Life in the Backwoods

S >> Susanna Moodie >> Life in the Backwoods

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To persons residing in the bush, and to whom tea and coffee are very
expensive articles of luxury, the knowledge of this valuable property in a
plant, scattered so abundantly through their fields, would prove highly
beneficial. For years we used no other article; and my Indian friends who
frequented the house gladly adopted the root, and made me show them the
whole process of manufacturing it into coffee.

Experience taught me that the root of the dandelion is not so good, when
applied to this purpose, in the spring as it is in the fall. I tried it in
the spring, but the juice of the plant, having contributed to the
production of leaves and flowers, was weak, and destitute of the fine
bitter flavour so peculiar to coffee. The time of gathering in the potato
crop is the best suited for collecting and drying the roots of the
dandelion; and as they always abound in the same hills, both may be
accomplished at the same time. Those who want to keep a quantity for
winter use may wash and cut up the roots, and dry them on boards in the
sun. They will keep for years, and can be roasted when required.

Few of our colonists are acquainted with the many uses to which this
neglected but most valuable plant may be applied. I will point out a few
which have come under my own observation, convinced as I am that the
time will come when this hardy weed, with its golden flowers and curious
seed-vessels, which form a constant plaything to the little children
rolling about and luxuriating among the grass, in the sunny month of May,
will be transplanted into our gardens, and tended with due care. The
dandelion planted in trenches, and blanched to a beautiful cream-colour
with straw, makes an excellent salad, quite equal to endive, and is more
hardy and requires less care.

In many parts of the United States, particularly in new districts where
vegetables are scarce, it is used early in the spring, and boiled with
pork as a substitute for cabbage. During our residence in the bush we
found it, in the early part of May, a great addition to the dinner-table.
In the township of Dummer, the settlers boil the tops, and add hops to the
liquor, which they ferment, and from which they obtain excellent beer. I
have never tasted this simple beverage, but I have been told by those who
use it that it is equal to the table-beer used at home.

Necessity has truly been termed the mother of invention, for I contrived
to manufacture a variety of dishes almost out of nothing, while living in
her school. When entirely destitute of animal food, the different variety
of squirrels supplied us with pies, stews, and roasts. Our barn stood at
the top of the hill near the bush, and in a trap set for such "small
deer," we often caught from ten to twelve a-day.

The flesh of the black squirrel is equal to that of the rabbit, and the
red, and even the little chissmunk, is palatable when nicely cooked. But
from the lake, during the summer, we derived the larger portion of our
food. The children called this piece of water "Mamma's pantry," and many a
good meal has the munificent Father given to his poor dependent children
from its well-stored depths. Moodie and I used to rise by daybreak, and
fish for an hour after sunrise, when we returned, he to the field, and I
to dress the little ones, clean up the house, assist with the milk, and
prepare the breakfast.

Oh, how I enjoyed these excursions on the lake! The very idea of our
dinner depending upon our success, added double zest to our sport.

One morning we started as usual before sunrise; a thick mist still hung
like a fine veil upon the water when we pushed off, and anchored at our
accustomed place. Just as the sun rose, and the haze parted and drew up
like a golden sheet of transparent gauze, through which the dark woods
loomed out like giants, a noble buck dashed into the water, followed by
four Indian hounds.

We then discovered a canoe, full of Indians, just below the rapids, and
another not many yards from us, that had been concealed by the fog. It was
a noble sight, that gallant deer exerting all his energy, and stemming the
water with such matchless grace, his branching horns held proudly aloft,
his broad nostrils distended, and his fine eye fixed intently upon the
opposite shore. Several rifle-balls whizzed past him, the dogs followed
hard upon his track, but my very heart leaped for joy when, in spite of
all his foes, his glossy hoofs spurned the opposite bank and he plunged
headlong into the forest.

My beloved partner was most skilful in trolling for bass and muskinonge.
His line he generally fastened to the paddle, and the motion of the oar
gave a life-like vibration to the queer-looking mice and dragon-flies I
used to manufacture from squirrel fur, or scarlet and white cloth, to
tempt the finny wanderers of the wave.

When too busy himself to fish for our meals, little Katie and I ventured
out alone in the canoe, which we anchored in any promising fishing spot,
by fastening a harrow tooth to a piece of rope, and letting it drop from
the side of the little vessel. By the time she was five years old, my
little mermaid could both steer and paddle the light vessel, and catch
small fish, which were useful for soup.

