Pioneer life in Zorra

Front matter

I by

Mrs. Stella Langd

BY

Contents

Chapter Page

Introduction 7

I. Zorra in the Thirties . . . . .21 II. The Home Life of the Pioneer . . -37

Chapter I Zorra In The Thirties

** Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their teams a-field ! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! " —Gray.

The traveller going through Oxford to-day and viewing its large towns, its busy factories, its elegant churches, its commodious school-houses, its comfortable homes, and its fertile fields, finds it hard to realize that within the memory of some of us the whole district was an unbroken forest, where the wild Indian roved and the bear and wolf prowled. This wonderful change speaks to us of difficulties overcome, of trials patiently endured, of earnest purpose and indomitable perseverance. The men and women who were chiefly instrumental in bringing about the change have strong claims upon their descendants, and the memory of their holy faith and heroic deeds ought not to be allowed lightly to perish. The following pen pictures, though sketched with a feeble hand, are conceived with a loving heart ; and they are placed as a few sprigs of heather upon the graves of ancestors who deserve our highest gratitude.

Away back in the thirties Zorra was settled by a race of sturdy Highlanders from the north of Scotland, chiefly from Sutherlandshire. As early, indeed, as 1820, two brothers, Angus and William MacKay, settled in the district — some of their descendants are still living there in comfort. After braving the hardships of the forest for nine years, Angus MacKay returned to Scotland, but in the following year returned, bringing with him his aged mother and a shipload of Sutherlanders.

These people left their native land, not as a matter of choice, but from necessity forced upon

PATRIOTISM AND PIETY 23 them by the covetousness of Highland landlords. Aristocratic proprietors formed the plan of driving away the peasantry in order to turn their little farms into sheep pastures and sporting grounds. The result was that men who never flinched in battle for the defence of their country— the descendants of those who drew their swords at Bannockburn, Sheriffmuir and Killicrankie — the children and nearest relations of those who had sustained the honor of the British name in many a bloody field — the heroes of Egypt, Corunna, Toulouse, Salamanca, and Waterloo— the men of whom General Havelock exclaimed at the close of one of the most fiercely-fought battles of modern times, "Well done, brave Highlanders ! " — these noble men, who deserved so well of their country, were robbed and trampled upon ; and, as they would not be enslaved, they were compelled to seek an asylum across the Atlantic.

With sad hearts and tearful eyes they bade farewell to their heath-clad hills, and the homes they loved so dearly, faced an ocean voyage of twelve weeks in an old emigrant ship, endured all the hardships of a two weeks' journey up the St. Lawrence in open boats towed by oxen, penetrated the unbroken fastnesses of the forest; and, in spite of bears, wolves, and mosquitos, laid the foundation of the prosperity we see on every side of us to-day.

The question has been sometimes sneeringly asked : " Why should our fathers have been so, intensely attached to their native soil ? " That attachment had piety as well as patriotism in it. The houses from which our pioneer fathers and mothers were driven were not only the homes which they and their forefathers had occupied from time immemorial, but they were spots hallowed by the most sacred associations — spots not a few in which individuals had in their hearts " built a pillar and anointed a stone," and worshipped their God and the God of their fathers. A forcible separation from such homes was felt as none but members of the household of faith can feel.

But enough said on a dark subject. The memory of these men and women ought to be revered by their descendants. We owe them a

SHEEP FOR MEN great deal — our pleasant surroundings, the blood that flows in our veins, our energy and solidity of character, and, in as far as spiritual things can be inherited, the hope that cheers in life and sustains in death.

That the Highlanders of to-day have lost none of the " martial fires that thrilled their sires," the Dargai Heights abundantly testify ; but, alas ! the Gordon Highlanders can no longer be recruited from the land of their forefathers. A story is told that, after a large number of the Highland tenantry had been evicted and their places filled with sheep, a recruiting officer happened to come into the neighborhood, but the only response received by him to his request for volunteers for the army was, " Baa, baa," thus indicating that as sheep had been substituted for men, the recruiting officer might look to the sheep for his soldiers.

" A bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed can never be supplied."

When these expatriated men and women came to Zorra there were no roads — only a blazed path here and there to guide the traveller. Such a path led in a " bee line " from Woodstock to where Embro is now situated. A large part of the county was at that time swamp, and in the spring and fall of the year the swamps would be full of water. The waters contained myriads of frogs, which kept up an incessant croaking all day and night.

