Life in the Backwoods

S >> Susanna Moodie >> Life in the Backwoods

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

"When they were little chaps, from five to six years of age, I made them
very drunk," he said; "so drunk that it brought on severe headache and
sickness, and this so disgusted them with liquor, that they never could
abide the sight of it again. I have only one drunkard among the seven; and
he was such a weak, puling crathur, that I dared not play the same game
with him, lest it should kill him. 'Tis his nature, I suppose, and he
can't help it; but the truth is, that to make up for the sobriety of all
the rest, he is killing himself with drink."

Norah gave us an account of her catching a deer that had got into the
enclosure the day before.

"I went out," she said, "early in the morning, to milk the cows, and I saw
a fine young buck struggling to get through a pale of the fence, in which
having entangled his head and horns, I knew, by the desperate efforts he
was making to push aside the rails, that if I was not quick in getting
hold of him, he would soon be gone."

"And did you dare to touch him?"

"If I had had Mat's gun I would have shot him, but he would have made his
escape long before I could run to the house for that, so I went boldly up
to him and got him by the hind legs; and though he kicked and struggled
dreadfully, I held on till Mat heard me call, and ran to my help, and cut
his throat with his hunting-knife. So you see," she continued, with a
good-natured laugh, "I can beat our hunters hollow--they hunt the deer,
but I can catch a buck with my hands."

While we were chatting away, great were the preparations making by Miss
Betty and a very handsome American woman, who had recently come thither as
a help. One little bare-footed garsoon was shelling peas in an Indian
basket, another was stringing currants into a yellow pie-dish, and a third
was sent to the rapids with his rod and line, to procure a dish of fresh
fish to add to the long list of bush dainties that were preparing for our
dinner. It was in vain that I begged our kind entertainers not to put
themselves to the least trouble on our account, telling them that we were
now used to the woods, and contented with any thing; they were determined
to exhaust all their stores to furnish forth the entertainment. Nor can it
be wondered at, that, with so many dishes to cook, and pies and custards
to bake, instead of dining at twelve, it was past two o'clock before we
were conducted to the dinner-table. I was vexed and disappointed at the
delay, as I wanted to see all I could of the spot we were about to visit
before night and darkness compelled us to return.

The feast was spread in a large outhouse, the table being formed of two
broad deal boards laid together, and supported by rude carpenter's stools.
A white linen cloth, a relic of better days, concealed these arrangements.
The board was covered with an indescribable variety of roast and boiled,
of fish, flesh, and fowl. My readers should see a table laid out in a
wealthy Canadian farmer's house before they can have any idea of the
profusion displayed in the entertainment of two visitors and their young
children. Besides venison, pork, chickens, ducks, and fish of several
kinds, cooked in a variety of ways, there was a number of pumpkin,
raspberry, cherry, and currant pies, with fresh butter and green cheese
(as the new cream-cheese is called), molasses, preserves, and pickled
cucumbers, besides tea and coffee--the latter, be it known, I had watched
the American woman boiling in the _frying-pan_. It was a black-looking
compound, and I did not attempt to discuss its merits. The vessel in which
it had been prepared had prejudiced me, and rendered me very skeptical on
that score.

We were all very hungry, having tasted nothing since five o'clock in the
morning, and contrived, out of the variety of good things before us, to
make an excellent dinner.

I was glad, however, when we rose to prosecute our intended trip up the
lake. The old man, whose heart was now thoroughly warmed with whiskey,
declared that he meant to make one of the party, and Betty, too, was to
accompany us; her sister Norah kindly staying behind to take care of the
children. We followed a path along the top of the high ridge of limestone
rock, until we had passed the falls and the rapids above, when we found
Pat and Mat Y____ waiting for us on the shore below, in two beautiful new
birch-bark canoes, which they had purchased the day before from the
Indians.

Miss Betty, Mat, and myself, were safely stowed into one, while the old
miller and his son Pat, and my husband, embarked in the other, and our
steersmen pushed off into the middle of the deep and silent stream; the
shadow of the tall woods, towering so many feet above us, casting an inky
hue upon the waters. The scene was very imposing, and after paddling for a
few minutes in shade and silence, we suddenly emerged into light and
sunshine, and Clear Lake, which gets its name from the unrivalled
brightness of its waters, spread out its azure mirror before us. The
Indians regard this sheet of water with peculiar reverence. It abounds in
the finest sorts of fish, the salmon-trout, the delicious white fish,
muskenonge, and black and white bass. There is no island in this lake, no
rice beds, nor stick nor stone, to break its tranquil beauty, and, at the
time we visited it, there was but one clearing upon its shores.

