Life in the Backwoods of Canada
I.
[IN laying before the public a few slight sketches (in the form of extracts from letters to a daughter remaining in Europe) of our “ bush ” experiences during the first year after our arrival in Muskoka, Ontario, Canada, I desire to state the reasons which prompted us to such an imprudent step as emigrating without even the moderate capital necessary for any one who would start with the slightest chance of success. To do this I must go back to the beginning of the French War in 1870. This was certainly the means of breaking up our happy home in France, which, with one short interval, had been the shelter of my family and myself during fifteen years of my widowhood. The commencement of the war found us living in the outskirts of St. Pierre-lès-Calais, a suburb of Calais, and a busy place full of lace factories. Our house and grounds, quite open to the country at the back, fronted the canal which communicates with the sea at Calais.
When the war had made some progress, and the Prussian army appeared to be steadily advancing through France, we found ourselves in a most unpleasant dilemma; in fact, literally between fire and water! On the one hand, the civic authorities made known that, in case of the approach of a Prussian army, it was their fixed intention to cut the sluices, and to lay the adjacent country under water for a distance of ten miles, and to a depth of seven feet.
Our large, rambling, convenient old mansion, which shook with every gale of wind, and had no cellarage or secure foundations of any kind, we felt would surely be submerged. On the other hand, the military commandant notified, that in case Calais were threatened with siege, all houses and buildings within the military zone would be blown up, to allow free range for the cannon on the ramparts. This was pleasant intelligence to people in the direct line of fire, and with a certainty of very short notice to quit being given. Still, we took the chances and stood our ground. At this time I had a married daughter residing at Guines, where her husband was mathematical professor in the principal English school, conducted by a French gentleman.
In the middle of August, about midnight, we heard a carriage drive to the door, and found that my son-in-law had thought it more prudent to bring his family to a safer place than Guines, which, being quite an open town, was at any moment liable to incursions from the dreaded Uhlans. He was obliged to return to his employer, who could not be left with the sole responsibility of a numerous school, mostly English. A few days afterwards, on an alarm that the Prussians had entered Amiens, we all took refuge in Calais, where, as soon as the war broke out, I had taken the precaution to secure apartments. We had most of our property hastily packed up and placed in store. In Calais we remained till nearly the beginning of winter, when my son-in-law took his family back to Guines and we returned to our house. In fact, it began to be recognized that Calais was too far out of the way, and presented too little temptation to a conquering army, to make it likely we should be molested.
The spring of 1871 brought great changes, both public and private. The war ended, but France was no longer the same country to us. My eldest son had left us, to take a situation in London. Before the summer was over, my son-in-law, whose health was greatly injured by his scholastic duties, made up his mind to emigrate to Canada, and to join my youngest son, who, after many misfortunes, had settled on the “free grant lands” of Muskoka, and who wrote frequently to urge other members of the family to come out before all the good land near his location was taken up. At this time he was himself thriving, but immediately afterwards suffered great reverses. He had a rheumatic fever which lasted many weeks, and threw him back in his farming; he lost one of his two cows from the carelessness of a neighbor, lost most of his crops from the dry season and their being put in too late, and was only beginning to recover when his sister and her family arrived, having with them his affianced wife.
My eldest daughter and myself were thus left alone in France, and were obliged to give up our cherished home, my reduced income being quite insufficient to maintain it. We, too, began to think of emigrating; and, finding my eldest son not disinclined to try fanning, we came to perhaps too hasty a decision, and he relinquished his excellent situation, his employers behaving with the greatest kindness and liberality. We read up a few books on emigration, which invariably paint it in the brightest colors, and being quite ignorant of the expense of so long a journey, of the hardships of the bush, and of the absolute necessity for a sum of money to begin with, we came out hoping, in our innocence, that strong hearts, willing hands, and the pension of an officer’s widow would be inexhaustible riches in the wilderness. The problem remains to be solved whether we can continue our farming without capital, or whether we shall be compelled to go to one of the large towns in Canada or the “ States ” to seek for remunerative employment.]
We went on board the good ship T—s, lying in the Thames, at least twenty-four hours too soon, and lay awake the whole of the first night, as the carpenters never ceased working — the ship having met with an accident on her previous voyage. The next morning I was greatly grieved to find that your brother had engaged first cabin berths only for your sister and myself, and, finding that our purse was very scantily filled, had, with his usual self-denial, taken a steerage berth for himself.
Of the young friend who came out with us we saw but little, for though he had a first-class berth, he was a good deal in the steerage with your brother, who was a veritable Mark Tapley among the poor emigrants. He helped the minister in charge to keep order among them; he procured all manner of little extra comforts for the sick women from the surly cooks, and was the delight of all the children, who followed him in troops. He managed to be a good deal in our cabin when we were too ill to move, and also came to us on deck when we were able to crawl there.
We first landed in America at Quebec, and found ourselves, at the very beginning of an immense journey, utterly without means to carry us on beyond the first few stages. The little extra expenses paid on leaving the ship, and the clearing our baggage as far as Toronto, had emptied our purse. We half expected to find a letter and a small remittance waiting for us at the postoffice. Your brother’s young friend, too, who came out with us, was in the same strait, as his money-order was only payable in a bank at Toronto. Finding on due inquiry no letter, your brother was compelled to pledge his gold watch and seal, upon which he could only get five pounds advanced. This unavoidable delay lost us the one o’clock train, and so we started for Montreal by the seven o’clock train, being quite thankful that our journey had at length begun.
