Letters from Muskoka

Contents

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PREFACE -------- y

Part Ii.— Letters Written Two Years After- Wards 153 Anecdotes Of The Canadian Bush, Thirty Years

TERRA INCOGNITA; OR, THE WILDS OF MUSKOKA - 261 A PLEA FOR POOR EMIGRANTS - - - - 279

TO THE

LETTERS OF AN EMIGRANT LADY.”

N laying before the public a sketch of our “Bush” experiences during the first year after our arrival m Muskoka, Ontario, Canada, I desire to state the reasons which prompted us to such an imprudent step as emigration, without even the moderate capital necessary for any one who would start with the slightest chance of success. The Franco-German War in 1870 was the means of breaking up our

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happy home in France, which, with one short interval, had been the shelter of my family and myself during fifteen years of widowhood.

The commencement of the war found us living in the outskirts of St. Pierre-les- 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 German army appeared to be steadily advancing through France, we found ourselves in a most unpleasant dilemma — in fact, literally between fire and water !

The civic authorities made known that, in case of the approach of a German 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

PREFACE .

Vll of seven feet. Our large, rambling, convenient old mansion, which shook with every gale of wind, and had no cellarage nor secure foundation of any kind, we felt would surely be submerged.

Moreover, 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.

We felt the deepest sympathy for the French, and would willingly have helped them to the extent of our very limited means, but could only do so by lending beds and bedding for the wounded, which we did, and which were all scrupulously returned at the close of the war.

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viii

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 sondn-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 time liable to incursions from the dreaded Uhlans. He was obliged to return to his employers, who could not be left with the sole responsibility of a numerous school consisting mostly of English scholars.

A few days afterwards, on an alarm that the Germans 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

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IX 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 recognised 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 in the office of the kind friends who had known him from boyhood, and whose father, recently dead, had been our neighbour for fifteen years, his beautiful garden and pleasure-grounds joining our more humble premises.

Before the summer was over, my son-in-law, whose health suffered from his scholastic duties, made up his mind to emigrate to

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PREFACE.

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 after 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 neighbour, and 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.

Virulent small-pox and other epidemics,

PREFACE.

xi the result of effluvia from the battle-fields, broke out, and I had dangerous illness in my own family. Provisions rose to an enormous

t/

price, taxation greatly increased, and the country bid fair to be long in an unsettled condition. Under these circumstances we,, too, began to think of emigration ; and finding that my eldest son, always accustomed to a domestic circle, was very dull in London without one, and at the same time not disinclined to try farming, being fond of an out- door active life, we came to the decision to emigrate.

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 colours, 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.

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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.

LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY.

Letter I

OU ask me, my dear child, to give you a few particulars of our voyage across the Atlantic to Canada, our journey from Quebec to the Bush of Muskoka, and our residence here as emigrant farmers for the last year. As in my diary I have only chronicled the bare events of each passing day, you must only expect outlines of Bush life, and not well filled up pictures. I pass over the anguish of my separation from you and your dear ones, and can only say that when I thought of the attached circle of friends we were leaving behind us, both in France and

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England, whom probably we should never see* again, I felt strongly tempted to remain ; but the fact that others of the family had preceded us, and would be expecting our arrival,, that our baggage was already shipped, and that your brother had taken leave of his friendly employers, who to the last counselled him to retain his situation, had weight enough with me to prevent any change of plan. We

went on board the good ship T s lying in

the Thames, at least twenty-four hours toa 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 only engaged two first-cabin berths for your sister and myself; and finding that our purse was very scantily filled, had, with his usual self-denial, taken a steerage passage for himself, and got a goodnatured quartermaster to take charge of our dear French dog old “ Nero,” who forthwith became a stoivctivciy, and was smuggled out of sight.

When the vessel was ready, we dropped down the river to Gravesend, and having taken in more passengers and emigrants, we started for Plymouth. We remained there for a few hours, and I pointed out to your brother and sister the beautiful spot called “ Drake’s Island,” where, long before they were born, I had passed a delightful summer and autumn with your dear papa and my two babies. Our regiment was then stationed at Plymouth, and your papa commanded the guard placed on the island for the protection of the powder magazine.

The weather was beautiful when we left Plymouth, and was expected to remain so till the end of the voyage ; but after a few days, when well out in the Atlantic, a tremendous gale set in which lasted for several days and nights.

I had been in storms two or three times off the Irish coast, but confess that I never felt so frightened as when at every roll our ship gave (and she ivas a roller), we heard a horrid grating sound which we shrewdly suspected to be caused by part of our cargo of iron which had shifted its place, and kept moving with every motion of the ship. We were told on arriving at Quebec that this unexpected storm was occasioned by a hurricane in the West Indies. Most of the passengers, as well as ourselves, were possessed by the demon of sea-sickness, and your sister was hardly able to get up during the whole passage.

