The Backwoods of Canada written by Catharine Parr Traill
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Catharine Parr Traill >> The Backwoods of Canada
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[Illustration: Silver Pine]
The waters of the Otanabee are so clear and free from impurity that you
distinctly see every stone-pebble or shell at the bottom. Here and there
an opening in the forest reveals some tributary stream, working its way
beneath the gigantic trees that meet above it. The silence of the scene
is unbroken but by the sudden rush of the wild duck, disturbed from its
retreat among the shrubby willows, that in some parts fringe the left
bank, or the shrill cry of the kingfisher, as it darts across the water.
The steam-boat put in for a supply of fire-wood at a clearing about
half-way from Peterborough, and I gladly availed myself of the
opportunity of indulging my inclination for gathering some of the
splendid cardinal flowers that grew among the stones by the river's
brink. Here, too, I plucked as sweet a rose as ever graced an English
garden. I also found, among the grass of the meadow-land, spearmint,
and, nearer to the bank, peppermint. There was a bush resembling our
hawthorn, which, on examination, proved to be the cockspur hawthorn,
with fruit as large as cherries, pulpy, and of a pleasant tartness not
much unlike to tamarinds. The thorns of this tree were of formidable
length and strength. I should think it might be introduced with great
advantage to form live fences; the fruit, too, would prove by no means
contemptible as a preserve.
As I felt a great curiosity to see the interior of a log-house, I
entered the open door-way of the tavern, as the people termed it, under
the pretext of buying a draught of milk. The interior of this rude
dwelling presented no very inviting aspect. The walls were of rough
unhewn logs, filled between the chinks with moss and irregular wedges of
wood to keep out the wind and rain. The unplastered roof displayed the
rafters, covered with moss and lichens, green, yellow, and grey; above
which might be seen the shingles, dyed to a fine mahogany-red by the
smoke which refused to ascend the wide clay and stone chimney, to curl
gracefully about the roof, and seek its exit in the various crannies and
apertures with which the roof and sides of the building abounded.
The floor was of earth, which had become pretty hard and smooth through
use. This hut reminded me of the one described by the four Russian
sailors that were left to winter on the island of Spitzbergen. Its
furniture was of corresponding rudeness; a few stools, rough and
unplaned; a deal table, which, from being manufactured from unseasoned
wood, was divided by three wide open seams, and was only held together
by its ill-shaped legs; two or three blocks of grey granite placed
beside the hearth served for seats for the children, with the addition
of two beds raised a little above the ground by a frame of split cedars.
On these lowly couches lay extended two poor men, suffering under the
wasting effects of lake-fever. Their yellow bilious faces strangely
contrasted with the gay patchwork-quilts that covered them. I felt much
concerned for the poor emigrants, who told me they had not been many
weeks in the country when they were seized with the fever and ague. They
both had wives and small children, who seemed very miserable. The wives
also had been sick with ague, and had not a house or even shanty of
their own up; the husbands having fallen ill were unable to do anything;
and much of the little money they had brought out with them had been
expended in board and lodging in this miserable place, which they
dignified by the name of tavern. I cannot say I was greatly prepossessed
in favour of their hostess, a harsh, covetous woman. Besides the various
emigrants, men, women, and children, that lodged within the walls, the
log-house had tenants of another description. A fine calf occupied a pen
in a corner; some pigs roamed grunting about in company with some half-
dozen fowls. The most attractive objects were three snow-white pigeons,
that were meekly picking up crumbs, and looking as if they were too pure
and innocent to be inhabitants of such a place.
Owing to the shallowness of the river at this season, and to the rapids,
the steam-boat is unable to go up the whole way to Peterborough, and a
scow or rowboat, as it is sometimes termed--a huge, unwieldy, flat-
bottomed machine--meets the passengers at a certain part of the river,
within sight of a singular pine tree on the right bank; this is termed
the "Yankee bonnet," from the fancied resemblance of the topmost boughs
to a sort of cap worn by the Yankees, not much unlike the blue bonnet of
Scotland.
Unfortunately, the steamer ran aground some four miles below the usual
place of rendezvous, and we waited till near four o'clock for the scow.
