Books: Life in Canada Fifty Years Ago

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Time passed on, and Eliza's love of mischief drove her into another kind
of adventure. She was a girl of fine presence; fair, with bright black
eyes and soft black hair, which curled naturally, and was usually worn
combed back off the forehead. The general verdict was that she was
pretty. I have no doubt if she had had the opportunity she would have
made a brilliant actress, as she was naturally clever, possessing an
excellent memory and being a wonderful mimic. She would enter into a bit
of fun with the abandon of a child, and if occasion required the
stoicism of a deacon, the whole house might be convulsed with laughter,
but in Eliza's face, if she set her mind to it, you could not discern
the change of a muscle. Her features were regular, and of that peculiar
cast which, when she was equipped in man's attire, made her a most
attractive-looking beau. About half a mile away lived a poor widow with
a couple of daughters, and very nice girls they were, but one was said
to be a bit of a coquette. Eliza conceived the idea of giving this young
lady a practical lesson in the following manner. She dressed herself in
father's clothes, and set about making the girl's acquaintance. She
possessed the necessary _sang-froid_ to carry on a scheme of this
kind with success. The affair was altogether a secret. Well, in due
course a strange young man called about dark one evening at the widow's
to make enquiries respecting a person in the neighbourhood he wished to
find. He gave out that he was a stranger, and was stopping at ----, a
few miles away; asked for a drink of water, and to be allowed to rest
for a few moments; made himself agreeable, chatted with the girls, and
when he was leaving was invited to call again if he passed that way. He
did call again in a short time, and again and again, and struck up a
regular courtship with one of the girls, and succeeded to all appearance
in winning her affection. Now, the question presented itself, when
matters began to take this shape, how she was to break it off, and the
affair was such a novelty that she became quite infatuated with it, and
I have no doubt would have continued her visits if an accident had not
happened which brought them to an abrupt termination. On her return one
night she unexpectedly met father at the door, and as there was no
chance for retreat, she very courteously asked if he could direct her to
Mr. ----. It happened to be raining, and father, of course quite
innocently, asked the stranger in until the shower was over. She
hesitated, but finally came in and took a seat. There was something
about the person, and particularly the clothes, that attracted his
attention, but this probably would have passed if he had not, observed
that the boots were on the wrong feet; that is to say, the right boot
was on the left foot, _et vice versa_. Knowing Eliza's propensities
well, he suspected her, and she was caught. Enjoying a romp now and then
himself he called mother, and after tormenting poor Eliza for a while,
let her go. This cured her effectually. But the poor girl never knew
what became of her lover. He came no more, and she was left to grieve
for a time, and I suppose to forget, for she married a couple of years
after. The secret was kept at Eliza's request, after making a clean
breast of it to mother, for a long time. She married not long after
this, and was beloved by everyone. She was a devoted wife, and had
several children, none of whom are now living. Poor Eliza! I thought of
Hamlet's soliloquy on Yorick as I stood by her unkept grave, with its
headstone fallen and broken. "Those lips that I have kissed I know not
how oft--where be your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment."
All gone, years ago! And they live only in the sweet recollections of
the past.

My father used to keep a large number of bees either in wood or straw
hives, mostly of the former; and indeed most all our neighbours kept
them too, and I remember a curious custom that prevailed of blowing
horns and pounding tin pans when they were swarming, to keep them from
going away. I never knew my father to resort to this expedient, but it
was wonderful to see him work among them. He would go to the hives and
change them from one to another, or go under a swarm, and without any
protection to his face or hands, shake them into the hive, and carry it
away and put it in its place. They never stung him unless by accident.
If one of them got under his clothes and was crowded too much, he might
be reminded that there was something wrong, but the sting only troubled
him for a minute or two. With me it seemed if they got a sight of me
they made a "bee line" for my face. After father's death they soon
disappeared, as I would not have them about. We sometimes found bee
trees in the woods, and on one occasion chopped down a large elm out of
which we got a quantity of choice honey. I remember this well; for I ate
so much that it made me sick, and cured me from wanting honey ever
after.

