Books: Life in Canada Fifty Years Ago

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Ho for the bay, the ice-bound bay!
The moon is up, the stars are bright;
The air is keen, but let it play--
We're proof against Jack Frost to-night.
With a sturdy swing and lengthy stride,
The glassy ice shall feel our steel;
And through the welkin far and wide
The echo of our song shall peal.

CHORUS.--Hurrah, boys, hurrah! skates on and away!
You may lag at your work, but never at play;
Give wing to your feet, and make the ice ring,
Give voice to your mirth, and merrily sing.

Ho for the boy who does not care
A fig for cold or northern blast!
Whose winged feet can cut the air
Swift as an arrow from bowman cast:
Who can give a long and hearty chase,
And wheel and whirl; then in a trice
Inscribe his name in the polished face,
Of the cold and clear and glistening ice.

CHORUS.

Ho, boys! the night is waning fast;
The moon's last rays but faintly gleam.
The hours have glided swiftly past,
And we must home to rest and dream.
The morning's light must find us moving,
Ready our daily tasks to do;
This is the way we have of proving
We can do our part at working too.

CHORUS.

CHAPTER II.

THE ROUND OF PIONEER LIFE--GAME--NIGHT FISHING--MORE DETAILS ABOUT
SUGAR-MAKING--SUGARING-OFF--TAKING A HAND AT THE OLD CHURN--SHEEP-
WASHING-COUNTRY GIRLS, THEN AND NOW--SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW--"OLD GRAY"
AND HIS ECCENTRICITIES--HARVEST--MY EARLY EMULATION OF PETER PAUL
RUBENS--MEETING-HOUSES--ELIA ON QUAKER MEETINGS--VARIEGATED AUTUMN
LANDSCAPES--LOGGING AND QUILTING BEES--EVENING FUN--THE TOUCHING LAY OF
THE YOUNG WOMAN WHO SAT DOWN TO SLEEP.

Visiting for the older folk and sleigh-riding for the younger were the
principal amusements of the winter. The life then led was very plain and
uneventful. There was no ostentatious display, or assumption of
superiority by the "first families." Indeed there was no room for the
lines of demarcation which exist in these days. All had to struggle for
a home and home comforts, and if some had been more successful in the
rough battle of pioneer life than others, they saw no reason why they
should be elated or puffed up over it. Neighbours were too scarce to be
coldly or haughtily treated. They had hewn their way, side by side, into
the fastnesses of the Canadian bush, and therefore stood on one common
level. But few superfluities could be found either in their houses or on
their persons. Their dress was of home-made fabric, plain, often coarse,
but substantial and comfortable. Their manners were cordial and hearty,
even to brusqueness, but they were true friends and honest counsellors,
rejoicing with their neighbours in prosperity, and sympathising when
days of darkness visited their homes. Modern refinement had not crept
into their domestic circle to disturb it with shams and pretensions.
Fashion had no court wherein to adjudicate on matters of dress. Time-
worn styles of dress and living were considered the best, and hence
there was no rivalry or foolish display in either. Both old and young
enjoyed an evening at a friend's house, where they were sure to be
welcomed, and where a well-supplied table always greeted them. The home
amusements were very limited. Music, with its refining power, was
uncultivated, and indeed almost unknown. There were no musical
instruments, unless some wandering fiddler happened to come along to
delight both old and young with his crazy instrument. There were no
critical ears to detect discordant sounds, or be displeased with the
poor execution of the rambling musician. The young folk would sometimes
spirit him away to the village tavern, which was usually provided with a
large room called a ball-room, where he would fiddle while they danced
the hours gaily away. At home the family gathered round the glowing
fire, where work and conversation moved on together. The old motto of
"Early to bed, and early to rise" was strictly observed. Nine o'clock
usually found the household wrapt in slumber. In the morning all were up
and breakfast was over usually before seven. As soon as it began to get
light, the men and boys started for the barn to feed the cattle and
thresh; and thus the winter wore away.

Very little things sometimes contribute largely to the comfort of a
family, and among those I may mention the lucifer match, then unknown.
It was necessary to carefully cover up the live coals on the hearth
before going to bed, so that there would be something to start the fire
with in the morning. This precaution rarely failed with good hard-wood
coals. But sometimes they died out, and then some one would have to go
to a neighbour's house for fire, a thing which I have done sometimes,
and it was not nice to have to crawl out of my warm nest and run through
the keen cold air for a half mile or more to fetch some live coals,
before the morning light had broken in the east. My father usually kept
some bundles of finely split pine sticks tipped with brimstone for
starting a fire. With these, if there was only a spark left, a fire
could soon be made.

