easily detached from the porcupine
without pain.

I once lost a fine Irish greyhound, who was stuck full of quills in
this way, although I pulled out hundreds of them from his mouth, head,
and different parts of his body, with a pair of pincers. In fact, some
of these barbs had worked into him nearly their whole length, so that I
had a difficulty in getting hold of the end of the quills to extract
them; and I have no doubt, as the dog died, that many of them had
completely buried themselves in some vital part, and caused his death.

I took home my prize, and put it into a barrel in a dark corner of the
store, which was half full of nails. A few minutes afterwards, Dr.
Dunlop, as he often did, came in to see me, and drink a glass of cider,
of which I had at that time some of excellent quality in bottle. The
Doctor, as he said, used to “improve” it, making what he called, “a
stone-fence,” by inserting a small _soupcon_ of brandy from a
pocket-pistol, which he was too much in the habit of carrying about
with him in hot weather.

“Now,” said I, “Doctor, I know you like a bit of fun. When Fielding,
the porter, comes in, ask him to go to that barrel in the corner and
fetch you a nail; for I have got a live porcupine in it that I have
just brought home from the woods.”

The Doctor was mightily tickled with the notion; so, as soon as poor
Fielding made his appearance, he sent him off to the barrel. Quite
unsuspiciously the man put in his hand for the nail, and as quickly
drew it out again, with the addition of some half a score quills
sticking to his fingers, to the no small delight of the Doctor, who
greatly enjoyed Fielding’s consternation, for the porter thought the
devil himself was in the tub.

Every one who came into the store during the afternoon was served the
same trick by the Doctor, and it was certainly amusing to watch their
countenances and hear their remarks, those who showed the most anger
being of course the most laughed at for their pains.

Shortly after, a Mr. Smith, an accountant, was sent out by the
directors to examine the accounts, and report on the state of the
Company’s affairs in the colony. A few days after his arrival, he went
round with the superintendent, and examined the works that had been
completed, and those in progress. Mr. Galt and the accountant both
expressed themselves much pleased with what I had done, especially with
the bridge connecting the clergy-block (now called the township of
Puslinch) with the town of Guelph.

In the afternoon, Mr. Smith called upon me and said he was authorized
by the superintendent to arrange with me as to the amount of salary I
was to receive. He then informed me the amount that Mr. Galt had
instructed him to offer me—a liberal income, and the use of a house
rent-free, desiring him at the same time to express his satisfaction at
the manner in which I had conducted the operations since my engagement
with the Company, in which, he said, from what he had seen, he fully
concurred.

As this result was entirely unsolicited by me, and as it was generally
understood that the accountant had been sent out partly as a check on
the superintendent, to prevent extravagant expenditure, I took this as
a compliment paid by both to my abilities and integrity.

Several of the clerks had light neatly-made boats, in which we used to
make excursions up the Speed for the purpose of trout-fishing. I think,
without exception, this stream is the best for that species of fish I
ever saw. I have frequently caught a pailful of these delicious trout
in the space of two or three hours. For my own part, I found a small
garden-worm the best bait; but one of our clerks, a Mr. Hodgett, was
skilful with the fly, and consequently used to catch his fish in a more
scientific manner.

My native county, Suffolk, with the exception of that part watered by
the Waveney, is not famed for its fly-fishing: therefore I was no adept
in the gentle art, but in ground-bait angling I consider myself no
contemptible performer.

The small streams and creeks are so overarched with trees in Canada,
that it is almost impossible, except in odd spots, to make a cast with
the fly without endangering your tackle.

The speckled trout in the river Speed vary in size from four ounces to
a pound and a half, though it is seldom that one of the latter size is
captured.

Guelph I consider to be remarkably healthy, and for an inland town very
prettily situated. I think, however, that the town-plot was laid out on
too large a scale—especially the market-place, which is large enough
for a city containing fifty thousand inhabitants. I have not been there
since 1832. It has since become the assize-town for the Wellington
district, and consequently has greatly increased both in size and
population.

Although I had been several months a resident in Guelph, I had neither
seen nor heard a clergyman of the Established Church. Why are we always
the last to send labourers into the vineyard? No sooner does a small
village, composed of a mill, a black-smith’s shop, and a few houses,
spring up in the woods, than you find a Presbyterian, Methodist, or
Baptist Church—or perhaps all three—settled there immediately. No
wonder, then, that our church is losing ground when so little energy is
displayed either in building churches or sending active and zealous men
to preach the gospel.

The first person I heard preach in Guelph was a tailor, who had made a
professional visit to the city, and who had the reputation of being
considered a very eloquent man. Due notice having been given, a large
congregation assembled to hear Mr. H——, who, to do him justice, was
eloquent enough, though his sermon was all in his own praise from
beginning to end.

He said that “he had once been a great infidel and an evil liver, but
now he was converted, and was as good as he formerly had been wicked;
and be hoped that all his hearers would take example from him and do as
he had done—forsake the crooked paths and steadfastly follow the
straight.” After this autobiographical discourse was at length over,
and a brother snip invited him to dinner, I was also honoured with an
invitation, which my curiosity induced me to accept.

I found that the party consisted of a magistrate and his wife, from
E——, the mad Doctor, and Mr. Y——, one of the Company’s clerks. Our
host-tailor, No. 1, took the head of the table; the preacher, tailor
No. 2, sat at the foot. The dinner itself was quite a professional
spread, and consisted of a fine fat roast goose at the top, and another
at the bottom—a large dish of cabbage in the centre, and a plate of
hard dumplings on each side. Mr. Y——, who sat opposite, gave me such a
comical look when the second goose made its appearance, that I found it
impossible to suppress my risibility, which, unfortunately for me,
exploded just as the preacher—who, of course, mentally consigned me to
perdition—commenced a long grace; but if the Governor-General himself
had been present, I do not think I could have restrained my inclination
to laugh.

The dinner was certainly excellent of its kind; and in a new settlement
where nothing but salt pork and beef could be obtained, I might with
truth say, that it was a great treat. After the cloth was removed, it
was proposed by the magistrate’s lady, that the company should sing a
hymn, upon which the mad Doctor, who was considered the most pious, as
well as the most scientific, singer of the company, sang like an
owlingale, Pope’s celebrated lines:—

“Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O quit; this mortal frame.


I am ashamed to say that I was obliged to stuff my handkerchief into my
mouth to keep from laughing outright; and no wonder, for I never heard
such an insane screeching in all my life.

In the course of the summer, Mr. Buchanan, the British Consul, visited
Guelph, when the superintendent gave a public dinner at the Priory, to
which I had the honour of an invitation. Amongst other guests was John
Brandt, the chief of the Mohawks, and son of the celebrated chief whom
Campbell the poet, in his “Gertrude of Wyoming,” has stigmatized as—

“The monster, Brandt,
With all his howling, desolating band.”


And again—

“Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe,
Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth.”


It is said that John Brandt was very angry when these lines were
pointed out to him.[1]

 [1] Campbell subsequently made an apology to him.


On his health being drunk, he acknowledged the courtesy in a short but
eloquent speech. He was not handsome, though rather a fine-looking man.
I believe he died of cholera in 1832.

One day, Dr. Dunlop came to my house, and informed me that I was to
accompany him on an expedition to the township of Wilmot, joining the
Huron tract, to examine the site, and make a report of the probable
cost of building a bridge over the river Nith—or “Smith’s Creek,” as it
was then called—one of the tributaries of the Grand River. “The
accountant,” he said, “has taken it into his head that he will
accompany us; and, as he has never been in the Bush before, won’t we
put him through his facings before he gets back? that is all. Mind, and
keep your eye on me. When I am ready to play him off, I will give the
signal to you.”

“Well, Doctor,” said I, “if you will take the blame, I have no
objection to the fun; but remember! I am a very young man, and if Mr.
Smith should complain to the Company—”

“Oh, never fear,” was his reply, “for I will make it all right with
Galt, if he do. In the meantime, order my man to saddle the horses. Let
the Cockney have the roan-mare. You can take your own pony; and do not
forget to tell Hinds to bring the brandy. Should we have to camp out
all-night, a small _soupcon_ of the creature will do us no harm.”

Everything being in readiness, we started about two o’clock, P.M. Our
route lay through the new settlement of Guelph and the fine townships
of Upper and Lower Waterloo. This tract of land was originally bought
and settled by a company of Dutch Pennsylvanians, upwards of fifty
years ago. The Grand River, or Ouse, intersects these townships—a fine
stream, spanned by several substantial bridges. This part of the
country is densely populated and very fertile. The soil, for the most
part, is a light rich loam.

As soon as we had crossed the open country, we entered a narrow
bush-road, only just wide enough for two persons to ride abreast. It
must be remembered that Smith was a very bad rider, and looked as if he
had never been on horse-back before; for every time he rose in his
saddle you could see his horse’s head under him.

The Doctor now gave me the wink to fall into the rear; then riding up
abreast of Smith, he commenced operations by slyly sticking his spur
into the roan mare, exclaiming at the same time, “Come, man, if we
don’t push on a little, we shall not reach Blenheim to-night.”

As soon as the roan mare felt the spur, off she went at a rattling
pace, the Dr. keeping close along-side, and applying the spur whenever
he could get a chance. At first, Smith tried hard to pull in the mare;
then he shouted to the Doctor to stop her; instead of which, the spur
was only applied the sharper. At last, quite frightened, he seized the
mane with both his hands. And then commenced a neck-and-neck race for
nearly two miles—myself and the Doctor’s man, John Hinds, bringing up
the rear, and shouting with laughter. Smith was so frightened, and so
intent on stopping his run-away steed, that he never suspected his
persecutor who, looking quite grave, said, “He never remembered his
roan running off in that extraordinary manner before; but,” he added
with a grin, “I suspect, Smith, she knew you were a Cockney.”

After this exploit, we went on soberly enough, until we entered the
township of Blenheim. We had still some distance to travel through a
dense forest, before we should reach Springer’s—a farm-house where we
intended to stop all night, and where the Doctor kept a store of good
things, under the charge of Mrs. Springer; for this was always his
halting-place, on his various journeys to Goderich.

Darkness fell as we entered the Blenheim woods, and now the Doctor took
the opportunity of asking me, “If I thought that I could howl?” I
expressed confidence in my abilities that way.

The Doctor then said, “Second any move of mine for pushing you on to
Springer’s. But mind,” continued he, “you are to stop within half a
mile of his clearing; and when you hear us coming, you must howl with
all your might, and leave the rest to me.”

After a while, when it was quite dark, so that we could scarcely see
our horses’ heads, the Doctor proposed that I should take Hinds, and
“ride on as hard as we could, and tell Mrs. Springer to have supper
ready for us; and,” said he, “let the old man tap the whiskey I
forwarded to his house last week. We will follow you at our leisure;
for my friend is not used to travel after dark on such roads as these.”

We accordingly rode on smartly, till we could perceive a slight
glimmering of light through the trees, which we knew to be Springer’s
clearing. We then halted, one on each side of the road, but entirely
concealed from view by the thick underbrush. As soon as we heard the
party coming, we set up a most unearthly yell, which made the woods
fairly ring again. We could hear the Doctor cry out, “The wolves! the
wolves! ride for your life, man,” and he then galloped off in the
direction from which they had just come.

Poor Smith shouted after him at the top of his voice, imploring the
Doctor, for God’s sake, not to leave him. “Oh Lord!” we heard him say,
as he rode after the Doctor, “I shall surely be devoured by the
ravenous wretches. Help—help! Doctor—stop!” and such like piteous
ejaculations.

The Doctor, who had ridden ahead, as soon as he heard his victim
approach, commenced in the same key as we had done before, and a dismal
howling we all made. Fear now compelled poor Smith to wheel the mare
round and ride back, whereupon we again greeted him with a second
edition, even—if that were possible—more diabolical than the first,
which terminated the fun sooner than we expected; for, losing all
presence of mind, he let his steed get off the track into the woods,
and, consequently, he was swept off by the branches. We heard him fall
and roar for help, which we left the Doctor to administer, and made the
best of our way to Springer’s, where, half an hour after, we were
joined by our fellow-travellers, one of whom had scarcely recovered
from his fright, and still looked as pale as a ghost. Two or three
glasses of whiskey-punch, however, soon restored him to his natural
complexion.

