Up to date, or, The life of a lumberman, illustrated

Chapter I. About Myself

The name I have been known by since I came to Canada is George S. Thompson ; what my right name is I am not quite sure.

I will tell the reader all I do know about it, and he will then know as much as I do, and can call me by any name that may suit his or her fancy. I will be satisfied. If the reader is or not, it will make no difference to me.

1 was born in India in or about the year [848, or perhaps earlier, or may be later ; I have no sure data to draw upon.

My first recollection of anything is seeing a number of men who wore red coats, my father being among the number. My next recollection is being on board a large ship on which there were also a number of men dressed in the same way. We were a long time on board the ship and left it at what I now think must have been the town of Portsmouth, England, and we journeyed some distance before we landed in a town or city, the name of which I do not remember. When I say we, I mean my father and a lady who acted as my governess ; my father called the lady by the name of Annie ; what her surname was I do not know. Annie told me my mother died in giving birth to me her first born.

Annie usually called my father Captain. I will not give the name because I have certain reasons at present for not making it public.

I do not think Annie was in any way related to us. My father and Annie called me by the name of Sidney. During our stay in England we but seldom saw my father, but occasionally he would visit us for a few days, and on several occasions he took Annie and I travelling with him, and we used to stay at some very large houses — especially do I remember staying at mansions where there were beautiful gardens and grounds. My father, about this time, appeared to be nearly always in bad humor when alone with Annie and I, There were frequent

A quarrels between them, and at these times I would hear my father tell Annie it was all her fault — that he would not have got into trouble only for her. What he meant by the expression I do not know. He used to often say he would sell out and go to some foreign country and leave us all for ever. This kind of thing went on fora long time until finally my father told Annie there was going to be a war in America, and he would go out and take part in it. Soon afterwards the three of us were on board a ship, and in due time we arrived in New Orleans.

We took lodgings in the city and my father would be absent for days at a time. Annie used to teach me my lessons, and also instruct me in my religious duties, for she was a devout Roman Catholic, and took me to church with her almost daily. My father seldom if ever came with us, so I do not know if he was a Roman Catholic or not.

The time did not appear long to me after our arrival in New Orleans until there were most exciting times — crowds of people gathering on the street corners ; men and boys drilling — myself among the number ; every where there was hurry and excitement.

My father told us he was drilling men and getting ready for the war that soon would be on. I noticed that Annie and others called my father by a different name after we came to New Orleans. I spoke to Annie about the change, and she told me to ask no questions ; that my father would be angry if I did. Annie said my father knew what he was doing, and also what would be best for us all. I was easily satisfied ; anyhow I was too young to be inquisitive, and therefore took no more interest in the matter. To proceed with my story : the roar of cannon was soon heard down the river below New Orleans, and my father told us it was the Yankee men of warships bombarding the forts, and it was only a short time after the firing commenced until my father rushed into the house and told us the Yankee ships had silenced the forts and were on their way up the river to take the city. All the soldiers, my father said, were leaving the city, and he was going with them, and was going to take me with him. Annie cried, and wanted my father to leave me with her. but he refused. He said there were numbers of boys no larger than I was who were going to fight, and I would take my chances with the rest. Anyhow my father said we would soon return and drive the Yankees out of the city ; but in that he was mistaken, for he never saw the city again, or Annie either, for my father was soon afterwards killed in one of the big engagements or battles, and I could not return ; neither did I want to return to the city. I threw in my lot with the Southern army, and drifted around with them until the close of the war. My experience of that war was just the same as thousands of others alive to-day ; many have written all about it, so that there is now nothing left for me to say, so I will not inflict any of my war experience on the reader — not in this book at least— but will proceed with my story. At the close of the war I returned

Village of Haliburton, from a Photo Taken in 1878.

to New Orleans to see if I could find Annie, for I had heard no tidings of her since my father and I had seen her last together at the beginning of the war. I diligently searched the city but not a trace of her could I find or get the least clue to her whereabouts. 1 thought probably she had gone back to England, so I concluded to go over myself and see if I could find her or any of my father’s or mother’s relatives, I managed, after considerable suffering and difficulty, to work my passage over, and on my arrival in England commenced my search, but I might as well have been searching for a needle in a hay stack.