Another incident connected with the afternoon's work in robbing the
bees. It was quite early in the spring, and though the snow had pretty
much disappeared from the fields, yet there was some along the fences
and in the woods. We left the house after dinner with a yoke of oxen and
wood-sleigh freighted with pails and tubs to bring back our expected
prize, and the afternoon was well spent before John--our hired man--had
felled the tree, and by the time we had got the comb into the vessels it
was growing dark. Just as everything had been got into the sleigh, and
we were about to leave, we were startled by a shrill scream on one side,
something like that made by a pair of quarrelsome tom-cats, only much
louder, which was answered immediately by a prolonged mew on the other.
The noise was so startling and unexpected that John for a moment was
paralyzed. Old Ring, a large powerful dog, bounded away at once into the
woods, and Buck and Bright started for home on the trot. I was too sick
to care much about wild cats, or in fact anything else, and lay on my
back in the straw among the pails and tubs, but I heard the racket, and
what appeared a struggle with the dog. We did not see Ring until next
morning, and felt sure that he had been killed. The poor old fellow
looked as though he had had a hard time of it, and did not move about
much for a day or two. The wild cat or Canadian lynx is a ferocious
animal. The species generally go in pairs. I have frequently heard them
calling to one another at apparently long distances, and then they would
gradually come together. A man would fare very badly with a pair of
them, particularly if he was laid on his back with a fit of colic.

Like most lads, I was fond of shooting, and used frequently to shoulder
my gun and stroll away through the fields in quest of game. On one
occasion, somewhere about the first of September, I was out hunting
black squirrels, and had skirted along the edge of the woods and corn
fields for some distance. I had not met with very good success. The
afternoon was warm, and I was discussing in my mind whether I should go
further on or return home. Looking up the hill, I saw a couple of
squirrels, and started after them at a sharp pace. On my right was a
corn field and as I stepped along the path near the fence, I had a
glimpse of something moving along on the other side of it, but I was so
intent on watching the squirrels that I did not in fact think of
anything else for the moment. As I drew near the tree I saw them go up.
Keeping a sharp look-out for a shot, I chanced to look down, and there
before me, not two rods away, sat a large red-nosed bear. The encounter
was so unexpected that it is hardly necessary to say I was frightened,
and it was a moment or two before I could collect my wits. Bruin seemed
to be examining me very composedly, and when I did begin to realize the
position the question was what to do. I was afraid to turn at once and
run. Having but one charge of small shot in my gun, I knew it would not
do to give him that, so we continued gazing at each other. At length I
brought my gun to full cock, made a step forward, and gave a shout. The
bear quietly dropped on his fore legs and moved off, and so did I, and
as the distance widened I increased my speed. The little dog I had with
me decamped before I did, having no doubt seen the bear. I ran to a
neighbour's who had a large dog. One of the boys got his gun, and we
went back in a somewhat better condition for a fight; but when the dog
struck the scent he put his tail between his legs and trotted home,
showing more sense probably than we did. However, we saw nothing of the
bear, and returned. Some days after a neighbour shot a large bear, no
doubt the same one.

Very early in the history of mankind it was pronounced to be not good
that man should be alone, and ever since then both male and female have
seemed to think so too. At all events there is a certain time in life
when this matter occupies a very prominent place in the minds of both,
and it was no more of a novelty when I was young than now. The same
desires warmed the heart, and the same craving for social enjoyment and
companionship brought the young together, with the difference that then
we were in the rough, while the young of the present have been touched
up by education and polished by the refinements of fashionable society.
I do not think they are any better at the core, or make more attentive
companions. Now, when a young gentleman goes to see a young lady with
other views than that of spending a little time agreeably, he is said to
be paying his addresses, or, as Mrs. Grundy would say: It is an
_affaire d'amour_. When I was young, if a boy went to see a girl
(and they did whenever they could) he was said to be sparking her. If he
was unsuccessful in his suit you would hear it spoken of in some such
way as this: "Sally Jones gave Jim Brown the mitten;" and very often the
unlucky swain was actually presented with a small mitten by the
mischievous fair one whom he had hoped to win, as a broad hint that it
was useless for him to hang around there any longer. Sunday afternoon
was the usual time selected, and in fact it was the only time at their
disposal for visiting the girls. There were favourite resorts in every
neighbourhood, and girls whose attractions were very much more inviting
than others, and thither three or four young gallants, well-mounted and
equipped in their best Sunday gear, might be seen galloping from
different directions of a Sunday evening. Of course it could not in the
nature of things happen that all would be successful, and so after a
while one unfortunate after another would ride away to more propitious
fields, and leave the more fortunate candidate to entertain his lady-
love until near midnight. Sometimes tricks were played on fortunate
rivals by loosing their horses and starting them home, or hiding their
saddles; and it was not a pleasant conclusion to such a delightful visit
to have to trudge through the mud four or five miles of a dark night, or
to ride home barebacked, as the best pants were likely to get somewhat
soiled in the seat. However, these little affairs seldom proved very
serious, and it would get whispered around that Tildy Smith was going to
get married to Pete Robins.