But little time was given to sport, although there was plenty of large
game. There was something of more importance always claiming attention.
In the winter an occasional deer might be shot, and foxes were sometimes
taken in traps. It required a good deal of experience and skill to set a
trap so as to catch the cunning beast. Many stories have I heard
trappers tell of tricks played by Reynard, and how he had, night after
night, baffled all their ingenuity, upset the traps, set them off, or
removed them, secured the bait, and away. Another sport more largely
patronized in the spring, because it brought something fresh and
inviting to the table, was night-fishing. When the creeks were swollen,
and the nights were calm and warm, pike and mullet came up the streams
in great abundance. Three or four would set out with spears, with a man
to carry the jack, and also a supply of dry pine knots, as full of resin
as could be found, and cut up small, which were deposited in different
places along the creek. The jack was then filled and lit, and when it
was all ablaze carried along the edge of the stream, closely followed by
the spearsman, who, if an expert, would in a short time secure as many
fish as could be carried. It required a sharp eye and a sure aim. The
fish shot through the water with great rapidity, which rendered the
sport all the more exciting. All hands, of course, returned home
thoroughly soaked. Another and pleasanter way was fishing in a canoe on
the bay, with the lighted jack secured in the bow. While there its light
shone for a considerable distance around, and enabled the fishers to see
the smallest fish low down in the clear calm water. This was really
enjoyable sport, and generally resulted in a good catch of pike,
pickerel, and, very often, a maskelonge or two.

Early in the spring, before the snow had gone, the sugar-making time
came. Success depended altogether upon the favourable condition of the
weather. The days must be clear and mild, the nights frosty, and plenty
of snow in the woods. When the time was at hand, the buckets and troughs
were overhauled, spiles were made, and when all was ready the large
kettles and casks were put in the sleigh, and all hands set out for the
bush. Tapping the tree was the first thing in order. This was done
either by boring the tree with an auger, and inserting a spile about a
foot long to carry off the sap, or with a gouge-shaped tool about two
inches wide, which was driven into the tree, under an inclined scar made
with an axe. The spiles used in this case were split with the same
instrument, sharpened at the end with a knife, and driven into the cut.
A person accustomed to the work would tap a great many trees in a day,
and usually continued until he had done two or three hundred or more.
This finished, next came the placing and hanging of the kettles. A large
log, or what was more common, the trunk of some great tree that had been
blown down, would be selected, in as central a position as possible. Two
crotches were erected by its side, and a strong pole was put across from
one to the other. Hooks were then made, and the kettles suspended over
the fire. The sap was collected once and sometimes twice a day, and when
there was a good supply in the casks, the boiling began. Each day's run
was finished, if possible, the same night, when the sugaring-off took
place. There are various simple ways of telling when the syrup is
sufficiently boiled, and when this is done, the kettle containing the
result of the day's work is set off the fire, and the contents stirred
until they turn to sugar, which is then dipped into dishes or moulds,
and set aside to harden. Sometimes, when the run was large, the boiling
continued until late at night, and, although there was a good deal of
hard work connected with it, there was also more or less enjoyment,
particularly when some half dozen merry girls dropped in upon you, and
assisted at the closing scene. On these occasions the fun was free and
boisterous. The woods rang with shouts and peals of laughter, and always
ended by our faces and hair being all _stuck up_ with sugar. Then
we would mount the sleigh and leave for the house. But the most
satisfactory part of the whole was to survey the result of the toil in
several hundred weight of sugar, and various vessels filled with rich
molasses.

[Illustration: NIGHT FISHING IN THE CREEK.]