There is a story told of a famous "frogscare." In the fall of 183- several families settled in the south and eastern part of the township. Very early one morning, next spring, the whole district was suddenly awakened by unearthly sounds on every side. The terrified ones quickly got out of bed and made what preparations they could to meet the foe. Some thought the dreaded Indians were upon them, others vowed that the voices were those of witches or devils flying through the air. Windows were fastened, doors bolted, and prayers offered. For a couple of hours before dawn the greatest panic prevailed.

With the first grey streaks in the east, a party of fnen armed with axes, clubs, and such other

DENIZENS OF THE FOREST 27 weapons as were available, climbed the hill to the eastward to see if the Indians were indeed coming ; but seeing no enemy, they soon returned to allay the fears of their friends. It was not long before some of the older inhabitants explained to the people that the sounds proceeded from the thousands of frogs which, frozen in during the winter, and suddenly let loose by the advent of spring, were expressing their joy in very hearty though very unmusical notes.

The dismal howling of the wolves, together with the " mony eldritch screeches " of the frogs outside, and the crickets inside the houses, were a torment to the new settlers till their ears got accustomed to the disagreeable sounds. The woods were full of wild beasts, such as the deer, bear, wolf, fox, hedge-hog, wild-cat and squirrel, also many snakes and other reptiles. Many stories are told of bears appropriating, Rob Roylike, the lamb, the calf, or the pig of the settler. Such birds as the crow, hawk, robin, woodpecker and bluejay made the forest vocal with their notes in spring.

Besides the really dangerous bear and wolf, there was another source of fear, as great or even greater. These were the ghosts, the existence of which was most certainly believed in by these Scotch settlers. Many a time have the chills run up and down my back as I have listened to the weird, uncanny tales told at the "ingleside" by the light of the old back-log, and evidently believed by the narrator as well as his hearers, who gathered closer to the fire and to one another after each blood-curdling story was told.

Mr. L , one of these pioneers, had a new

blue denim pair of trousers, and one day, after being in Woodstock and partaking of a " wee drappie," he returned home at night. The night was wet, and every time one leg passed the other while walking, the trousers, in rubbing, gave forth a peculiar squeaking noise. It was a

ghost, sure ! Mr. L ran for life in the

direction of the nearest house, but the ghost ran too, and kept up the terrifying sounds till, over bogs, through swamps and brushwood, out of

CROSSING THE RED SEA 29 breath, the fleet-footed Highlandman at last found safety in the nearest shanty.

On another occasion, this same pioneer returned from the county town in a wretched plight. He had imbibed freely during the day, and coming home at night lost his way. It was in the spring-time, and the swamps and streams were full of water. In his wanderings he crossed and re-crossed some of the streams several times, until he arrived at home scarcely recognizable. " O my poor man," exclaimed his wife on seeing him, " where have you been ? "

" Och, woman," replied the drouthy and drenched Hielanman, "she's cam' from Egypt, and she pe crossing the Red Sea of 'en, of en."

When some unfortunate went astray in the woods and did not return in the evening, his friends would commence hallooing or blowing a horn, neighbors would take up the call, and in a short time the whole country round would be hallooing or blowing horns. These sounds could be heard a great distance, and never failed to bring the wanderer back.

It is related of one of the settlers that, having gone astray several times, his friends advised him to procure and use a compass. He did so ; but the next time he went from home he lost his way as usual.

" Why did you not steer by the compass ? " said a friend to him afterwards. " Because," was the prompt reply, " I could not get the gude-for-naethin' thing to point right."

These settlers lost no time whimpering over the cruelties of the past or the hardships of the present; but, with brave hearts and stout arms, they at once went to work, and from dawn till dark the forests resounded with the strokes of the axe, and the crashing of the falling trees.

Soon little clearances, like so many breathing spots, could be found scattered over the whole township ; but nowhere could one clearance be seen from another. This rendered unusual the " flying visit " of to-day. The visitor was expected to remain two or three hours at least, and if the visit was cut short, the visitor would likely be asked, " Have you come for fire ? " a query which requires a little explanation. The hearth fire, like that in some ancient temples,

HAVE YOU COME FOR FIRE? 31 was not allowed to die out ; and the last act of the "gude" man or his wife before retiring to rest was to cover the bright embers over with ashes, which, when raked off the next morning, disclosed the nucleus of a new fire. Occasionally, however, the fire would go out, and an aged pioneer mother relates how, on one such occasion, she had to travel nearly two miles by a path through the woods to the nearest neighbor for a kindling-brand. Such a visit was necessarily very brief, hence the popular taunt to a hurried visitor, " Have you come for fire ? "