I do not know if he ever found out the trick we had so successfully
played him; but if he did, he kept it to himself, rightly judging that
if the story got wind he would never hear the last of it.

Springer had only one spare bed, which we resigned in favour of the
accountant, as some little compensation for the fright he had
sustained. The Doctor and I took possession of the barn, where we found
plenty of fresh hay, which we infinitely preferred to the spare bed and
its familiars. There we slept delightfully, till a chorus of cocks (or
_roosters_, as the more delicate Americans would call them) awakened us
from our repose, to the wrathful indignation of Dunlop, who
anathematized them for “an unmusical ornithological set of fiends.”

We made an early breakfast off fried sausages, and the never-failing
ham and eggs, and were soon again in the saddle. We took the nearest
road to Plum Creek, where we left our horses, and proceeded for the
remaining four miles on foot, through a magnificent forest.

We were now in that part of the township of Wilmot belonging to the
Canada Company, which did not then contain a single farm, but has been
since completely settled. At length, we came to a narrow valley, some
fifty or sixty feet below the level of the country through which we had
been travelling, in the centre of which flowed the Nith, sparkling in
the sun: the wild grapes hanging in rich festoons from tree to tree,
gave an air of rural beauty to the scene. For the convenience of
foot-passengers, some good Samaritan had felled a tree directly across
the stream, which at that place was not more than fifty feet wide. The
current was swift, though not more than four or five feet deep.

Here a small misfortune happened to the Doctor, who was an inveterate
snuff-taker, and carried a large box he called a coffin—I presume from
its resemblance to that dreary receptacle.

While in the act of crossing the temporary bridge, and at the same time
regaling his olfactory nerves with a pinch of the best Irish, his
famous coffin slipped from his grasp and floated away majestically down
the swift-flowing waters of the sylvan Nith.

The Doctor was a man of decision: he hesitated not even for a moment,
but pitched himself headlong into the stream, from which he quickly
emerged with his recovered treasure. It is but justice to my friend
Dunlop, to remind the reader that his extravagant affection for his
snuff-box is not without a parallel in history, since Louis XVIII has
recorded with his own royal hand an attachment to his _tabatiere_,
equally eccentric and misplaced.

Scarcely had this Prince escaped three miles from Paris and its
democrats, when, on putting his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, in
order to take a consoling pinch, he missed his snuff-box, which, in his
hurry, he had left upon his toilette, at the discretion of the mob.
“Mon Dieu, ma tabatiere!” was his horrified exclamation, as he
deliberated for a moment upon a misfortune so overwhelming.

To go back to Paris was only to risk his life, while to proceed on his
journey was to lose his snuff-box. His philo-tabatierishness triumphed:
he returned, snatched up his beloved box, and made it the companion of
his flight; and, in all his vicissitudes, from exile to a throne, he
considered the possession of his favourite _tabatiere_ as his principal
consolation. The Doctor was no less rash than the French monarch, and
in recovering his _tabatiere_ equally fortunate.

A good fire and some brandy soon made the Doctor all right again, after
his cold bath in the Nith. We now prepared our camp for the night: this
we had no trouble in doing, for we found plenty of poles and bark,
which had been used by the labourers, whilst cutting out the road to
the Huron tract. The Doctor’s man had brought a bundle of blankets and
an axe, from Springer’s, and I, like Dalgetty, carried the provender.

While Hinds was cooking the supper, I prepared our bed, by breaking a
quantity of fine hemlock-brush to thatch the bottom of the camp, to
keep us from the damp ground, which it did quite effectually. I have
camped out, I dare say, hundreds of times, both in winter and summer;
and I never caught cold yet. I recommend, from experience, a
hemlock-bed, and hemlock-tea, with a dash of whiskey in it, merely to
assist the flavour, as the best preventive.

The Doctor was in first-rate humour, and seemed determined to make a
night of it; and even the Cockney appeared to enjoy himself amazingly.
I knew, by the wicked eye of the Doctor, that he was bent on mischief.
Hinds was kept busy after supper in making brandy-punch, the Doctor
keeping us in a roar of laughter with his amusing anecdotes. I knew by
the long Latin quotations that Smith indulged in, that he was fast
verging on intoxication. For my part, tired and drowsy, I soon fell
into a state of pleasing forgetfulness, leaving my two companions in
the middle of some learned discussion, the subject of which I have long
forgotten.

In the morning we examined the proposed site for building the bridge,
which we found presented no unusual difficulties. I have since been
informed that excellent mills and a thriving village now occupy the
very spot where we bivouacked on this memorable occasion.

At Plum Creek we again resumed our horses, and, at the village of
Galt[2] we parted company. The Doctor and his man went on to
Flamborough[3] West; whilst Smith and I returned to Guelph, which we
reached a short time after dark, without inflicting on him any more
adventures.

 [2] Galt is a thriving town, situated on the west bank of the Grand
 River, in the township of Dumfries. The town-plot originally belonged
 to the Honourable William Dixon, who gave it that name in compliment
 to the superintendent of the Canada Company.


 [3] One of the prettiest situations in Canada West, commanding a fine
 prospect of Ancaster and the surrounding country; and also the seat of
 the Hon. James Crooks.




CHAPTER XVII.


A NEW WAY OF KEEPING A BIRTHDAY.—LOST IN THE WOODS.—KINDNESS OF MR.
GALT.—ADVICE TO NEW SETTLERS.—UNEXPECTED RETIREMENT OF MR. GALT.—I
ACCOMPANY HIM TO THE LANDING-PLACE.—RECEIVE ORDERS TO LEAVE GUELPH FOR
GODERICH.—WHIRLWINDS AT GUELPH AND DOURO.

The 6th of November was my birthday, so I determined to give myself a
holiday, and go out _still-hunting_. I had been told by some of the
workmen that deer were very plentiful in the Clergy-block, so I started
early in the morning without waiting for my regular breakfast, merely
taking a biscuit, as I was too eager for the sport to have much
appetite; besides, I intended to be home to an early dinner. The sky
was overcast, and a few flakes of snow were falling, but I did not
dislike these signs; for I prefer a little dampness on the leaves,
which causes less noise from the tread—an important point to the
hunter; for when the leaves are crisp and dry, it is useless to attempt
approaching the deer, who are sure to hear you long before you get
within range.

I considered myself a tolerably good woodsman, and was, therefore, not
much afraid of being lost; but I reckoned without my host in this
instance. After crossing the river, I proceeded for some distance along
a hard-wood ridge, till I came to a thicket of brush-wood, out of which
sprang three fine deer, a buck and two does. I fired at the buck as he
scampered off, and had the satisfaction of finding blood on the track,
which I followed for more than two miles. But I lost him at last in the
middle of a cedar-swamp, owing to the quantity of soft snow, which was
by this time falling heavily. I, therefore, thought it best to return
home, and put off my hunt to a more propitious day.

On emerging from the swamp, which I did on the wrong side—for I had no
sun to guide me—I saw a fine doe within fifty yards of me, feeding on
the side of a hill. I thought I was sure of this one at any rate; but,
in this also, I was woefully disappointed; for the powder in the pan of
the lock had got damp by the wet snow, and only flashed in the pan. My
gun had the old flint-lock, percussion-caps being then hardly known in
the colonies.

My second disappointment decided me to return home. This, however, was
sooner said than done; for, after walking for more than two hours, I
found I had lost my way, a conclusion as to which there could be no
mistake. At first, I thought it would be best to take my back-track,
but I found this would not answer; for the snow was melting as fast as
it fell. I could not even avail myself of the common indications for
finding my way, because the under-brush was still loaded with snow, so
that it was quite impossible to see fifty yards in any direction.

Whilst I was debating what I had best do to extricate myself from this
dilemma, I came upon a tolerably fresh blazed line, which I suspected
was the boundary between the townships of Guelph and the
Clergy-reserve-block of Puslinch. In this idea I was perfectly right;
but the question now with me was, in which direction I should follow
the line. After considering for some time, as ill-luck would have it, I
took the wrong route, and, having walked at least three miles, came to
the end of the blaze, where I found a surveyor’s post, on which was
legibly written, in red chalk, on each side, the names of the four
townships, of which it was the corner-post; viz. Guelph, Puslinch,
Nasagiweya, and Eramosa; and lower down on the post, “_seven miles and
a half to Guelph_.” I had, therefore, nothing for it, but to turn back
on the line and retrace my steps. This I did in a smart run, for I saw
the shades of night fast gathering around me.

In less than an hour I had passed the place where I first found the
blaze, but soon after came to a windfall,[1] where I found it
impossible to follow the line through. I was, therefore, compelled to
leave the blaze—my only sure guide—which, however, I still hoped to
re-find, by keeping round the edge of the windfall, till I again struck
the line. Just before dark, I saw a partridge sitting on a log, I
believe. I fresh primed, and snapped half a dozen times at him, without
effect, but the gun had got so wet, that at last I gave it up as a bad
job; though I should have liked him very much for my supper, for which
I had a ravenous appetite.

 [1] A heap of great trees blown down by the wind.


Presently, I came to a nice little spring creek running under some fine
shady cedars. The ground looked dry and mossy; and as it was nearly
dark, I thought the best thing I could do was to camp for the night,
for I knew it was impossible to find my way after dark. I immediately
collected a large quantity of dry balsam-fir, which lay about in great
profusion, and chose a cluster of spreading cedars for my camp. After
this, I piled a large heap of wood against one of the trees; and
rubbing some dry cedar-bark quite fine, put it under my wood. In order
to light my fire, I tore up a piece of a cotton handkerchief, which I
laid over the pan of my gun, newly primed. Having fired the cotton in
this manner, I enclosed it in the cedar-bark, keeping up the flame—not
by using that primitive bellows, my mouth—but, by waving the bark to
and fro, after the method used by the Indians. Thus, I soon had a large
cheerful fire, which I much needed, for I was thoroughly wet.

My first care was to dry my gun and reload it, in case of wolves.
Whilst I was busy doing this, I heard a shot, and then another; but the
gunners were a long way off, as I knew by the sound—certainly not less
than three miles; and as I was quite aware it was useless for me to
attempt to make my way out, I contented myself with firing my gun in
answer to their shots, which, not being repeated, I also ceased firing,
though I had no doubt my neighbours were searching for me, but not near
enough to find me out. However, I discovered the direction in which
Guelph lay, by the sound of their volleys, so I did not despair, as I
felt sure of being able to regain my home in the morning.

The snow soon ceased to fall, and the night came out fine and clear,
though rather sharp. I had a famous fire, and slept tolerably well,
though awaking occasionally with the cold; when I would replenish the
fire and turn my chilled side to the blaze, by which means I managed to
pass the night as well as I could expect under the circumstances,
considering, too, that I had eaten nothing from six o’clock the
previous morning.

By day-break, I was on my march in the direction in which I supposed
Guelph to lie. The sun rose clear and bright, which enabled me to make
a true course in half an hour; for I began to recognize ridges I had
before traversed in former hunting excursions; and was soon confirmed
in this opinion, by the firing of guns and blowing of horns in the
direction I was going. In a few minutes, I heard two men in
conversation, one of whom was a native of Somersetshire, living close
to me. I stepped behind a large tree, directly in their path, when I
heard my neighbour say to his companion—“This is the way he generally
takes; I will warrant we shall find he.” At that instant, I fired my
gun close to them, which made them start with surprise. They then
informed me that Mr. Galt had sent out all the workmen in search of me.
This I was well-aware of, from the continual volleys which rang in all
directions. We were soon out on the main-road leading to the bridge,
where I found more than fifty of the inhabitants looking for me.

This birthday hunting excursion turned out anything but a frolic; for
the result was, twenty-six hours’ starvation and the loss of a fine
buck; besides my being hungry, weary, and stiff, from sleeping all
night in the woods. Moreover, in common gratitude, I was bound to treat
my neighbours and the workmen sent to look for me, and the treat cost
me five gallons of whiskey. To add to this chapter of accidents, two of
the party who turned out to hunt for me in the woods, lost themselves,
and spent the night in as disagreeable a manner as I had myself done.