Towards midnight the train came to a full stop before a small station, and at last I asked the guard why we did not go on. He told me that a train which ought to have been in before us was missing, that men had gone out with lights to look for it, and that, for fear of being run into, we must wait till it was safely in. A most dreary four hours we passed before we were relieved. In consequence of our delay, we did not arrive at Montreal in time for the early train to Toronto, but had to breakfast there, and remain some hours. When we started we found that we had indeed a hot and dusty journey before us. An incident however in the course of the day afforded me a few moments of real satisfaction, which every mother will understand. While our train was drawn up before a small station, an emigrant train going to some distant part went by. Numbers of the emigrants were those who had been steerage passengers in the vessel which brought us over. They recognized your brother standing with his young friend on the steps of a carriage, and at once vociferated, “Mr. K.! Mr. K.! three cheers for Mr. K. !" Then arose three deafening cheers, which died away in the distance, and your sister and I, looking out of the window, saw an indefinite number of pocket-handkerchiefs of all colors and dimensions fluttering from the windows in token of recognition.
It was past midnight when we reached Toronto, where we were driven to a respectable cheap family hotel, strongly recommended to your brother by a gentlemanly Canadian who was our fellowpassenger from England. Unluckily for us they were full from garret to cellar, and could in no way make room for us. Our driver, left to his own choice, took us to the “— House,” where we
remained till the next day, most supremely uncomfortable in a wild, rambling hotel of immense extent, where from not knowing the hours we were all but starved, where I lost my way every time I left the saloon, and where it was hardly possible to obtain a civil answer from any one of the attendants.
We started from Toronto at three P. M. the next day, leaving our young friend behind, who, having drawn his money, was going back to Montreal to pass a little time there before joining us in the bush. The farther we went from Toronto the more ugly and barren the country appeared, and the hideous stumps on every clearing became more and more visible. By degrees also the gardens by the roadside showed less and less of floral vegetation, till at last my eyes rested on nothing for miles but hollyhocks and pumpkins. Towards dusk the lurid glare of the burning trees in the far-off forest became appalling as well as magnificent. I was told that the season had been exceptionally dry, no rain having fallen for more than three months, and that in different parts the fires had been most destructive. We slept that night at Belle Ewart, and the next morning took the steamer across Lake Simcoe. This was the most beautiful part of our journey. The sky was bright and clear, the water blue, and the scenery most lovely. All was changed when we landed at Orillia. We were transferred from our nice, roomy, well-appointed steamer to a filthy, overcrowded little boat, where we had hardly standing-room. I now saw for the first time real, live red Indians, both men and women. Their encampment on Lake Simcoe was pointed out to me, and some of the men with their squaws were on board with us. I was dreadfully disappointed ! The men appeared to me undersized and sinister-looking, the squaws dirty and almost repulsive. No stretch of imagination could bring before me in the persons of these red men the dignified and graceful Uncas, or the stately and warlike Chingachgook.
We landed at Washage, and, after standing for more than an hour on the quay, took the stage-wagon to Grunenhurst. It was our first acquaintance with corduroy roads. The burning forest gradually closed in upon us on both sides — blazing trees crashing down in all directions ; here and there one fell across the road, and had to be dragged out of the way before we could go on. Your brother, with his arm round me the whole way (I clinging fast to the collar of his coat), could hardly keep me in my place as we bumped over every obstacle. Your poor sister was glad to cling convulsively to the rope which secured the passengers’ luggage, to avoid being thrown out on the road. At last when it was quite dark we arrived at Grunenhurst, where we were obliged to sleep, as the steamer to Bracebridge could not start before morning on account of the fog. We went on board, however, and had a good supper, but as there was no accommodation for sleeping, and we knew not in the dark where to go, we were indebted to an Englishman well acquainted with the locality for taking us to a place of refuge — a small tavern by the roadside. The next day we went to Bracebridge, and there we found a letter from your brother-in-law, charging me to go before the stipendiary magistrate and sign for my free grant of one hundred acres, the papers for which had been forwarded to me in France, but missed me, as I had already left. Unfortunately our means were too nearly exhausted to allow of our remaining even one day, and as the stage-wagon left two hours before the magistrate’s office would be open, we thought it better to leave with it. The not being able to sign at this time, or indeed for some months afterwards, prevented my having the right of selling the pine-trees on my lot — the new Act (a most unjust one) having come into operation in the mean time. We were at the N. A. Hotel, and the mistress of it, herself not long from England, told me afterwards how sincerely she pitied us, and said to her husband when we were gone, “ That poor lady and her daughter little know what hardships they are about to encounter in the bush.”
The drive from Bracebridge to Uttersan, the nearest post town to our settlement, and distant from it about five miles, was a long and most fatiguing stretch of eighteen miles, but unmarked by any incident of consequence. The forest fires were burning fiercely, and our driver told us that a week before the road had been impassable. As we passed rapidly along we felt the air quite hot and stifling, and on both sides of the road large trees were burning. It was a gloomy afternoon, with fitful gusts of wind portending a change of weather, and we were nearly smothered in clouds of Muskoka dust, much resembling pounded bricks. When we reached Uttersan we were obliged to remain two hours, to rest the poor horses, as no others were to be got. While at the little tavern we ascertained that your youngest brother had been married as we expected a few weeks before, and that your sister, with her husband, the dear children, and the fiancée, had rested there on their way into the bush six weeks before our arrival. It was a relief to our minds to feel that we were near our journey’s end, that the dear ones who had preceded us were all in good health, and that your young brother’s long engagement had been so happily terminated. I alone of all our party felt a hopeless depression of spirits, a presentiment of months of unhappiness.