When I had grown to be quite a lad I got a lesson from Grandfather C---
that never required repeating. Those who are acquainted with the Quakers
know that they do not indulge in complimentary forms of speech. A
question is answered with a simple yes or no. My father's people were of
this persuasion, and of course my replies whenever addressed were in the
regular home style. It does not follow, however, that because the
Friends as a people eschew conformity to the world both in dress and
speech, that there is a want of parental respect. Quite the contrary.
Their regular and temperate habits, their kindness and attention to the
comfort and well-being of one another, make their homes the abode of
peace and good-will, and, though their conversation is divested of the
many little phrases the absence of which is thought disrespectful by
very many, yet they have gained a reputation for consistency and
truthfulness which is of more value than ten thousand empty words that
drop smoothly from the lips but have no place in the heart. During a
visit to my grandfather, the old gentleman asked me a number of
questions to which he got the accustomed yes or no. This so displeased
him that he caught me by the ear and gave it a twist that seemed to me
to have deprived me of that member altogether, and said very sharply,
"When you answer me, say SIR." That Sir was so thoroughly twisted into
my head that I do not think the old man ever spoke to me after that it
did not jump to my lips.

Another anecdote, of much the same character as that related above, and
quite as characteristic of the men of those days, was told me by an old
man not long since--one of the very few of the second generation now
living (Paul. C. Petersen, aged 84). Mr. Herman, one of the first
settlers in the 4th Concession of Adolphustown, bought a farm, which
happened to be situated on the boundary line between the above-named
township and Fredericksburgh, in those days known as 3rd and 4th town.
It seems that in the original survey, whether through magnetic
influence, to which it was ascribed in later years, but more probably
through carelessness, or something more potent, there was a wide
variation in the line which should have run nearly directly north from
the starting point on the shore of the Bay of Quinte. However, as time
wore on, and land became more valuable, this question of boundary became
a serious thing, and in after years resulted in a series of law suits
which cost a large sum of money. Mr. Herman held his farm by the first
survey, but if the error which had been made in a direction north was
corrected, he would either lose his farm or would have been shoved over
on to his neighbour west, and so on. He was not disposed to submit to
this, and as he was getting old he took his eldest son one day out to
the original post at the south-east corner of his farm on the north
shore of Hay Bay, and said to him: "My son, this (pointing out the
post), is the post put here by the first survey,--and which I saw
planted--at the corner of my lot, and I wish you to look around and mark
it well." While the son was looking about, the old man drew up his arm
and struck him with the flat of his hand and knocked him over. He at
once picked him up, and said: "My son, I had no intention of hurting
you, but I wanted to impress the thing on your mind." Shortly after he
took the second son out, and administered the same lesson. Not long
after the old man passed away, and I remember well that for years this
matter was a bone of contention.

Most Canadians are familiar with the musical bullfrogs which in the
spring, in a favourable locality, in countless numbers call to each
other all night long from opposite swamps. These nightly concerts become
very monotonous. The listener, however, if he pays attention, will catch
a variety of sounds that he may train into something, and if of a
poetical turn of mind might make a song that would rival some of those
written to bells. I used to fancy I could make out what they were
calling back to one another, and have often been a very attentive
listener. There was an old man in the neighbourhood who very frequently
came home drunk, and we used to wonder he did not fall off his horse and
get badly hurt or killed; but the old horse seemed to understand how to
keep under him and fetch him and his jug home all right. We had a little
song which the frogs used to sing for him as he got near home.

Old Brown--old Brown 1st baritone, last word drawn out.
Been to town--been to town 2nd--answer same key.
With his jug-jug-jug 3rd--high key in which more join.
Coo-chung--coo-chung 4th--baritone in which several join.
Chuck-chuck-chuck. 5th--alto from different quarters.
Chr r r r r r r r.-- 6th--chorus, grand, after which
there is a pause, and then an old
leader will start as before.

Old Brown--old Brown
Get home--get home,
Your drunk, drunk, drunk,
Coo chung-cooo chung
Chuck-chuck-chuck.
Chr r r r r r r r.