When it made its appearance, we found, to our discomfort, the rowers
(eight in number, and all Irishmen) were under the exciting influence of
a --g of whiskey, which they had drunk dry on the voyage. They were
moreover exasperated by the delay on the part of the steamer, which gave
them four miles additional heavy rowing. Beside a number of passengers
there was an enormous load of furniture, trunks, boxes, chests, sacks of
wheat, barrels of flour, salt, and pork, with many miscellaneous
packages and articles, small and great, which were piled to a height
that I thought very unsafe both to goods and passengers.
With a marvellous ill grace the men took up their oars when their load
was completed, but declared they would go on shore and make a fire and
cook their dinners, they not having eaten any food, though they had
taken large potations of the whiskey. This measure was opposed by some
of the gentlemen, and a fierce and angry scene ensued, which ended in
the mutineers flinging down their oars, and positively refusing to row
another stroke till they had satisfied their hunger.
Perhaps I had a fellow-feeling for them, as I began to be exceedingly
hungry, almost ravenous, myself, having fasted since six that morning;
indeed, so faint was I, that I was fain to get my husband to procure me
a morsel of the coarse uninviting bread that was produced by the rowers,
and which they ate with huge slices of raw pickled pork, seasoning this
unseemly meal with curses "not loud but deep," and bitter taunts against
those who prevented them from cooking their food like _Christians_.
While I was eagerly eating the bit of bread, an old farmer, who had eyed
me for some time with a mixture of curiosity and compassion, said, "Poor
thing: well, you do seem hungry indeed, and I dare say are just out from
the _ould_ country, and so little used to such hard fare. Here are some
cakes that my woman (i.e. wife) put in my pocket when I left home; I
care nothing for them, but they are better than that bad bread; take
'em, and welcome." With these words he tossed some very respectable
home-made seed-cakes into my lap, and truly never was anything more
welcome than this seasonable refreshment.
A sullen and gloomy spirit seemed to prevail among our boatmen, which by
no means diminished as the evening drew on, and "the rapids were near."
The sun had set, and the moon and stars rose brilliantly over the still
waters, which gave back the reflections of their glorious multitude of
heavenly bodies. A sight so passing fair might have stilled the most
turbulent spirits into peace; at least so I thought, as, wrapped in my
cloak, I leant back against the supporting arm of my husband, and
looking from the waters to the sky, and from the sky to the waters, with
delight and admiration. My pleasant reverie was, however, soon ended,
when I suddenly felt the boat touch the rocky bank, and heard the
boatmen protesting they would go no further that night. We were nearly
three miles below Peterborough, and how I was to walk this distance,
weakened as I was by recent illness and fatigue of our long travelling,
I knew not. To spend the night in an open boat, exposed to the heavy
dews arising from the river, would be almost death. While we were
deliberating on what to do, the rest of the passengers had made up their
minds, and taken the way through the woods by a road they were well
acquainted with. They were soon out of sight, all but one gentleman, who
was bargaining with one of the rowers to take him and his dog across the
river at the head of the rapids in a skiff.
Imagine our situation, at ten o'clock at night, without knowing a single
step of our road, put on shore to find the way to the distant town as we
best could, or pass the night in the dark forest.
Almost in despair, we entreated the gentleman to be our guide as far as
he went. But so many obstacles beset our path in the form of newly-
chopped trees and blocks of stone, scattered along the shore, that it
was with the utmost difficulty we could keep him in sight. At last we
came up with him at the place appointed to meet the skiff, and, with a
pertinacity that at another time and in other circumstances we never
should have adopted, we all but insisted on being admitted into the
boat. An angry growling consent was extorted from the surly Charon, and
we hastily entered the frail bark, which seemed hardly calculated to
convey us in safety to the opposite shore.
I could not help indulging in a feeling of indescribable fear, as I
listened to the torrent of profane invective that burst forth
continually from the lips of the boatman. Once or twice we were in
danger of being overset by the boughs of the pines and cedars which had
fallen into the water near the banks. Right glad was I when we reached
the opposite shores; but here a new trouble arose: there was yet more
untracked wood to cross before we again met the skiff which had to pass
up a small rapid, and meet us at the head of the small lake, an
expansion of the Otanabee a little below Peterborough. At the distance
of every few yards our path was obstructed by fallen trees, mostly
hemlock, spruce, or cedar, the branches of which are so thickly
interwoven that it is scarcely possible to separate them, or force a
passage through the tangled thicket which they form.
