LETTER I.
You ask me, my dear child, to give you a few particulars of our voyage across the Atlantic to Canada, our journey from Quebec to the Bush of Muskoka, and our residence here as emigrant farmers for the last year. As in my diary I have only chronicled the bare events of each passing day, you must only expect outlines of Bush life, and not well filled up pictures. I pass over the anguish of my separation from you and your dear ones, and can only say that when I thought of the attached circle of friends we were leaving behind us, both in France and England, whom probably we should never see again, I felt strongly tempted to remain; but the fact that others of the family had preceded us, and would be expecting our arrival, that our baggage was already shipped, and that your brother had taken leave of his friendly employers, who to the last counselled him to retain his situation, had weight enough with me to prevent any change of plan. We went on board the good ship T——s lying in the Thames, at least twenty-four hours too soon, and lay awake the whole of the first night, as the carpenters never ceased working, the ship having met with an accident on her previous voyage.
The next morning I was greatly grieved to find that your brother had only engaged two first-cabin berths for your sister and myself; and finding that our purse was very scantily filled, had, with his usual self-denial, taken a steerage passage for himself, and got a good-natured quartermaster to take charge of our dear French dog old “Nero,” who forthwith became a stowaway, and was smuggled out of sight.
When the vessel was ready, we dropped down the river to Gravesend, and having taken in more passengers and emigrants, we started for Plymouth. We remained there for a few hours, and I pointed out to your brother and sister the beautiful spot called “Drake’s Island,” where, long before they were born, I had passed a delightful summer and autumn with your dear papa and my two babies. Our regiment was then stationed at Plymouth, and your papa commanded the guard placed on the island for the protection of the powder magazine.
The weather was beautiful when we left Plymouth, and was expected to remain so till the end of the voyage; but after a few days, when well out in the Atlantic, a tremendous gale set in which lasted for several days and nights.
I had been in storms two or three times off the Irish coast, but confess that I never felt so frightened as when at every roll our ship gave (and she was a roller), we heard a horrid grating sound which we shrewdly suspected to be caused by part of our cargo of iron which had shifted its place, and kept moving with every motion of the ship. We were told on arriving at Quebec that this unexpected storm was occasioned by a hurricane in the West Indies. Most of the passengers, as well as ourselves, were possessed by the demon of sea-sickness, and your sister was hardly able to get up during the whole passage.
The tedium of our confinement was, however, much relieved by the pleasant society and kindness of two most amiable English ladies, who were going out to reside with a near relative at Montreal. Every day, after the saloon dinner, they came to our cabin, which they christened the “drawing-room,” and our pleasant conversations there laid the foundation of a friendship which I trust will ever remain unbroken. Our nights from various causes were weary and sleepless, but in the early morning and for some hours we had a diversion, which the proximity of our cabin to the steward’s pantry procured for us. Almost as soon as it was light, Jupiter thundered from Olympus, or in other words our black steward, who was punctiliously addressed as “Mr. H——s,” began the day’s proceedings by having the crockery and glass broken during the night by the rolling of the ship removed, and every order was given with a dignified pomposity which was most amusing.
We gave him and his assistants the sobriquet of “Jupiter and his satellites!” Mr. H——s was a portly negro of an imposing presence, and a benign expression of countenance which a little reminded one of “Uncle Tom” in Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s celebrated work. He exacted implicit obedience, but he was a very good man, strictly honest to his employers, and very considerate to those over whom he had any authority. Not once during the voyage did we hear from his lips an oath or an unseemly word.
The stewardess told us that he had a very pretty wife in London, a young Englishwoman, with a remarkably fair complexion. She also told us an amusing anecdote of Mr. H——s as steward of a troop-ship going out to India. One Sunday afternoon the young officers, tired of playing off practical jokes on each other, and half dead with ennui, applied to Mr. H——s to lend them a book to read.
“You know the sort of book we want, H——s,” said they; “plenty of love and fighting, and battles, and all that sort of thing!”
“I understand, gentlemen,” said Mr. H——s, and presently returned with a large Bible which he placed before them. “There, gentlemen, you will find in that book all you want—beautiful love stories, fierce wars, and plenty of battles!”
His colour, however, was somewhat against him, and I could hardly keep my countenance when a young under-steward, to whom we were indebted for much attention, said to me with quite an injured air, “You know, ma’am, it does take it out of a feller to have to say ‘sir’ to a nigger!”
Of the young friend C. W., who came out with us, we saw but little, for though he had a first-class berth, he was a great deal in the steerage with your brother, who was a veritable “Mark Tapley” among the poor emigrants. He helped the minister in charge to keep order among them, he procured all manner of little extra comforts for the sick women from the surly cooks, and was the delight of all the children, who followed him in troops. He managed to be a good deal in our cabin when we were too ill to move, and also came to us on deck when we were able to crawl there. He was a favourite with all our fellow-passengers, and every lady knew she might depend upon his gentlemanly attentions if required. This comforted me a little for his being in such a disagreeable position.
The sea continued very rough indeed even after we were in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and though I thought the real blue water which I saw for the first time very beautiful, yet I could by no means join in the raptures of my fellow-passengers, but strictly averred, that although a passionate admirer of “Old Ocean,” it was most decidedly when I viewed it from terra-firma. I will not weary you with minute details of our slow passage up the beautiful St. Lawrence, nor dilate upon the interest I felt in watching, first the thinly-scattered white huts, and afterwards the thickly-clustered villages of the “habitants,” with their curious churches and shining spires, backed by the dark pine forests, and behind them ranges of blue-capped mountains, compared with which the hills of my own dear England were as hillocks.
We landed at Quebec and went to the Victoria Hotel, where your sister and I passed a few miserable hours of suspense and anxiety. We found ourselves at the very beginning of an immense journey utterly without means to carry us on beyond the first few stages. The little extra expenses paid on leaving the ship, and the clearing our baggage as far as Toronto, had all but emptied our purse. We were rich in nothing but delusive hopes and expectations, doomed, like the glass basket of celebrated “Alnaschars,” to be shattered and broken to pieces.
We half expected to find a letter with a small remittance waiting for us at the Quebec P. O. Our young friend C. W. was in the same strait, as his money-order was only payable in a bank at Toronto. Both the gentlemen left us and crossed the water to the town of Quebec, where, finding on due inquiry no letter of any kind, your brother was compelled to pledge his gold watch and seal, upon which, though so valuable, he could only get five pounds advanced. This unavoidable delay lost us the mid-day train to Montreal, by which we saw our kind friends depart after taking a most affectionate leave and engaging us to correspond with them. When our two gentlemen returned we were nearly starving, as we did not like to go to the table-d’hôte without them, and the dinner had long been over. We all sallied forth, and found in a small wayside tavern a homely but excellent meal, and best of all, a private room to take it in. From thence we went to the station and started by the seven p.m. train for Montreal, being quite thankful that our journey had at length begun.
