Wonderful to say, some of the old settlers condescended to admire these novelties. Your brother Charles worked with him till this necessary labour was concluded, and we were glad enough when our four and a half acres were securely protected from the daily inroads of stray cattle. Before the fence was up, your sister and I spent half our time in running out with the broom to drive away the neighbour’s cattle, and protect our cherished cabbage plants, and the potatoes just coming up. Two audacious steers in particular, called Jim and Charlie, used to come many times during the day, trot round the house, drink up every drop of soapy water in the washing-tubs, and if any linen was hanging on the lines to dry, would munch it till driven away.
Two oxen and two or three cows used to come early every morning, and cross our clearing to fetch their friends from your brother Charles’. We used to hear the ox-bells, and after they had passed some time would see them returning in triumph with Crummie and the heifer, and after your brother-in-law got a cow, they would go for Dolly likewise, and then the whole party would go off and feed together in the Bush till night.
Fortunately, all the cattle in this part wear bells to prevent their being lost. One day your sister and I went to bring F——e and the children back to tea, when suddenly her own cow, Mistress Dolly, with a neighbour’s oxen called Blindy and Baldface, came rushing down the path we were in, and we had just time, warned by the bells, to scramble out of the way with the children and get behind some trees, while F——e, always courageous and active, drove them in an opposite direction.
The being able to turn the cattle (a settler’s riches) into the Bush during the whole summer, and thus to feed them free of all expense, is a great boon to the settler; but this Bush-feeding has its disadvantages, for the cattle will sometimes stray with what companions they gather on the road, miles and miles away, to the great discomfort of their masters who have to hunt for them.
All through the past summer, after his hard day’s work, we used to see your youngest brother pass with a rope in one hand and his milk-pail in the other, from our clearing into the Bush, to look for Crummie and the heifer. Sometimes he would return with them, but much oftener we had to go without the milk he supplied us with, as Crummie would be heard of far away at some distant farm, and occasionally she and her companion strayed as far as the Muskoka Road, many miles off, which of course necessitated great loss of time and much fatigue the next day in hunting her up. Both your brothers and your brother-in-law are excellent at making their way through the Bush, and as each carries a pocket-compass, are in little danger of being lost.
Just before we came here the whole settlement had to turn out in search of a settler’s wife, who had gone to look for her cow one fine afternoon with two of her own children and two of a neighbour’s, who coveted the pleasant scrambling walk, and the chance of berry-picking. As evening came on and they did not return, much alarm was felt; and when the night had passed, it was thought best to call out all the men in the immediate neighbourhood. Accordingly twenty men were soon mustered, headed by a skilful trapper, who has been many years here, and knows the Bush well. They made a “trapper’s line,” which means placing the men in a straight line at considerable distances from each other, and so beating the Bush in all directions as they advance, shouting and firing off their guns continually. At length, towards the afternoon, the trapper himself came upon the poor woman and the four children, not many miles from her home, sitting under a tree, utterly exhausted by hunger, fatigue, and incessant screaming for help. Her account was, that she had found her cow at some distance from home, had milked her, and then tried to return, but entirely forgot the way she came, and after trying one opening after another became utterly bewildered.
The forest in summer is so unvarying that nothing is easier than to go astray. As night came on, she divided the can of milk among the poor, hungry, crying children, and at length, tired out, they all slept under a large tree, the night providentially being fine and warm. In the morning they renewed their fruitless efforts, getting farther and farther astray, till at length they had sunk down incapable of longer exertion, and unable to stir from the spot where they were found.
I conclude this letter with remarking, that instead of the spring which I fondly anticipated, we burst at once from dull gloomy weather and melting snow, to burning hot summer and clouds of mosquitoes and flies of all kinds.