We could see no sign of any habitation, no gleam of light from the shore to cheer us. In vain we strained our ears for the plash of the oar, or welcome sound of the human voice, or bark of some household dog, that might assure us we were not doomed to pass the night in the lone wood.
We began now to apprehend we had really lost the way. To attempt returning through the deepening darkness of the forest in search of any one to guide us was quite out of the question, the road being so ill defined that we should soon have been lost in the mazes of the woods. The last sound of the waggon wheels had died away in the distance, and to have overtaken it would have been impossible. Bidding me remain quietly where I was, my husband forced his way through the tangled underwood along the bank, in hope of discovering some sign of the house we sought, which we had every reason to suppose must be near, though probably hidden by the dense mass of trees from our sight.
As I sat in the wood, in silence and in darkness, my thoughts gradually wandered back across the Atlantic to my dear mother, and to my old home; and I thought, what would have been your feelings, could you at that moment have beheld me as I sat on the cold mossy stone, in the profound stillness of that vast leafy wilderness, thousands of miles from all those holy ties of kindred and early associations that make home in all countries a hallowed spot. It was a moment to press upon my mind the importance of the step I had taken, in voluntarily sharing the lot of the emigrant,—in leaving the land of my birth, to which, in all probability, I might never again return. Great as was the sacrifice,—even at that moment, strange as was my situation,—I felt no painful regret or fearful misgiving depress my mind. A holy and tranquil peace came down upon me, soothing and softening my spirits into a calmness that seemed as unruffled as was the bosom of the water that lay stretched before my feet.
My reverie was broken by the light plash of a paddle, and a bright line of light showed a canoe dancing over the lake; in a few minutes a well-known and friendly voice greeted me as the little bark was moored among the cedars at my feet. My husband having gained a projecting angle of the shore, had discovered the welcome blaze of the wood fire in the log-house; and, after some difficulty, had succeeded in rousing the attention of its inhabitants. Our coming that day had long been given up, and our first call had been mistaken for the sound of the ox-bells in the wood; this had caused the delay that had so embarrassed us.
We soon forgot our weary wanderings beside the bright fire that blazed on the hearth of the log-house, in which we found S—— comfortably domiciled with his wife. To the lady I was duly introduced; and in spite of all remonstrances from the affectionate and careful mother, three fair sleeping children were successively handed out of their cribs to be shown me by the proud and delighted father.
Our welcome was given with that unaffected cordiality that is so grateful to the heart; it was as sincere as it was kind. All means were adopted to soften the roughness of our accommodations; which, if they lacked that elegance and convenience to which we had been accustomed in England, were not devoid of rustic comfort; at all events, they were such as many settlers of the first respectability have been glad to content themselves with, and many have not been half so well lodged as we are now.
We may, indeed, consider ourselves fortunate in not being obliged to go at once into the rude shanty that I described to you as the only habitation on our land. This test of our fortitude was kindly spared us by S——, who insisted on our remaining beneath his hospitable roof till such time as we should have put up a house on our own lot. Here, then, we are for the present fixed, as the Canadians say; and if I miss many of the little comforts and luxuries of life, I enjoy excellent health and spirits, and am very happy in the society of those around me.
The children are already very fond of me. They have discovered my passion for flowers, which they diligently search for among the stumps, and along the lakeshore. I have begun collecting, and though the season is far advanced, my hortus siccus boasts of several elegant specimens of fern; the yellow Canadian violet, which blooms twice in the year, in the spring and fall, as the autumnal season is expressively termed; two sorts of Michaelmas daisies, as we call the shrubby asters, of which the varieties here are truly elegant; and a wreath of the festoon pine, a pretty evergreen, with creeping stalks, that run along the ground three or four yards in length, sending up, at the distance of five or six inches, erect, stiff, green stems, resembling some of our heaths in the dark, shining, green, chaffy leaves. The Americans ornament their chimney glasses with garlands of this plant, mixed with the dried blossoms of the life-everlasting (the pretty white and yellow flowers we call love-everlasting); this plant is also called festoon pine. In my rambles in the wood near the house, I have discovered a trailing plant, bearing a near resemblance to the cedar, which I consider has, with equal propriety, a claim to the name of ground or creeping cedar.
As much of the botany of these unsettled portions of the country is unknown to the naturalist, and the plants are quite nameless, I take the liberty of bestowing names upon them according to inclination or fancy. But while I am writing about flowers, I am forgetting that you will be more interested in hearing what steps we are taking on our land.
My husband has hired people to log up, (that is, to draw the chopped timbers into heaps for burning,) and clear a space for building our house upon. He has also entered into an agreement with a young settler in our vicinity to complete it for a certain sum, within and without, according to a given plan. We are, however, to call the “bee,” and provide every thing necessary for the entertainment of our worthy hive. Now, you know that a “bee,” in American language, or rather phraseology, signifies those friendly meetings of neighbours who assemble at your summons to raise the walls of your house, shanty, barn, or any other building: this is termed a “raising bee.” Then there are logging-bees, husking-bees, chopping-bees, and quilting-bees. The nature of the work to be done gives the name to the bee. In the more populous and long-settled districts this practice is much discontinued; but it is highly useful, and almost indispensable to new settlers in the remote townships, where the price of labour is proportionately high, and workmen difficult to be procured.