Every farmer had a bell on one of his cattle, so that when they wandered they could be more easily found. Old settlers often remark what great distances sound could be heard through the woods as compared with the present day, when the land is cleared. The stroke of an axe, it is said, could easily be heard a mile away, while a falling tree could be heard at a distance of three miles. Sheep were folded every night as a protection from wolves. Hearing the wolves howling, one would think they were very near, while perhaps they were a mile away. The wolf has an instinctive dread of fire, and if a man was benighted in the woods he was safe if he could only light a fire. A settler put a wager that tobacco smoking had saved his life, and that he could clearly prove it. The explanation was that, being one night lost in the woods, he lighted a fire, and thus saved himself from the wolves ; " but," said he, " I would not have had the wherewithal to make that fire had I not been a smoker." This plea for the pipe is, to say the least, far-fetched, and cannot be used to-day, for the wolves are all gone.

The first cabins were 12 x i8 feet, perhaps 9 or 10 feet high, and, of course, built of logs. The roof was constructed of basswood logs, hollowed out, and laid alongside each other, with the hollow side up. Then other logs, similarly hollowed, were laid on these, with the hollow side down, and so as to overlap those underneath. Such a roof was waterproof, but not always proof against the driven snow. The inside of the cabin was divided into two rooms,

INTERIOR OF THE HOUSE 33 with a loft above. In this loft the children usually slept, and they mounted to it by means of pegs driven into the wall. The openings between the logs were filled with moss obtained from the trees, and the moss was daubed with soft clay. There was a big fireplace constructed of stones, wood and clay. Such families as could afford it had a couple of andirons in the fireplace, upon which the sticks were carefully laid ; others used a couple of flat stones for this purpose. From the top of the chimney was suspended a chain with a hook at the lower end, capable of being raised or lowered, so as to adjust the pot to the fire. By and bye this chain gave place to a " crane," — a movable bar of iron, attached by hinges to one side of the chimney, and placed horizontally over the fire. Upon this could be suspended two pots, one for the porridge and the other for the soup. The bread was baked at first in a kind of flat-bottomed pot, called the bake-kettle, which stood upon three legs about three inches in length. This pot had an iron lid with a broad rim and a loop handle to lift it by. The raised dough was put 3 into this pot, which was placed upon the hearth and covered all over with coals. Soon the loaf issued, well raised and baked, sweet and wholesome as any to-day from the best of modern ovens. In the course of time the pot gave way to the " reflectors " ; and they, in turn, to the black, cheerless modern stove. The table was bare, but always scrupulously clean. Two bedsteads, a few stools, some rude chairs and a big Sutherlandshire chest constituted the furniture. The chairs or stools — for there was not much difference — consisted of rough slabs of wood, in which holes were bored, and legs fitted in. There was usually one window, consisting of four panes of glass, 6x8 inches each. Most of the dishes were of pewter, and taken from the old country. The spoons were made of horn, and the knives and forks were horn-handled. The fare was " hamely " but wholesome, " porridge and milk " with oaten cake being the staple.

These pioneer homes were undoubtedly rude, and in many respects uncomfortable, but they

THE PATIENT HOUSEKEEPER 35 sheltered many a happy family, illustrating the sentiment of Scotland's poet :

** What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin' grey and a' that, Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine ; The man's the gowd for a' that."

The fire blazing in the big chimney at night cast many a weird figure in the corners of the shanty; and often, while gazing into the glowing coals, has my fancy conjured up Scottish castles, bloody battles, martyr scenes, and forms of beasts, birds, etc.

We usually had to burn " green wood." This was not so bad if the fire kept up well ; but, alas for the poor shivering ones when the night was cold and the fire burned low ! It seenied impossible to get it up again. A pioneer once remarked, in the presence of a neighbor, that he did not believe anything could ruffle his wife's temper. " I can tell you something that will, if you'll consent to try it," replied the neighbor. "Agreed," said the pioneer. "Just bring home and cut up a load of the crookedest green sticks you can find," proposed this disturber of the peace, " and if that don't worry her I don't know what will." The plan was complied with, but there was no change in things around the pioneer's home ; in fact, everything seemed to be more agreeable than before. At last our friend said : " Wife, how do you like the wood I brought you last ?" "First rate," said the wife. " These crooked sticks fit right round my kettle, and make it boil in half the time."

The good wife had learned the important lesson that things which " can't be cured must be endured." A difficulty which would have evoked bad temper in another, in her only developed patience, one of the noblest Christian graces. Let the housekeepers of to-day take a note !