The log hut of the squatter P____, commanding a beautiful prospect up and
down the lake, stood upon a bold slope fronting the water; all the rest
was unbroken forest. We had proceeded about a mile on our pleasant voyage,
when our attention was attracted by a singular natural phenomenon, which
Mat Y____ called the battery. On the right-hand side of the shore rose a
steep, perpendicular wall of limestone, that had the appearance of having
been laid by the hand of man, so smooth and even was its surface. After
attaining a height of about fifty feet, a natural platform of eight or ten
yards broke the perpendicular line of the rock, when another wall, like
the first, rose to a considerable height, terminating in a second and
third platform of the same description.

Fire, at some distant period, had run over these singularly beautiful
terraces, and a second growth of poplars and balm-of-gileads relieved, by
their tender green and light, airy foliage, the sombre indigo tint of the
heavy pines that nodded like the plumes of a funeral-hearse over the fair
young dwellers on the rock. The water is forty feet deep at the base of
this precipice, which is washed by the waves. After we had passed the
battery, Mat Y____ turned to me and said, "That is a famous place for
bears; many a bear have I shot among those rocks."

This led to a long discussion on the wild beasts of the country.

"I do not think that there is much danger to be apprehended from them,"
said he; "but I once had an ugly adventure with a wolf two winters ago, on
this lake."

I was all curiosity to hear the story, which sounded doubly interesting
told on the very spot, and while gliding over those lovely waters.

"We were lumbering at the head of Stony Lake, about eight miles from here,
my four brothers, myself, and several other hands. The winter was long and
severe; although it was the first week in March, there was not the least
appearance of a thaw, and the ice on these lakes was as firm as ever. I
had been sent home to fetch a yoke of oxen to draw the saw-logs down to
the water, our chopping being all completed, and the logs ready for
rafting.

"I did not think it necessary to encumber myself with my rifle, and was,
therefore, provided with no weapon of defence but the long gad I used to
urge on the cattle. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when I
rounded Sandy Point, that long point which is about a mile ahead of us on
the left shore, when I first discovered that I was followed, but at a
great distance, by a large wolf. At first, I thought little of the
circumstance, beyond a passing wish that I had brought my gun. I knew that
he would not attack me before dark, and it was still two long hours to
sundown; so I whistled, and urged on my oxen and soon forgot the wolf--
when, on stopping to repair a little damage to the peg of the yoke, I was
surprised to find him close at my heels. I turned, and ran towards him,
shouting as loud as I could, when he slunk back, but showed no inclination
to make off. Knowing that he must have companions near, by his boldness, I
shouted as loud as I could, hoping that my cries might be heard by my
brothers, who would imagine that the oxen had got into the ice, and would
come to my assistance. I was now winding my way through the islands in
Stony Lake; the sun was setting red before me, and I had still three miles
of my journey to accomplish. The wolf had become so impudent that I kept
him off by pelting him with snowballs; and once he came so near that I
struck him with the gad. I now began to be seriously alarmed, and from
time to time shouted with all my strength; and you may imagine my joy when
these cries were answered by the report of a gun. My brothers had heard
me, and the discharge of a gun, for a moment, seemed to daunt the wolf. He
uttered a long howl, which was answered by the cries of a large pack of
the dirty brutes from the wood. It was only just light enough to
distinguish objects, and I had to stop and face my enemy, to keep him at
bay.

"I saw the skeleton forms of half-a-dozen more of them slinking among the
bushes that skirted a low island; and tired and cold, I gave myself and
the oxen up for lost, when I felt the ice tremble on which I stood, and
heard men running at a distance. 'Fire your guns!' I cried out, as loud as
I could. My order was obeyed, and such a yelling and howling immediately
filled the whole forest as would have chilled your very heart. The
thievish varmints instantly fled away into the bush.

"I never felt the least fear of wolves until that night; but when they
meet in large bands, like cowardly dogs, they trust to their numbers, and
grow fierce. If you meet with one wolf, you may be certain that the whole
pack are at no great distance."

