Then, when the last boat went east in the fall, all that western and upper country was left without communication until spring opened again.
Under these circumstances you can imagine with what eagerness we looked for the first boat of the season.
I well remember I was hauling timber to the river bank with a yoke of oxen, some little ways down from the Mission, when the boat came along. All I could do was to wave my gad and shout her welcome. Looking up the river, I saw my brother Dave, with father's double-barrelled gun, standing to salute the first steamer. Dave either did not know or had forgotten that father had put in an unusual big charge for long shooting, and when the boat came opposite to him he fired the first barrel, and the gun knocked him over. The passengers and crew of the steamer cheered him, and, nothing daunted, he got up, fired the second barrel, and again was knocked over. This was great fun for the steamboat people, and they cheered David, and threw him some apples and oranges, which he, dropping the gun, and running to the canoe, was soon out in the river gathering.
Some of this time mother was very sick, and David and I had all the work to do about the house—wash, scrub, bake, cook, inside and outside. We found plenty to do. When not wanted at home we went fishing and hunting. Then I found employment in teaming.
I worked one winter for an Indian, hauling saw-logs out of the woods to the river bank. He gave me fifty cents per day and my board. In the summer I sometimes sold cordwood on commission for Mr. Church, the trader, and when he put up a saw-mill, a couple of miles down the river, I several times got out a lot of saw-logs and rafted them down to the mill.
I also hauled cordwood on to the dock with our pony and a sleigh, for there were no carts or wagons in the country at that time, nor yet had we the means to buy them.
I think I made a good investment with my first earnings, a part of which I expended in the purchase of a shawl for my mother, and a part I saved for the next missionary meeting as my subscription thereto.
Father was stationed for six years at Garden River.
During this time he sent me down to Owen Sound for one winter, in order that I might attend the public school, there being none nearer to which I might have access. I must have been eleven or twelve years of age at this time. My parents put me on the steamer—the Kalloola. I was placed in care of the mate, and away we went for the east. All went well until we reached Killarney; then we struck out into the wide stretch of Georgian Bay. It must have been the middle of the afternoon that we took our course out into the "Big Lake." In the evening the wind freshened, the sky became dark, the scuds thickened, and there was every indication of a storm. The captain shook his head; old Bob, the mate, looked solemn; everything was put ship-shape.
Down came the storm, and for some hours it seemed doubtful whether we should weather it. Some of the bulwarks of our side-wheeler were smashed in. Our vessel labored heavily. Passengers were alarmed; some of them who had been gambling and cursing and swearing during the previous fine portion of the voyage, were the most excited and alarmed of the lot. The captain had to severely reprimand them at last.