I would advise all new settlers to provide themselves with a
pocket-compass, which can be procured for a few shillings. This should
be suspended round the neck by a ribbon, in the same manner as a
watch—and I need not add that in the Bush it is of infinitely more use.

My employments in the Company’s service often obliged me to leave home
and take long journeys—fatiguing enough, indeed, they often were. But
youth is the season of enterprise, and always have accustomed myself to
look upon the bright side of everything, leaving to the grumblers the
reverse of the picture, upon which I fear they are only too fond of
dwelling. But I am sure a cheerful spirit is the best assistant in
carrying a settler through every difficultly.

Early in the spring of 1829, I made a tour of the Newcastle district,
selling land and receiving payments for the Company. Whilst so
employed, I received a letter from the superintendent, informing me of
his resignation, and appointing me to meet him in Toronto with what
money I had collected.

I was very sorry to hear of Mr. Galt’s retirement. He had always acted
in a kind and liberal manner towards me; and, indeed, when he left the
Company, I considered that I had lost a true and affectionate friend. I
could not help, therefore, noticing with regret that, although most of
the clerks belonging to the office were at that time in Toronto, only
Dr. Dunlop, Mr. Reid[2] and myself accompanied Mr. Galt to the
landing-place to see him depart and cry “God speed!” But this is the
way of the world. Those who should be most grateful when the hour of
adversity dawns on their benefactor, are often the first to desert him.

 [2] Mr. Galt’s friend and ornate secretary.


On the same day the Doctor introduced me to one of our new
Commissioners, Thomas Mercer Jones, Esq., a fine gentlemanly-looking
person. The other Commissioner was the Hon. William Allen. These
gentlemen were appointed by the directors to supersede Mr. Galt in the
direction of the Company’s affairs in Canada. On my return to Guelph, I
received an intimation that I must prepare to take up my residence in
Goderich, as my services in future would be required in the Huron
tract.

A few days before my departure, I witnessed the most appalling land
tornado (if so I may term it), I ever saw in my life. As this is a
phenomenon seldom if ever witnessed in England, I think a particular
description may possibly interest those readers who are unaccustomed to
such eccentricities of Nature.

In my hunting excursions and rambles through the Upper Canadian
forests, I had frequently met with extensive windfalls; and observed
with some surprise that the fallen trees appeared to have been twisted
off at the stumps, for they lay strewn in a succession of circles. I
also remarked, that these windfalls were generally narrow, and had the
appearance of a wide road slashed through the forest.

From observations made at the time, and since confirmed, I have no
doubt Colonel Reid’s theory of storms is a correct one, viz.:—“That all
windstorms move in a circular direction, and the nearer the centre, the
more violent the wind.” Having seen the effects of several similar
hurricanes since my residence in Canada West, I shall describe one
which happened in the township of Guelph, during the early part of the
summer of 1829.

The weather, for the season of the year (May) had been hot and sultry,
with scarcely a breath of wind stirring. I had heard distant thunder
from an early hour of the morning, which from the eastward is rather an
unusual occurrence. About ten A.M. the sky had a most singular, I may
say, a most awful appearance; presenting to the view a vast arch of
rolling blackness, which seemed to gather strength and density as it
approached the zenith. All at once the clouds began to work round in
circles, as if chasing one another through the air. Suddenly, the dark
arch of clouds appeared to break up into detached masses, whirling and
eddying through each other in dreadful commotion. The forked lightning
was incessant, accompanied by heavy thunder. In a short space the
clouds seemed to converge to a point, which approached very near the
earth, still whirling with great rapidity directly under this point;
and apparently from the midst of the woods arose a black column in the
shape of a cone, which instantly joined itself to the depending cloud:
the sight was now grand and awful in the extreme.

Let any one picture to the imagination a vast column of smoke of inky
blackness reaching from earth to heaven, gyrating with fearful
velocity; bright lightnings issuing from the vortex—the roar of the
thunder—the rushing of the blast—the crashing of timber—the limbs of
trees, leaves and rubbish, mingled with clouds of dust, whirling
through the air—a faint idea is then given of the scene.

“Through all the sky arise outrageous storms,
And death stands threatening in a thousand forms;
Clouds charged with loud destruction drown the day,
And airy demons in wild whirlwinds play;
Thick thunder-claps, and lightnings’ vivid glare
Disturb the sky, and trouble all the air.”


I had ample time for observation as the hurricane commenced its
desolating course about two miles from the town, through the centre of
which it took its way, passing within fifty yards of the spot where a
number of persons and myself were standing watching its fearful
progress. As the tornado approached, the trees seemed to fall like a
pack of cards before its irresistible current. After passing through
the clearing made around the town, the force of the wind gradually
abated, and in a few minutes died away entirely.

As soon as the storm was over, I went to see what damage it had done.
From the point where I first observed the black column to rise from the
woods and join the cloud, the trees were twisted in every direction. A
belt of timber had been levelled to the ground about two miles in
length, and about one hundred yards in breadth: at the entrance of the
town it crossed the river Speed, and up-rooted about six acres of wood
which had been thinned out and left by Mr. Galt as an ornament to his
house.

The Eremosa road was completely blocked up for nearly half a mile, in
the wildest confusion possible. In its progress through the town, it
unroofed several houses, levelled the fences to the ground, and
entirely demolished a frame-barn: windows were dashed in, and in one
instance the floor of a log-house was carried up through the roof. Some
hair-breadth escapes occurred, but, luckily, no lives were lost.

About twelve years since, a storm of this kind occurred in the north
part of the township of Douro, though of less magnitude. I heard an
intelligent settler who resided some years in the township of Madoc
state that, during his residence there, a similar hurricane to the one
I have described, but of a more awful character, passed through a part
of Marmora and Madoc, which had been traced in a north-easterly
direction upwards of forty miles into the unsurveyed lands, the uniform
width of which appeared to be upwards of three quarters of a mile.

It appears very evident that storms of this description have not been
unfrequent in the wooded regions of Canada; and it becomes a matter of
interesting consideration, whether the clearing of our immense forests
will not, in a great measure, remove the cause of these phenomena.

Dark, heavy clouds were gathering in the west,
    Wrapping the forest in funereal gloom;
Onward they roll’d and rear’d each livid crest,
    Like death’s murk shadows frowning o’er earth’s tomb:
From out the inky womb of that deep night
    Burst livid flashes of electric flame:
Whirling and circling with terrific might,
    In wild confusion on the tempest came.
Nature, awakening from her still repose,
    Shudders responsive to the whirlwind’s shock
Feels at her mighty heart convulsive throes;
    Her groaning forests to earth’s bosom rock.

But, hark! what means that hollow rushing sound,
    That breaks the sudden stillness of the morn?
Red forked lightnings fiercely glare around:
    What crashing thunders on the winds are borne!
And see yon spiral column, black as night,
    Rearing triumphantly its wreathing form;
Ruin’s abroad, and through the murky light,
    Drear desolation marks the spirit of the storm.
*   *   *   *   *   *
How changed the scene; the awful tempest’s o’er;
    From dread array and elemental war
The lightning’s flash hath ceased, the thunder’s roar—
    The glorious sun resumes his golden car.[3]


 [3] My description of this whirlwind, and the accompanying lines, have
 already appeared in the “Victoria Magazine,” published in Canada West,
 under the signature of “Pioneer.”




CHAPTER XVIII.


THE HURON TRACT.—JOURNAL OF DR. DUNLOP.—HIS HARDSHIPS.—I LEAVE GUELPH
FOR GODERICH.—WANT OF ACCOMODATION.—CURIOUS SUPPER.—REMARKABLE
TREES.—THE BEVERLY OAK.—NOBLE BUTTER-WOOD TREES.—GODERICH.—FINE WHEAT
CROP.—PURCHASE A LOG-HOUSE.—CONSTRUCTION OF A RAFT.

I had always wished to go to the Huron tract, whose fine lake, noble
forests, and productive soil, have made it a source of wealth to many a
settler. The climate too, was mild, and I had heard a great deal about
it from my gifted and facetious friend Dr. Dunlop, whose services in
exploring that part of their possessions were not only useful but
inestimable to the Company, and, in fact, to emigration in general.

“Dr. Dunlop, the Warden of the Company’s Woods and Forests, surveyed
the great Huron tract in the summer of 1827, assisted by the Chief of
the Mohawk nation, and Messrs. Sproat and MacDonald. They penetrated
the huge untravelled wilderness in all directions, until they came out
on the shores of the Huron, having experienced and withstood every
privation that wanderers can possibly be subject to in such places.”[1]

 [1] Mac Taggart’s “Three Years in Canada.”


The Doctor himself has given a very accurate account of the valuable
resources of the Huron tract. He says in his journal—“I have already
adverted to its nature and fertility, and think I may be justified in
adding, such is the general excellence of the land, that if ordinary
care can be taken to give each lot no more than its own share of any
small swamp in its vicinity, it would be difficult, if not impossible,
to find two hundred acres together in the whole territory, that would
make a bad farm. Although the land may be capable of raising any kind
of produce usual in that country, yet some spots are more particularly
advantageous for particular crops. The black ash-swales (a kind of
swamp) make the best ground for hemp; as by the scourging effect of two
or three crops, the ground will be made more fit for the raising of
wheat, for which, in the original state, it is too strong. The rich
meadows by the side of the rivers, (more especially such as are
annually overflowed,) are ready without farther preparation, for
tobacco, hemp, and flax. The lower meadows, and meadows adjoining
Beaver dams, which are abundant, produce at this moment enormous
quantities of natural hay and pasture; and the rest of the land, for
the production of potatoes, Indian corn, wheat, and other grain, is at
least equal, if not superior, to any other land in the Canadas.
Independent of the swamps, the timber on the land is very soon
described.

“The sugar-maple is the principal growth, and the size and height which
it, as well as other trees, attains, sufficiently evince the strength
and power of the soil. Next to this come the beech, elm, and bass-wood,
in various proportions. In some instances, the beech and elm
predominate over the maple, but this is rare. Near the streams the
hemlock is found; and interspersed through the whole is the cherry,
butter-nut, the different species of oak, and the birch.”[2]

 [2] Mac Taggart’s “Journal of Dr. Dunlop.”


In exploring this, then unknown, wilderness, Dr. Dunlop encountered
many difficulties, and was more than once in danger of
starvation—though an Indian Mohawk Chief shared his risks and
perils.[3] As he told a story admirably well, I was delighted to hear
him discuss his peregrinations over a glass of brandy-punch, of which
he was very fond. Whatever might have been his feelings at the time, he
only made a joke of his trials at the period in which he related them
to me.

 [3] Mac Taggart’s “Journal of Dr. Dunlop.”


I should have experienced some regret in quitting Guelph, if the
society had been more to my taste. The only persons of education in
that town were, in fact, the Company’s officers, many of whom I might
reasonably expect to meet again at Goderich. Of course, I found some
exceptions, but the average was not in favour of Guelph. Besides, the
water was an attraction to me, as my Suffolk home was within a short
distance of the German Ocean. Brought up so near a sea-port, my natural
inclinations made me dislike an inland situation; and if I were not
going to have a sea-side residence, at least the shores of the mighty
Huron Lake came the nearest to it in my estimation.

I left Guelph early in June with Mr. Prior, the Company’s agent at
Goderich. Our road after leaving Springer’s in Blenheim lay through the
township of Wilmot to the southern boundary of the Huron tract, and
from thence nearly in a straight line to the town of Goderich at the
mouth of the river Maitland, on Lake Huron, on our route for a distance
of nearly seventy miles, being bounded on the east by the townships of
North Easthope, Ellice, Logan, McKillop, Hullett, and the east part of
Goderich to the west, by South Easthope, Downie, Fullarton, Hibbert,
Tucker Smith, and the west part of Goderich.