We were fast approaching Sandy Point a long white ridge of sand, running
half across the lake, and though only covered with scattered groups of
scrubby trees and brush, it effectually screened Stony Lake from our view.
There were so many beautiful flowers peeping through the dwarf, green
bushes, that, wishing to inspect them nearer, Mat kindly ran the canoe
ashore, and told me that he would show me a pretty spot, where an Indian,
who had been drowned during a storm off that point, was buried. I
immediately recalled the story of Susan Moore's father, but Mat thought
that he was interred upon one of the islands farther up.

"It is strange," he said, "that they are such bad swimmers. The Indian,
though unrivalled by us whites in the use of the paddle, is an animal that
does not take readily to the water, and those among them who can swim
seldom use it as a recreation."

Pushing our way through the bushes, we came to a small opening in the
underwood, so thickly grown over with wild Canadian roses in full blossom,
that the air was impregnated with a delightful odour. In the centre of
this bed of sweets rose the humble mound that protected the bones of the
red man from the ravenous jaws of the wolf and the wild-cat. It was
completely covered with stones, and from among the crevices had sprung a
tuft of blue harebells, waving as wild and free as if they grew among the
bonny red heather on the glorious hills of the North, or shook their tiny
bells to the breeze on the broom-encircled commons of England.

The harebell had always from a child been with me a favourite flower; and
the first sight of it in Canada, growing upon that lonely grave, so
flooded my soul with remembrances of the past, that, in spite of myself,
the tears poured freely from my eyes. There are moments when it is
impossible to repress those outgushings of the heart--

"Those flood-gates of the soul that sever.
In passion's tide to part for ever."

If Mat and his sister wondered at my tears, they must have suspected the
cause, for they walked to a little distance, and left me to the indulgence
of my feelings. I gathered those flowers, and placed them in my bosom, and
kept them for many a day; they had become holy, when connected with sacred
home recollections, and the never-dying affections of the heart which the
sight of them recalled.

A shout from our companions in the other canoe made us retrace our steps
to the shore. They had already rounded the point, and were wondering at
our absence. Oh, what a magnificent scene of wild and lonely grandeur
burst upon us as we swept round the little peninsula, and the whole
majesty of Stony Lake broke upon us at once; another Lake of the
Thousand Isles, in miniature, and in the heart of the wilderness!
Imagine a large sheet of water, some fifteen miles in breadth and
twenty-five in length, taken up by islands of every size and shape,
from the lofty naked rock of red granite to the rounded hill, covered with
oak-leaves to its summit; while others were level with the waters, and of
a rich emerald green, only fringed with a growth of aquatic shrubs and
flowers. Never did my eyes rest on a more lovely or beautiful scene. Not a
vestige of man, or of his works was there. The setting sun, that cast such
a gorgeous flood of light upon this exquisite panorama, bringing out some
of these lofty islands in strong relief, and casting others into intense
shade, shed no cheery beam upon church spire or cottage pane. We beheld
the landscape, savage and grand in its primeval beauty.

As we floated among the channels between these rocky picturesque isles, I
asked Mat how many of them there were.

"I never could succeed," he said, "in counting them all.

One Sunday, Pat and I spent a whole day in going from one to the other, to
try and make out how many there were, but we could only count up to one
hundred and forty before we gave up the task in despair. There are a great
many of them; more than any one would think--and, what is very singular,
the channel between them is very deep, sometimes above forty feet, which
accounts for the few rapids to be found in this lake. It is a glorious
place for hunting; and the waters undisturbed by steamboats, abound in all
sorts of fish.

"Most of these islands are covered with huckleberries; white grapes, high
and low-bush cranberries, blackberries, wild cherries, gooseberries, and
several sorts of wild currants grow here in profusion. There is one island
among these groups (but I never could light upon the identical one) where
the Indians yearly gather their wampum-grass. They come here to collect
the best birch bark for their canoes, and to gather wild onions. In short,
from the game, fish, and fruit, which they collect among the islands of
this lake, they chiefly depend for their subsistence. They are very
jealous of the settlers in the country coming to hunt and fish here, and
tell many stories of wild beasts and rattlesnakes that abound along its
shores; but I, who have frequented the lake for years, was never disturbed
by any thing, beyond the adventure with the wolf, which I have already
told you. The banks of this lake are all steep and rocky, and the land
along the shore is barren, and totally unfit for cultivation.