During the winter of '36, we experienced many privations. The ruffian
squatter P____, from Clear Lake, drove from the barn a fine young bull we
were rearing, and for several weeks all trace of the animal was lost. We
had almost forgotten the existence of poor Whiskey, when a neighbour
called and told Moodie that his yearling was at P____'s, and that he would
advise him to get it back as soon as possible. Moodie had to take some
wheat to Y____'s mill, and as the squatter lived only a mile further, he
called at his house; and there, sure enough, he found the lost animal.
With the greatest difficulty he succeeded in regaining his property, but
not without many threats of vengeance from the parties who had stolen it.
To these he paid no regard; but a few days after, six fat hogs, on which
we depended for all our winter store of animal food, were driven into the
lake, and destroyed. The death of these animals deprived us of three
barrels of pork, and half starved us through the winter. That winter of
'36, how heavily it wore away! The grown flour, frosted potatoes, and
scant quantity of animal food rendered us all weak, and the children
suffered much from the ague.

One day, just before the snow fell, Moodie had gone to Peterborough for
letters; our servant was sick in bed with the ague, and I was nursing my
little boy, Dunbar, who was shaking with the cold fit of his miserable
fever, when Jacob put his honest, round, rosy face in at the door.

"Give me the master's gun, ma'am; there's a big buck feeding on the
rice-bed near the island."

I took down the gun, saying, "Jacob, you have no chance; there is but one
charge of buck-shot in the house."

"One chance is better nor none," said Jacob, as he commenced loading the
gun. "Who knows what may happen to oie. Mayhap oie may chance to kill 'un;
and you and the measter and the wee bairns may have zummut zavory for
zupper yet."

Away walked Jacob with Hoodie's "Manton" over his shoulder. A few minutes
after, I heard the report of the gun, but never expected to see anything
of the game; when Jacob suddenly bounced into the room, half wild with
delight.

"Thae beast iz dead az a door-nail. Zure, how the measter will laugh when
he zees the fine buck that oie a' zhot."

"And have you really shot him?"

"Come and zee! Tis worth your while to walk down to the landing to look at
'un."

Jacob got a rope, and I followed him to the landing, where, sure enough,
lay a fine buck, fastened in tow of the canoe. Jacob soon secured him by
the hind legs to the rope he had brought; and, with our united efforts, we
at last succeeded in dragging our prize home. All the time he was engaged
in taking off the skin, Jacob was anticipating the feast that we were to
have; and the good fellow chuckled with delight when he hung the carcass
quite close to the kitchen door, that his "measter" might run against it
when he came home at night. This event actually took place. When Moodie
opened the door, he struck his head against the dead deer.

"What have you got here?"

"A fine buck, zur," said Jacob, bringing forward the light, and holding it
up in such a manner that all the merits of the prize could be seen at a
glance.

"A fine one, indeed! How did we come by it?"

"It was zhot by oie," said Jacob, rubbing his hands in a sort of ecstacy.
"Thae beast iz the first oie ever zhot in my life. He! he! he!"

"You shot that fine deer, Jacob?--and there was only one charge in the
gun! Well done; you must have taken a good aim."

"Why, zur, oie took no aim at all. Oie just pointed the gun at the deer,
and zhut my oeys an let fly at 'un. 'Twas Providence kill'd 'un, not oie."

"I believe you," said Moodie; "Providence has hitherto watched over us and
kept us from actual starvation."

The flesh of the deer, and the good broth that I was able to obtain from
it, greatly assisted in restoring our sick to health; but long before that
severe winter terminated we were again out of food. Mrs. ____ had given to
Katie, in the fall, a very pretty little pig, which she had named Spot.
The animal was a great favourite with Jacob and the children, and he
always received his food from their hands at the door and followed them
all over the place like a dog. We had a noble hound called Hector, between
whom and the pet pig there existed the most tender friendship. Spot always
shared with Hector the hollow log which served him for a kennel, and we
often laughed to see Hector lead Spot round the clearing by his ear. After
bearing the want of animal food until our souls sickened at the bad
potatoes and grown flour bread, we began--that is the eldest of the
family--to cast very hungry eyes upon Spot; but no one liked to propose
having him killed. At last Jacob spoke his mind upon the subject.