The tedium of our confinement was, however, much relieved by the pleasant societyand kindness of two most amiable English ladies, who were going out to reside with a near relative at Montreal. Every day, after the saloon dinner, they came to our cabin, which they christened the “ drawing-room,” and our pleasant conversations there laid the foundation of a friendship which I trust will ever remain unbroken. Our nights from various causes were weary and sleepless, but in the early morning and for some hours we had a diversion, which the proximity of our cabin to the steward’s pantry procured for us. Almost as soon as it was light, Jupiter thundered from Olympus , or in other words our black steward, who was punctiliously

addressed as “ Mr. H s,” began the day’s

proceedings by having the crockery and glass broken during the night by the rolling of the ship removed, and every order was given with a dignified pomposity which was most amusing.

We gave him and his assistants the sobriquet of “ Jupiter and his satellites !” Mr.

H — — s was a portly negro of an imposing presence, and a benign expression of countenance which a little reminded one of “ Uncle Tom ” in Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s celebrated work. He exacted implicit obedience, but he was a very good man, strictly honest to his employers, and very considerate to those over whom he had any authority. Not once during the voyage did we hear from his lips an oath or an unseemly word.

The stewardess told us that he had a very pretty wife in London, a young Englishwoman, with a remarkably fair complexion. She also told us an amusing anecdote of Mr.

H s as steward of a troop-ship going out

to India. One Sunday afternoon the young officers, tired of playing off practical jokes on each other, and half dead with ennui,

applied to Mr. H s to lend them a book

to read.

“You know the sort* of book we want,

H — - — s,” said they ; “ plenty of love and fighting, and battles, and all that sort of thing !”

“ I understand, gentlemen,” said Mr.

H s, and presently returned with a

large Bible which he placed before them. 46 There, gentlemen, you will find in that book all you want — beautiful love stories, fierce wars, and plenty of battles !”

His colour, however, was somewhat against him, and I could hardly keep my countenance when a young under-steward, to whom we were indebted for much attention, said to me with quite an injured air, “ You know, ma’am, it does take it out of a feller to have to say 4 sir ’ to a nigger !”

Of the young friend C. W. , who came out with us, we saw but little, for though he had a first-class berth, he was a great 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. He was a favourite with all our fellow-passengers, and every lady knew she might depend upon his gentlemanly attentions if required. This comforted me a little for his being in such a disagreeable position.

The sea continued very rough indeed even after we were in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and though I thought the real blue water which I saw for the first time very beautiful, yet I could by no means join in the raptures of my fellow-passengers, but strictly averred, that although a passionate admirer of “ Old

LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LADY. II

Ocean,” it was most decidedly when I viewed it from terra-jirma . I will not weary you with minute details of our slow passage up the beautiful St. Lawrence, nor dilate upon the interest I felt in watching, first the thinly-scattered white huts, and afterwards the thickly-clustered villages of the “ habitants,” with their curious churches and shining spires, backed by the dark pine forests, and behind them ranges of bluecapped mountains, compared with which the hills of my own dear England were as hillocks.

We landed at Quebec and went to the Victoria Hotel, where your sister and I passed a few miserable hours of suspense and anxiety. We 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 all but emptied our purse. We were rich in nothing hut delusive hopes and expectations, doomed, like the glass basket of celebrated “ Alnaschars,” to be shattered and broken to pieces.

We half expected to find a letter with a small remittance waiting for us at the Quebec P. O. Our young friend C. W. was in the same strait, as his money-order was only payable in a bank at Toronto. Both the gentlemen left us and crossed the water to the town of Quebec, where, finding on due inquiry no letter of any kind, your brother w^as compelled to pledge his gold watch and seal, upon which, though so valuable, he could only get five pounds advanced. This unavoidable delay lost us the mid-day train to Montreal, by which we saw our kind friends depart after taking a most affectionate leave and engaging us to correspond with them. When our two gentlemen returned we were nearly starving, as we did not like to go to the table-d'hdte without them, and the dinner had long been over. We all sallied forth, and found in a small wayside tavern a homely but excellent meal, and best of all, a private room to take it in. From thence we went to the station and started by the seven p.m. train for Montreal, being quite thankful that our journey had at length begun.

Letter II

Y last letter left us starting from Quebec in the seven p.m. train for Montreal. Our party consisting of four people, we had a compartment to ourselves, but were some time in settling comfortably, as our old dog “Nero” had to be smuggled in and kept quiet under your sister’s waterproof-cloak, for fear the vigilant guard should consign him to the luggage-car, where he would infallibly have barked himself to death.