Our short drive from Uttersan was unmarked by any fresh incident, but as we went slowly it was late in the day before we turned into the bush. Our driver called the forest path a road! I saw nothing but a narrow track with frightful stumps over which our wagon jolted in a manner to endanger our bones. Indeed, though more than three miles from your brother-inlaw’s, we soon insisted on walking, as safer, though the thick undergrowth of ground hemlock caught our feet in a very dangerous manner. Our path was intersected by deep gullies, but the horses of this country, like the mules of Spain, are wonderfully sure-footed, and the drivers, apparently as reckless and daring as Irish carmen, very seldom meet with an accident. After we had crossed the second gully our driver told us he could go no farther, or it would be dark before he got out of the bush, a thing much dreaded here. Accordingly your brother paid and dismissed him, and we were left with all our packages on the roadside, to find our way as best we could. Luckily we came upon a very respectable settler who was working on a part of his “clearing” near the path, and who kindly left his work and piloted us to your brother-inlaw’s lot, where we found a very small clearing, and a log-house in the middle of it.
Your sister and the two dear children came running out to meet and welcome us, and after the first warm congratulations, J. and your brother went to fetch the newly married couple, who at once came back with them. There was much to hear and to tell, and you may judge how great was our dismay to find that we had come to families as penniless as ourselves, and that wearied and fatigued as we were, my dear child had no refreshment in the house to offer us but linseed tea without sugar and milk, and sour, doughy bread which I could not persuade myself to swallow. Our sleeping arrangements were of the most primitive kind. A scanty curtain shaded a corner of the room, and dear F. with all her small stock of bedding made a kind of Noah’s Ark, where we four ladies with the two children took refuge. The three gentlemen lay down in their clothes before the stove, and thus passed our first night in the bush !
The next morning your brother C. and his dear little wife left us to return to their own home, making me promise to visit them, as soon as I had recovered from the fatigue of the journey. You will perhaps wonder that they should have remained over night with us in our overcrowded room, but the fact is that when we first came here in the autumn of 1871, the forest paths between our lots were so indistinctly marked out, and so little trodden, that to be out after dark was most unsafe; and indeed it is a received rule among the settlers here that if any one is out after nightfall, the nearest neighbor must afford him a shelter till the morning. To go astray in the bush is more dreaded than anything.
We were very much shocked to see such a change in your youngest brother’s appearance. In spite of his present happiness as a married man, we could see in his face and person unmistakable marks of the hardships he had gone through. He had left us only a year before, and when he quitted France was in the highest health and spirits, and in the expectation of finding in America, and especially in New York, an El Dorado where he might easily make his fortune, or at least employ his little capital to advantage. We now found him frightfully thin, his face pinched and worn, and looking at least ten years older than his eldest brother, who is his senior by five years. In a future letter I must give you a sketch of his misfortunes, his failure in New York and subsequent settlement on the free grant lands of Muskoka, his being burnt out of his first house in the bush, and the amusing incidents attending his marriage as recounted to me by your sister, who brought out his long-engaged young lady from England. I may mention here what dear F. told me as soon as we could have any conversation. When she arrived with her husband and family, and found how utterly wild and comfortless everything was and would be, as she too truly foresaw, for a long while, she wrote to me in France urgently entreating and advising that we should at least wait a year before breaking up our happy home — so as to give time for preparation out here before our arrival. This letter reached France many days after we had left, and followed me out here.
My first employment was to write to my lawyer for an advance of money, and to some dear friends who had already helped us, for the same purpose. This was the more necessary as your brother-in-law J. was also expecting remittances which were late in arriving, so that we were altogether in a very difficult and painful position. As soon as this necessary work was finished I began to look about me, and to examine the house and the clearing it was in. I found that the space cleared from trees and brush was not more than half an acre, and I confess that the very sight of the dense forest circling us all round, with hardly any perceptible outlet, gave me a dreadful feeling of suffocation, to which was added the constant fear of fire, for the long-continued dry season had made every leaf and twig combustible. Yet there was much to admire in the situation. An amphitheatre of rock behind the house, wooded to the very top, and the trees tinged with the glowing hues of autumn, was very picturesque, and the log-house itself, built on an eminence, seemed likely to be both dry and comfortable. The house inside was simply one fair-sized room, which like the “cobbler’s stall” in the nursery rhyme, served for “ kitchen and parlor and all.” It was built of rough, unhewn logs, with pieces of wood between them, and the interstices filled up with moss. The building (inside measurement) was eighteen by twenty-five feet, and there were two small windows and a door in the front. When your brother-in-law’s logs for his house were ready, he called a “raising bee,” which is the custom here, and fourteen of his neighbors responded to the call. This is for building up the walls of the house, and placing the rafters for the roof. Strength and willingness are most desirable at a “ bee,” but for the four corners, which have to be saddled, skill is likewise required, and therefore four of the best hands are always chosen for the corners. Saddling is cutting a piece out of the end of each log as it is raised, so that each succeeding log rests in the niche made for it, and thus when the building is finished all is firm as a rock. No payment is expected for the assistance given, but good and plentiful meals are always provided. Sometimes these bees are quite festive meetings, where the wives and daughters of the settlers wait at table, and supply the wants of the hungry visitors. At a bee which your brother attended some time ago, all the young women were in their Sunday attire, and they noticed even a sprinkling of book-muslin garibaldis. The female element was entirely wanting at your brother-in-law’s bee, and two or three little things went wrong, but excuses are always made for the ignorance of new settlers, and in subsequent meetings on his behalf, the fare has been better, and full satisfaction given.
