LETTER II.
My last letter left us starting from Quebec in the seven p.m. train for Montreal. Our party consisting of four people, we had a compartment to ourselves, but were some time in settling comfortably, as our old dog “Nero” had to be smuggled in and kept quiet under your sister’s waterproof-cloak, for fear the vigilant guard should consign him to the luggage-car, where he would infallibly have barked himself to death.
I noticed very little in the neighbourhood of Quebec, being too much occupied with my own sad thoughts, and regrets for those I had left behind; but I did observe that the cows, horses, and pigs all appeared very small and manifestly inferior to the cattle in England.
During this journey I could not help contrasting the mode of travelling in Canada with the same in the “old country,” and giving a decided preference to the former. It would be almost impossible for either murder, robbery, or any kind of outrage to be perpetrated where the compartments are all open, and the supervision of the guard walking up and down incessant. It is also a great alleviation to the fatigue of travelling to have the refreshment of iced water to drink, and the option of washing faces and hands. Towards night we were beguiled into “Pullman’s” sleeping-cars, little imagining how greatly it would add to the expense of the journey. Sleep, however, I found to be impossible in these close boxes, tier above tier, and towards midnight, half smothered, I made my way to the carriage we had occupied before retiring.
About this time the train came to a sudden stop, and at last I asked the guard why we were so long stationary. He told me that a train which ought to have been in before us was missing, that men had gone out with lanterns to look for it, and that for fear of being run into we must wait till it came up. A most dreary four hours we passed before we were released. We were at a small station in a barren spot of country, where nothing was to be seen in the dim light but a few miserable-looking wooden houses scattered about. It was a cheerless prospect, and we were thankful when at length we went on.
We passed the morning more agreeably, as the guard, a quiet, intelligent man, entered into conversation with us. He was telling us of a curious and erudite book about to be published at Boston, Massachusetts, compiled by one of his relations, from numerous records and papers treasured in the family, and handed down from one generation to another, beginning with the first landing of the “Pilgrim Fathers.”
His ancestor, with his family, came out in the Mayflower, and from that time to the present they had had an unbroken succession of godly ministers, who in the early times of their settlement were called, in the old Puritan phraseology, “sons of thunder.” In the spring of 1871, he had attended the annual family gathering at Boston, to which the remotest connections, if possible, came. I regret much that I did not take down his name.
In consequence of our long delay in the night, we did not arrive at Montreal in time for the early train, but had to breakfast there, and remain a few hours. When we started, we found that we had a hot and dusty journey before us. I greatly admired the environs of Montreal, particularly some pretty villa residences, perched, as it were, in terraces one above the other.
An incident occurred in the course of the day which afforded me a few moments of exquisite satisfaction, which every mother will understand.
While our train was drawn up before a small station, an emigrant train, going to some distant part, went past. Numbers of the emigrants were there who had been steerage passengers on board our vessel from England. As your brother was standing, with C. W., on the steps of one of the carriages, he was recognised, and they immediately vociferated, “Mr. K.! Mr. K.! three cheers for Mr. K.!” Then arose three deafening cheers, which died away in the distance; but not before your sister and I, looking out of the window, saw an indefinite number of pocket-handkerchiefs, of all colours and dimensions, fluttering from the windows in token of recognition.
Towards the evening of this day, as we were nearing Toronto, another stoppage occurred, similar to the one of the night before. A baggage-truck had got off the line, and might be expected at any moment to run into our train.
On this occasion I could not but think our situation most alarming. We were drawn up on a narrow bridge over a foaming torrent, with jagged rocks sticking up from the bottom, suggesting a not very pleasant fate had we been rolled over. Here we remained for four hours and a half. Luckily I was so much occupied with my own thoughts, that I did not hear a gentleman in an adjoining compartment recounting to his horrified audience an accident on the Boston Railway, in which he had been a reluctant participator, the week before, and which occurred to a train in a similar position to ours. This train waited for many hours, was at last run into, and twenty-five of the passengers were killed. Your sister heard every word, but took care not to disturb my meditations.