Now the hams and beef had to be got out of the casks, and hung up in the
smoke-house to be smoked. The spring work crowded on rapidly. Ploughing,
fencing, sawing and planting followed in quick succession. All hands
were busy. The younger ones had to drive the cows to pasture in the
morning and bring them up at night. They had also to take a hand at the
old churn, and it was a weary task, as I remember well, to stand for an
hour, perhaps, and drive the dasher up and down through the thick cream.
How often the handle was examined to see if there were any indications
of butter; and what satisfaction there was in getting over with it. As
soon as my legs were long enough I had to follow a team, and drag in
grain--in fact, before, for I was mounted on the back of one of the
horses when my nether limbs were hardly long enough to hold me to my
seat. The implements then in use were very rough. Iron ploughs, with
cast iron mouldboards, shears, &c., were generally used. As compared
with the ploughs of to-day they were clumsy things, but were a great
advance over the old wooden ploughs which had not yet altogether gone
out of use. Tree tops were frequently used for drags. Riding a horse in
the field, under a hot sun, which I frequently had to do, was not as
agreeable as it might seem at the first blush.

[Illustration: SUGAR MAKING.]

In June came sheep-washing. The sheep were driven to the bay shore and
secured in a pen, whence they were taken one by one into the bay, and
their fleece well washed, after which they were let go. In a few days
they were brought to the barn and sheared. The wool was then sorted;
some of it being retained to be carded by hand, the rest sent to the
mill to be turned into rolls; and when they were brought home the hum of
the spinning wheel was heard day after day, for weeks, and the steady
beat of the girls' feet on the floor, as they walked forward and
backward drawing out and twisting the thread, and then letting it run
upon the spindle. Of course the quality of the cloth depended on the
fineness and evenness of the thread; and a great deal of pains was taken
to turn out good work. When the spinning was done, the yarn was taken
away to the weaver to be converted into cloth. As I have said before,
there were no drones in a farmer's house then. While the work was being
pushed outside with vigour, it did not stand still inside. The thrifty
housewife was always busy. Beside the daily round of cares that
continually pressed upon her, the winter had hardly passed away before
she began to make preparations for the next. There were wild
strawberries and raspberries to pickle and preserve, of which the family
had their share as they came, supplemented with an abundance of rich
cream and sugar; and so with the other fruits in their turn. There was
the daily task, too, of milking, and the less frequent one of making
butter and cheese. The girls were always out in the yard by sunrise, and
soon came tripping in with red cheeks and flowing pails of milk; and at
sunset the scene was repeated. The matron required no nurse to take care
of the children; no cook to superintend the kitchen; no chamber-maid to
make the beds and do the dusting. She had, very likely, one or two hired
girls, neighbours' daughters. It was quite common then for farmers'
daughters to go out to work when their services could be dispensed with
at home. They were treated as equals, and took as much interest in the
affairs of the family as the mistress herself. The fact of a girl going
out to work did not affect her position. On the contrary, it was rather
in her favour, and showed that she had some ambition about her. The
girls, in those days, were quite as much at home in the kitchen as in
the drawing-room or boudoir. They could do better execution over a wash
tub than at a spinet. They could handle a rolling pin with more
satisfaction than a sketch book; and if necessity required, could go out
in the field and handle a fork and rake with practical results. They
were educated in the country school house--

"Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,"

with their brothers, and not at a city boarding school. They had not so
much as dreamed of fashion books, or heard of fashionable milliners.
Their accomplishments were picked up at home, not abroad. And with all
these drawbacks, they were pure, modest, affectionate. They made good
wives; and that they were the best and most thoughtful mothers that ever
watched over the well-being of their children, many remember full well.

Country life was practical and plodding in those days. Ambition did not
lure the husbandman to days of luxury and ease, but to the
accomplishment of a good day's work, and a future crowned with the
fruits of honest industry. If the girls were prepared for the future by
the watchful care and example of the mothers, so the boys followed in
the footsteps of their fathers. They did not look upon their lives as
burdensome. They did not feel that the occupation of a farmer was less
honourable than any other. The merchant's shop did not possess more
attraction than the barn. Fine clothes were neither so durable nor so
cheap as home-made suits. Fashionable tailors did not exist to lure them
into extravagance, and the town-bred dandy had not broken loose to taint
them with his follies. Their aspirations did not lead into ways of
display and idleness, or their association to bad habits. They were
content to work as their fathers had done, and their aim was to become
as exemplary and respected as they were. It was in such a school and
under such masters that the foundation of Canadian prosperity was laid,
and it is not gratifying to the thoughtful mind, after the survey of
such a picture, to find that although our material prosperity in the
space of fifty years has been marvellous, we have been gradually
departing from the sterling example set us by our progenitors, for
twenty years at least. "Dead flies" of extravagance have found their way
into the "ointment" of domestic life, and their "savour" is keenly felt.
In our haste to become rich, we have abandoned the old road of honest
industry. To acquire wealth, and to rise in the social scale, we have
cast behind us those principles which give tone and value to position.
We are not like the Israelites who longed for the "flesh pots" they had
left behind in Egypt; yet when we look around it is difficult to keep
back the question put by the Ecclesiast, "What is the cause that the
former days were better than these?" and the answer we think is not
difficult to find. Our daughters are brought up now like tender plants,
more for ornament than use. The practical lessons of life are neglected
for the superficial. We send our sons to college, and there they fly
from the fostering care of home; they crowd into our towns and cities--
sometimes to rise, it is true, but more frequently to fall, and to
become worthless members of society. Like the dog in the fable, we
ourselves have let the substance drop, while our gaze has been glamoured
by the shadow.