Had it not been for the humane assistance of our conductor, I know not
how I should have surmounted these difficulties. Sometimes I was ready
to sink down from very weariness. At length I hailed, with a joy I could
hardly have supposed possible, the gruff voice of the Irish rower, and,
after considerable grumbling on his part, we were again seated.
Glad enough we were to see, by the blazing light of an enormous log-
heap, the house of our friend. Here we received the offer of a guide to
show us the way to the town by a road cut through the wood. We partook
of the welcome refreshment of tea, and, having gained a little strength
by a short rest, we once more commenced our journey, guided by a ragged,
but polite, Irish boy, whose frankness and good humour quite won our
regards. He informed us he was one of seven orphans, who had lost father
and mother in the cholera. It was a sad thing, he said, to be left
fatherless and motherless, in a strange land; and he swept away the
tears that gathered in his eyes as he told the simple, but sad tale of
his early bereavement; but added, cheerfully, he had met with a kind
master, who had taken some of his brothers and sisters into his service
as well as himself.
Just as we were emerging from the gloom of the wood we found our
progress impeded by a _creek_, as the boy called it, over which he told
us we must pass by a log-bridge before we could get to the town. Now,
the log-bridge was composed of one log, or rather a fallen tree, thrown
across the stream, rendered very slippery by the heavy dew that had
risen from the swamp. As the log admitted of only one person at a time,
I could receive no assistance from my companions; and, though our little
guide, with a natural politeness arising from the benevolence of his
disposition, did me all the service in his power by holding the lantern
close to the surface to throw all the light he could on the subject, I
had the ill luck to fall in up to my knees in the water, my head turning
quite giddy just as I came to the last step or two; thus was I wet as
well as weary. To add to our misfortune we saw the lights disappear, one
by one, in the village, till a solitary candle, glimmering from the
upper chambers of one or two houses, were our only beacons. We had yet a
lodging to seek, and it was near midnight before we reached the door of
the principal inn; there, at least, thought I, our troubles for to-night
will end; but great was our mortification on being told there was not a
spare bed to be had in the house, every one being occupied by emigrants
going up to one of the back townships.
I could go no further, and we petitioned for a place by the kitchen
fire, where we might rest, at least, if not sleep, and I might dry my
wet garments. On seeing my condition the landlady took compassion on me,
led me to a blazing fire, which her damsels quickly roused up; one
brought a warm bath for my feet, while another provided a warm potation,
which, I really believe, strange and unusual to my lips as it was, did
me good: in short, we received every kindness and attention that we
required from mine host and hostess, who relinquished their own bed for
our accommodation, contenting themselves with a shakedown before the
kitchen fire.
I can now smile at the disasters of _that_ day, but at the time they
appeared no trifles, as you may well suppose.
Farewell, my dearest Mother.
LETTER VI.
Peterborough.--Manners and Language of the Americans.--Scotch
Engineman.--Description of Peterborough and its Environs.--Canadian
Flowers.--Shanties.--Hardships suffered by first Settlers.--Process of
establishing a Farm.
Peterborough, Sept. 11, 1832.
IT is now settled that we abide here till after the government sale has
taken place. We are, then, to remain with S------ and his family till we
have got a few acres chopped, and a log-house put up on our own land.
Having determined to go at once into the bush, on account of our
military grant, which we have been so fortunate as to draw in the
neighbourhood of S------, we have fully made up our minds to enter at
once, and cheerfully, on the privations and inconveniences attending
such a situation; as there is no choice between relinquishing that great
advantage and doing our settlement duties. We shall not be worse off
than others who have gone before us to the unsettled townships, many of
whom, naval and military officers, with their families, have had to
struggle with considerable difficulties, but who are now beginning to
feel the advantages arising from their exertions.