In the middle of the log-house stands out, hideously prominent, a settler’s stove with a whole array of pots, pans, and kettles belonging to it, and which when not in use are generally hung up on the walls. In the very cold weather, when the fire has to be kept up night and day, it takes nearly the whole day’s chopping of one man, to supply it. You must not suppose that we had come into a furnished house, — there had as yet been neither time nor means to get furniture of any kind. F. had herself been settled but a fortnight, and we were only too glad to sleep on the floor, to sit on upturned boxes, and to make the top of a large chest our dining-table. When our baggage at length arrived, for some days we could hardly turn round, but we were most thankful for the excellent bedding and the good, warm blankets we bad brought from France, packed in barrels. We already found the nights very chilly indeed. You know what excellent amateur carpenters your brothers have been from boyhood, and this knack they have turned to good account in the bush. As soon as time could be found, your brother E. made quite a good bedstead for his sister, and stools, benches, and shelves which we have found most useful.
For a long time after my arrival, and even after your brother-in-law and myself had received our remittances, we were in danger of starvation, from the coarse, bad food, and the difficulty of procuring it. At the time of which I am writing, the autumn of 1871, there was neither store nor post-office nearer than the village of N., fully seven miles off; the state of the roads I have already described; the gentlemen of our different families had to bring in all provisions in sacks slung upon their backs. We found the staple food of the settlers to be hard, salt pork, potatoes, oatmeal, rice, molasses, and flour for bread, which is invariably doughy, and, according to the “rising” employed, either bitter, sour, or salt. With regard to other articles of consumption, such as tea, coffee, sugar, etc., I was and am of opinion that we were using up the refuse of all the shops in Toronto. The tea abounded in sloe leaves, wild raspberry leaves, and other vegetation which never came from China, and it was so full of bits of stick, that my son informed the people at the “ store,” that he had collected a nice little stock for winter fuel.
My chemical knowledge was not sufficient to enable me to analyze the coffee, but we all agreed that it was a villainous compound, of which the coffee berry formed the smallest ingredient. We were very glad to fall back upon, and take into favor, pure chiccory, which is tolerably good with sugar and milk, and which many of the settlers grow and prepare for themselves. You know what a simple table I kept in France, but there our plain food was delicately cooked and prepared, and, plain as it was, was the best of its kind. We found the change most unpleasant and injurious to our health, and what was worse than all, the store was often out of the most necessary articles, and our messengers were compelled to return weary and footsore, without what we wanted. We are much better off now, having a post-office and store belonging to the settlement only three miles away, kept by very civil and intelligent Scotch people, who do their best to procure whatever is ordered. We suffered much also from the want of fresh meat, for though at times some one in the neighborhood might kill a sheep, yet we seldom heard of it before all the best parts were gone.
I come now to speak of a delusion which is very general in the " old country,” and in which I largely shared. I mean with regard to the great plenty of venison and game to be found in these parts. This fallacy is much encouraged by different books on emigration, which speak of these desirable articles of food as being plentiful and within the reach of every settler. I certainly arrived with a vague idea that passing deer could be shot from one’s own door, that partridge and wild duck were as plentiful as sparrows in England, and that hares and rabbits might almost be caught with the hand. These romantic ideas were wofully dispelled! There is very little game of any kind left, and to get that good dogs are wanted, which are very expensive to keep. None of our party have caught the most distant glimpse of a deer since we came, except your two brothers, who once saw a poor doe rush madly across a corner of C.’s clearing, hotly pursued by a trapper’s deer-hound, at a season when it was against the law to shoot deer. Your sister-in-law once, venturing from C.’s clearing to ours without an escort, was much alarmed at hearing a rustling in the bush, quite near her, and a repeated ba-a, ba-a! We were told that the noise must have come from an old stag which is said to have haunted for years the range of rock near us. This mythical old fellow has, however, never been seen, even by “ the oldest inhabitant.” Your brothers have now and then shot a chance partridge or wild duck, but had to look for them, and the truth must be told, that when settlers, gentle or simple, are engaged in the daily toil of grubbing, and, as it were, scratching the earth for bread, it is difficult to find a day’s leisure for the gentlemanly recreation of shooting. Your youngest brother was pretty successful in trapping beaver and muskrat, and in shooting porcupine; of the two former, the skins can be sold to advantage, but as to eating their flesh, which some of our party succeeded in doing—your eldest brother and myself found that impossible, and turned with loathing from the rich repasts, prepared from what I irreverently termed vermin!
I must now tell you how our lots are situated with regard to each other. C., having come out a year before the rest of us, had secured two hundred acres of free grant land, one lot in his own name, and one in the maiden name of his present wife, who came out from England to marry him, under the chaperonage of your sister and her husband. Since the birth of his little boy, he has also obtained another one hundred acres as “ head of a family.” His land is good and prettily situated, with plenty of beaver meadow and a sprinkling of rock, and also a very picturesque waterfall, where in coming years he can have a mill. I have the adjoining one hundred acres, — good, flat land for cultivation, but not so picturesque as any of the other lots, which I regret, though others envy me the absence of rock. My land lies between C.’s and the two hundred acres belonging to your brotherin-law, whose very pretty situation I have already described. I am sorry to say that the two hundred acres taken up before we came, for your eldest brother and sister, are at a distance of five miles from here; your brother, who went over to see about clearing a portion of them, says the landscape is most beautiful, as in addition to rock and wood there are good-sized lakes, which make the lots less valuable for cultivation, but far more beautiful to the eye.