I noticed very little in the neighbourhood of Quebec, being too much occupied with my

-own sad thoughts, and regrets for those I had left behind ; but I did observe that the cows, horses, and pigs all appeared very small and manifestly inferior to the cattle in England.

During this journey I could not help contrasting the mode of travelling in Canada with the same in the “ old country,” and giving a decided preference to the former. It would be almost impossible for either murder, robbery, or any kind of outrage to be perpetrated where the compartments are all open, and the supervision of the guard walking up and down incessant. It is also a great alleviation to the fatigue of travelling to have the refreshment of iced water to drink, and the option of washing faces and hands. Towards night we were beguiled into “ Pullman’s ” sleeping-cars, little imagining how greatly it would add to the expense of the journey. Sleep, however, I found to be impossible in these close boxes, tier above tier, and towards midnight, half smothered, I made my way to the carriage we had occupied before retiring.

About this time the train came to a sudden stop, and at last I asked the guard why we were so long stationary. He told me that a train which ought to have been in before us was missing, that men had gone out with lanterns to look for it, and that for fear of being run into We must wait till it came up. A most dreary four hours we passed before we were released. We were at a small station in a barren spot of country, where nothing was to be seen in the dim light but a few miserable-looking wooden houses scattered about. It was a cheerless prospect, and we were thankful when at length we went on.

We passed the morning more agreeably, as the guard, a quiet, intelligent man, entered into conversation with us. He was telling us of a curious and erudite book about to be published at Boston, Massachusetts, 'Compiled by one of his relations, from numerous records and papers treasured in the family, and handed down from one generation to another, beginning with the first landing of the “ Pilgrim Fathers.”

His ancestor, with his family, came out in the Mayfloiver, and from that time to the present they had had an unbroken succession of godly ministers, who in the early times of their settlement were called, in the old Puritan phraseology, “ sons of thunder.” In the spring of 1871, he had attended the an nual family gathering at Boston, to which the remotest connections, if possible, came. I regret much that I did not take down his name.

In consequence of our long delay in the night, we did not arrive at Montreal in time for the early train, but had to breakfast there, and remain a few hours. When we started, we found that we had a hot and dusty journey before us. I greatly admired the environs of Montreal, particularly some pretty villa residences, perched, as it were, in terraces one above the other.

An incident occurred in the course of the day which afforded me a few moments of exquisite 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 past. Numbers of the emigrants were there who had been steerage passengers on board our vessel from England. As your brother was standing, with C. W., on the steps of one of the carriages, he was recognised, and they immediately vociferated, “ Mr. K. ! Mr. K. ! three cheers for Mr. K. !” Then arose three deafening cheers, which died away in the distance ; but not before your sister and 1T looking out of the window, saw an indefinite number of pocket-handkerchiefs, of all colours and dimensions, fluttering from the windows in token of recognition.

Towards the evening of this day, as we were nearing Toronto, another stoppage occurred, similar to the one of the night before. A baggage-truck had got off the line, and might be expected at any moment to run into our train.

On this occasion I could not but think our situation most alarming. We were drawn up on a narrow bridge over a foaming torrent, with jagged rocks sticking up from the bottom, suggesting a not very pleasant fate had we been rolled over. Here we remained for four hours and a half. Luckily I was so much occupied with my own thoughts, that I did not hear a gentleman in an adjoining compartment recounting to his horrified audience an accident on the Boston Bailway,

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20 LETTERS FROM AN EMIGRANT LALY.

in which he had been a reluctant participator, the week before, and which occurred to a train in a similar position to ours. This train waited for many hours, was at last run into, and twenty -five of the passengers were killed. Your sister heard every word, but took care not to disturb my meditations.

This accident detained us so long, that it was past midnight when we got into Toronto, and, hiring a carriage, were driven to a respectable, cheap family hotel, strongly recommended to your brother by a kind and gentlemanly Canadian, who was our fellowpassenger from England.

Unfortunately they were full, from garret to cellar, and could not take us in. Our driver, left to his own devices, took us to the “ Rossin House,” where we remained till the next day, most supremely uncomfortable , in a rambling hotel of immense extent, where I lost my way every time I left the saloon ; where, from not knowing the hours, we were all but starved ; 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 C. W. behind, who, having drawn his money, was going back to Montreal, to pass a little time there before joining us in the Bush. He had also to present letters of introduction to

Judge J n, who was known to be able

and presumed to be willing , to assist the views of the son of his old friend.