In the first place, I did not know what Annie’s surname was, neither was I certain of my father’s, so I wandered nearly all over England, Scotland and Ireland, and although I am certain I saw some of the fine old mansions I had visited with my father and Annie, when I would attempt to go up to one of them the servants would drive me away. I did get some of the servants to listen to my story, but they only laughed at me and said if they told what I said to their master I would be put in jail as an imposter.

So after considerable time spent in futile attempts, I finally concluded to give it up and return to America, and about the year 1869 I took ship

at Liverpool for Quebec.

Chapter II. I Sail For Canada

On my voyage out I fell in with a youth who, like myself, was travelling alone. He told me his name vras George Thompson, and he was going out to a brother who was living in Haliburton, county of Peterborough, Ontario. He told me his brother had sent him money to pay his passage out, and in return therefor he had agreed to work for his brother one year to repay him. George did not appear to relish the idea of that part of the bargain ; or he did not like to part from a young lady with whom he had become acquainted on the voyage out ; the young lady was en-route for Chicago — the same city that I was booked for. I suggested to George (in a joke) that we make an exchange of tickets ; he took my joke in earnest, and for several days would scarcely talk of anything else. I got him to tell me all he could or would about his family in England, but it was little he appeared to know about them. He had not seen the brother he was on his way out to join since their father’s death, which occurred when he, George, was about five years of age, and he said the last time he had seen him was when he was home shortly after the death of their father, and then only for a short time. So he said if we made the exchange there was no danger of detection, for he had no other relatives in America.

I considered the matter over and finally concluded to make the exchange. I thought, perhaps, it might turn out to be a good thing for me, for I was heartily sick of being alone in the world, and when George appeared so willing to give up his relatives I thought I might as well take his place with them, so I got him to tell me again and again ail he could about his mother and family and their history, all of which I carefully noted down, and also had him give me a specimen of his hand writing, for he said he had promised to write to his mother, of whom he appeared to be very fond. I also agreed to write to one of his sisters — Jennie — who was married to a man named William Brian. He said his mother could neither read or write, also that he had never written but few if any letters to any one, so he said my writing would not give me away, and before we reached Port Hope we had everything arranged for the exchange. I gave him my ticket to Chicago and I took his, which was good to Peterborough. We also exchanged clothes, but it was a scanty supply either of us possessed. He had a volunteer uniform in his outfit, which I took with me, I had more cash than he, so I gave him all I had with the exception of about one dollar, for I thought George being a greenhorn, would need it worse than I ; anyhow, by the time we reached Port Hope on the Grand Trunk Railway I had seen enough of Canada to tell me that I would have no trouble in getting a good living in so fair a country as I had so far seen.

So at Port Hope George and I parted, and I have never seen or heard any tidings of him since, and I rather think he must have perished in the great fire that devastated the city of Chicago a few years later. If he is alive and should happen to read this book I will be glad to hear from him.

I arrived in Peterborough one fine day in the month of August, and I was directed to the Royal Oak Hotel, kept by a man named Wilson — and old pensioner — and after taking dinner I boarded the Royal mail stage for Bobcaygeon, distance 24 miles from Peterborough.

George’s brother had written him instructions as to the route. Of course he gave me the letter, which I thought it best to use as a kind of credental, and so disarm any suspicion that might have arisen. In the letter George was instructed on his arrival in Bobcaygeon to put up at Mr. Orr’s Temperance House, and if short of cash to show Mr. Orr the letter. On my arrival in Bobcaygeon I did as the letter directed, and got a warm welcome from Mr. Orr. I found I would have to remain over for a day, as there was only a tr-iweekly stage to Minden, a distance of 30 miles. I spent a very pleasant day in Bobcaygeon. It is both a pretty and interesting village. Some of the best fishing in Canada is to be had there, and the inhabitants are very sociable and kind-hearted.