As the autumn advanced we began most seriously to give our attention to building my log-house, hoping that I might settle my part of the family before the winter set in. Accordingly, an acre of my land was cleared, and the logs for a house cut and prepared, a skillful workman being hired to help, and when all was ready, we called a bee, and took care to provide everything of the best, in the shape of provisions. Our plan was a signal failure, partly because settlers do not like coming to a bee so late in the year (it was November), and partly because some of the invitations had been given on Sunday, which, as most of the settlers near us were Scotch and strict Presbyterians, had caused offense. Only three people came, and they were thanked and dismissed. The very next day (November 11th), snow-storms and hard winter weather began; but in spite of this, our four gentlemen, seeing my deep disappointment at being kept waiting for a residence, most chivalrously went to work, and by their unassisted efforts and hard labor actually managed, in the course of a fortnight, to raise the walls and place the rafters of a log-house not much smaller than the others. Their work was the admiration of the whole settlement, and many expressed themselves quite ashamed of having thus left us in the lurch. After raising the walls, however, they were reluctantly compelled to stop, for the severity of the weather was such, that shingling the roof, chinking, and mossing became quite impossible. As it was, E. nearly had his hands frost-bitten.
We were thus compelled to remain with your sister till the spring of 1872.
We greatly felt, after we came here, the want of all religious ordinances, hut we soon arranged a general meeting of all the members of the family on a Sunday at your sister’s, when your brotherin-law read the Church of England service, and all joined in singing the chants and hymns. Sometimes he was unavoidably absent, as the clergyman at B—e, knowing him to have taken his degree at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and to be otherwise qualified, sometimes required his assistance, though a layman, to do duty for him at different stations in the district. We found in our own neighborhood a building set apart for use as a church, but too far off for us to attend either summer or winter. Here Church of England, Presbyterian, and Wesleyan ministers preached in turn, and thus some semblance of worship was kept up.
I hardly dare describe the miserable change we found in our employments and manner of life when we first settled down to hard labor in the bush. It was anguish to me to see your sisters, so tenderly and delicately brought up, working harder by far than any of our servants in England or France. It is one thing to sit in a pretty drawing-room, to play, to sing, to study, to embroider, and to enjoy social and intellectual converse with a select circle of kind friends, and it is quite another thing to slave and toil in a log-house, no better than a kitchen, from morning till night, at cleaning, washing, baking, preparing meals for hungry men (not always of one’s own family), and drying incessant changes of wet clothes. I confess, to my shame, that my philosophy entirely gave way, and that for a long time I cried constantly. I also took to falling off my chair in fits of giddiness, which lasted for a few minutes, and much alarmed the children, who feared apoplexy. I felt quite sure that it was from fretting, want of exercise, and inanition from not being able to swallow a sufficiency of the food I so much disliked. Fortunately, we had brought out some cases of arrowroot, and some bottles of Oxley’s Essence of Ginger, and with the help of this nourishment, and walking resolutely up and down the clearing, where we kept a track swept for the purpose, I got better. Your eldest sister likewise had an alarming palpitation of the heart, no doubt brought on by poor food, hard work, and the great weight of the utensils belonging to the stove. After some time she too partially recovered; indeed we had to get well as best we might, for there was no doctor nearer than B—e, eighteen miles off, and had we sent for him, we had no means of paying for either visits or drugs.
Christmas at length drew near, and as our funds were exceedingly low, dear C. insisted on contributing to our Christmas dinner, as of course we were to collect our family party on that day. He bought a fowl from a neighboring settler, and sent with it some mutton. Your poor sister has told me since, that while preparing the chicken for cooking, she could have shed tears of disgust and compassion, the poor thing being so attenuated that its bones pierced through the skin, and had it not been killed, it must soon have died of consumption. In spite of this, I roused my dormant energies, and with the help of butter, onions, and spices, I concocted a savory stew which was much applauded. We had also a pudding! Well — the less said of the pudding the better. It was eaten, — peace to its memory! We all assembled on Christmas morning early, and had our church service performed by your brother-in-law. Cruel memory took me back to our beloved little church in France, with its Christmas decorations of holly and evergreens, and I could almost hear the sweet voices of the choir singing my favorite hymn, “ Hark! the herald angels sing! ”
There was indeed a sad contrast between the festive meetings of other years, when our little band was unbroken by death and separation, and when out of our abundance we could make others happy, and this forlorn gathering in a strange land, with care written on every brow, poverty in all our surroundings, and deep though unexpressed anxiety lest our struggles in this new and uncongenial mode of existence should prove fruitless. For the sake of others, I tried to simulate a cheerfulness I could not feel, and so we got over the evening, and had a good deal of general conversation, and some of our favorite songs were sung by the gentlemen. It was late when our party separated; your brother C., with his wife and C. W., actually scrambled home through the forest by moonlight, a track having been broken by snowshoes in the morning. I gladly retired to bed, and under cover of the darkness had a good silent cry, of which no one was cognizant but your sister, who lay by my side, but took care not to say a word.