"Oi've heard, zur, that the Jews never eat pork; but we Christians dooz,
and are right glad ov the chance. Now, zur, oi've been thinking that'tis
no manner ov use our keeping that beast Spot. If he wor a zow, now, there
might be zome zenze in the thing; and we all feel weak for a morzel of
meat. S'poze I kill him? He won't make a bad piece of pork."

Moodie seconded the move; and, in spite of the tears and prayers of Katie,
her uncouth pet was sacrificed to the general wants of the family; but
there were two members of the house who disdained to eat a morsel of the
victim; poor Katie and the dog Hector. At the self-denial of the first I
did not at all wonder, for she was a child full of sensibility and warm
affections, but the attachment of the brute creature to his old playmate
filled us all with surprise. Jacob first drew our attention to the strange
fact.

"That dog," he said, as we were passing through the kitchen while he was
at dinner, "do teach uz Christians a lesson how to treat our friends. Why,
zur, he'll not eat a morzel of Spot. Oie have tried and tempted him in all
manner ov ways, and he only do zneer and turn up his nose when oie hould
him a bit to taste." He offered the animal a rib of the fresh pork as he
finished speaking, and the dog turned away with an expression of aversion,
and on a repetition of the act, walked from the table. Human affection
could scarcely have surpassed the love felt by this poor animal for his
playfellow. His attachment to Spot, that could overcome the pangs of
hunger--for, like the rest of us, he was half starved--must have been
strong indeed.

Jacob's attachment to us, in its simplicity and fidelity, greatly
resembled that of the dog; and sometimes, like the dog, he would push
himself in where he was not wanted, and gratuitously give his advice, and
make remarks which were not required.

Mr. K____, from Cork, was asking Moodie many questions about the
partridges of the country; and, among other things, he wanted to know by
what token you were able to discover their favourite haunts. Before Moodie
could answer this last query a voice responded, through a large crack in
the boarded wall which separated us from the kitchen, "They always bides
where they's drum." This announcement was received with a burst of
laughter that greatly disconcerted the natural philosopher in the kitchen.

On the 21st of May of this year, my second son, Donald, was born. The poor
fellow came in hard times. The cows had not calved, and our bill of fare,
now minus the deer and Spot, only consisted of bad potatoes and still
worse bread. I was rendered so weak by want of proper nourishment that my
dear husband, for my sake, overcame his aversion to borrowing, and
procured a quarter of mutton from a friend. This, with kindly presents
from neighbours--often as badly off as ourselves--a loin of a young bear,
and a basket, containing a loaf of bread, some tea, some fresh butter, and
oatmeal, went far to save my life.

Shortly after my recovery, Jacob--the faithful, good Jacob was obliged to
leave us, for we could no longer afford to pay wages. What was owing to
him had to be settled by sacrificing our best cow, and a great many
valuable articles of clothing from my husband's wardrobe. Nothing is more
distressing than being obliged to part with articles of dress which you
know that you cannot replace. Almost all my clothes had been appropriated
to the payment of wages, or to obtain garments for the children, excepting
my wedding-dress, and the beautiful baby-linen which had been made by the
hands of dear and affectionate friends for my first-born. These were now
exchanged for coarse, warm flannels, to shield her from the cold. Moodie
and Jacob had chopped eight acres during the winter, but these had to be
burnt off and logged-up before we could put in a crop of wheat for the
ensuing fall. Had we been able to retain this industrious, kindly English
lad, this would have been soon accomplished; but his wages, at the rate of
thirty pounds per annum, were now utterly beyond our means.

Jacob had formed an attachment to my pretty maid, Mary Pine, and before
going to the Southern States, to join an uncle who resided in Louisville,
an opulent tradesman, who had promised to teach him his business, Jacob
thought it as well to declare himself. The declaration took place on a log
of wood near the back door, and from my chamber window I could both hear
and see the parties, without being myself observed. Mary was seated very
demurely at one end of the log, twisting the strings of her checked apron,
and the loving Jacob was busily whittling the other extremity of their
rustic seat. There was a long silence. Mary stole a look at Jacob, and he
heaved a tremendous sigh, something between a yawn and a groan. "Meary,"
he said, "I must go."

"I knew that afore," returned the girl.

"I had zummat to zay to you, Meary. Do you think you will miss oie?"
(looking very affectionately, and twitching nearer.)

"What put that into your head, Jacob?" This was said very demurely.

"Oie thowt, maybe, Meary, that your feelings might be zummat loike my own.
I feel zore about the heart, Meary, and it's all com' of parting with you.
Don't you feel queerish, too?"