Many curious stories are told respecting the sagacity of animals, among
which the dog takes a prominent place. My father had a large dog when I
was a youngster that certainly deserves a place among the remarkable
ones of his race. Ring was a true friend, and never of his own accord
violated the rules of propriety with his kind, but woe to the dog who
attempted to bully him. He possessed great strength, and when driven
into a contest, generally made short work of it, and trotted away
without any show of pride over his defeated contestant. He was in the
habit of following my father on all occasions and although frequently
shut up and driven back, was sure to be on hand at the stopping point to
take charge of the team, etc. On the occasion I am about to mention, my
father and mother were going on a visit to his brothers some twenty-four
miles distant. Before starting in the morning the decree went forth that
Ring must stop at home, and he was accordingly shut up, with
instructions that he was not to be let out until after dinner. It was
necessary to do this before any preparations were made for going away,
for the simple reason that it had been done repeatedly before, and when
there was the least sign of a departure, experience had taught him that
the best plan was to keep out of the way, in which he generally
succeeded until too late to capture him. On this occasion Ring was
outwitted. The horses were put to the sleigh, and away they trotted. On
the journey they stopped at Picton for a time, when the team was driven
into the tavern yard and fed, during which time other teams were coming
and going. After about an hour they started again, driving through the
village, and on towards their destination. Some five or six hours after,
when all possible chance of Ring's following seemed to have passed, he
was let out. The dog seemed to know at once what had been going on, and
after a careful inspection, discovered that father and mother, with the
horses and sleigh, were gone. He rushed about the place with his nose to
the ground, and when he had settled which way they had gone, set off in
full chase up the road, and a few minutes before they had reached my
uncle's, Ring passed them, on the road, wagging his tail, and looking as
if he thought that was a good joke. The singular point is how the dog
discovered their route, and how, hours after, he traced them up into the
tavern yard and out through a street, and along a road where horses and
sleighs were passing all the time; and how he distinguished the
difference of the horses' feet and sleigh runners from scores of others
which had passed to and fro in the meantime. It is a case of animal
instinct, or whatever it may be called, beyond comprehension.

Many years ago my father-in-law (the late Isaac Ingersoll, Esq.), a
prominent man in the District, and a wealthy farmer, widely known, had
frequent applications from parties in Kingston for a good milch cow. In
those days milk was not delivered, as now, at every door in towns, and
it became a necessity for every family to have a cow. The wealthier
people wanted good ones, and as the old gentleman was known to keep good
stock, he was enabled to get good prices. On one occasion he sold a cow
to a gentleman in the town above named, and sent her by steamboat down
the Bay of Quinte, a distance of over thirty miles. A week after, the
old man was surprised one morning to find this cow in his yard. She had
made her escape from her new master, and returned to her old quarters
and associates. She was sent back, and after a time got away and
travelled the thirty miles again, and was found in the yard. The second
journey of course was not so difficult, but by what process did she
discover, in the first place, the direction she was taken, and pursue a
road which she had never travelled, back to her old quarters. At her new
home she was, if anything, better fed and cared for; why should she
embrace the first opportunity to steal away and seek her old companions?
Who can explain these things? In this case there is an attachment
evinced for home and associates, and a persistence in returning to them,
most remarkable, and in the case of the dog, an intelligence (or what
you may be pleased to call it), which enabled him to trace his master,
and overtake him, which is altogether beyond human ken.

There is the irrepressible cat, too. Every household is troubled from
time to time with one or more of these animals, which from their
_snuping_ propensities become a nuisance. I have on more than one
occasion put one in a bag and carried it miles away, and then let it go,
rather than kill it outright; but it was sure to be back almost as soon
as myself.

The 4th of June, the anniversary of the birth of King George III., as
well as that of the very much more humble individual who pens these
lines, for many years was the day selected for the annual drill of the
militia of the Province. It was otherwise known as general training-day,
and ten days or more previously, the men belonging to the various
battalions were "warned" to appear at a certain place in the district.
Each individual was subject to a fine of 10s or more if not on the
ground to answer to his name when the roll was called. On the morning of
that day, therefore, men on foot, on horseback and in waggons were to be
seen wending their way to the "training ground," or field, in close
proximity to a tavern. It was an amusing spectacle to see a few hundred
rustics, whose ages ranged from 16 to 40, in all kinds of dress, with
old muskets that had been used in the Revolutionary War or in that of
1812--fusees that many a year, as occasion required, had helped to
contribute to the diminished larder--drawn up in a line, and marched
round the field for a time. The evolutions were such as might be
expected from a crowd of raw countrymen, and often got tangled up so
that a military genius of more than superhuman skill would have been
puzzled to get them in order again.