New Year’s Day, 1872, was one of those exceptionally beautiful days when hope is generated in the saddest heart, and when the most pressing cares and anxieties retire for a time at least into the background of our lives. The sky was blue and clear, the sun bright, and the air quite soft and balmy for the time of year. We had before and afterwards some bitter cold and gloomy weather, the thermometer being at times forty degrees below zero during the winter. We had the greatest difficulty in keeping ourselves sufficiently clothed for such a season. All people coming to the bush bring clothes far too good for the rough life they lead there. In coming out, we had no means of providing any special outfit, and therefore brought only the ordinary wardrobes of genteel life. All silks, delicate shawls, laces, and ornaments are perfectly useless here. Every article I possess of that kind is carefully put away, and will probably never see daylight again. We found everything we had taken of woolen, warm plaid shawls, winter dresses, thick flannels, furs, etc., most useful; of these we had a tolerable stock, and we put one thing over another as the cold increased, till we must often have presented the appearance of feather-beds tied with a string in the middle. As to our feet and legs it was not a trifling matter to encase them securely. Our delicate French boots and slippers were of no use here. Stockings drawn over stockings, French chaussons, and over all moccasins or large stockings of your brothers’, even these hardly kept us warm enough. Nor were the gentlemen a whit behind us in wrapping up. Your brother sometimes wore six pairs of thick woolen stockings at a time, with sea-boots drawn over all; shirts, jerseys, and coats in proportion. Your brother-in-law and C. had goatskin coats brought from France, such as are worn by the shepherds there, and in which they looked like Crusoes.
Our occupations were manifold; hard work was the order of the day for every one but me; but all the work I was allowed to do was the cooking, for which I consider that I have a special vocation. A great compliment was once paid me by an old Indian officer in our regiment, who declared that Mrs. K. could make a good curry, he was sure, out of the sole of a shoe! At other times I read, wrote letters, and plied my knitting-needles indefatigably, to the great advantage of our little colony, in the shape of comforters, mittens, Canadian sashes, sacks, and petticoats for the children. Sometimes I read to the dear children out of their storybooks, but their happiest time was when they could get your eldest sister to give them an hour or two of story-telling in the evening.
Meanwhile, the gentlemen were busy from morning till night in chopping down trees in readiness for burning in spring. This is mostly done in mid-winter, as they are reckoned to chop more easily then.
You must not suppose that all this time we had no visitors. By degrees many of the settlers scattered over the neighborhood came to see us; some, doubtless, from kindly motives, others from curiosity to know what the strangers were like. I found some of them pleasant and amusing, with a sprinkling of higher intelligence, which made their conversation very interesting, particularly when they talked of their bush experience. One very picturesque elderly man, tall, spare, and upright, came to fell some pine-trees contiguous to the house, which much endangered its safety when the hurricanes, so frequent in this country, blew. He had begun life as a plowboy on a farm in my beloved county of Kent, and had the unmistakable Kentish accent. It seemed so strange to me at first to be shaking hands and sitting at table familiarly with one of a class so different from my own, but this was my first initiation into the free and easy intercourse of all classes in this country, where the standing proverb is, “ Jack is as good as his master! ”
I found all the settlers kindly disposed towards us, and most liberal in giving us a share of their flower seeds and garden seeds, which, as new-comers, we could not be supposed to have. They were willing also to accept in return such little civilities as we could offer, in the way of lending books and newspapers from the “old country,” and sometimes drugs which could not be got in the settlement. There might be a little quarreling, backbiting, and petty rivalry among them, with an occasional dash of slanderous gossip; but I am inclined to think not more than will inevitably be found in small communities. As a body they certainly are hard-working, thrifty, and kindhearted. Almost universally they seem contented with their position and prospects. I have seldom met with a settler who did not think his own land the finest in the country, and who was not full of hope that the coveted railway would certainly pass through his lot.
I began to feel an increasing anxiety about your sister. That a child should be born in this desolate wilderness, where we could have no servant, no monthly nurse, and not even a doctor within reach, was sufficiently alarming. To relieve my mind, your brother-in-law went about the neighborhood, and at last found a very respectable person, a settler’s wife, not more than three miles off, who consented to be our assistant. We bad been made a little more comfortable in the house, as your brotherin-law and brother had made a very tolerable ceiling over our bed places, and your brother had chopped and neatlypiled up at the end of the room a large stock of fire-wood, which prevented the necessity of so often opening the door.
We felt now more than ever the want of fresh meat, for the children could not touch the salt pork, and were heartily tired of boiled rice and dumplings, which were all the variety we could give them, with the exception of an occasional egg. In this emergency, your brother C. consented to sell me a bull calf, which he intended bringing up, but having also a cow and a heifer, and fearing to run short of fodder, he consented to part with him. Thus I became the fortunate possessor of poor “bully,” who, when killed, fully realized my misgivings as to his being neither veal nor beef. He had a marvelous development of bone and gristle, but very little flesh; still, we made much of him in the shape of nourishing broth and savory stews, and as I only paid seven dollars for him, and had long credit, I was fully satisfied with my first bush speculation.
The 18th of January came. The day had been piercing cold, with a drifting, blinding snow; the night was pitch dark, with a fierce, gusty wind, the forest trees cracking and crashing down in all directions. We went to bed. To send for help at three miles' distance in such a night was impossible. Fortunately, we had no time to be frightened or nervous, after being called, and before three A. M., our first bush baby was born, a very fine little girl! I did indeed feel thankful when I saw my child safe in bed, with her dear baby girl, washed, dressed, and well bundled up in flannel, lying by her side, she herself taking a basin of gruel which I joyfully prepared for her. God " tempers the wind to the shorn lamb!" We could well agree to this when we found your sister recover even more quickly than she had done in France, where she had so many more comforts and even luxuries.