Chapter II The Home Life Of The Pioneer

'* By the soft green light in the woody glade, On the banks of moss, where thy children played ; By the gathering round the winter hearth, When the twilight call'd unto household mirth ; By the quiet hour when hearts unite In the parting prayer and the kind ' Good-night ' ; By the smiling eye and the loving tone, Over thy life has the spell been thrown, And bless that gift, it hath gentle might, A guarding power and a guiding light ! "

We have endeavored to describe the humble cabin in the woods, with its rude furniture and meagre fare. But every log in that cabin was put in its place with a grateful heart to God ; and however scant the furniture, there never lacked the family altar, around which parents assembled, morning and evening, for the worship of the Most High ; and however meagre 37 the fare, it was never partaken of until the blessing of God was asked upon it. Again at the close of the meal, all eyes were closed and hands folded, while every head bowed in reverent thanks to God for his bounty in providing for the wants of his unworthy creatures. Reference has been made to the ceilidh, or the friendly visit of one neighbor to the house of another. But even in this apparently trivial event God was recognized. When any one, old or young, came to a neighbor's house, he first knocked at the door. At once from within came the clear, ringing invitation, " Come in." The party without opened the door, uncovered his head, and standing still for a moment, invoked a blessing, Beannaich so" (bless this place). Quickly the response came from the head of the house, " Gum beannaich e sibhfein " (may he bless yourself). So also on rising to leave the house the visitor said, Bea7inacJid leibh'' (blessing with you), to which the response came as before, Beannachd leibh fein" (blessing with yourself).

But the most important event in the daily

FAMILY WORSHIP religious life of the pioneer was undoubtedly family worship. Come with me on a quiet summer morning or evening to one of these homes. In a small clearing in the dense forest stands the little log cabin. A blue curl of smoke rises from the wooden chimney ; it is a symbol of the incense that is being offered up within. We will not disturb the solemnity of the worship, but we will take our place near by. Listen to the sweet strains as they slowly and solemnly ascend on the still air. They are singing the Shepherd's Psalm. Father and mother, far away from the home of early days, unite with those whom God has given them, in the overflow of soul in song, and amid such primitive surroundings their hearts go out in the words :

" The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie In pastures green ; he leadeth me The quiet waters by."

After this a chapter is read slowly and solemnly, with occasional observations by the high priest of the family. At the close of the reading the children are expected to tell something of what they have heard. Then " the books " are closed, the spectacles laid on top of them, and the face of the father clothes itself with grave, dignified solemnity, and a strange, unwonted, tremulous depth comes into his voice as he says, " Let us pray." The prayer is certainly not an "oration," nor is it, from a literary point of view, a gem ; but it is earnest and emotional, nothing stilted, formal, or frigid in it, and uttered by one who feels the presence of God. We are near enough to hear some of the words, and hearing them we cannot easily forget them :

" O God, our Father, we bow before Thee. We are not worthy of this privilege, but we come in the name of Thy dear Son. Hear us for His sake. Thou art great beyond our understanding, but Thou art infinitely good. Thou didst give us our being, and Thou hast cared for us all our life long, leading us by the still waters and through the green pastures of Thy grace. Thou hast brought us to this good land, and hast given us a house to dwell in. Thou dost spread our table morning, noon, and night ; and Thy presence cheers us, so that we need fear no evil We thank thee for Jesus

AN ALTAR IN EVERY HOME 41

Christ, Thy Son, and for redemption through His precious blood. Assure our hearts of an interest in the great atonement. Guilt is ours, grace is Thine. O Father, help us this day. Give us strength and courage and peace. Carry us in Thine arms, and keep us near Thy heart. Hear us, O God of our fathers, for our children. We have given them to Thee in solemn covenant. Write Thy law upon their hearts, so that they may never depart from Thee, but may live holy, happy, useful lives. The Lord hear us for Jesus' sake."

The church was always prayed for, and especially on Saturday night was the divine blessing invoked on the services of the following day. Usually mention was made of " the country in which we dwell " and " the dear land from which we have come." I pity the man who can ridicule, or speak lightly of, such a scene. Richard Baxter tells us of a time when the power of the Gospel was so felt in Kidderminster, that in every house on many a long street, family worship was devoutly observed. The writer can recall a time when in every house on many a long concession line in Zorra God was worshipped morning and evening. Who can estimate the value of such worship in the formation of character? It promotes order and regularity in a home, and diffuses a sympathy among the members. It calls off the mind from the deadening effects of worldly affairs. It says to every member of the family " There is a God ; there is a spiritual world ; there is a life to come." It fixes the idea of responsibility in the mind of a child. It develops, as neither pulpit nor Bible class nor Sabbath School can do, a sense of duty to God and man. Blessed is the home that is thus devoutly consecrated to God. Whatever uncertainties hang, to human view, over its future history ; whether predominates there the voice of health and gladness, or the wail of sorrow and pain ; whether its larder be filled with plenty, or made lean by poverty ; how oft soever its windows may be darkened by calamity and death, — one thing is sure, it is the abiding place of the Most High ; the Angel of the Covenant is there, and in the deepest night of grief that home has light and hope and peace. What has given Scotland the proud position she occupies to-day among the nations of the earth? Is it