"Can't say that I do, Jacob. I shall soon see you again," (pulling
violently at her apron-string.)

"Meary, oi'm afeard you don't feel like oie."

"P'r'aps not--women can't feel like men. I'm sorry that you are going,
Jacob, for you have been very kind and obliging, and I wish you well."

"Meary," cried Jacob, growing desperate at her coyness, and getting quite
close up to her, "will you marry oie? Say yeez or noa."

This was coming close to the point. Mary drew farther from him, and turned
her head away.

"Meary," said Jacob, seizing upon the hand that held the apron-string, "do
you think you can better yoursel'? If not--why, oie'm your man. Now, do
just turn about your head and answer oie."

The girl turned round, and gave him a quick, shy glance, then burst out
into a simpering laugh.

"Meary, will you take oie?" (jogging her elbow.)

"I will," cried the girl, jumping up from the log, and running into the
house.

"Well, that bargain's made," said the lover, rubbing his hands; "and now,
oie'll go and bid measter and missus good-buoy."

The poor fellow's eyes were full of tears, for the children, who loved him
very much, clung, crying, about his knees. "God bless yees all," sobbed
the kind-hearted creature. "Doan't forget Jacob, for he'll neaver forget
you. Goodbuoy!"

Then turning to Mary, he threw his arms round her neck, and bestowed upon
her fair cheek the most audible kiss I ever heard.

"And doan't you forget me, Meary. In two years oie will be back to marry
you; and maybe oie may come back a rich man."

Mary, who was an exceedingly pretty girl, shed some tears at the parting;
but in a few days, she was as gay as ever, and listening with great
attention to the praises bestowed upon her beauty by an old bachelor, who
was her senior by five-and-twenty years. But then he had a good farm, a
saddle mare, and plenty of stock, and was reputed to have saved money.
The saddle mare seemed to have great weight in old Ralph T____h's wooing;
and I used laughingly to remind Mary of her absent lover, and beg her not
to marry Ralph T____h's mare.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LITTLE STUMPY MAN.

Before I dismiss for ever the troubles and sorrows of 1836, I would fain
introduce to the notice of my readers some of the odd characters with whom
we became acquainted during that period. The first that starts vividly to
my recollection is the picture of a short, stumpy, thick-set man--a
British sailor, too--who came to stay one night under our roof, and took
quiet possession of his quarters for nine months, and whom we were obliged
to tolerate from the simple fact that we could not get rid of him.

During the fall, Moodie had met this individual (whom I will call Mr.
Malcolm) in the mail-coach going up to Toronto. Amused with his eccentric
and blunt manners, and finding him a shrewd, clever fellow in
conversation, Moodie told him that if ever he came into his part of the
world he should be glad to renew their acquaintance. And so they parted,
with mutual good-will, as men often part who have travelled a long journey
in good fellowship together, without thinking it probable they should ever
meet again.

The sugar season had just commenced with the spring thaw; Jacob had tapped
a few trees in order to obtain sap to make molasses for the children, when
his plans were frustrated by the illness of my husband, who was again
attacked with the ague. Towards the close of a wet, sloppy night, while
Jacob was in the wood, chopping, and our servant gone to my sister, who
was ill, to help to wash, as I was busy baking bread for tea, my attention
was aroused by a violent knocking at the door, and the furious barking of
our dog, Hector. I ran to open it, when I found Hector's teeth clenched in
the trowsers of a little, dark, thick-set man, who said in a gruff voice,

"Call off; our dog. What the devil do you keep such an infernal brute
about the house for? Is it to bite people who come to see you?"

Hector was the best-behaved, best-tempered animal in the world; he might
have been called a gentlemanly dog. So little was there of the unmannerly
puppy in his behaviour, that I was perfectly astonished at his ungracious
conduct. I caught him by the collar, and not without some difficulty,
succeeded in dragging him off.

"Is Captain Moodie within?" said the stranger.

"He is, sir. But he is ill in bed--too ill to be seen."

"Tell him a friend," (he laid a strong stress upon the last word,) "a
particular friend must speak to him."

I now turned my eyes to the face of the speaker with some curiosity. I had
taken him for a mechanic, from his dirty, slovenly appearance; and his
physiognomy was so unpleasant that I did not credit his assertion that he
was a friend of my husband, for I was certain that no man who possessed
such a forbidding aspect could be regarded by Moodie as a friend. I was
about to deliver his message, but the moment I let go Hector's collar, the
dog was at him again.