I found Mr. Orr and his family very hospitable and kind-hearted, a more honorable and sincere Christian man than Mr. Orr never lived ; he was of Scotch decent, extremely sharp and canny, but strickly honest, though close in making a bargain. He had accumulated considerable wealth, and at the time I am writing was just laying the foundation of a large temperance house and store, which he was having built of stone, and up to date it is one of the largest and finest building in the county.

Mr. Orr did not live long after the building was completed, but I am certain he now occupies a much grander mansion in Heaven. Mr. Orr, on that first trr of mine, also on subsequent occasions, always gave me some good sound advise A good many persons have been liberal in giving me advise, and that is about the only thing I ever did get free. It costs the giver nothing, and usually is worth less to the receiver. But Mr. Orr’s advice was always above the average quality, and also extremely brief, perhaps that was the reason I thought his advise so good.

I liked Peterborough and Bobcaygeon so well I was half inclined to go no further. Besides, the nearer I got to my adopted brother the more doubts and misgivings arose in my mind as to how the course I was pursuing would end. I gleaned from Mr. Orr all the information

IO UP TO DATE ; OR, THE LIFE OF A LUMBERMAN

about George’s brother that he could tell me. He gave him a good name, said he was fairly well to do and was a great “hustler.” His wife, Mr. Orr said, was a good woman, and that I was going to a good home.

Next morning I boarded the stage for Minden. One of my fellow passengers was Mr. C. E. Stewart, the present proprietor and editor of the Bobcavgeon Independent newspaper. A few years later M. W. Bro. Stewart assisted at my initation into the Ancient Order of Free and Accepted Masons, in Verulam Lodge, at a meeting held in the village of Bobcaygeon.

Charlie, as Mr. Stewart is familiarly called by nearly every one acquainted withhim, went right through to Haliburton with me that day, and he took advantage of the occasion and of my innocence to regale or “ stuff” me with all sorts and kinds of stories that are usually trotted out for a new arrival’s benefit. I did not mind Charlie taking a few “ rises ” out of me, for he did it in an innoffensive way, for he is a perfect gentleman, and a good hearted, genial fellow. I could also afford to put up with Charlie’s jokes, for at quite a nnmber of stopping places he set up the beer in good style. The Bobcaygeon road appeared to me on that trip to be one long drawn out tavern, for nearly every other house along it sold whiskey or beer, and without a license at that. The Bobcaygeon road is celebrated the world over as being one of the roughest of roads. “ Uncle Jim Welsh,” a well known character in Peterborough and district who used to buy furs, swap horses or make most any kind of a trade, once told me that he was one time travelling over the Rocky Mountains, and was siting on a stage — on the front seat of one of those celebrated stage coaches. Uncle Jim said just as they were travelling over a most infernally rough and dangerous stretch of road, he remarked to the driver that it was a very rough road that they were then driving over. The driver replied that it was nothing to a road he had at one time driven a stage on in Canada. Uncle Jim inquired of the driver the name of that road ; the driver answered it was called the Bobcaygeon road.

I certainly thought my toe nails would be shaken off in that first trip of mine. The settlers along the road, Mr. Stewart told me, were nearly all old soldiers — pensioners, whom the government had given grants of land to for past good conduct and service. This news settled me from ever wanting to be a British soldier, for I thought if that was the way they rewarded those who had merited reward for good conduct I wondered what the fate of those could be who had bad conduct served up against them.

I need scarcely explain what little soil there is along the road is largely composed of sand and the balance rock— that is if rock can be called soil. I afterwards used to hear those old pensioners say that they wished they had brought some of the old cannon captured in the Crimea war with them, so they might shoot the seed into the ground, for they

The Late Norman Barnhart

UP TO DATE ; OR, THE LIFE OF A LUMBERMAN it

said that was the only way they knew the seed would be successfully planted in that kind of soil.

It was along this Bobcaygeon road that a farmer, when pointing out the good features of his farm, probably to some stranger with a view of selling it, would always claim that the back fifty was splendid farming land ; of course the settler could not help but admit that the front fifty was a little rough and rocky, for the stranger could usually see that for himself. This “ back ” fifty racket got to be a well known remark, and it has often provoked a smile from parties who were not so green as they looked. To explain so that any one will understand the joke, I may say for the benefit of those who do not know, that free grant lands in the province of Ontario are usually surveyed out in on one hundred acre parcels or lots.

