I have heard and read much of the tropical rains of India and other southern countries, but it would be impossible to imagine a more persistent drenching than we got on this unlucky afternoon. The whole eight miles from the half-way house the horses could only walk very slowly, the night being unusually dark. We greatly need in this country such a law as they have in France, where it is enacted, under a heavy penalty, that no carriage, cart, or wagon shall travel after dark without carrying a good and sufficient light to prevent dangerous collisions. I should have been very nervous but for my implicit faith in the sagacity of the horses, and the great care of the driver, whom we only knew under his sobriquet of “Canadian Joe.” He was a quiet, careful man, a French Canadian, who beguiled the way by singing very sweetly, and with whom it was pleasant to converse in the language we loved so well. He took us safely into B——e, with the addition to our party of two travellers we overtook on the road, and upon whom we had compassion.
When we got in, the hotel was about closing for the night; the fires were out, and the landlady had gone to bed ill; but the master bestirred himself, showed me to a comfortable bedroom, and made me some negus, which your brother, himself wet to the skin, soon brought me, and which at least warmed me a little after so many hours of exposure to cold and wet.
The next morning, as soon as we could get into thoroughly-dried clothes, we went to see our invalids. Your poor sister-in-law was still suffering much, but her dear baby (a very minute specimen of humanity) was improving, and, after more than two months’ absence, I was thankful to see your sister only looking very pale, and not, as I expected, utterly worn out by her arduous duties and compulsory vigils and anxieties. Your brother was obliged to return to the Bush on Saturday; but I remained to come home with your sister and sister-in-law the next week.
In the meantime, having been to the magistrate’s office and transacted all our business, I greatly enjoyed with your brother walking about the neighbourhood. It was, indeed, a treat to walk on a good road, and to see signs of life and progress everywhere, instead of the silent monotony of the forest.
We noticed an amazing change for the better in this “rising village of the Far West,” which we had not seen for six months. The hotels and stores seemed to have quadrupled themselves, good frame-houses were springing up in every direction, and a very pretty little church, since opened for Church of England service, was nearly finished. These lumber-houses are very ugly at first, on account of the yellow hue of the wood; but this is soon toned down by exposure to the weather, and climbing-plants and pretty gardens soon alter their appearance, and make them picturesque.
The dull, primitive life of the Bush certainly prepares one to be pleased with trifles. I revelled like a child in the unwonted stir and hum of life about me, and felt half ashamed of the intense amusement I derived from the lordly airs of an old gander, who marshalled his flock of geese up and down the road all day long. I felt quite angry with a young man at the breakfast-table of the hotel, who complained loudly that this old gentleman’s cackling and hissing had kept him awake all night. I too, in the intervals of sleep, had heard the same sound, but to me it was sweet music.
On Sunday morning I had a treat for which I was quite unprepared. The Rev. Morley Punshon, head of the Wesleyan Methodist Church in Canada, came to B——e, to lecture on the “Life and Writings of Lord Macaulay.” On Sunday morning he preached in the open air, to accommodate the many who could not have found room in the Wesleyan Chapel. A little secluded dell, some distance from the main road, was thoroughly cleared of wood and underbrush, and rough benches were placed in profusion for seats. I was astonished at the numbers assembled—six hundred I was afterwards told. After the benches were full, the hill-sides were densely packed; and it was impossible not to go back in thought to the Scotch Covenanters and the heathery hills, so often sprinkled with their blood. All here was calm and peaceful; it was a lovely Sabbath morning, the air indescribably balmy and fragrant, the service very simple and impressive, the singing singularly sweet, and the discourse delivered by the gifted minister full of fervid eloquence.
He preached from Psalm xlii. 4. My feelings nearly overcame me; it was the very first time since I left England that I had had the opportunity of publicly joining in worship with my fellow-Christians; and it appeared to me a matter of very small importance that most of those present were Wesleyans, while I was Church of England. The lecture on “Macaulay” was duly delivered the next day, and was much liked; but I did not go, preferring to pass the time with our poor invalid.
On Tuesday, September 2nd, your brother Charles came in and made arrangements to take his wife, child, and your sister, back on the following day. I made up my mind to go back with them, and again we took care to secure Canadian Joe and his team. It was a perilous journey for one in so much physical suffering, but it was admirably managed. We laid a soft mattress in the bottom of the wagon, with plenty of pillows, and on this we placed your sister-in-law with the baby by her side. Charles sat with them to keep all steady; your sister and I sat with the driver. Canadian Joe surpassed himself in the care he took of the invalid; every bad piece of road he came to he walked his horses quite softly, looking back at Charles with a warning shake of the head, as much as to say, “Take care of her now!”
We travelled slowly, but by his great care arrived safely, and at the cleared farm nearest to mine we were met by your brother and brother-in-law, who had skilfully arranged a ship’s hammock on a pole, and made of it a very tolerable palanquin. Into this your sister-in-law was carefully lifted, and two of the gentlemen carried her, the third relieving them at intervals. They got her safely over all the gullies, and carried her past my log-house to her own home, where she was at once put to bed, and in a very few days began to recover. Your sister and I took charge of the dear little baby, and after a most fatiguing walk and much dangerous scrambling with such a precious load, we got him safely here, where he has remained our cherished nursling ever since, and has thriven well. His dear young mother, having quite recovered, comes every day to be with her little treasure.