Early in July the haying began. The mowers were expected to be in the
meadow by sunrise; and all through the day the rasp of their whetstones
could be heard, as they dexterously drew them with a quick motion of the
hand, first along one side of the scythe and then the other; after which
they went swinging across the field, the waving grass falling rapidly
before their keen blades, and dropping in swathes at their side. The
days were not then divided off into a stated number of working hours.
The rule was to begin with the morning light and continue as long as you
could see. Of course men had to eat in those days as well as now, and
the blast of the old tin dinner-horn fell on the ear with more melodious
sound than the grandest orchestra to the musical enthusiast. Even "Old
Gray," when I followed the plough, used to give answer to the cheerful
wind of the horn by a loud whinny, and stop in the furrow, as if to say,
"There now, off with my harness, and let us to dinner." If I happened to
be in the middle of the field, I had considerable trouble to get the old
fellow to go on to the end.

I must say a few words in this place about "Old Gray." Why he was always
called "Old Gray" is more than I know. His colour could not have
suggested the name, for he was a bright roan, almost a bay. He was by no
means a pretty animal, being raw-boned, and never seeming to be in
first-rate condition; but he was endowed with remarkable sagacity and
great endurance, and was, moreover, a fleet trotter. When my father
began the work for himself he was a part of his chattels, and survived
his master several years. Father drove him twice to Little York one
winter, a distance of over one hundred and fifty miles, accomplishing
the trip both times inside of a week. He never would allow a team to
pass him. It was customary in those days, particularly with youngsters
in the winter, to turn out and run by, and many such races I have had;
but the moment a team turned out of the track to pass "Old Gray," he was
off like a shot, and you might as well try to hold a locomotive with
pins as him with an ordinary bit. He was skittish, and often ran away.
On one occasion, when I was very young, he ran off with father and
myself in a single waggon. We were both thrown out, and, our feet
becoming entangled in the lines, we were dragged some distance. The
wheel passed over my head, and cut it so that it bled freely, but the
wound was not serious. My father was badly hurt. After a while we
started for home, and before we reached it the old scamp got frightened
at a log, and set off full tilt. Again, father was thrown out, and I
tipped over on the bottom of the waggon. Fortunately, the shafts gave
way, and let him loose, when he stopped. Father was carried home, and
did not leave the house for a long time. I used to ride the self-willed
beast to school in the winter, and had great sport, sometimes, by
getting boys on behind me, and, when they were not thinking, I would
touch "Old Gray" under the flank with my heel, which would make him
spring as though he were shot, and off the boys would tumble in the
snow. When I reached school I tied up the reins and let him go home. I
do not think he ever had an equal for mischief, and for the last years
we had him we could do nothing with him. He was perpetually getting into
the fields of grain, and leading all the other cattle after him. We used
to hobble him in all sorts of ways, but he would manage to push or rub
down the fence at some weak point, and unless his nose was fastened down
almost to the ground by a chain from his head to his hind leg, he would
let down the bars, or open all the gates about the place. There was not
a door about the barn but he would open, if he could get at the latch,
and if the key was left in the granary door he would unlock that. If
left standing he was sure to get his head-stall off, and we had to get a
halter made specially for him. He finally became such a perpetual
torment that we sold him, and we all had a good cry when the old horse
went away. He was upwards of twenty-five years old at this time. How
much longer he lived I cannot say. I never saw him afterward.

[Illustration: RUNNING BY.]

