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.