SCOTLAND'S GREATNESS 43 her insular position, the wisdom of her rulers, • the valor of her soldiers, or the genius of her poets ? No, not at all. Her greatness and her power are to be explained in the honor in which God has been held in her families. It is Christianity among her people that is the grand secret of all her prosperity and her greatness. And this Christianity is fed and nourished chiefly at the family altar, amid such scenes as Robert Burns photographs in his " Cottar's Saturday Night."

** From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs That makes her loved at home, revered abroad. Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, An honest man 's the noblest work of God."

Here is the secret of Scotland's greatness. It lies not in her ironclads and her Armstrong guns, but it rests on something far mightier than armies and navies — the Christianity of her people, a Christianity that begins and is carried on at the family altar. This is the righteousness that has exalted that nation, and this righteousness, far more than the richest products of our mines, fields, and forests, will make this Dominion truly great and happy. Talk of colleges ! The best college from which the professional men of Zorra ever graduated, that which has left the most lasting and beneficial influence upon their minds and hearts, was the college of a Christian home. These men to-day are scattered far and wide, and they belong, some to the medical, some to the legal some to the theological, and many to the teaching profession ; but they look back with fond recollection to the days when with father and mother, brothers and sisters, they reverently knelt in prayer on the rude floor of the little log cabin.

How tender the memory of that last homeleaving, when the boy was going far away to enter college, or engage in business, or to learn a trade. For weeks past kind hands have been preparing such little articles of clothing as will be useful to him when away from mother and sisters : and now the little trunk is packed and the morning of separation has come. There are but few words spoken, and feeling is wonderfully suppressed, but

LEAVING HOME

" Kneeling down to heaven's eternal King,

The saint, the father and the husband prays ; Hope springs exulting on triumphant wings, That thus they all shall meet in future days."

Many years have since passed by, bringing with them many and varied experiences, but the influence of that solemn hour is with us still, and will abide with us while memory lasts.

Ours is a day of competition, hurry, excitement, when business is war, and anything is fair. Home life is largely broken up, and the conditions are not favorable to the cultivation of kindness, quietness, and a tender regard for the happiness of others. Some men are nowhere greater strangers than in their own homes, and they know but little of the beautiful domestic life of our fathers.

And it was a busy life. In the winter season all day long the axes rang incessantly, and the trees crashed and fell. Then in the spring and summer there were " the ploughing and sowing, reaping and mowing" from dewy morn till dusky eve. It was a Zorra lad who, being told that he was too short for his age, replied, " Father keeps me so busy I haint time to grow."

Roderick C was noted far and near for

his early rising — in winter time never later than four a.m., and during the summer months even earlier than that. Of course, at the rousing call of the head of the house every member of the family was obliged to rub his sleepy eyes and scramble out of bed. Because of this, old Rod found it hard to keep hired help. Three different men, it is said, in as many weeks, had tried and failed. At length the supply of men and boys seemed to be exhausted, and old Rod found himself at the beginning of the harvest season with no help, and with no prospect ot procuring any. Just at this juncture a young Highlander, a stranger in Zorra, appeared upon the scene, and announced his willingness to work for Rod. Many were the warnings which he received, and many the wagers made as to how long young Donald would remain in Rod's employ. But Donald persisted in turning a deaf ear to all warnings, and soon his bundle of clothes was reposing in the loft of Rod's shanty, and he himself installed as a member of the household. His sleep that night was sound and

EARLY RISING dreamless, so far as it went ; but scarcely, as he afterwards declared, had his head touched the pillow, before he was awakened by a terrible commotion. The dog was barking and the children howling, while a strong smell of fried pork from the kitchen below floated to his nostrils. Presently he heard old Rod climbing the ladder, and stumbling in the darkness towards his room. " Wake up, wake up, m' man," cried old Rod, opening the door noisily. But young Donald was equal to the occasion. " Thank y', sur," he replied, " but she will not eat so late at nicht." Then as Rod's retreating footsteps grew fainter, Donald sank again into well-earned repose.