There was no other way to do it, but to stop and re-form the line. Then
would come the word of command: "Attention. Brown fall back. Johnson
straighten up there. That will do. Now men, at the word 'Right about,'
each man has to turn to his right, at the word 'Left about,' each man
turns to his left. Now then: Attention--Right about face." Confusion
again, some turning to the right and others to the left. A few strong
phrases follow--"As you were"--and so the thing goes on; the men are
wheeled to the right and left, marched about the field, and, after being
put through various steps, are brought into line again. The commanding
officer, sword in hand, looks along the serried ranks, the sergeants
pass along the line, chucking one's head up, pushing one back, bringing
another forward, and then rings out the word of command again:
"Atten_tion_! Shoulder arms! Make ready, present, fire!" Down come
the old guns and sticks in a very threatening attitude, a random pop
along the line is heard, then "Stand at ease"--after which the Colonel,
in his red coat, wheels his charger about, says a few words to the men,
and dismisses them. The rest of the day was spent by every man in
carousing, horse-racing, and games, with an occasional fight. After the
arduous duties of the day, the officers had a special spread at the
tavern, and afterwards left for home with very confused ideas as to the
direction in which they should proceed to reach it.

Fifty years ago, shaving the beard, in Canada at all events, was
universal. If a man were to go about as the original Designer of his
person no doubt intended, a razor would never have touched his face. But
men, like other animals, are subject to crotchets, and are wont to
imitate superiors, so when some big-bug like Peter the Great introduced
the shears and razor, men appeared soon after with cropped heads and
clean chops. I do not remember that I ever saw a man with a full beard
until after I had passed manhood for some years, except on one occasion
when I was a youngster at school in the old school house on the
concession. A man passed through the neighbourhood--I do not remember
what he was doing--with a long flowing beard. We had somehow got the
idea that no men except Jews wore their beards, and the natural
inference with us was that this man was one of that creed. He was as
much of a curiosity to us as a chimpanzee or an African lion would have
been, and we were about as afraid of him as we would have been on seeing
either of the other animals.

The township of Adolphustown, in the county of Lennox, is the smallest
township in the Province. Originally the counties of Lennox and
Addington, Frontenac, Hastings and Prince Edward were embraced in the
Midland District. These counties, as the country advanced in population,
were one after another set off, the last being the united counties of
Lennox and Addington, separated from Frontenac, and with the town of
Napanee as its capital. The township in my young days was known as
fourth town, as the townships east of it as far as Kingston were known
as first, second and third town. Immediately after the American War, the
land along the Bay of Quinte, embracing these townships, with fifth,
sixth and seventh town to the west, were taken up, and the arduous task
of clearing away the bush at once began. The bay, from its debouche at
Kingston, extends west about seventy miles, nearly severing at its
termination the county of Prince Edward from the main land. The land on
either hand, for about thirty miles west of Kingston, is undulating,
with a gradual ascent from the shore, but when Adolphustown is reached,
Marysburgh, in the county of Prince Edward, on the opposite side of the
bay, presents a bold front, its steep banks rising from one to two
hundred feet. From the Lake of the Mountain, looking across the wide
stretch of water formed by the sharp detour of the bay in its westerly
to a north-easterly course for fifteen or twenty miles, the observer has
one of the most charming scenes in America spread out before him. In the
distance, the lofty rocky shore of Sophiasburgh, with its trees and
shrubs crowding down to the water's edge, stretch away to the right and
left. To the west, the estuary known as Picton Bay curves around the
high wooded shore of Marysburgh, and beneath and to the east, the four
points of which the township of Adolphustown is composed reach out their
woody banks into the wide sweep of the bay like the four fingers of a
man's hand. For quiet, picturesque beauty, there is nothing to surpass
it. On every hand the eye is arrested with charming landscapes, and
looking across the several points of the township you have dwellings,
grain fields, herds of cattle, and wood. Beyond you catch the shimmer of
the water. Again you have clumps of trees and cultivated fields, and
behind them another stretch of water, and so on as far as the eye can
reach. The whole course of the bay, in fact, is a panorama of rural
beauty, but the old homes that were to be seen along its banks twenty-
five and thirty years ago have either disappeared altogether or have
been modernized. It is now very nearly one hundred years since the first
settlers found their way up it, and it must have been then a beautiful
sight in its native wildness, the clear green water stretching away to
the west, the sinuosities of the shore, the numberless inlets, the
impenetrable forest and the streams that cut their way through it and
poured their contingents into its broad bosom, the islands here and
there, upon which the white man had never set his foot, water fowl in
thousands, whose charming home was then for the first time invaded,
skurrying away with noisy quake and whir, the wood made sweet with the
song of birds, the chattering squirrel, the startled deer, the silent
murmur of the water as it lapped the sedgy shore or gravelly beach--
these things must have combined to please, and to awaken thoughts of
peaceful homes, in the near future to them all.

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