In addition to the land he is entitled to as an officer in the British
service, my husband is in treaty for the purchase of an eligible lot by
small lakes. This will give us a water frontage, and a further
inducement to bring us within a little distance of S------; so that we
shall not be quite so lonely as if we had gone on to our government lot
at once.
We have experienced some attention and hospitality from several of the
residents of Peterborough. There is a very genteel society, chiefly
composed of officers and their families, besides the professional men
and storekeepers. Many of the latter are persons of respectable family
and good education. Though a store is, in fact, nothing better than what
we should call in the country towns at home a "_general shop_," yet the
storekeeper in Canada holds a very different rank from the shopkeeper of
the English village. The storekeepers are the merchants and bankers of
the places in which they reside. Almost all money matters are transacted
by them, and they are often men of landed property and consequence, not
unfrequently filling the situations of magistrates, commissioners, and
even members of the provincial parliament.
As they maintain a rank in society which entitles them to equality with
the aristocracy of the country, you must not be surprised when I tell
you that it is no uncommon circumstance to see the sons of naval and
military officers and clergymen standing behind a counter, or wielding
an axe in the woods with their fathers' choppers; nor do they lose their
grade in society by such employment. After all, it is education and
manners that must distinguish the gentleman in this country, seeing that
the labouring man, if he is diligent and industrious, may soon become
his equal in point of worldly possessions. The ignorant man, let him be
ever so wealthy, can never be equal to the man of education. It is the
mind that forms the distinction between the classes in this country--
"Knowledge is power!"
We had heard so much of the odious manners of the Yankees in this
country that I was rather agreeably surprised by the few specimens of
native Americans that I have seen. They were for the most part, polite,
well-behaved people. The only peculiarities I observed in them were a
certain nasal twang in speaking, and some few odd phrases; but these
were only used by the lower class, who "_guess_" and "_calculate_" a
little more than we do. One of their most remarkable terms is to
"_Fix_." Whatever work requires to be done it must be _fixed_. "Fix the
room" is, set it in order. "Fix the table"--"Fix the fire," says the
mistress to her servants, and the things are fixed accordingly.
I was amused one day by hearing a woman tell her husband the chimney
wanted fixing. I thought it seemed secure enough, and was a little
surprised when the man got a rope and a few cedar boughs, with which he
dislodged an accumulation of soot that caused the fire to smoke. The
chimney being _fixed_, all went right again. This odd term is not
confined to the lower orders alone, and, from hearing it so often, it
becomes a standard word even among the later emigrants from our own
country.
With the exception of some few remarkable expressions, and an attempt at
introducing fine words in their every-day conversation, the lower order
of Yankees have a decided advantage over our English peasantry in the
use of grammatical language: they speak better English than you will
hear from persons of the same class in any part of England, Ireland, or
Scotland; a fact that we should be unwilling, I suppose, to allow at
home.
If I were asked what appeared to me the most striking feature in the
manners of the Americans that I had met with, I should say it was
coldness approaching to apathy. I do not at all imagine them to be
deficient in feeling or real sensibility, but they do not suffer their
emotion to be seen. They are less profuse in their expressions of
welcome and kindness than we are, though probably quite as sincere. No
one doubts their hospitality; but, after all, one likes to see the
hearty shake of the hand, and hear the cordial word that makes one feel
oneself welcome.
Persons who come to this country are very apt to confound the old
settlers from Britain with the native Americans; and when they meet with
people of rude, offensive manners, using certain Yankee words in their
conversation, and making a display of independence not exactly suitable
to their own aristocratical notions, they immediately suppose they must
be genuine Yankees, while they are, in fact, only imitators; and you
well know the fact that a bad imitation is always worse than the
original.
You would be surprised to see how soon the new comers fall into this
disagreeable manner and affectation of equality, especially the inferior
class of Irish and Scotch; the English less so. We were rather
entertained by the behaviour of a young Scotchman, the engineer of the
steamer, on my husband addressing him with reference to the management
of the engine. His manners were surly, and almost insolent. He
scrupulously avoided the least approach to courtesy or outward respect;
nay, he even went so far as to seat himself on the bench close beside
me, and observed that "among the many advantages this country offered to
settlers like him, he did not reckon it the least of them that he was
not obliged to take off his hat when he spoke to people (meaning persons
of our degree), or address them by any other title than their name;
besides, he could go and take his seat beside any gentleman or lady
either, and think himself to the full as good as them.