The country along the Bobcaygeon road was at one time heavily timbered with the very best quality of white pine; the pensioners, when clearing the land, made fires which burned and destroyed the forests of pine, causing a loss to the people of Ontario of millions of dollars, so the poor old soldiers took their revenge on an ungrateful country. Of course they had no idea or revenge in their minds when they set fires, but it acted that way all the same. Most of the clearings made by those early settlers have long since been deserted, and are now growing up with useless bush instead of being replanted with young pine or other valuable trees. To proceed on my journey : the stage arrived in Minden at noon. Mr. Stewart pointed out George’s brother to me ; he happened to be about the first man we saw as the stage rattled down the hill into the village. He was standing in front of the post office, no doubt awaiting the arrival of the stage. George had told me that his brother carried the mail from Minden to Haliburton, a distance of 20 miles.

I saw at a glance that he bore no resemblance to me. Mr. Stewart introduced us, and I received a most affectionate greeting, and the first ordeal was over. Not a doubt crossed his mind but that I was the“ Simon pure ” George. He took me over to the Buck Hotel, and I got a good dinner. Steve, as I will now call him, was a fine looking specimen of manhood ; he had a sharp, piercing black eyes black hair and long bushy whiskers. Altogether he was what any one would call a good looking man. Nearly all the ladies said he was handsome, and they usually are good judges. Steve appeared to be a universal favorite, everybody called him Steve, I of course did the same. After an hour spent in Minden we boarded Steve’s stage which took us to the foot of Kushog Lake, a distance of four miles, where Steve had a skiff row boat to take us sixteen miles up the lake to the village of Haliburton, where we arrived just about dusk. Steve introduced me to his wife and family — a little two year old girl and a baby boy. Mrs. Steve was born inCanada, so I had no difficulty in answering any of her questions. Steve was also easily satisfied — in fact he did not appear to know much about his own people. From what I had learned from George, Steve had rambled a lot, and had travelled nearly all over the world, and they had heard little about him, and after their father’s death the family had scattered, and so lost track of each other to a great extent. Steve was a poor scholar, and did not care to write, and would only write to his mother*about once a year.

So I had plain sailing with Steve and his family, for as I have already said, he knew little of the family history and I knew less, and neither of us appeared to be overly anxious to talk on the subject. It soon got to be a topic seldom mentioned. Work was what Steve wanted from me, and at four o’clock next morning I was called to breakfast. Mr. Orr had told me that Steve was a hustler, and that Mrs. Steve was most kind-hearted, but as I arose that first morning I could not help thinking that Mrs. Steve was rather over doing hospitality when calling me to eat again so soon after the hearty supper I had taken about nine the previous evening, and I was more than surprised when, as I sat down to the table, she remarked that breakfast that morning was rather later than usual with them. She said she thought that after my long journey I would be tired and need a little rest, so she had delayed the breakfast. That news fairly took my breath away, so that I was unable to thank her for her consideration. I took a quick glance at both their faces to see if it was only a little joke, but I saw by the expression on their countenances it was dead straight business. Steve noticed my surprised look and he gave a little cough and at once proceeded to ask a blessing. I was to much astonished to join in or even say amen, for about that time I felt that I was not suffering with hunger, and I am afraid I was not as grateful for it as 1 otherwise might have been.

I soon found out that early breakfasts were no novelty in Steve’s family, and I had not been long with them till half the time I could not be sure whether it was supper or breakfast I was eating. There was always plenty of well cooked, coarse food ; Mrs. Steve was always scrupulously clean, so I fared well enough, she was kind to me, and I liked her very much. I am sure I could not have thought more of her if she had really been my own sister. By our early rising we would take advantage of the calm nights to row the freight boat down to the storehouse at the foot of Lake Kashog, sixteen miles, before the wind would rise, so that on our up trip we would have the fair west wind mostly prevalent in the summer months in that section, so we often used to run the round trip of thirty-two miles and be back to Haliburton and unload our cargo before noon. The round trip would have been considered a good day’s work by most men ; not so with Steve, for in the afternoon we would put in another day’s work logging or cleaning up land on Steve’s village lots. He used to tell me that it would keep us from getting stiff. The mail in those days was tri-weekly—Tuesdays, Thursdays and