This sudden call upon our energies made me glad that my wandering life in the army had rendered me very independent of extraneous help, and that I had taught you all from childhood never to call a servant for what you could easily do with your own hands. The very first thing people must learn in the bush is to trust in God, and to help themselves, for other help is mostly too far off to be available.
At the end of this month, when I felt that I could safely leave dear F., I determined to go to B—e and sign for my land. The not having done so before had long been a cause of great anxiety. I had been more than four months in the country, had begun to clear and to build upon my lot, and yet from various causes had not been able to secure it by signing the necessary papers. These having been sent to France, and having missed me, had been duly forwarded here.
Till the signing was completed, I was liable at any moment to have my land taken up by some one else. Accordingly, your brother wrote to B—e for a cutter and horse, and directed the driver to come as far into the " bush " as he could. We started on a very bright, cold morning, but I had walked fully three miles before we met our sleigh, which was behind time. I never enjoyed anything in the country so much as this my first sleighing expedition. The cutter only held one, and I was nestled down in the bottom of it, well wrapped up, and could enjoy looking at the very picturesque country we were rapidly passing over. I did, however, most sincerely pity your brother and the driver, who nearly perished, for, sitting on the front seat, they caught all the wind. We stopped midway at a small tavern where we dined, and in spite of the dirty, slovenly aspect of the dinnertable and the whole house, I found everything enjoyable, and above all the sense of being for a few hours freed from my long imprisonment in the woods. It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at B—e, where we went to the N. A. Hotel, and were made very comfortable by the kind mistress of it.
The next morning we went to the magistrate’s office, where I signed for my one hundred acres, and of course came away with the conscious dignity of a landed proprietor. -
We left B—e to return home at one P. M., but it was nearly dark when we turned into the “bush,” and quite so when we were put down at the point from which we were to walk home.
Here we were luckily met by your brother C. and C. W., with a lantern and a rope for our parcels, according to promise. C. took charge of me, and led the way with the lantern. I tried to follow in his steps, but the track was so narrow and the light so uncertain, that I found myself every few moments up to my knees in soft snow, having diverged perhaps only a step from the track. I became almost unable to go on, but after many expedients, one only was found to answer. C. tied a rope round my waist and then round his own, and in this safe but highly ignominious manner, I was literally towed through the forest, and reached home much exhausted, but I am bound to say almost as much from laughter as from fatigue. I found all well, and the dear children were highly pleased with the little presents I had brought for them.
The first months of this year found us very anxious to get the log-house finished which had been so well begun by our four gentlemen, and as soon as the weather moderated a little, and our means allowed us to get help, we had it roofed, floored, chinked, and mossed. It was necessary to get it finished so that we might move before the great thaw should cover the forest paths with seas of slush and mud, and before the creek between us and our domicile should be swollen so as to render it impassable for ladies. When the workmen had finished, we sent to the nearest town for a settler’s stove; and as the ox team could bring it no farther than the corner of the road which skirts one end of my lot, your brothers had the agreeable task of bringing it piecemeal on their backs, with all its heavy belongings, down the precipitous side of my gully, wading knee deep through the creek at the bottom, and scrambling up the side nearest here. It was quite a service of danger, and I felt truly thankful that no accident occurred. Another important event also took place, and this was the christening of our dear little bush girl, who by this time was thriving nicely.
Our Church of England clergyman at B—e kindly came over to perform the ceremony, but as no special day had been named, his visit took us by surprise, and the hospitality we were able to extend to him was meagre indeed. This christening certainly presented a marked contrast to our last. It was no well-dressed infant, in a richly embroidered robe, and French lace cap like a cauliflower wig, that I handed to our good minister, but a dear little soft bundle of rumpled flannel, with just enough of face visible to receive the baptismal sprinkling. We all stood round in our anomalous costumes, and a cracked slop-basin represented the font. Nevertheless, our little darling behaved incomparably well, and all passed off pleasantly.
We saw but little of your brother at this time, for he was fully occupied in the log-house, where he lit a large fire every day that it might be thoroughly aired for our reception, and then engaged in carpentering for our comfort, He put up numerous shelves for the crockery and kitchen things, made two very good and substantial bedsteads, a sofa fixed against the wall which we call the “dais,” and a very comfortable easy-chair with a flexible seat of strips of cowhide interlaced, — an ingenious device of your brother C., who made one for his wife. At last the house being finished, quite aired enough, and otherwise made as comfortable as our very slender means would permit, we resolved to move, and on the 7th of April we took our departure from dear F.’s, who, however glad to have more room for the children, sadly missed our companionship as we did hers. The day of our exodus was very clear and bright, and the narrow snow-track between our lots was still tolerably hard and safe, but the soft untrodden snow on either side of the track was fast melting, and every careless step we took plunged us into two or three feet of snow from which we had to be ignominiously dragged out. All our trunks, chests, and barrels had to be left at F.’s, and we only took with us packages that could be carried by hand, and our bedding, which was conveyed on the shoul-ders of the gentlemen. Your brotherin-law and sister, when we finally departed, preceded me, laden with all manner of small articles, and every few yards down they came in deep, soft snow, and here and there into holes full of water, the narrow path treacherously giving way at the edges. I followed with a stout stick which helped me along considerably, and as I carried nothing and picked my way very carefully, I managed to escape with very few falls, and only two of any consequence, one when I pitched forward with my face down flat on the ground, and one when my feet suddenly slipped from under me, and sent me backwards, rolling over and over in the snow, before, even with help, I could get up. The effects of this fall I felt for a long time.