"Had we time to run up a few miles further, I could have showed you some
places well worth a journey to look at; but the sun is already down, and
it will be dark before we get back to the mill."

The other canoe now floated alongside, and Pat agreed with his brother
that it was high time to return. With reluctance I turned from this
strangely fascinating scene. As we passed under one bold rocky island, Mat
said, laughingly, "That is Mount Rascal."

"How did it obtain that name?"

"Oh, we were out here berrying, with our good priest Mr. B____. This
island promised so fair, that we landed upon it, and, after searching for
an hour, we returned to the boat without a single berry, upon which Mr.
B____ named it 'Mount Rascal.'"

The island was so beautiful, it did not deserve the name, and I christened
it "Oak Hill," from the abundance of oak-trees which clothed its steep
sides. The wood of this oak is so heavy and hard that it will not float in
the water, and it is in great request for the runners of lumber-sleighs,
which have to pass over very bad roads.

The breeze, which had rendered our sail up the lakes so expeditious and
refreshing, had stiffened into a pretty high wind, which was dead against
us all the way down. Betty now knelt in the bow and assisted her brother,
squaw fashion, in paddling the canoe; but, in spite of all their united
exertions, it was past ten o'clock before we reached the mill. The good
Norah was waiting tea for us. She had given the children their supper four
hours ago, and the little creatures, tired with using their feet all day,
were sound asleep upon her bed.

After supper, several Irish songs were sung, while Pat played upon the
fiddle, and Betty and Mat enlivened the company with an Irish jig.

It was midnight when the children were placed on my cloak at the bottom
of the canoe, and we bade adieu to this hospitable family. The wind
being dead against us, we were obliged to dispense with the sail, and
take to our paddles. The moonlight was as bright as day, the air warm
and balmy; and the aromatic, resinous smell exuded by the heat from the
balm-of-gilead and the pine-trees, in the forest, added greatly to our
sense of enjoyment as we floated past scenes so wild and lonely--isles
that assumed a mysterious look and character in that witching hour. In
moments like these, I ceased to regret my separation from my native land;
and, filled with the love of Nature, my heart forgot for the time the love
of home. The very spirit of peace seemed to brood over the waters, which
were broken into a thousand ripples of light by every breeze that stirred
the rice blossoms, or whispered through the shivering aspen-trees. The
far-off roar of the rapids, softened by distance, and the long, mournful
cry of the night-owl, alone broke the silence of the night. Amid these
lonely wilds the soul draws nearer to God, and is filled to overflowing by
the overwhelming sense of His presence.

It was two o'clock in the morning when we fastened the canoe to the
landing, and Moodie carried up the children to the house. I found the girl
still up with my boy, who had been very restless during our absence. My
heart reproached me, as I caught him to my breast, for leaving him so
long; in a few minutes he was consoled for past sorrows, and sleeping
sweetly in my arms.

CHAPTER VI.

DISAPPOINTED HOPES.

The summer of '35 was very wet; a circumstance so unusual on Canada that
I have seen no season like it during my sojourn in the country. Our wheat
crop promised to be both excellent and abundant; and the clearing and
seeding sixteen acres, one way or another, had cost us more than fifty
pounds; still, we hoped to realize something handsome by the sale of the
produce; and, as far as appearances went, all looked fair. The rain
commenced about a week before the crop was fit for the sickle, and from
that time until nearly the end of September was a mere succession of
thunder showers; days of intense heat, succeeded by floods of rain. Our
fine crop shared the fate of all other fine crops in the country; it was
totally spoiled; the wheat grew in the sheaf, and we could scarcely save
enough to supply us with bad, sticky bread; the rest was exchanged at the
distillery for whiskey, which was the only produce which could be obtained
for it. The storekeepers would not look at it, or give either money or
goods for such a damaged article.

My husband and I had worked hard in the field; it was the first time I had
ever tried my hand at field-labour, but our ready money was exhausted, and
the steamboat stock had not paid us one farthing; we could not hire, and
there was no help for it. I had a hard struggle with my pride before I
would consent to render the least assistance on the farm, but reflection
convinced me that I was wrong--that Providence had placed me in a
situation where I was called upon to work--that it was not only my duty to
obey that call, but to exert myself to the utmost to assist my husband,
and help to maintain my family.