This road was a mere sleigh-track through the woods, newly cut out, and
rarely exceeding twelve feet in width. At this time we saw only three
log-cabins during the whole way, these being about twenty miles apart
from each other. These three were kept by Dutch or German emigrants,
who supplied travellers with whiskey and provisions—when they had
any—which was not always the case. Indeed, I can testify, to my sorrow,
to the uncertainty of finding a decent table provided for guests by
these foreigners; for I once had to stop at old Sebach’s, the centre
house, for the night, and being tired by a long day’s march through the
snow, I had calculated on making a capital supper. Not that I expected
anything better than tea, fried pork and bread and butter, to which,
hungry as I was, I should no doubt have done ample justice. Judge,
then, of my astonishment and disappointment, when mine hostess placed
before me a piece of dirty-looking Indian meal-bread, and a large cake
of beef-tallow, and, to wash down this elegant repast, a dish of crust
coffee without either milk or sugar, assuring me at the same time in
her broken English, “That she had nothing better in the house till the
return of her husband, who had gone fifty miles to the mill and store
for a supply of flour, groceries, and other fixings.”

Not being a Russian, I rejected the tallow with disgust, and made but a
sorry meal of the other delicacies.

On our route, we crossed several pretty streams, the principal of which
are the Avon, then called the Little Thames, the Big Thames, and the
Black Water. The Bayfield does not cross the road, though it makes a
bend close to it, and within sight. I believe I am correct in saying,
that we did not cross a single cedar-swamp from the time we entered the
Huron tract[4] till we reached Goderich, a distance of sixty-seven
miles. I consider this block the finest tract of land I ever travelled
over in Canada West.

 [4] “This interesting portion of the Company’s possessions contains a
 million of acres in one block, within the compass of which a bad farm
 could scarcely be found. The soil is a rich black loam, on clay or
 limestone; and as it is entirely timbered with the best kind of hard
 wood, no land in the Province is so well adapted for the manufacture
 of potash, an object of considerable importance to the industrious
 settler. It is bounded, for an extent of sixty miles, by Lake Huron;
 is a separate district; and Goderich, its principal town, where the
 district courts are held, is situated at the confluence of the river
 Maitland with Lake Huron, where it forms an admirable harbour. The
 population of the town is seven hundred, and there are several good
 stores and shops in it; mechanics carrying on some useful trades.
 There are also an episcopal church and other houses of religious
 worship, and a good school, where the higher branches of the classics
 are taught, as well as the more ordinary routine of
 education.”—Statistics published by the Canada Company.


The land is well timbered with the best description of hard wood,
amongst which is to be found in considerable abundance, the black
cherry. This tree grows often to a large size, and is used extensively
for furniture, particularly for dining-tables: if well made and
polished, it is little inferior to mahogany, either in appearance or
durability.

I remember, on this very journey, that Mr. Prior and myself were much
struck by the size and magnificent appearance of one of these
cherry-trees, which grew close to the road side, not far from the Big
Thames. Two years afterwards, passing the same tree, I got out of my
sleigh and measured the circumference as high as I could reach, which I
found to be ten feet seven inches, and, I should think, it was not less
than fifty feet in height from the ground to the first branch: it is a
great pity to see such noble trees as these either burned or split up
into fencing rails.

I think the largest tree of the hard wood species I ever saw in this
country, was near Bliss’s Tavern, in the township of Beverly, and it
was called the Beverly-oak.[5] I was induced to visit this giant of the
woods from the many accounts I had heard of its vast dimensions, and
was, certainly, astonished at its size and symmetry. I measured it as
accurately as I could about six feet from the ground, and found the
diameter to be as nearly eleven feet as possible, the trunk rising like
a majestic column towering upwards for sixty or seventy feet before
branching off its mighty head. Mr. Galt, who was induced to visit this
tree from my description has, in his “Autobiography,” mentioned the
height of the trunk from the ground to the branches, as eighty feet;
but I think he has overrated it. I was accompanied to the tree by the
landlord, who remarked, “that he calculated that he should cut that
’ere tree down some day, for he guessed it would make enough rails to
fence the side of a ten acre field”

 [5] “On the road to Guelph, a short distance from Galt, there is an
 uncleared portion of the primeval forest, on the edge of the township
 of Beverly, where, in those days, a small tavern, convenient to rest
 the horses of travellers, was situated. One day, when I stopped at
 this house, while my horse was taking his corn, I strayed into the
 woods, not many hundred yards, and came to a tree, the most stupendous
 I had ever seen.
    “At the first glance, the trunk reminded me of the London Monument,
    an effect of the amaze which the greatness of its dimensions
    produced. I measured its girth, however, at the height of a man
    from the ground, and it was thirty-three feet, above which the
    trunk rose without a branch to the height of at least eighty feet,
    crowned with vast branches.
    “This was an oak, probably the greatest known, and it lifted its
    head far above the rest of the forest. The trees around, myrmidons
    of inferior growth, were large, massy, and vigorous, but possessed
    none of the patriarchal antiquity with which that magnificent
    ‘monarch of the woods’ was invested. I think, therefore, that I was
    not wrong in imagining it the scion of a forest that had passed
    away, the ancestral predecessor of the present woods.
    “Had I been convinced it was perfectly sound, I would have taken
    measures for cutting it down and sending home planks of it to
    Windsor Castle. The fate that awaited it would have justified the
    profanation. The doubt of its soundness, however, and the
    difficulty of finding tools large enough to do it justice,
    procrastinated the period of its doom. I recommended the landlord
    of the tavern to direct his guests, from time to time, to inspect
    this Goliath of oaks.”—Galt’s “Autobiography.”


I replied, “Surely, you would not be such a Goth as to cut down such a
splendid oak merely for fence-wood, when you have plenty of rail-timber
which will answer that purpose equally well; and, besides, it may be
the means of drawing customers to your tavern.”

“I do not know what you mean by a Goth; but I do know, if I could get a
crosscut saw long enough to cut that tree, I would not let it stand
there long; for you see it is mighty straight in the grain, and would
split like a ribbon.”

Thus was this gigantic specimen of the primeval forest preserved for a
time, because there was not a saw long enough to cut it through in
Canada. I dare say there are many old oaks in England that exceed this
in diameter; but I do not believe one is to be found whose length of
trunk can be at all compared to it.

On the flats about a mile from the mouth of the Maitland, are some very
large button-wood trees. There is one, in particular, growing near a
fine spring of water, the circumference of which appeared very vast,
though I did not measure it; but the tree was a complete shell, and had
a sort of natural arched doorway, just high enough to admit a
full-sized man. I was once inside this tree with Dr. Dunlop and eleven
other persons, at the same time. The trunk of this tree forked at
twelve or fourteen feet from the ground. There are several others of
this species near to the one I have described, of very large growth,
which apparently are sound, but not equalling it in size.

I left a noble oak-tree standing in the middle of one of my fields in
the township of Douro, which I hoped I should have been able to
preserve, as it was such a remarkably fine tree. It, however, was
doomed to destruction; for in the summer of 1838, it was twice struck
with lightning in the space of a week. The first time, the bark only
was furrowed by the electric fluid, but at the second stroke it was
split from the top to the bottom, and thrown down by the violence of
the shock. I measured this tree correctly, and found the diameter,
twenty-four feet from the ground, to be five feet three inches. The
length of the trunk was forty-eight feet up to the first branch, and it
was perfectly sound to within three or four feet of the soil.

Generally speaking, the white or American pine, from its vast length of
trunk, contains a larger number of cubic feet than any other tree in
the Canadian forest. I have seen several of these pines sold for masts,
the trunks of which were upwards of one hundred feet in length, and
full three feet in diameter, a third of the way up from the butt-end.
There is very little pine-timber on the Huron tract, which, though a
disadvantage in regard to building, is all the better in respect to the
land, hard wood being the best indication of a good soil.

I did not—as I have said—regret my transfer to Goderich, though that
flourishing town was then in its infancy, the most unpleasant aspect in
which any Canadian settlement can be viewed. Still, I am pleased that I
have had the opportunity of tracing some of these important places from
their dawn to their present prosperous condition.

I found the general aspect of the country level. There is scarcely a
rise of land sufficient to justify the appellation of hill from Wilmot
to Goderich; but as you approach the lake, the land becomes more
rolling, and better watered by fine spring streams.

I was quite delighted with the situation of Goderich, though the
town-plot was only just surveyed. Three frame-houses were in process of
building. A log-house, beautifully situated on a bold hill, overlooking
the harbour, called by Dr. Dunlop, the Castle,[6] and a dozen or so of
log-cabins, comprised the whole town of Goderich, most of the latter
being inhabited by French Canadians and half-breeds. The upper town is
situated on a fine cliff fronting the lake and harbour, and upwards of
one hundred feet above the level of the water.

 [6] “In the afternoon of the following day, we saw afar off, by our
 telescope, a small clearing in the forest, and on the brow of a rising
 ground a cottage delightfully situated. The appearance of such a sight
 in such a place was unexpected, and we had some debate, if it could be
 the location of Dr. Dunlop, who had guided the land-exploring party
 already alluded to. Nor were we left long in doubt; for on approaching
 the place we met a canoe, having on board a strange combination of
 Indians, velveteens and whiskers, and discovered within the roots of
 the red hair, the living features of the Doctor. About an hour after,
 having crossed the river’s bar of eight feet, we came to a beautiful
 anchorage of fourteen feet water, in an uncommonly pleasant small
 basin. The place had been selected by the Doctor, and is now the site
 of the flourishing town of Goderich.”—Galt’s “Autobiography.”


The lower town comprises a few acres of alluvial flat, only a few feet
elevated above the river. This piece of land was destitute of trees or
stumps, and had evidently been cleared many years ago by the Indians,
who had cultivated it with Indian corn. I ploughed up this flat of land
for the benefit of the Company, and sowed it with oats in the spring of
’29; and, therefore, I can justly claim the honour—for the sake of
which I did it—of putting the first plough into the ground of the Huron
tract. I also put in four acres of wheat on the top of the hill near
the castle, in the fall of the same year, the yield of which was
upwards of forty bushels to the acre—a good yield for any country,
especially when it is considered that at least one-twelfth of the
ground may be fairly deducted for stumps of trees, stones, and other
obstructions, usually found in all new clearings. I believe, however, I
may say without exaggeration, that the Company’s tract may safely
challenge any other block of land of the same dimensions either in
Canada East or West, for fertility of soil, average yield per acre, or
healthiness of the climate.[7]

 [7] “The Canada Company’s Huron tract is known to be one of the most
 healthy and fertile settlements in Canada. The tract in the year 1842
 contained 7101 souls. In June last year (1849) the Huron district
 numbered 20,450 souls, according to official reports, exclusive of the
 townships of Bosanquet and Williams. The Canada Company’s tract now
 contains a population of 26,000 souls, showing an increase of 18,900,
 and that the population has nearly quadrupled itself in seven years—a
 progress of settlement of a tract of country scarcely exceeded in any
 part of the North America.”—Information to Emigrants by Frederick
 Widder, Esq.


I bought a small log-house and town-lot, or rather the good-will of
them, from a French Canadian, putting myself in his place with the
Company, with whom I completed the purchase. The situation was very
pretty, commanding a fine view of the Lake. I immediately prepared to
build a suitable house, to receive my wife and family, whom I had been
under the necessity of leaving behind me in Guelph, till I could make
suitable preparations to receive them here.

At this time, there was only one saw-mill[8] in the whole Company’s
tract, and that was ten miles up the river, situated near the mouth of
a large creek, which flowed into the Maitland. This mill was built
close to one of the finest pine-groves in the block.

 [8] “In no situation can settlers be distant from a mill, as there are
 at convenient places distributed throughout the tract twelve
 grist-mills and twenty saw-mills, and the facilities for communication
 are very great; for seventeen of the townships are bounded on the one
 side by the great roads traversing the tract in two directions for one
 hundred miles in extent, and six of them are bounded by the Lake on
 the other side.”—Statistics published by the Canada Company.