As soon as the sun was well up, and our tasks about the house over, our
part of this new play in the hayfield began, and with a fork or long
stick we followed up the swathes and spread them out nicely, so that the
grass would dry. In the afternoon, it had to be raked up into winrows--
work in which the girls often joined us--and after tea one or two of the
men cocked it up, while we raked the ground clean after them. If the
weather was clear and dry it would be left out for several days before
it was drawn into the barn or stacked; but often it was housed as soon
as dry.

Another important matter which claimed the farmer's attention at this
time was the preparation of his summer-fallow for fall wheat. The ground
was first broken up after the spring sowing was over, and about hay time
the second ploughing had to be done, to destroy weeds, and get the land
in proper order. In August the last ploughing came, and about the first
of September the wheat was sown. It almost always happened, too, that
there were some acres of woodland that had been chopped over for fire
wood and timber, to be cleaned up. Logs and bush had to be collected
into piles, and burned. On new farms this was heavy work. Then the
timber was cut down, and ruthlessly given over to the fire. Logging bees
were of frequent occurrence, when the neighbours turned out with their
oxen and logging chains, and, amid the ring of the axe and the shouting
of drivers and men with their handspikes, the great logs were rolled one
upon another into huge heaps, and left for the fire to eat them out of
the way. When the work was done, all hands proceeded to the house, grim
and black as a band of sweeps, where, with copious use of soap and
water, they brought themselves back to their normal condition, and went
in and did justice to the supper prepared for them.

In August the wheat fields were ready for the reapers. This was the
great crop of the year. Other grain was grown, such as rye, oats, peas,
barley and corn, but principally for feeding. Wheat was the farmer's
main dependence, his staff of life and his current coin. A good cradler
would cut about five acres a day, and an expert with a rake would follow
and bind up what he cut. There were men who would literally walk through
the grain with a cradle, and then two men were required to follow. My
father had no superior in swinging the cradle, and when the golden grain
stood thick and straight, he gave two smart men all they could do to
take up what he cut down. Again the younger fry came in for their share
of the work, which was to gather the sheaves and put them in shocks.
These, after standing a sufficient time, were brought into the barn and
mowed away, and again the girls often gave a helping hand both in the
field and the barn. In all these tasks good work was expected. My father
was, as I have said before, a pushing man, and "thorough" in all he
undertook. His mottoes with his men were, "Follow me," and "Anything
that is worth doing, is worth doing well;" and this latter rule was
always enforced. The ploughers had to throw their furrows neat and
straight. When I got to be a strong lad, I could strike a furrow with
the old team across a field as straight as an arrow, and I took pride in
throwing my furrows in uniform precision. The mowers had to shear the
land close and smooth. The rakers threw their winrows straight, and the
men made their hay-cocks of a uniform size, and placed them at equal
distances apart. So in the grain field, the stubble had to be cut clean
and even, the sheaves well bound and shocked in straight rows, with ten
sheaves to the shock. It was really a pleasure to inspect the fields
when the work was done. Skill was required to load well, and also to mow
away, the object being to get the greatest number of sheaves in the
smallest space. About the first of September the crops were in and the
barns were filled and surrounded with stacks of hay and grain.

My father was admitted to be the best farmer in the district. His farm
was a model of good order and neatness. He was one of the first to
devote attention to the improvement of his stock, and was always on the
look-out for improved implements or new ideas, which, if worthy of
attention, he was the first to utilize.

There is always something for a pushing farmer to do, and there are
always rainy days through the season, when out-door work comes to a
stand. At such times my father was almost always found in his workshop,
making pails or tubs for the house, or repairing his tools or making new
ones. At other times he would turn his attention to dressing the flax he
had stowed away, and getting it ready for spinning. The linen for bags,
as well as for the house, was then all home-made. It could hardly be
expected that with such facilities at hand my ingenuity would not
develop. One day I observed a pot of red paint on the workbench, and it
struck me that the tools would look much better if I gave them a coat of
paint. The thought was hardly conceived before it was put into
execution, and in a short time planes, saws, augers, &c., were carefully
coated over and set aside to dry. Father did not see the thing in the
same light as I did. He was very much displeased, and I was punished.
After this I turned my attention to water-wheels, waggons, boats, boxes,
&c., and in time got to be quite an expert with tools, and could make
almost anything out of wood. We children, although we had to drive cows,
feed the calves, bring in wood, and all that, had our amusements, simple
and rustic enough it is true; but we enjoyed them, and all the more
because our parents very often entered into our play.

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