"Very likely," I replied, hardly able to refrain from laughing at this
sally; "but I doubt you greatly overrate the advantage of such
privileges, for you cannot oblige the lady or gentleman to entertain the
same opinion of your qualifications, or to remain seated beside you
unless it pleases them to do so." With these words I rose up and left
the independent gentleman evidently a little confounded at the
manoeuvre: however, he soon recovered his self-possession, and continued
swinging the axe he held in his hand, and said, "It is no crime, I
guess, being born a poor man."
"None in the world," replied my husband; "a man's birth is not of his
own choosing. A man can no more help being born poor than rich; neither
is it the fault of a gentleman being born of parents who occupy a higher
station in society than his neighbour. I hope you will allow this?"
The Scotchman was obliged to yield a reluctant affirmative to the latter
position; but concluded with again repeating his satisfaction at not
being obliged in this country to take off his hat, or speak with respect
to gentlemen, as they styled themselves.
"No one, my friend, could have obliged you to be well mannered at home
any more than in Canada. Surely you could have kept your hat on your
head if you had been so disposed; no gentleman would have knocked it
off, I am sure.
"As to the boasted advantage of rude manners in Canada, I should think
something of it if it benefited you the least, or put one extra dollar
in your pocket; but I have my doubts if it has that profitable effect."
"There is a comfort, I guess, in considering oneself equal to a
gentleman."
"Particularly if you could induce the gentleman to think the same." This
was a point that seemed rather to disconcert our candidate for equality,
who commenced whistling and kicking his heels with redoubled energy.
"Now," said his tormentor, "you have explained your notions of Canadian
independence; be so good as to explain the machinery of your engine,
with which you seem very well acquainted."
The man eyed my husband for a minute, half sulking, half pleased at the
implied compliment on his skill, and, walking off to the engine,
discussed the management of it with considerable fluency, and from that
time treated us with perfect respect. He was evidently struck with my
husband's reply to his question, put in a most discourteous tone, "Pray,
what makes a gentleman: I'll thank you to answer me that?" "Good manners
and good education," was the reply. "A rich man or a high-born man, if
he is rude, ill-mannered, and ignorant, is no more a gentleman than
yourself."
This put the matter on a different footing, and the engineer had the
good sense to perceive that rude familiarity did not constitute a
gentleman.
But it is now time I should give you some account of Peterborough,
which, in point of situation, is superior to any place I have yet seen
in the Upper Province. It occupies a central point between the townships
of Monaghan, Smith, Cavan, Otanabee, and Douro, and may with propriety
be considered as the capital of the Newcastle district.
It is situated on a fine elevated plain, just above the small lake,
where the river is divided by two low wooded islets. The original or
government part of the town is laid out in half-acre lots; the streets,
which are now fast filling up, are nearly at right angles with the
river, and extend towards the plains to the northeast. These plains form
a beautiful natural park, finely diversified with hill and dale, covered
with a lovely green sward, enamelled with a variety of the most
exquisite flowers, and planted, as if by Nature's own hand, with groups
of feathery pines, oaks, balsam, poplar, and silver birch. The views
from these plains are delightful; whichever way you turn your eyes they
are gratified by a diversity of hill and dale, wood and water, with the
town spreading over a considerable tract of ground.
The plains descend with a steep declivity towards the river, which
rushes with considerable impetuosity between its banks. Fancy a long,
narrow valley, and separating the east and west portions of the town
into two distinct villages.
[Illustration: Spruce]
The Otanabee bank rises to a loftier elevation than the Monaghan side,
and commands an extensive view over the intervening valley, the opposite
town, and the boundary forest and hills behind it: this is called
Peterborough East, and is in the hands of two or three individuals of
large capital, from whom the town lots are purchased.
Peterborough thus divided covers a great extent of ground, more than
sufficient for the formation of a large city. The number of inhabitants
are now reckoned at seven hundred and upwards, and if it continues to
increase as rapidly in the next few years as it has done lately, it will
soon be a very populous town*.
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