I hired a man, who had been a raftsman on the Delaware, to go with me
by land up to the mill, for a few thousand feet of boards, that I
required for my new house. It was only seven miles to the mill by a new
cut-out sleigh-track, through the township of Goderich as far as the
Falls, which we crossed by wading the river just above them, which at
that time we were able to do, though not without some caution; for,
although the spring-floods were considerably abated, the water ran with
great rapidity, and in some places was up to our middles; but with the
help of a strong setting-pole, we got over with safety.

We made our little raft in three cribs, of a thousand feet of boards in
each crib, which we connected together by short pieces of scantling,
which are bored near each end with a two-inch auger and strung on the
corner-pickets of each crib, thus uniting them in one length. At each
end of the raft, a long oar is securely fixed, in temporary rowlocks
for that purpose.

The whole course of the river, from the mill to the harbour at
Goderich, is a strong rapid: two perpendicular falls occur in its
course to the lake. The Upper, or Big Fall, is about six feet, and the
Little Fall three. We made a capital run down, though in plunging over
the first Fall we were up to our arm-pits in water. But our little raft
rose gallantly to the surface; and we encountered no further
difficulty.

I enjoyed my trip down the river amazingly. I do not know anything more
delightful, when all goes well than being borne over the foaming rapids
at the rate of eight or ten miles an hour. The channel of the Maitland
is wide, and the banks picturesque. Our voyage did not exceed an hour,
though the distance was above nine miles.




CHAPTER XIX.


MY NEW HOUSE AT GODERICH.—CARPENTRY AN ESSENTIAL ART.—AMERICAN
ENERGY.—AGREEABLE VISITORS.—MY WIFE’S DISASTERS.—HINTS FOR ANGLERS.—THE
NINE-MILE-CREEK FROLIC.—THE TEMPEST.—OUR SKIPPER AND HIS
LEMON-PUNCH.—SHORT COMMONS.—CAMP IN THE WOODS.—RETURN ON
FOOT.—LUDICROUS TERMINATION TO OUR FROLIC.

My new house at Goderich was constructed with cherry-logs neatly
counter-hewed both inside and out, the interstices between the logs
being nicely pointed with mortar. I had no upstair-rooms, excepting for
stowage. The ground-story I divided into a parlour, kitchen, and three
bedrooms. After office-hours I used to work a good deal at the
carpenter’s bench—for I was always fond of it when a boy. I had made
some useful observations, as well as tormenting our workmen on repairs
at home, with the usual amount of mischief, and I now reaped the
benefit of my juvenile experience. I was able to make the doors, and do
nearly all the insidework of my house myself. Indeed, it is really
essential for the well-doing of the emigrant, that he, or some members
of his family, should have some knowledge of carpentry—in fact, be a
jack-of-all-trades; and, in that excellent profession, educated
persons, healthy in mind and body, excel the most.

There is a very true saying, that necessity is the mother of invention,
and in no country is it better exemplified than in Canada. The emigrant
has there, especially when distant from a town or settlement, to make a
hundred shifts, substituting wood for iron, in the construction of
various articles, such as hinges for barn-door gates, stable and
barn-shovels, and a variety of other contrivances whereby both money
and time are saved.

I have often heard young men say, they “could not” do this or do that.
“Did you ever try?” is a fair question to such people. I believe that
many persons, with average capacities, can effect much more than they
give themselves credit for. I had no more been bred a carpenter than a
civil engineer, in which last capacity I was holding office
satisfactorily. My education had consisted of Latin, Greek, and French,
and the mathematics. My time had been spent in my own country; riding,
shooting, boating, filled up with a little amateur gardening.

Want of energy is not the fault of the Americans; they will dash at
_everything_, and generally succeed. I had known them contract to do
difficult jobs that required the skill of the engineer or regular
architect, and accomplish them cleverly too, although they had never
attempted anything of the kind before; and they generally completed
their task to the satisfaction of the parties furnishing the contract.
“I cannot do it” is a phrase not to be found in the Yankee vocabulary,
I guess.

It is astonishing how a few years’ residence in Canada or the United
States brightens the intellects of the labouring classes. The reason is
quite obvious. The agricultural population of England are born and die
in their own parishes, seldom or never looking out into a world of
which they know nothing. Thus, they become too local in their ideas,
are awake to nought but the one business they have been brought up to
follow; they have indeed no motive to improve their general knowledge.

But place the honest and industrious peasant in Canada, and, no matter
how ignorant he may be, when he sees that by his perseverance and
industry he will in a short time better his situation in life, and most
likely become the possessor of a freehold, this motive for exertion
will call forth the best energies of his mind, which had hitherto, for
want of a proper stimulus, lain dormant. Having to act and think for
himself, and being better acquainted with the world, he soon becomes a
theoretical as well as a practical man, and consequently a cleverer and
more enlightened person, than he was before in his hopeless servitude
in the mother-country.

When I left Guelph, I had arranged with my wife that as soon as I could
get the new house ready, I would send for her. I did not think that
this could possibly be done before sleighing-time, as the newly-cut
road was almost impassable for waggons. Judge, then, of my surprise
when, on returning home from the store-house one day, I noticed the
door of my log-cabin open, and saw a lovely curly-headed child sitting
in the doorway. I could hardly believe my eyes—it was my own little
Maria. My dear little boy had remained at Douro with my wife’s sister
Eliza, of whom he was so fond that my wife did not like to separate
such friends from each other. On my entrance I found my wife surrounded
by a pile of luggage, laughing heartily at my astonishment.

She told me, she felt so lonely that she determined to brave all the
dangers of the road in order to join me. Accordingly, she hired a
settler who was the owner of a waggon and a yoke of oxen, which she
loaded with the most useful articles we required—bedding and
bed-clothes, &c.,—reserving room in the waggon for herself, the child,
and nursemaid.

During the whole of the first day’s journey and part of the next, all
went on smoothly enough, their route lying through settlements; but as
soon as they entered the newly-cut road their difficulties commenced,
and before they had traversed five miles, the waggon was twice upset.
This so alarmed my poor wife, on account of the baby; that she durst
not ride another step of the way, although the travellers had still
upwards of sixty miles to go. Moreover, she was obliged to carry the
child the entire distance; for their teamster had enough to do to look
after and guide his cattle, and the servant girl was too young and too
tired to render much assistance.

Fifteen miles a day was the outside distance they could persuade the
oxen to travel, consequently, they were compelled to camp out two
nights out of the six in which they were on the road. Luckily, the
weather was dry and warm. At night the musquitoes were dreadfully
annoying, as my poor little Maria’s neck and arms too plainly showed.

During the afternoon of the second day, when within six miles of
Trifogle’s tavern, their intended resting-place for the night, they
were overtaken by a man who was going in the same direction, who very
politely—as my wife thought—offered to carry her baby part of the way.
She was, of course, very glad to avail herself of his kind offer; nor
did she perceive, till after he had got possession of the bairn, that
he was intoxicated. She immediately demanded back her little treasure,
but no inducement could persuade him to relinquish it, and he set off
with the infant as fast as he could. In vain the poor mother besought
him to stop—in vain she sobbed and cried. On he went, followed by my
Mary, who found great difficulty in keeping up with him, which she did
at first, till, at length, exhausted by the unusual fatigue, maternal
anxiety, and the roughness of the road, she lost sight of him when
about a mile from the tavern. He had walked off with his little burden.

She was now dreadfully alarmed, for night was fast coming on, and she
did not know whether she was on the right track or not. Fortunately, a
light through the trees extricated her from this dilemma: her only
uneasiness was now for her child. She was soon, however, relieved from
this uncertainty; for, on entering the house, there sat the man with
the baby on his knee. The child appeared to be on very friendly terms
with him, and had, no doubt, enjoyed herself amazingly while her bearer
was running away with her.

He at once restored the child to her mother’s arms, observing, “that he
hoped she would give him the price of a quart of whiskey for his
trouble, for the child was main heavy, God bless her.”

My wife, of course, did not dispute the payment. She was only too glad
to recover her little pet, whom she took good care not again to trust
to masculine keeping, however tired she might be. So Maria remained
safely in her mother’s arms, for the remainder of the journey.

At length, when down-hearted and weary, the bright waters of the Huron
gladdened their eyes, on the morning of the sixth day, and a few
minutes afterwards they took possession of my log-cabin, and gave me
the happy surprise already recorded.

“I wonder you were not afraid of encountering such hardships, and even
danger, in travelling so many miles through the wild woods and on foot,
and with that heavy child to carry in your arms,” was my remark to my
enterprising wife. She replied, “that there had certainly been more
difficulties than she had anticipated; but had they been double, it
would not have prevented her from joining me.” So much for woman’s love
and devotion.

During the summer months, we were plentifully supplied with fish. On
some days the harbour appeared to swarm with them. When the sun shone
brightly, you could see hundreds lying near the surface. There was no
difficulty in catching them, for the moment you threw in your bait, you
had a fish on your hook.

In the early part of the season, I used to make an imitation mouse of a
piece of musk-rat fur. This is a killing bait for trolling either for
black bass or maskilonge—as the season advances, a red and white rag,
or a small green-frog. But the best bait for the larger fish, such as
salmon-trout and maskilonge, is a piece of brass, or copper, about the
shape and size of the bowl of a tablespoon, with a large hook soldered
upon the narrow end. If properly made, and drawn fast through the
water, it will spin round and glitter, and thus is sure to attract the
fish. I have caught hundreds by this method, and can therefore
recommend it as the most certain. Your trolling line, which is attached
to your left arm, should not be less than eighty or a hundred feet in
length, and sufficiently leaded to sink the bait three or four feet
beneath the surface, this line following the canoe as you paddle it
swiftly through the water.

The scenery up the Maitland, from the harbour’s mouth to the flats, or
natural meadows, two miles from the lake, is very pretty and
interesting. I think it would be difficult to find for a summer
residence a more charming situation than the town of Goderich, and I
might say with equal confidence, a more healthy one. The water is
excellent, and the town-plot abounds with copious springs.

About a mile from the town, there is one of the largest and purest
springs of the coldest and best water I ever drank. It gushes out of
the side of a hill, and rushes down the declivity with great swiftness
over its pebbly bed, till it is joined in its course, a few yards below
the hill, by another spring of nearly equal size, within half a mile of
its source, turning a grist-mill on its way to swell the waters of the
Maitland.

Nine miles up the lake-shore, east of Goderich, a fine little stream
empties its bright waters into the mighty Huron. A party of us had
often expressed a wish to explore the outlet of this stream, and at
length a day was fixed for the expedition. As we intended merely to
pass one night at the river, and return the next day, we only supplied
ourselves with as much provisions and grog as would last for that
time—a great mistake, as it afterwards proved. However, I will not
anticipate.

A large piece-log canoe was furnished by Mr. W. F. Gooding, our
Goderich store-keeper, who was one of the party, which consisted of
nine persons, including myself. All things being in readiness, Mr.
Fullarton was dubbed Captain for the occasion. At an early hour one
fine sunny morning in June, we stood out of the harbour with a light
breeze, having rigged up two blankets as sprit-sails. They answered
very well, as long as we had any wind, which, however, unfortunately
soon died entirely away.

“Come, boys,” said the Captain, “this won’t do. We must raise a
white-ash-breeze (meaning that we must have recourse to our paddles) or
we shall not see the Nine-Mile Creek this day, I can tell you.” The
impetus given to our canoe by the vigorous application of eight
paddles, independent of our steersman, made the De Witt Clinton (the
name of our canoe) fly through the water, which was now as calm as a
mirror. After the wind fell, the heat was intense; and, towards noon
huge double-headed thunder-clouds showed themselves, slowly emerging
out of the still waters of the Huron, far away to the north-west—a
certain indication of a thunder-storm and change of wind.

About noon, we entered the creek by a very narrow channel, not ten feet
in width. Indeed, the lake has choked up the entrance of the little
harbour with sand and gravel, which, the water, descending the creek in
summer-time, is not sufficient to disperse. I think, however, by
clearing out, and piling the channel, and erecting two piers a short
distance from each other, carried out upon the lake, and curving
towards each other, until only sufficient space is left between them
for the entrance of steam-boats and schooners, it might yet be made
navigable. The harbour at Cobourg has been built something on this
plan, which answers tolerably well; but if it had had a creek only the
size of this I am describing, it would have been much better, as the
current is a great help in clearing out the sand and gravel.