J. R. Booth's Limits, Nipissing District, Ont ( ^ee page 2?

UP TO DATE ; OP, THE LIFE OF A LUMBERMAN 13

Saturdays. On mail days we usually ran two boats — a freight boat and a skiff. The freight boat would sail at four a.m., skiff with the mail at 6 a.m. Other mornings the freight boat would sail at two a.m. The crew of the freight boat consisted of three, except mail day, when it was manned by only two, the third man would have to bring the skiff with the mail, which he considered a soft snap, for usually there would be passengers who assisted in rowing who had to pay their passage just the same; Steve did not know what “D. H.” meant. The stage would be waiting at the foot of Kushog lake to convey the mail and passengers over the four miles drive to Minden. Steve mostly went along, but occasionally I would be sent, and then I would get a good dinner at the Buck Hotel.

Dan Buck, the proprietor, was quite a noted character, and about as fine a fellow as I ever met. He was about the best looking man in the country ; his wife was also one of the most beautiful of women, and they were both just as good as they looked. The Buck Hotel was far-famed for its good table, but Dan made no profit on the dinners I used to eat there, as the appetite acquired after that twenty mile trip was not easily satisfied. Dan used to wait on me and try to fill me up. I never bothered taking the hides off the potatoes until I had eaten five or six, as I did not have time, I was so hungry.

Dan used to call me “ Haw and Gee,” through a story Steve told him. It occurred in this way : One afternoon Steve wanted to do some

ploughing on his farm ; the land was very stony and there were too many stumps of trees scattered over it for him to hold the plow and handle the reins, so he took me along to drive the horses. On the occasion referred to, when the animals were hitched ready to start, Steve asked me if I knew “ haw and gee.” I thought he was referring to some individuals, and I innocently asked where they lived. Next day Steve told Dan and that’s how he came to call me “ Haw and Gee.”

I would usually have to walk the four miles too and back from Minden ; the passengers and freight would load the stage. The driver of the stage was a quaker ; he was almost a load in himself, for he weighed nearly four hundred pounds net, not counting tare. His face always put me in mind of the rising sun, or like of the pictures of the man in the moon one sees in Josh Billings’ almanac, for his face always wore a broad grin, and the spirit appeared to move him to talk all the time. He was the only quaker in that section of the couutry, so I guess he must have been a bank beaver ” quaker.

The beavers always put out from among them any that are too lazy to work or are in other ways objectionable to them, then the beaver so put out has to live by himself, so the trappers call them “ bank ” beavers. Of course I did not for an instant insinuate that this quaker did not like work

— far from it — for he liked work so well he could lie down right beside it and sleep both peacefully and contentedly.

Steve, or my brother, as I will now call him, at the time I am speaking of, had a gentleman working for him by the name of Williams, who claimed to be a brother of the celebrated English lawyer, Sir Montague Williams. Mr. Williams was one of the crew of the freight boat ; Steve and myself made up the rest of the crew. Mr. Williams told me that his wife was the daughter of an earl, so here I was right among my own class of people, for I always had an idea that I must be the son of some son of a gun of large calibre. Steve, Williams and myself made up the crews of both boats. Sunday was the only day that we got any rest ; Steve and his wife were good living and God-fearing people, and kept the Sabbath holy as all Christian people should, and on that day would do no work beyond a few chores which any other man except Steve would have called a good day’s work ; but all the same twelve o’clock Sunday night Mrs. Steve would jump out of bed— the last stroke of the clock — and commence to get our breakfast ready. I used to fancy she must have lay awake so as not to miss hearing the hour of twelve strike. The clock was never slow — in fact it had a habit of getting a couple of hours or so ahead of other people’s clocks.

The first Sunday I spent in Haliburton Steve insisted that I wear the volunteer military uniform that I got from George. I put on the uniform and went to church —full dress parade. No doubt I created quite a sensation, for Steve said a military uniform had never before been seen in that village, neither do I think there has been one seen there since.