A general special meeting of the church was called, and it was filled with both sexes, all being members. J—S—, merchant and agent of a bank doing business in B——, and afterwards a senator, arose. He spoke earnestly and pointedly about it being Brother B—’s duty to deed his farm to his son, and for quite twenty minutes urged upon the assembly the justice, desirability and reasonableness of the act, advocating it as a matter of duty, and a proof of fatherly love for the son. One L—, a resident, and a member and leader of the church as well, followed in the same strain. His words were listened to with rapt attention, and after speaking some fifteen minutes he too-sat down.
No one arose to speak on the other side of the question. No one cared to be opposed to S—, for he was very powerful at that time. Though they keenly felt the undesirableness of acceding to such a demand, they had not the courage to express it publicly. The stillness became painful, and for a moment it seemed there could no way be found to break it.
The aged father, at the time stiff with rheumatism, was present. He grasped the seat before him. It creaked as the strain of his weight came upon it, and slowly and laboriously the old man arose. Once on his feet he stood somewhat bent, but, being a large man, towered majestically above the rest, and in a clear audible voice said, “I’m not going to take off my coat and throw it down and ask the Church or anyone else whether or not I shall put it on again.” The strain was broken, adjournment followed, and the son did not get the deed he coveted.
Jesse Trull, of Darlington, whose father, Captain Trull, was present as a member at that meeting, related the anecdote to me. This memorable church meeting took place about the year 1848. To-day it is hard to conceive any such state of society as would ask a church to try to compel a man to deed away his farm.
The transition stage was approaching in Upper Canada. Many of the old pioneers found it hard to trim their sails to meet the new order of things, and many of them in fact did not, but followed the old way until they died and were laid to rest under the sod.
Major Wilmot was one of the early settlers, and lived near Newcastle, Durham County. He married the daughter of John Steigman, a surveyor. From him he learned field surveying, and did many years’ work for the Government. A relative of mine lived for years with Wilmot, and was to have been his heir, but left him too soon. He told me Wilmot was implicitly trusted by the Government, and often he had gone out surveying with him, and many times to York to make reports to the Government. During these years of surveying Wilmot picked out many desirable lots for himself, and ultimately got a title to them all. Consequently, as you may easily understand, he became a very rich man. Asa Wallbridge lived near him, upon a large farm. This neighbor was the forefather of all the Wallbridges in this part of Upper Canada, a most influential family. Both of these farm homesteads were overflowing with abundance—great houses, many cattle, sheep, hogs and horses, and everything which then represented a rich and prosperous home; yet, my relative said, Wilmot would pack provisions in a one-horse waggon, stow in his compass (the theodolite had not come into use at that time), tripod and chain, sit down in the bottom, and take the young man, my relative, with him to spend a whole week in surveying, perfectly happy and contented.
One day they were passing Wallbridge’s, about the usual pig-killing time, and Wilmot accosted Wallbridge thus: “Good morning, Mr. Wallbridge; would you like to buy some pork?” “No, Mr. Wilmot,” was the reply, “I have as much pork as you have.” Then Wilmot added facetiously, “Well, I thought perhaps you wanted some grease to fry your pork in,” thus intimating that Wallbridge’s hogs had not a reputation for fatness.
These men with their families led most enjoyable lives, happy, free and contented, with the greatest of plenty of homely fare. But as Wilmot grew older Newcastle grew, and the forest was cleared; the settlers became more and more prosperous; well-built houses replaced the log houses, carriages the pioneer-cart, and other luxuries of civilization became the daily portion of the people. Yet on a fine morning Wilmot would hitch a yoke of oxen to a cart, bestride the axle, and having secured a long gad, would drive in to the village post-office at Newcastle and home again. Carriages and fine horses he could not take to, although then a very wealthy man.
Another old man, but lately deceased, was a continual source of amusement to the settlers. He died as he had lived, an enigma from the first to the very last. As nearly as I can learn he was born in Quebec Province, in the year 1782, and removed to this Province with his parents some time about the beginning of this century. Upon the death of his father he inherited some of the choicest lands in Ontario and for many years of his life passed for a rich man. A character he was in the neighborhood, and so recognized by all who knew or had ever heard of him, far or near. Perhaps the prime causes of his noted peculiarities were in his continually avowed interest in cows and matrimony. In those days the struggling settler was glad enough to get a cow in any honest way he could, and our friend was the man to accommodate all those in his locality in need of one. His system was to let the farmers take a cow from him for three years, and at the end of that time the farmer must return to Uncle Ned (for so he was called) the identical cow lent and another—the other to be generally a calf from the cow lent, grown to be a young cow itself. During this time the farmer had free use of the cow, and all the other increase there might be from her. The arrangement seemed to be quite advantageous to the farmer as well as to Uncle Ned. It enabled the former to get his first nucleus of a stock without cost to himself of anything more than the feed of the cow; and it equally paid Uncle Ned, for on his capital outlay of, say, $20 (for a cow), in three years he had it doubled, or about 33⅓ per cent. per annum, barring accidents of course. He seems never to have farmed his lands, but thought of nothing else, and talked of nothing else at any and all times, but cows—save and always excepting matrimony. Yet though he lived to be seventy-five years of age, he never attained the consummation of his connubial ambitions.
But not to leave the cows too quickly, it is as well to say that Uncle Ned used generally to take in those days what were called “notes” for the cows. They were termed notes, but since the short document went on to enumerate that the signer should return two cows at the end of three years, etc., it would almost appear that such “notes” were short contracts. However, be that as it may, sometimes our friend had as many as one hundred cows out at a time, and consequently one hundred notes on hand for them. The curiosity in this particular was, that although Uncle Ned could not read or write a letter, he could and would at any time pick out from the one hundred notes any one asked for.