The farther we went from Toronto, the more barren and ugly the country appeared,* and the hideous stumps in every clearing became more and more visible. By degrees also the gardens by the roadside became more denuded of floral vegetation, till at last my eyes rested for miles on little 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 three months, and that in different parts the fires had been most destructive. In almost every case these fires have been the natural result of some incidental carelessness. Some wayfarer, far from his home, and camping out for the night, leaves the smouldering ashes of his fire to be blown into a flame by a sudden breeze, or flings the ashes of his pipe into the adjacent brushwood ; in leaving the place of his temporary halt, he little imagines the loss of property, and even of life,, which may be occasioned by his thoughtlessness.

We slept that night at Belle Ewart, a rising town on Lake Simere, and the next morning took the steamer to Orillia. This passage across the lake was the most beautiful part of our journey. The day was bright and clear, the water blue, and the scenery most beautiful. All was changed when we landed at Orillia. We had to leave our nice, roomy, well-appointed steamer for a filthy, over-crowded little boat, where we had hardly standing-room.

I now saw, for the first time, real live Indians , both men and women, some of each being on board the boat. Their encampment on the lake was likewise pointed out to me. Alas for my enthusiasm ! Alas for my remembrance of youthful delight over Cooper’s enchanting novels ! I was never more disappointed in my life than when I first took notice of these degenerate samples of “ Red Men !”

The men appeared to me undersized and sinister-looking, the squaws filthy and almost repulsive. No stretch of imagination could bring before me in the persons of these very ordinary mortals the dignified and graceful “ Uncas,” or the stately and warlike “Chingachook !” We landed at Washage, and after standing for more than an hour on the quay, took the stage-wagon for Gravenhurst, tho vehicle being so crowded that even the personal baggage most essential to our comfort had to he left behind. Oh ! the horrors of that journey ! The road was most dreadful— our first acquaintance with “ corduroy ” roads. The forest gradually closed in upon us, on fire on both sides, burnt trees crashing down in all directions, here and there one right across the road, which 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 to the collar of his coat), could hardly keep me steady as we bumped over every obstacle. In the worst places I was glad to shut my eyes that I might not see the danger. Your poor sister had to cling convulsively to the rope which secured the passengers’ baggage (ours was left behind and we did not see it for weeks) to avoid being thrown out, and for long afterwards we both suffered from the bruises we received and the strain upon our limbs. At last, long after dark, we arrived at Gravenhurst, where we were obliged to sleep, as the steamer to Bracebridge could not start before morning on account of the fog. The steamboat had no accommodation for sleeping, but we had a good supper on board, and a gentlemanly Englishman, a passenger by the stage and well acquainted with Muskoka, took us to a small hotel to sleep. The next morning we went to Bracebridge, and there we found a letter from your brother-in-law advising me to go before the commissioner of crown-lands and sign for my land. The papers for my free grant of a hundred acres had gone to France, but had missed me, as I had already left. Unfortunately our means were too exhausted to allow of our remaining even one day in Bracebridge, and we thought it more prudent to start early in the stage-wagon, as the magistrate’s office would not be open till ten a.m.

The not being able to sign at once lost me the power of selling my pine-trees, the new law (a most unjust one) coming into operation before I was able to come in again. W e were at the N. A. Hotel, and the mistress of it, herself an Englishwoman and not long from Devonshire, 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 Utterson, the nearest post-town to our settlement and distant from it six miles, was a long and fatiguing stretch of fifteen 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. At times when the trees were burning at each side of the narrow road we felt a hot stifling air as we passed rapidly along. It was a gloomy afternoon, with fitful gusts of wind portending a change of weather, and we were almost smothered in clouds of Muskoka dust, much resembling pounded bricks. When we got to Utterson we were obliged to remain for two hours to rest the poor horses, as no fresh ones were to be got. While at the little tavern we heard that your brother C. had been married a few weeks before, as we expected, and that your dear sister F., with her husband, children, and the fiancee , had rested there on their way to the “ Bush,” six weeks before our arrival. We were more easy in our minds after this. We were near our journey’s end, the dear ones who had preceded us were all well, and the marriage which for four years I had been endeavouring to secure for your youngest brother had been happily accomplished. I alone of all our party felt a hopeless depression of spirits, a presentiment of long months of unhappiness. Our drive from Utterson was short, but we went slowly, and it was late in the day before we turned into the “ Bush.” Our driver called the path we were going a “ road I saw nothing but a narrow track with frightful stumps, over which our wagon jolted in a manner to endanger our limbs; indeed, though more than three miles from your brother-in-law’s, we soon insisted on walking, thinking it safer. We found the thick undergrowth of “ ground-hemlock ” very trying to walk upon, as it caught, our feet in an alarming manner. Our path was intersected by deep gullies, the sides of which were precipitous. I must say that the horses of this country, like the mules of Spain, seem wonderfully sure-footed, and the drivers, who mostly appear as reckless -and daring as Irish carmen, guide them very safely, and accidents rarely occur.