At length we arrived at our new home, but in spite of the magic of that word, I felt dreadfully depressed, and as we were all thoroughly wet and weary, and on looking out of the windows in front saw nothing but a wall of snow six feet deep, which quite hid the clearing from our eyes, I need not say that we were anything but a gay party. Your kind brother-in-law, to console me a little, went home and brought back in his arms, as a present for me, the little cat of which I had been so fond at his house. I cheered up immediately, and had so much trouble to prevent little Tibbs from running away and being lost in the snow, that it was quite an occupation for me. One member of our party made himself at home at once, and took possession of the warmest place before the stove; that was dear old Nero, our French seigneur, whose chief delight seemed to be incessantly barking at the squirrels.
The thaw continuing, we were quite prisoners for some weeks, and as to our property left at your sister’s, it was nearly three months before we could get it, as your brother-in-law with your brothers had to cut a path for the oxen between our clearings, and to make a rough bridge over his creek, which, though not so deep as the one on my land, was equally impassable for a wagon and team.
Happy would it have been for us, and for all the new settlers, if, when the snow was quite melted, which was not till the second week in May, fine dry weather had ensued. This would have enabled us to log and burn the trees felled during the winter, and to clear up the ground ready for cropping. Instead of this, drenching rain set in, varied by occasional thunder-storms, so that even after the logging was done, it was June before we could venture to fire the heaps, the ground being still quite wet, and even then the burn was such a partial one that by the 15th of June we had only three fourths of an acre thoroughly ready, and on this your brother planted eight bushels of potatoes, happily for us regardless of the prognostics of our neighbors, who all assured him that he was much too late to have any chance of a return. He had, however, an excellent yield of eighty bushels, which fully repaid him for his perseverance and steady refusal to be wet-blanketed. He also, however late, sowed peas, French beans, vegetable marrows, and put in cabbages, from all of which we had a good average crop.
We had, of course, to hire men for our logging, with their oxen, and to find their meals. I could not but observe how well they all behaved, washing their faces and hands before sitting down to table, and also scrupulously refraining from swearing, smoking, or spitting while in the house. A man who hires himself and his oxen out for the day, has two dollars and food for himself and his beasts; and should he bring any assistants, they each have seventy-five cents and their food. You should have seen the gentlemen of our party after a day’s logging! They were black from head to foot, and more resembled master chimney-sweeps than anything else. Most of the settlers have a regular logging suit made of coarse, colored stuff; anything better, worn during such work, is sure to be spoiled. Our burn, though a bad one, was very picturesque. The fire did not burn fiercely enough to clear off the logheaps, still wet from the late rains, but it ran far back into the forest, and many of the tall trees, particularly the decaying ones, were burning from bottom to top, and continued in flames for some days and nights.
Not being able to get the land ready for corn of any kind, and our only crop being the potatoes I have mentioned and a few garden vegetables, your brother thought it best to give his whole attention to fencing our clearing all round, and putting gates at the three different points of egress. Before the fence was up your sister and I spent half our time in running out with the broom to drive away the neighbor’s cattle, and protect our cherished cabbage plants, and the potatoes just coming up. Two audacious steers in particular, called Jim and Charlie, used to come many times during the day, trot round the house, drink up every drop of soapy water in the washing-tubs, and, if any linen was hanging on the lines to dry, would munch it till driven away.
The being able to turn his cattle into the bush during the whole summer, and thus to feed them free of all expense, is a great boon to the settler, but this bush feeding has its disadvantages, for the cattle will sometimes stray with what companions they gather on the road, miles and miles away. All through the past summer, after his hard day’s work, we used to see your youngest brother pass, with a rope in one hand, and his milk-pail in the other, from our clearing into the bush, to look for Crummie and the heifer. Sometimes he would return with them, but much oftener we had to go without the milk he supplied us with, as she would be heard of far away at some distant farm, and she and her eompnaion even at times strayed as far as the Muskoka road, many miles off.
Both your brothers and your brotherin-law are excellent at making their way through the bush, and as each carries a pocket compass, they are in little danger of being lost. Just before we came here the whole settlement had to turn out in search of a settler’s wife, who had gone to look for her cow one fine afternoon with two of her own children, and two of a neighbor’s, who coveted the pleasant walk and the chance of berry-picking. As evening came on and they did not return, much alarm was felt, and when the night had passed, it was thought best to call out all the men. Accordingly twenty men were soon mustered, headed by a skillful trapper, who has been many years here, and knows the bush well. They made a “trapper’s line,” which means placing the men in a straight line at considerable distances from each other, and so beating the bush in all directions as they advance, shouting and firing off their guns continually. At length towards the afternoon, the trapper himself came upon the poor woman and the four children, not many miles from her home, sitting under a tree, utterly exhausted by hunger, fatigue, and incessant screaming for help. Her account was, that she had found her cow at some distance from home, had milked her, and then tried to return, but entirely forgot the way she came, and after trying one opening after another became utterly bewildered. The forest in summer is so unvarying that nothing is easier than to go astray. As night came on, she divided the can of milk among the poor, hungry, crying children, and at length they all slept under a large tree, the night providentially being fine and warm. In the morning they had renewed their fruitless efforts, getting farther and farther astray, till at length they had sunk down, unable to stir from the spot where they were found.
H. B. K.