On crossing the bar, we found ourselves in a snug little basin,
sufficiently deep for a vessel drawing six or seven feet water. We
landed on a little peninsula, between the lake and the harbour, and
commenced operations for cooking.

After dinner, we paddled through the harbour, and up the river, as far
as we could go, which was only a very short distance, the navigation
being interrupted by a pretty fall of water, which tumbled from ledge
to ledge, like a succession of stone stairs, stretching from bank to
bank across the stream, and forming, as the Americans would say, an
elegant mill-privilege.

Since I left Goderich, a township, called Ashfield, has been laid out
north of the Company’s township of Colborne; the principal place of
which is the village of Port Albert—the very spot we went to explore.

What a difference a few years make in a new country like Canada! With
the aid of a compass, or by following the course of some unknown
stream, with much toil and difficulty we make our way back for miles,
through dense forests, swamps, and creeks; scale the rocky precipice,
or launch the light bark-canoe on some far distant lake. We travel the
same route twenty-five years afterwards, and the forests have bowed
their lofty heads—the swamps are drained—the rivers bridged, and the
steamer ploughs the inland wave, where shortly before glided the canoe
of the hunter. Such is no over-coloured picture. I have seen it in my
day realized many a time. The Huron tract, and the county of
Peterborough, are the proofs of my assertion; and various other
settlements I could name, would equally bear me out.

But to return to our expedition—or as I might with greater truth
say—our _pic-nic_, for we did little else than paddle up and down the
creek, ramble about the falls, and eat and drink whenever we felt
inclined. In this manner we spent the first day; till the coming night,
and the distant growl of the thunder, warned us to prepare for our
night-bivouac.

One of our party, Mr. Brewster—the professor, as we generally called
him—from the circumstance of his being a near relation of Sir David
Brewster, the talented author of “Natural Magic,” had a small
tent-cloth with him, but not sufficiently large for the whole party. It
was, therefore, determined that four of us should sleep under the
canoe, and the remaining five under the tent. Quite a contention now
arose between us, as to who should be the favoured possessors of the
tent.

Not liking the appearance of the weather, I resigned any pretensions I
might have had to the canvas, knowing the canoe was, from its length
and size, capable of effectually sheltering four persons. We,
accordingly, turned the canoe bottom upwards, and raised one side of it
sufficiently high to allow us to creep under. To keep it in that
position, we supported the raised edge on some forked sticks; and a
quantity of hemlock brush and fern, spread evenly under it, made as
good a bed as I would care to sleep on in hot weather. Our companions
pitched their tent close beside us, so that we might be more sociable.
After supper, we amused ourselves by singing songs, telling stories,
and—if the truth must be told—drinking whiskey-punch.

The lightning was now incessant, illuminating the harbour and lake, and
revealing dark masses of clouds, piled upon one another in endless
succession. Few spectacles are more grand than the coming storm, or
more awful when it bursts in its wildest fury. Such was its appalling
character on this night. For the last hour I had been watching its
progress, and admiring the brilliant forked lightning, and listening to
the deep-toned thunder, which woke the lone echoes of the wood-crowned
heights.

A few large drops of rain warned us to seek the friendly shelter of our
respective camps. I had just settled myself snugly, when our skipper
came to me with a jug of lemon-punch fresh mixed. I declined taking any
more. He was too old a stager, however, to be put off that way, and was
proceeding to show me the necessity of taking a night-cap, when he was
saved all the trouble of any farther solicitation, and me of refusal,
by a blinding flash of lightning, followed by a succession of deafening
reports. At the same instant, the wind burst upon us like a whirlwind,
prostrating in its irresistible fury our unfortunate skipper, punch,
and all. As for the tent, it was whisked half across the harbour, in
one blast, and the unfortunate inmates were left exposed to all the
pelting of the pitiless storm, which raged with unmitigated violence
till the dawn of day. We made room under the canoe for the professor
and our skipper, the utmost we could accommodate. The three remaining
unfortunate fellows were left to brave the tempest as they best might.

The next morning, the lake was white with breakers. The storm of the
preceding night had brought a strong north-wester in its train, so that
we found it impossible to launch our canoe—and, indeed, if we had, it
would have been unsafe to have attempted the passage therein; there was
nothing else for us but patience. But the worst part of the business
was, that we had barely sufficient provisions for breakfast, and what
the professor said—“Was worse than all—there was not a single horn of
whiskey left in the jar.”

The merchant and three of our party now determined to take the woods,
and endeavour to reach Goderich by that route, leaving us to follow
with the canoe if the wind should fall, of which, however, there
appeared but little chance.

It now became expedient that we should look out for food of some
description, as there was no doubt we should have to pass another
night. On examining the state of our larder, we found that our whole
stock consisted of half a loaf of bread, and a few ounces of
sugar—rather short commons for four hungry men, even for a single meal.

We had no gun with us, or any fishing-lines. I had, it is true, a
spear, but there was too much wind to fish in the harbour. Luckily, I
bethought myself of the falls up the creek, where there was a pool
sheltered by the woods. Thither we went with the canoe, and succeeded
in spearing a number of suckers, which are, without exception, the
softest and worst of all Canadian fish, especially in the hot months;
but even bad suckers are better than nothing. Our first
starvation-dinner consisted of a dish of boiled fish, a little bread,
and a cup of hemlock-tea; our supper, boiled fish without bread, and
hemlock-tea without sugar.

To amuse ourselves, we built a nice camp on a wooded point overlooking
the harbour, and arranged everything comfortably to pass the night;
and, although we had such bad commons, we were merry enough,
considering we had nothing stronger to drink than hemlock-tea.

In the morning, as appearances were no better in respect to the
weather, and as we were heartily sick of boiled suckers, we determined
to do—as some of our party had done previously—take the bush-route for
Goderich.

Accordingly, we crossed the harbour in the canoe, which we hid amongst
the bushes, and commenced our journey along the lake-shore. In some
places we found tolerably good walking, while in others we were
compelled to mount the cliffs to avoid the break of the surges, where
headlands jutted out into the lake. For the most part, however, we were
enabled to travel upon natural terraces about half way up the bank,
which I should think averages nearly one hundred feet in height.

To our great delight, we discovered an abundance of fine wild
strawberries, the largest and most delicious I had ever seen. We found
this a very seasonable refreshment. The day was fine, and we enjoyed
the prospect, which, viewed from some of the highest points of land,
was truly magnificent.

About four o’clock in the afternoon we reached Goderich, weary and
half-starved. Thus ended our memorable pic-nic to the Nine-Mile Creek.




CHAPTER XX.


CHOICE OF A LOCATION.—THE COMPANY’S LANDS.—CROWN LANDS.—TABLES
PUBLISHED BY THE CANADA COMPANY.—PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT OF THE HURON
TRACT.

After twenty-seven years’ residence in Canada West, it may be
reasonably inferred that I am justly entitled, from my long experience,
to give a fair opinion as to the best chances of location at present
available to the emigrant.

On mature consideration, I must give the preference to the Huron tract,
as affording a greater facility for settlement, and this for three
reasons. First, on account of the excellent roads constructed by the
Company—an inestimable boon, which none but the early pioneer can fully
appreciate. Secondly, because of the excellent quality of the soil,
which is remarkably free from surface-stone, that every old settler
knows is both troublesome and expensive to clear away. And, thirdly the
low price of these lands, and the facility of payment. Indeed, their
system of leasing affords the poor man every chance. I shall copy a
table of the yearly rent of farms leased on this plan by the Company,
for the information of those of my readers who contemplate emigrating
to Canada West. The present price of the Company’s lands in the Huron
tract, is from 12 shillings 6 pence to 20 shillings currency per acre.

The Company dispose of their lands, according to quality and situation,
for ready cash, or by lease for a term of ten years. In the latter case
no money is required to be paid down, the lease being granted upon the
following terms:—

s.d.            L. s. d.
100 acres, at 2 0 per acre, ann. rent 0 10 0 and no more.
”     3 6   ”     ”   0 12  0   ”
”     5 0   ”     ”   0 18  0   ”
”     6 3   ”     ”   1  4  0   ”
”     7 6   ”     ”   1 10  0   ”
”     8 9   ”     ”   1 17  0   ”
”    10 0   ”     ”   2  5  0   ”
”    11 3   ”     ”   2 12  0   ”
”    12 6   ”     ”   3  0  0   ”
”    13 9   ”     ”   3  7  6   ”
”    16 3   ”     ”   3 15  0   ”
”    17 6   ”     ”   4  2  6   ”

The rent is payable on the first day of February in each year, full
power being reserved to the settler to purchase the freehold, and take
his deed for the land he occupies, at any time during the lease, an
arrangement, of course, saving all future payment of rent.

Many persons unacquainted with the country, might object to pay from
twelve shillings and six pence to twenty shillings for the Company’s
lands, when they see that the Government price on the wild lands
belonging to the Crown, in most townships, is only eight shillings per
acre.

However, they must recollect, that all the choice lands belonging to
the Crown have long since been located; and unless the emigrant is
prepared to go back into the remote townships, he cannot expect to get
land as good as that belonging to the Canada Company.

Indeed, the only Crown-lands which could at all compete with the
Company’s lands are the townships lately surveyed north of the Huron
track to the River Saugeen, and the new settlements of Owen’s Sound and
the Queen’s Bush.

In a report, drawn up and published by Daniel Lizars, clerk of the
peace for the united counties of Huron, Perth, and Bruce, May, 1851, he
says,—

“In this favoured portion of the province of Upper Canada, blest with a
salubrious climate and a fertile soil, watered with crystal springs and
brooks in every direction, reposing upon a table-land whose natural
drainage flows uninterruptedly onwards to the streams and great rivers
which intersect it in every quarter towards the noble Huron, or Lake
St. Clair, the energies of the people have been steadily devoted to
practical progress and improvement; having, in the short period above
alluded to, brought upwards of eighty thousand acres of the wilderness
into cultivation, erected five thousand dwelling-houses, fifty-six
schools, fourteen churches, twelve grist mills, with nineteen run of
stores, five oat and barley-mills, five distilleries, two breweries,
eight tanneries, and twenty-four pot and pearl-ash factories.”

“Among other matters which crowned their industry in 1850, I may state
the following productions:—

Wheat   .  .  .  .  .  292,949 bushels.
Barley  .  .  .  .  .   13,012  ”
Rye     .  .  .  .  .    2,181  ”
Oats    .  .  .  .  .  215,415  ”
Peas    .  .  .  .  .   54,657  ”
Indian Corn.  .  .  .    5,352  ”
Potatoes.  .  .  .  .  210,913  ”
Buck-wheat .  .  .  .  .   673  ”
Mangel-wurzel .  .  .  .   297  ”
Turnips .  .  .  .  .  143,725  ”
Hay     .  .  .  .  .   12,823 tons.
Flax or Hemp  .  .  .  . 7,359 pounds.
Maple Sugar.  .  .  .  351,721  ”
Wool       .  .  .  .   54,347 pounds.
Fulled cloth  .  .  .   10,303 yards.
Linen, or cotton cloth   1,197  ”
Flannel, or
other unfulled cloth   41,397  ”
Cheese for Market .  .   7,761 pounds.
Butter for Market .  .  58,873  ”
Beef, or Pork for Market 1,308 barrels.

“And they further rejoice in the possession of the following stock:—

Neat Cattle . . . 26,260
Horses  . . . . .  2,646
Sheep . . . . . . 20,022
Hogs  . . . . . . 14,655

“The above gratifying examples speak loudly for the industry of the
settlers; and where hired labour can, with difficulty, be obtained at a
high remuneration, notwithstanding the yearly increased ratio of new
comers, and, moreover, where all are diligently employed in the onward
march to happiness and independence, we may truly be thankful to a
superintending Providence, that prosperity is in the ascendant.”