Ah, glorious poverty! thou art a hard taskmaster, but in thy
soul-ennobling school, I have received more god-like lessons, have learned
more sublime truths, than ever I acquired in the smooth highways of the
world! The independent in soul can rise above the seeming disgrace of
poverty, and hold fast their integrity, in defiance of the world and its
selfish and unwise maxims. To them, no labour is too great, no trial too
severe; they will unflinchingly exert every faculty of mind and body,
before they will submit to become a burden to others.

The misfortunes that now crowded upon us were the result of no misconduct
or extravagance on our part, but arose out of circumstances which we could
not avert nor control. Finding too late the error into which we had
fallen, in suffering ourselves to be cajoled and plundered out of our
property by interested speculators, we braced our minds to bear the worst,
and determined to meet our difficulties calmly and firmly, nor suffer our
spirits to sink under calamities which energy and industry might
eventually repair. Having once come to this resolution, we cheerfully
shared together the labours of the field. One in heart and purpose, we
dared remain true to ourselves, true to our high destiny as immortal
creatures, in our conflict with temporal and physical wants. We found
that manual toil, however distasteful to those unaccustomed to it, was not
after all such a dreadful hardship; that the wilderness was not without
its rose, the hard face of poverty without its smile. If we occasionally
suffered severe pain, we as often experienced great pleasure, and I have
contemplated a well-hoed ridge of potatoes on that bush farm,--with as
much delight as in years long past I had experienced in examining a fine
painting in some well-appointed drawing-room.

I can now look back with calm thankfulness on that long period of trial
and exertion--with thankfulness that the dark clouds that hung over us,
threatening to blot us from existence, when they did burst upon us, were
full of blessings. When our situation appeared perfectly desperate, then
were we on the threshold of a new state of things, which was born out of
that very distress.

In order more fully to illustrate the necessity of a perfect and childlike
reliance upon the mercies of God--who, I most firmly believe, never
deserts those who have placed their trust in Him--I will give a brief
sketch of our lives during the years 1836 and 1837.

Still confidently expecting to realize an income, however small, from the
steamboat stock, we had involved ourselves considerably in debt, in order
to pay our servants and obtain the common necessaries of life; and we owed
a large sum to two Englishmen in Dummer, for clearing ten more acres upon
the farm. Our utter inability to meet these demands weighed very heavily
upon my husband's mind. All superfluities in the way of groceries were now
given up, and we were compelled to rest satisfied upon the produce of the
farm. Milk, bread, and potatoes, during the summer became our chief, and
often, for months, our only fare. As to tea and sugar, they were luxuries
we would not think of, although I missed the tea very much; we rang the
changes upon peppermint and sage, taking the one herb at our breakfast,
the other at our tea, until I found an excellent substitute for both in
the root of the dandelion.

The first year we came to this country, I met with an account of dandelion
coffee, published in the _New York Albion_, given by a Dr. Harrison, of
Edinburgh, who earnestly recommended it as an article of general use.

"It possesses," he says, "all the fine flavour and exhilarating properties
of coffee, without any of its deleterious effects. The plant being of a
soporific nature, the coffee made from it when drank at night produces a
tendency to sleep, instead of exciting wakefulness, and may be safely used
as a cheap and wholesome substitute for the Arabian berry, being equal in
substance and flavour to the best Mocha coffee."

I was much struck with this paragraph at the time, and for several years
felt a great inclination to try the Doctor's coffee; but something or
other always came in the way, and it was put off till another opportunity.
During the fall of '35, I was assisting my husband in taking up a crop of
potatoes in the field, and observing a vast number of fine dandelion roots
among the potatoes, it brought the dandelion coffee back to my memory, and
I determined to try some for our supper. Without saying anything to my
husband, I threw aside some of the roots, and when we left work,
collecting a sufficient quantity for, the experiment, I carefully washed
the roots quite clean, without depriving them of the fine brown skin which
covers them, and which contains the aromatic flavour, which so nearly
resembles coffee that it is difficult to distinguish it from it while
roasting. I cut my roots into small pieces, the size of a kidney-bean, and
roasted them on an iron baking-pan in the stove-oven, until they were as
brown and crisp as coffee. I then ground and transferred a small cupful of
the powder to the coffee-pot, pouring upon it scalding water, and boiling
it for a few minutes briskly over the fire. The result was beyond my
expectations. The coffee proved excellent--far superior to the common
coffee we procured at the stores.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16