This accident detained us so long, that it was past midnight when we got into Toronto, and, hiring a carriage, were driven to a respectable, cheap family hotel, strongly recommended to your brother by a kind and gentlemanly Canadian, who was our fellow-passenger from England.
Unfortunately they were full, from garret to cellar, and could not take us in. Our driver, left to his own devices, took us to the “Rossin House,” where we remained till the next day, most supremely uncomfortable, in a rambling hotel of immense extent, where I lost my way every time I left the saloon; where, from not knowing the hours, we were all but starved; and where it was hardly possible to obtain a civil answer from any one of the attendants.
We started from Toronto at three p.m. the next day, leaving our young friend C. W. behind, who, having drawn his money, was going back to Montreal, to pass a little time there before joining us in the Bush. He had also to present letters of introduction to Judge J——n, who was known to be able and presumed to be willing, to assist the views of the son of his old friend.
The farther we went from Toronto, the more barren and ugly the country appeared, and the hideous stumps in every clearing became more and more visible. By degrees also the gardens by the roadside became more denuded of floral vegetation, till at last my eyes rested for miles on little but holly-hocks and pumpkins. Towards dusk, the lurid glare of the burning trees in the far-off forest became appalling, as well as magnificent. I was told that the season had been exceptionally dry, no rain having fallen for three months, and that in different parts the fires had been most destructive. In almost every case these fires have been the natural result of some incidental carelessness. Some wayfarer, far from his home, and camping out for the night, leaves the smouldering ashes of his fire to be blown into a flame by a sudden breeze, or flings the ashes of his pipe into the adjacent brushwood; in leaving the place of his temporary halt, he little imagines the loss of property, and even of life, which may be occasioned by his thoughtlessness.
We slept that night at Belle Ewart, a rising town on Lake Simere, and the next morning took the steamer to Orillia. This passage across the lake was the most beautiful part of our journey. The day was bright and clear, the water blue, and the scenery most beautiful. All was changed when we landed at Orillia. We had to leave our nice, roomy, well-appointed steamer for a filthy, over-crowded little boat, where we had hardly standing-room.
I now saw, for the first time, real live Indians, both men and women, some of each being on board the boat. Their encampment on the lake was likewise pointed out to me. Alas for my enthusiasm! Alas for my remembrance of youthful delight over Cooper’s enchanting novels! I was never more disappointed in my life than when I first took notice of these degenerate samples of “Red Men!”
The men appeared to me undersized and sinister-looking, the squaws filthy and almost repulsive. No stretch of imagination could bring before me in the persons of these very ordinary mortals the dignified and graceful “Uncas,” or the stately and warlike “Chingachook!” We landed at Washage, and after standing for more than an hour on the quay, took the stage-wagon for Gravenhurst, the vehicle being so crowded that even the personal baggage most essential to our comfort had to be left behind. Oh! the horrors of that journey! The road was most dreadful—our first acquaintance with “corduroy” roads. The forest gradually closed in upon us, on fire on both sides, burnt trees crashing down in all directions, here and there one right across the road, which had to be dragged out of the way before we could go on. Your brother with his arm round me the whole way (I clinging to the collar of his coat), could hardly keep me steady as we bumped over every obstacle. In the worst places I was glad to shut my eyes that I might not see the danger. Your poor sister had to cling convulsively to the rope which secured the passengers’ baggage (ours was left behind and we did not see it for weeks) to avoid being thrown out, and for long afterwards we both suffered from the bruises we received and the strain upon our limbs. At last, long after dark, we arrived at Gravenhurst, where we were obliged to sleep, as the steamer to Bracebridge could not start before morning on account of the fog. The steam-boat had no accommodation for sleeping, but we had a good supper on board, and a gentlemanly Englishman, a passenger by the stage and well acquainted with Muskoka, took us to a small hotel to sleep. The next morning we went to Bracebridge, and there we found a letter from your brother-in-law advising me to go before the commissioner of crown-lands and sign for my land. The papers for my free grant of a hundred acres had gone to France, but had missed me, as I had already left. Unfortunately our means were too exhausted to allow of our remaining even one day in Bracebridge, and we thought it more prudent to start early in the stage-wagon, as the magistrate’s office would not be open till ten a.m.