Mr. Lizars states in another part of his Report, that the population of
the Huron district

In 1841, was   .  .  .  .  .   5,600
In 1847, six years afterwards 16,641 increase 11,043
In 1848, one year do .  .  .  20,450   ”   3,807
In 1850, two years do.  .  .  26,933   ”   6,483

According to this ratio of increase, we may safely infer the population
at the present time (1852), to exceed thirty-two thousand souls; an
increase almost incredible; as, upon reference to Smith’s Work on
Canada, it will be found that the Huron district has made more rapid
progress since its first settlement in 1827, than Lower Canada did in
one hundred and four years; its population then being (in 1721),
24,511.

Many contradictory statements have been made and published in respect
to what is the real actual grain average of Canada West. My own opinion
is, that even could a truthful average be obtained, it would throw very
little light on the real capability of the land—and for this reason.
One-half of the emigrants who settle upon land in Canada, and adopt
cultivation as their employment, are weavers, tinkers, tailors,
sailors, and twenty other trades and professions. It must be the work
of years to convert such settlers into good practical farmers. In such
cases, how can a fair yield be extracted from land ignorantly
cultivated? But I will venture to affirm, that wherever good farming is
in practice, as good an average yield will be obtained, as in any
country in the world.

“The following average of ten years for the Huron tract, has been
published:—Wheat, 25 bushels; barley, 30 bushels; oats, 40 bushels;
rye, 30 bushels; potatoes, 250 bushels per acre. Swedish turnips,
mangel-wurzel, and other roots of a similar kind, are not yet
sufficiently cultivated, to enable an average yield to be given; but it
may very safely be said, that, with similar care, culture, and
attention, the produce will not be less per acre than in England.
Indeed, it may be said with truth to apply to every grain except beans,
which do not thrive well in the Canadian climate.”




CHAPTER XXI.


THE KING PROCLAIMED IN THE BUSH.—FETE AND BALL IN THE EVENING.—MY
YANKEE FELLOW-TRAVELLER.—AWFUL STORM.—MY LONELY JOURNEY.—MAGICAL EFFECT
OF A NAME.

I was busy in the storehouse one afternoon, when Mr. Prior entered with
a newspaper in his hand, which he had just received from the old
country.

“I see by this paper, Strickland, that George IV. is dead; and that his
Majesty King William IV. has been proclaimed. Now, I think, we must
give the workmen a holiday on this memorable occasion.”

“In what manner do you intend to celebrate the day?” was my rejoinder.

“I have been thinking,” he replied, “of making a little fete, and
inviting all the settlers within reach to assemble on the Button-wood
Flats. We will have some refreshments served round; and if the day is
fine, I have no doubt we shall enjoy ourselves much.”

Due notice having been given, upon the appointed day every-one within
ten miles assembled on the Flats, dressed in their best attire; and
ready to show their loyalty in any way Mr. Prior might think proper to
recommend.

As soon as the squire made his appearance, he ascended a large stump;
and, in a patriotic and loyal speech, informed us “that he had called
this meeting to hear him proclaim his most gracious Majesty King
William IV.”

He then read the proclamation, which was received with nine rounds of
British cheers. Our party then formed a large circle by joining hands;
and sang the national anthem, accompanied by the Goderich band, which
was composed of two fiddles and a tambourine. “Rule Britannia” for our
sailor-king was also played and sung—I was going to say in good style,
but at all events with great loyalty and enthusiasm.

As soon as this ceremony was over, a pail of whiskey, with a tea-cup
floating on the surface, was handed round, followed by another pail
containing spring-water. Every person present drank his Majesty’s
health; even the fair sex, on this propitious occasion, did not disdain
to moisten their pretty lips with the beverage.

The eating and drinking part of the festival now commenced in earnest.
We had seated ourselves on the grass, under the shade of four or five
immense button-wood trees, which effectually sheltered us from the
scorching rays of the sun. In the centre of the group, the union-jack
of Old-England waved gracefully above our heads—

“The flag that braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze.”


As soon as we had eaten and drunk to our satisfaction, a dance was
proposed and acceded to by the party. The band struck up “The Wind
Shakes the Barley:” country dances, Scotch reels, and “French fours,”
were kept up with great spirit on the level turf—“All under the
greenwood tree.”

“For all that day to the rebeck gay
They danced with frolicsome swains.”


Those of our party who did not patronize the dance, amused themselves
with ball-playing and a variety of old English games.

The day was lovely; and the spot chosen for our sports is one of the
most beautiful natural meadows I ever beheld. We kept our fete in
honour of King William on a smooth green semi-circular meadow, of large
extent, ornamented here-and-there with clumps of magnificent
button-wood trees.[1] Towards the north, skirting the meadow, a steep
bank rises in the form of an amphitheatre, thickly-wooded—tree above
tree, from the base to the crown of the ridge. The rapid waters of the
Maitland form the southern and western boundary of this charming
spot,—then not a little enhanced by the merry groups which dotted the
surface of the meadow, and woke its lone echoes with music and song.

 [1] Both the wood and the growth of this tree greatly resemble the
 sycamore.


I was much amused by a Yankee mill-wright, who had contracted to build
a large grist-mill for the Company, both in Guelph and Goderich. He
appeared enchanted with the whole day’s proceedings.

“I do declare,” he said, “if this don’t almost put me in mind of the
4th of July. Why, you Britishers make as much fuss proclaiming your
king as we do celebrating our anniversary of Independence. Well, it
does me good to look at you. I vow if I don’t feel quite loyal. Come,
let us drink the old gentleman’s health agin. I guess, I feel as dry as
a sand-bank after so much hollering.”

The setting sun warned us to discontinue our pastime and prepare for a
move. Before doing so, however, the squire again came forward, and
after thanking us for our attendance, loyalty, &c., he proposed “we
should give three cheers more for the King, and three for Queen
Adelaide,” which were given with all the power of our lungs, not a
little aided by sundry potations imbibed by the loyal in drinking their
Majesties’ healths during the day’s proceeding.

Three cheers were then given for the Canada Company, three for the
Commissioners, and three for the old Doctor. Thus terminated the
proclamation of our sovereign in the Bush.

Mr. Prior had kindly issued invitations to the _élite_ to a ball and
supper at Reid’s Hotel, which was well attended. The refreshments were
excellent, the supper capital; and the dancing was kept up with great
spirit till day-light warned us to depart.

The next day, I started for Guelph with the Yankee mill-wright, whom I
found a clever, shrewd man. He told me he had travelled over a great
part of the Western States and Canada; but in all his wanderings he had
never seen a section of country, of the same size, that pleased him
equal to the Huron tract.

“I guess, when this country of your’n is once cleared up, and good
roads made, and the creeks bridged, there won’t be such another place
in all creation.”

“What makes you think so?” I enquired.

“Wal, just look what a fine frontage you have on that ’ere big pond (he
meant Lake Huron) and good harbours and land that can’t be beat not no
how. All you want is ‘to go a-head,’ and you may take my word for it
that this will be the garden of Canada yet.”

We had only one horse between us, which belonged to the Doctor, so that
we were obliged to ride turn about. In this manner we got on pretty
well, so that by four o’clock we were within two miles of old Sebach’s.
The day had been excessively hot, and for the last hour we had heard
distant thunder. We, therefore, pushed on with redoubled energy, in
hopes of escaping the storm.

Ever since I had witnessed the devastating effects of the whirlwind
which passed through Guelph, and which I have described in a previous
chapter, I had a dread of being exposed in the woods to the fury of
such a tempest. In this instance, however, we had the good fortune to
reach the shanty just as the rain commenced; and well for us it proved
that we had gained a shelter for ourselves and steed; for I seldom
witnessed a more terrific storm. The lightning was awful, accompanied
by the loudest thunder I ever heard. The volleys of heavy hail-stones
on the shingled roof, together with the rushing sound of the wind, and
the crash of falling trees, made it impossible for us to hear a word
that was said. Indeed, I did not feel much inclined for conversation;
for I could not help meditating on the peril we had escaped. Had the
storm commenced an hour or two earlier or later, we should have bean
exposed to its utmost fury, as there was no place of refuge nearer than
twenty miles either way.

To show the terrible danger we had avoided, I counted a hundred and
seventy-six large trees that had fallen across the road between
Sebach’s and Trifogle’s—a distance not exceeding twenty miles.

What a contrast this road now presents to what it was when I used to be
in the habit of travelling over it! I remember, once having been sent
on some important business to the settlement, which admitted of no
delay. It was late in November; the snow had fallen unusually early,
and there was no horse then to be procured at Goderich; so that I was
obliged to walk without even a companion to cheer the solitary way. I
found the walking exceedingly laborious: the snow was fully a foot deep
and unbroken, save by the foot-marks of some lonely traveller.

I was very curious to learn who the person could be who had been
necessitated to take such a long journey through the wilderness alone.
The second day of my journey, my curiosity was gratified by seeing the
name of the person written in large characters in the snow. I stopped
and read it with much interest: it was that of a Scotchman I knew,—one
James Haliday. After reading that name, it appeared as if half the
loneliness of the road was gone; for I knew from the freshness of the
track, that a human being was travelling on the same path, and that he
was, perhaps, not far ahead.

Not many minutes after this occurrence, whilst descending a slight
hill, I saw nine fine deer cross the road, within a short gun-shot of
the spot where I stood. I had no gun with me; for I thought, if I did
kill a deer, I should be obliged to leave it in the woods. Nothing
further occurred till within a short distance of Trifogle’s, when a
large wolf bounded close past me: he seemed, however, the more
frightened of the two, which I was not at all sorry to perceive.

When I arrived at the tavern, I told Trifogle what I had seen. He said,
it was very lucky I had not fallen in with the pack; for only the night
before he had gone to a beaver-meadow, about two miles distant, to look
for his working oxen which had strayed, when he was surrounded by the
whole pack of wolves, and was obliged “to tree,” to save his bacon. He
was, it seems, kept for more than three hours in that uncomfortable fix
before he durst venture down—“when he made tracks,” as the Yankees say,
“for hum pretty considerably smart, I guess.”

My solitary journey was performed in the fall of 1830: at the present
time (1853) you may travel at your ease in a stage-coach and four
horses, with taverns every few miles, and more villages on the road
than formerly there were houses. Such are the changes that a few short
years have produced in this fast-rising country!




CHAPTER XXII.


VISIT OF THE PASSENGER-PIGEON TO THE CANADAS.—CANADIAN
BLACKBIRDS.—BREEDING-PLACES OF THE PASSENGER-PIGEONS.—SQUIRRELS.

The passenger-pigeon[1] visits the Canadas in the early spring-months,
and during August, in immense flocks, bringing with them an agreeable
change in the diet of the settler.

 [1] The passenger-pigeon is not so large as the wild pigeon of Europe.
 It is slender in form, having a very long-forked tail. Its plumage is
 a bluish-grey, and it has a lovely pink breast. It is, indeed, a very
 elegant bird.


Persons unacquainted with the country and the gregarious habits of this
lovely bird, are apt to doubt the accounts they have heard or read
respecting their vast numbers: since my return to England I have
repeatedly been questioned upon the subject. In answer to these
queries, I can only say that, in some parts of the province, early in
the spring and directly after wheat-harvest, their numbers are
incredible. Some days they commence flying as soon as it is light in
the morning, and continue, flock after flock, till sun-down. To
calculate the sum-total of birds passing even on one day, appears to be
impossible. I think, the greatest masses fly near the shores of the
great Canadian lakes, and sometimes so low, that they may be easily
killed with a horse-pistol, or even knocked down with a long pole.

During the first spring in which I resided at Goderich, the
store-keeper was out of shot, and the pigeons happened to be uncommonly
numerous. I had a large fowling-piece with a wide bore; so I tried a
charge of fine shingle off the beach at the first flock that came
within close range, and had the satisfaction of bagging seven birds at
the first shot—indeed, it was almost impossible to miss them, they flew
in such thick clouds. I have frequently killed on the stubbles, from
twenty to thirty at one shot.

Directly after the wheat is carted, the pigeons alight on the stubble
in vast flocks. As they are chiefly the young broods, they are very
easily approached: the sportsman should creep up behind them; for they
are so intent on feeding, that they will seldom notice his approach
till he is within fair range of them.