"Don't strike him with your stick," I cried, throwing my arms over the
faithful creature. "He is a powerful animal, and if you provoke him, he
will kill you."

I at last succeeded in coaxing Hector into the girl's room, where I shut
him up, while the stranger came into the kitchen, and walked to the fire
to dry his wet clothes.

I immediately went into the parlour, where Moodie was lying upon a bed
near the stove, to deliver the stranger's message; but before I could say
a word, he dashed in after me, and going up to the bed held out his broad,
coarse hand, with, "How are you, Mr. Moodie. You see I have accepted your
kind invitation sooner than either you or I expected. If you will give me
house-room for the night I shall be obliged to you."

This was said in a low, mysterious voice: and Moodie, who was still
struggling with the hot fit of his disorder, and whose senses were not a
little confused, stared at him with a look of vague bewilderment. The
countenance of the stranger grew dark.

"You cannot have forgotten me--my name is Malcolm."

"Yes, yes; I remember you now," said the invalid, holding out his burning,
feverish hand. "To my home, such as it is, you are welcome."

I stood by in wondering astonishment, looking from one to the other, as I
had no recollection of ever hearing my husband mention the name of the
stranger; but as he had invited him to share our hospitality, I did my
best to make him welcome, though in what manner he was to be accommodated
puzzled me not a little. I placed the arm-chair by the fire, and told him
that I would prepare tea for him as soon as I could.

"It may be as well to tell you, Mrs. Moodie," said he sulkily, for he was
evidently displeased by my husband's want of recognition on his first
entrance, "that I have had no dinner."

I sighed to myself, for I well knew that our larder boasted of no
dainties; and from the animal expression of our guest's face. I rightly
judged that he was fond of good living.

By the time I had fried a rasher of salt pork, and made a pot of dandelion
coffee, the bread I had been preparing was baked; but grown flour will not
make light bread, and it was unusually heavy. For the first time I felt
heartily ashamed of our humble fare. I was sure that he for whom it was
provided was not one to pass it over in benevolent silence. "He might be a
gentleman," I thought, "but he does not look like one;" and a confused
idea of who he was, and where Moodie had met with him, began to float
through my mind. I did not like the appearance of the man, but I consoled
myself that he was only to stay for one night, and I could give up my bed
for that one night, and sleep on a bed on the floor by my sick husband.
When I re-entered the parlour to cover the table, I found Moodie fallen
asleep, and Mr. Malcolm reading. As I placed the tea-things on the
table, he raised his head, and regarded me with a gloomy stare. He was a
strange-looking creature; his features were tolerably regular, his
complexion dark, with a good colour, his very broad and round head was
covered with a perfect mass of close, black, curling hair, which, in
growth, texture, and hue, resembled the wiry, curly hide of a water-dog.
His eyes and mouth were both well-shaped, but gave, by their sinister
expression, an odious and doubtful meaning to the whole of his
physiognomy. The eyes were cold, insolent, and cruel, and as green as the
eyes of a cat. The mouth bespoke a sullen, determined, and sneering
disposition, as if it belonged to one brutally obstinate, one who could
not by any gentle means be persuaded from his purpose. Such a man in a
passion, would have been a terrible wild beast; but the current of his
feelings seemed to flow in a deep sluggish channel, rather than in a
violent or impetuous one; and, like William Penn, when he reconnoitred his
unwelcome visitors through the keyhole of the door, I looked at my strange
guest, and liked him not. Perhaps my distant and constrained manner made
him painfully aware of the fact, for I am certain that, from that first
hour of our acquaintance, a deep-rooted antipathy existed between us,
which time seemed rather to strengthen than diminish.

He ate of his meal sparingly, and with evident disgust; the only remarks
which dropped from him were:

"You make bad bread in the bush. Strange, that you can't keep your
potatoes from the frost! I should have thought that you could have had
things more comfortable in the woods."

"We have been very unfortunate," I said, "since we came to the woods. I am
sorry that you should be obliged to share the poverty of the land. It
would have given me much pleasure could I have set before you a more
comfortable meal"

"Oh, don't mention it. So that I get good pork and potatoes I shall be
contented."

What did these words imply?--an extension of his visit? I hoped that I was
mistaken; but before I could lose any time in conjecture my husband awoke.
The fit had left him, and he rose and dressed himself, and was soon
chatting cheerfully with his guest.

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