The not being able to sign at once lost me the power of selling my pine-trees, the new law (a most unjust one) coming into operation before I was able to come in again. We were at the N. A. Hotel, and the mistress of it, herself an Englishwoman and not long from Devonshire, told me afterwards how sincerely she pitied us, and said to her husband when we were gone, “That poor lady and her daughter little know what hardships they are about to encounter in the ‘Bush!’” The drive from Bracebridge to Utterson, the nearest post-town to our settlement and distant from it six miles, was a long and fatiguing stretch of fifteen miles, but unmarked by any incident of consequence. The forest fires were burning fiercely, and our driver told us that a week before the road had been impassable. At times when the trees were burning at each side of the narrow road we felt a hot stifling air as we passed rapidly along. It was a gloomy afternoon, with fitful gusts of wind portending a change of weather, and we were almost smothered in clouds of Muskoka dust, much resembling pounded bricks. When we got to Utterson we were obliged to remain for two hours to rest the poor horses, as no fresh ones were to be got. While at the little tavern we heard that your brother C. had been married a few weeks before, as we expected, and that your dear sister F., with her husband, children, and the fiancée, had rested there on their way to the “Bush,” six weeks before our arrival. We were more easy in our minds after this. We were near our journey’s end, the dear ones who had preceded us were all well, and the marriage which for four years I had been endeavouring to secure for your youngest brother had been happily accomplished. I alone of all our party felt a hopeless depression of spirits, a presentiment of long months of unhappiness. Our drive from Utterson was short, but we went slowly, and it was late in the day before we turned into the “Bush.” Our driver called the path we were going a “road;” I saw nothing but a narrow track with frightful stumps, over which our wagon jolted in a manner to endanger our limbs; indeed, though more than three miles from your brother-in-law’s, we soon insisted on walking, thinking it safer. We found the thick undergrowth of “ground-hemlock” very trying to walk upon, as it caught our feet in an alarming manner. Our path was intersected by deep gullies, the sides of which were precipitous. I must say that the horses of this country, like the mules of Spain, seem wonderfully sure-footed, and the drivers, who mostly appear as reckless and daring as Irish carmen, guide them very safely, and accidents rarely occur.
After we had crossed the second gully, our driver said he could go no farther, as it would be dark before he got out of the “Bush,” a thing much dreaded here. Accordingly your brother paid and dismissed him, and we were left with all our packages by the roadside to find our way as best we could. Luckily we came upon a very respectable settler, working on a part of his clearing near the path, who most kindly left his work and piloted us to your brother-in-law’s lot, where we found a very small “clearing,” and a log-house in the middle of it. Your sister F. and the dear children came running out to meet and welcome us, and after the first warm congratulations, F. and your brother went to fetch the newly-married couple, who at once came back with them. There was much to hear and to tell, and you may judge how great was our dismay to find that those we had come to burthen with our presence, were for the time being as penniless as ourselves, and that weary and fatigued as we were, the only refreshment my dear child could offer us was linseed tea without sugar or milk, and sour, doughy bread which I could not persuade myself to swallow. Our sleeping arrangements were of the most primitive description. A scanty curtain shaded off a corner of the room, where your dear sister made a regular shake-down of all her little stock of bedding. Here your two sisters, your sister-in-law, the two children and myself found an ark of refuge. The three gentlemen lay down in their clothes before the fire; and thus passed our first night in the “Bush” of Muskoka!