The hindmost ranks are continually rising from the ground, and dropping
in front of the others. This is the proper time to fire, just as the
hind-rank are a couple or three feet from the ground; firing the second
barrel as the whole flock takes fight.

In the vicinity of the towns, sometimes a regular _battue_ takes place,
when all kind of firearms are in requisition, from the old Tower musket
to the celebrated Joe Manton.

In July, the pigeons feed a great deal on wild berries, such as
raspberries, huckle-berries, blue-berries, and a variety of other
kinds. Many people would naturally think that such vast flocks of birds
would alight on the standing grain, and destroy the crop: such,
however, is not the case. Sometimes, during the seed-time in the
spring, they are a little troublesome; but I have never known them
alight on the ripening grain. The Canadian blackbirds are far more
destructive in that particular—especially that species with the
orange-bar across the wings. These birds alight on the Indian corn
crops and oats in such numbers, that they do a great deal of damage,
particularly the oats, which they break down by their weight.

There is another kind of blackbird, smaller than the former, and
speckled very much like a starling. Indeed, I believe it is a species
of that bird; for it frequents marshes, and lodges amongst the reeds at
night. This bird is also destructive in the corn-fields.

There is yet a third species of blackbird, larger than either of the
above, whose colour is of a glossy blue-black, very like our rooks.
These birds are just as troublesome as the rest; but it must be
admitted that their destroy an immense quantity of caterpillars and
grubs. They are easily frightened away by firing a few shots. There is,
however, no doubt but that they are a greater plague to the farmers
than the pigeons: besides, the latter are excellent eating.

I once accompanied the Doctor on an exploring expedition through the
tract. We encamped close to a breeding-place of these birds, when we
were kept awake all night by the noise they made. Sometimes, too, a
limb of a tree would break with the weight of the birds which had
alighted on it, when there would be such fluttering and flapping of
wings, as made it impossible for us to sleep.

Towards morning, the sound of their departure to their feeding-grounds
resembled thunder. For nearly two hours there was one incessant roar,
as flock after flock took its departure eastward. The ground under the
trees was whitened with their excrement, and strewn with broken
branches of trees.

The Americans have a plan of capturing these birds, by means of a
decoy, or stool-pigeon, and nets. Thousands are often taken in this way
during seed-time in the spring. When I first resided in the township of
Douro, the pigeons used to be very plentiful at that time, their chief
breeding-place being in the township of Fenelon, in a direct line west
from my residence, some forty or fifty miles. And yet, soon after
day-light, they would be passing eastward over my clearing, so vast is
their swiftness and strength on the wing.

It is a curious fact that, although thousands passed daily for many
days in succession, yet not one of them returned by the same route they
went. I have been informed that this breeding-place has been deserted
for several years, owing to the settlements having approached too near
to please the winged possessors.

This satisfactorily accounts for the decrease I have noticed amongst
these feathered denizens of the forest, during the last seven or eight
years. In consequence of their having been disturbed, they have sought
a more remote breeding-place. I am not at all certain whether this
decrease is general through the province; but I feel quite convinced
that, as civilization increases, all kinds of birds and wild animals
will become less numerous, with the exception of crows and mice, which
are greatly on the increase. Rats also have been imported, and appear
to thrive well in the towns; though, I am happy to say, they have not
found their way into my township yet—and long may they be ignorant of
my location.

There is also another animal, which I think is more numerous than
formerly—I mean the black squirrel. These pretty little creatures are
very destructive amongst the Indian-corn crops. I have seen them
carrying off a whole cob of corn at once, which I will be bound to say
was quite as heavy as themselves.

The form of this animal is very elegant; the colour jet black—with a
large bushy tail: the fur, however, is too open to be of any value. The
flesh is excellent eating, far superior to that of the rabbit. In a
good nut-season, in the western part of the province, the quantity of
these animals is almost incredible.

I have heard old hunters say that, if the squirrels are numerous in the
summer, the bears will be plenty in the fall, and also that their
numbers give a sure indication of a severe winter. This saying, I
believe to be true; because neither the squirrels nor bears are
plentiful, unless there is an abundant supply of beech-mast,
butter-nuts, hickory-nuts, &c., which Providence has kindly provided in
more superabundant quantity on the approach of a longer and severer
winter than usual.

Besides the _Niger_, or black squirrel, there are three other species
in Canada West; first, the _Cinereus_, or grey squirrel, which is
larger than the black squirrel. Its fur is something better, but the
animal is not near so numerous. Secondly, the _Ruber_, or red squirrel,
smaller than the last, but equally destructive.

The chitmunck, or _Siriatus_, or ground squirrel, is much smaller and
more mischievous than any of the former species. The ridge of the back
is marked with a black stripe; the sides are of a reddish yellow,
spotted with white; the feet and legs pale red; the eyes black and
projecting. These pretty little creatures never run up trees, unless
they are pursued. They burrow and form their habitations under ground
with two entrances. During the maize-harvest, they fill their mouths so
full of corn that their cheeks distend to the size of a hen’s egg. The
chitmunck sometimes inhabits hollow trees and logs.

I have frequently cut down trees in which they had deposited their
winter-store, to the amount of half-a-bushel of beech-mast, Indian
corn, and grain of different descriptions. It is a very curious
circumstance that, before storing away for the winter, they carefully
skin every beechnut.

Towards the spring, when the days begin to be a little warm, they leave
their winter-holes and enter the barns—compelled, most probably, by the
failure of their winter-store. Great numbers are then destroyed by the
cats. Their fur is of little value, and their flesh uneatable.




CHAPTER XXIII.


THE REBEL, VON-EGMOND, THE FIRST AGRICULTURAL SETTLER ON THE
HURON.—CUTTING THE FIRST SHEAF.

The celebrated Anthony J.W.G. Von Egmond, who commanded the rebels at
Gallows Hill during Mackenzie’s rebellion, was the first agricultural
settler on the Huron tract. He had formerly been a Colonel in the old
Imperial Army; and after Buonaparte’s abdication and retirement to
Elba, he joined the Allies, and held the rank of an officer in one of
the Belgian regiments at Waterloo.

He was a pushing, clever sort of man; and had he but been contented,
and stuck to his last, instead of troubling his head about politics, he
would, in all probability, have become one of the richest and most
independent farmers in the Huron tract.

Within the short period of twenty months, Von Egmond had chopped and
cleared, fit for a crop, nearly a hundred acres of land, fifty of which
were sown wheat. As this was the first field ripe in the tract, the old
man determined to celebrate the event by asking some of the gentlemen
connected with the Canada Company to dinner, and to witness the cutting
of the first sheaf.

Thomas Mercer Jones, Esq., one of the Company’s Commissioners, Dr.
Dunlop, Mr. Prior, the Professor, and myself, composed the party on
this important occasion. As the distance was little short of eighteen
miles through the Bush, and we had no way of getting there—except by
walking—it was arranged that we should start the day previous, and
sleep all night at Von Egmond’s.

Accordingly, we left Goderich about eleven o’clock, A.M., by the newly
cut-out road, through the forest. I wonder what our English friends
would think of walking in their shirt-sleeves, with their coats and
neckcloths thrown over their arms, eighteen miles to a dinner-party,
with the thermometer ranging something like 90 degrees in the shade.

The day was hot, though not unpleasantly so; for the leafy screen above
our heads effectually protected us from the scorching rays of a July
sun, which would otherwise have been very oppressive.

The musquitoes were particularly civil—indeed the reign of these
gentlemen was nearly over for the season. They begin to be troublesome
in the middle of May. From the 1st of June to the middle of July, they
are in the very height of their impertinence; and, although they have
not sufficient strength in their proboscis to penetrate a top-boot, yet
they easily pierce through a summer coat and shirt, and a wee bit into
the skin beneath. From the middle of July to the middle of August, they
become much less venomous; and are then only annoying for an hour or so
in the evening, in the woods or marshes. By the 1st of September, they
finally disappear for the season.

Our long road was considerably shortened by the amusing stories and
anecdotes of the Doctor, who kept us in good humour during the whole
journey. Nearly mid-way between Goderich and Von Egmond’s, a small rill
crosses the road: here we stopped for an hour, and refreshed ourselves
with beef-sandwiches and brandy and water—no bad things in the Bush.

Close by the side of this little stream was a small log-shanty, which
had been erected by the people who had been employed by the men cutting
out the new road, which, from this to the southern boundary of the
Huron tract, was already cleared out, the full width of sixty-six feet,
preparatory to its being turnpiked.[1]

 [1] This is merely an American term for a road which has been ploughed
 on each side, and the earth, so raised, thrown up in the centre by the
 means of a road-scraper, or turnpike shovel, worked either with horses
 or oxen. A road engineer or surveyor would call this grading,
 preparatory to gravelling or planking.


We reached our destination about five o’clock, where we were received
with every mark of respect and hospitality. We were shown upstairs into
a newly-finished room—the only apartment as yet completed in the tavern
old Von Egmond was building. Here we found an excellent supper ready
for us, to which, after a walk of eighteen miles, you may be sure we
did ample justice.

In the morning, we walked over the farm with the old Colonel, and were
much gratified by seeing the prosperous condition of the crops, which
argued well for the goodness of the land. I think I never saw a finer
crop of oats, or better promise for turnips, in my life. The wheat also
looked extremely well. It was certainly an interesting sight, after
walking for miles through a dense forest, suddenly to emerge from the
wooded solitude upon a sea of waving grain, white for the harvest.

“The Harvest! the Harvest! how fair on each plain
It waves in its golden luxuriance of grain!
The wealth of a nation is spread on the ground,
And the year with its joyful abundance is crowned.
The barley is whitening on upland and lea,
And the oat-locks are drooping, all graceful to see;
Like the long yellow hair of a beautiful maid,
When it flows on the breezes, unloosed from the braid.

“The Harvest! the Harvest! how brightly the sun
Looks down on the prospect! its toils are begun;
And the wheat-sheaves so thick on the valleys are piled,
That the land in its glorious profusion has smiled.
The reaper has shouted the furrows among;
In the midst of his labour he breaks into song;
And the light-hearted gleaners, forgetful of care,
Laugh loud, and exult as they gather their share.


Agnes Strickland.

About noonday, we all proceeded to the harvest-field, headed by our
host and his lady, and her fair daughters. As soon as we arrived at the
scene of action, a sickle was placed in the hands of Madame Von Egmond;
and she was requested to cut and bind the first sheaf of wheat ever
harvested in the Huron tract—an honour of which any person might be
justly proud.

“Lord! thou hast blessed the people,
And made the plant of bread
To spring, where’er beneath thine eye
Fair Nature’s carpet spread.
Earth’s thirst drank in thy freshening rain,
Earth’s bosom wooed thy sun,
Beautiful grew the golden grain,
Like prize of labour won!”


What were the red battle-fields of Napoleon, in comparison to this
bloodless victory, won over the forests of the Huron! The sight of that
first sheaf, cut by the gentle hand of woman, was one that angels
rejoiced to see; while the fruits of his conquests were such as might
well make “the seraphs weep.”

Madame Von Egmond handled her sickle something better than a mere
amateur, which make us conjecture it was not the first sheaf she had
ever cut and bound. As soon as this interesting ceremony was over, we
gave three hearty cheers for the Canada Company. A horn of whiskey was
served round, in which we pledged our host and hostess, and drank
success to the settlement.

On our return to the house, we found a capital dinner awaiting us.
Indeed, the old soldier had spared neither pains nor expense in
providing handsomely on the occasion. After the cloth was removed, a
nice dessert was laid out, consisting of almonds and raisins, oranges,
and red and black raspberries. The two latter dishes are easily
procured, for they grow more plentifully in the angles of the
snake-fences in Canada than blackberries do in England. They are a
delicious fruit, and particularly grateful in a hot day to the weary
traveller.

I need hardly describe our evening’s entertainment, save that “we ate,
drank, and were merry.” Indeed, it would have been difficult to be
otherwise with Doctor Dunlop as one of our companions.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

LONDON:
Printed by Samuel Bentley & Co.
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.