Country Life in Canada Fifty Years Ago Part 6

We had some neighbours who believed in ghosts; not an uncommon thing in those days. Eliza, with myself, had frequently heard from these people descriptions of remarkable sights they had seen, and dreadful noises they had heard at one time and another. She conceived the idea of making an addition to their experiences in this way, and as an experiment made a trial on me. I had been away one afternoon, and returned about nine o'clock. It was quite dark. In the meantime she had quietly made her preparations, and was on the look out for me. When my horse's feet were heard cantering up the road, she placed herself that I could not fail to see her. On I came, and, dashing up to the gate, dismounted; and there before me on the top of the stone wall was something, the height of a human figure draped in white, moving slowly and noiselessly towards me. I was startled at first, but a second thought satisfied me what was up, and that my supernatural visitor was quite harmless. I pa.s.sed through the gate, but my pet mare did not seem inclined to follow, until I spoke to her, and then she bounded through with a snort. After putting her in the field, and returning, I found the ghost had vanished. But I was quite sure I had not done with it yet; and as I drew near the house I was in momentary expectation that it would come out upon me somewhere. I kept a sharp look-out, but saw nothing, and had reached the porch door to go in, when, lo, there stood the spectre barring my way! I paused and glanced at its appearance as well as I could, and I must confess if I had been at all superst.i.tious, or had come on such an object in a strange place, I think I should have been somewhat shaken. However, I knew my spectre, boldly took hold of it, and found I had something tangible in my grip. After a brief and silent struggle, I thrust open the door, and brought my victim into the room. My mother and sisters, who knew nothing of what had been going on, were greatly alarmed to see me dragging into the house a white object, and, womanlike, began to scream; but the mystery was soon revealed. She had made up some thick paste, with which she had covered her face, and had really got up quite a sepulchral expression, to which the darkness gave effect; and being enveloped in a white sheet, made, we thought, a capital ghost. This did not satisfy her, and was only a preliminary to her appearance on the first suitable occasion to our neighbours. It was not long before they encountered the ghost on their way home after dark, and were so badly frightened that in the end I think Eliza was worse frightened than they. Eliza never had any confidants in these little affairs, and they were over before any one in the house knew of it. This was the end, so far as she was concerned, of this kind of amus.e.m.e.nt.

Some time after this another little episode of a similar nature happened, but this time Eliza was one of the victims. We had a near neighbour, an old bachelor, who had a fine patch of melons close at hand. Eliza and a cousin who was on a visit had had their eyes on them, and one day declared they were going that night to get some of Tom's melons. Mother advised them not to do it, and told them there were melons enough in our own garden without their going to steal Tom's. No, they didn't want them, they were going to have a laugh on Tom;-and so when it was dark they set off to commit the trespa.s.s. They had been away but a few minutes when mother-who by the way was a remarkably timid woman, and I have often wondered how she got up enough courage to play the trick-put a white sheet under her arm and followed along the road to a turn, where was a pair of bars, through which the girls had pa.s.sed to the field. Here she paused, and when she fancied the girls had reached their destination she drew the sheet around her, rapped on the bars with a stick, and called to them. Then, folding up the sheet, she ran away home. She was not sure whether they had seen her or not. The sheet was put away, and, taking up her knitting, she sat down quietly to await their return, which she antic.i.p.ated almost immediately. A long time elapsed, and they did not appear. Then mother became alarmed, and as she happened to be alone she did not know what to do. Though she had gone out on purpose to frighten the girls, I do not think she could have been induced to go out again to see what was keeping them. After a while Mary came in, and then Eliza, both pale, and bearing evidence of having had a terrible fright. Mother asked them what in the world was the matter. "O, Aunt Polly!" they both exclaimed, "we have seen such an awful thing tonight." "What was it?" They could not tell; it was terrible! "Where did you see it?" "Over by the bars! Just as we had got a melon we heard an awful noise, and then we saw something white moving about, and then it was gone!" They were so badly frightened that they dropped down among the vines, and lay there for some minutes. They then got up, and, making a detour, walked home; but how, they never could tell. Mother was never suspected by them, and after a time she told them about it. There were no more ghosts seen in the neighbourhood after that.

Time pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 quant.i.ty 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 c.o.c.k, 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 p.r.o.nounced 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed, 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sing all the time; and how he distinguished the difference of the horses' feet and sleigh runners from scores of others which had pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sociates. 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 a.s.sociates, 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 pa.s.s 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 att.i.tude, 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e 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 surpa.s.s 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 sh.o.r.e or gravelly beach- these things must have combined to please, and to awaken thoughts of peaceful homes, in the near future to them all.

The Bay of Quinte, apart from its delightful scenery, possesses an historical interest. It is not known from whence it received its name, but there is no doubt it is of French origin. Perhaps some of the old French voyageurs, halting at Fort Frontenac, on their way west, as they pa.s.sed across it, and through one of the gaps that open the way to the broad expanse of Lake Ontario, may have christened it. Be this as it may, it was along its sh.o.r.es that the first settlers of the Province located. Here came the first preachers, offering to the lonely settler the bread of life. On its banks the first house devoted to the worship of G.o.d was erected, and the seed sown here, as the country grew, spread abroad. Here the first schoolmaster began his vocation of instructing the youth. The first steamboat was launched (1816) upon its waters at Ernesttown, near the present village of Bath. Kingston, for a long time the princ.i.p.al town of the Province, then composed of a few log houses, was the depot of supplies for the settlers. It has a history long anterior to this date. In 1673, Courcelles proceeded to Cataraqui with an armed force to bring the Iroquois to terms, and to get control of the fur trade. Then followed the building of Fort Frontenac. The restless trader and discoverer, La Salle, had the original grant for a large domain around the fort. Here, in 1683, La Barre built vessels for the navigation of the lake, and the year following held a great council with the Five Nations of Indians, at which Big Mouth was the spokesman. The fort was destroyed by Denonville in 1689, and rebuilt in 1696. It was again reduced by Colonel Bradstreet in 1758.

In Adolphustown many of the first settlers still lived when I was a boy, and I have heard them recount their trials and hardships many a time. Besides the U. E. Loyalists there were a number of Quaker families which came to the Province about the same time, leaving the new Republic, not precisely for the same reasons, but because of their attachment to the old land. During the war, these people, who are opposed to war and bloodshed, suffered a good deal, and were frequently imprisoned, and their money and property appropriated. This did not occur in Canada, but they were subject to a fine for some time, for not answering to their names at the annual muster of the militia. The fine, however, was not exacted, except in cases where there were doubts as to membership with the society. This small township has contributed its quota to the Legislature of the country. T. Dorland represented the Midland District in the first Parliament of the Province, and was followed by Willet Casey, when Newark or Niagara was the capital. The latter was succeeded several years later by his son, Samuel Casey, but, as often happens, there was a difference in the political opinions of the father and son. The father was a Reformer, the son a Tory; and at the election, the old gentleman went to the poll and recorded his vote against his son, who was nevertheless elected. The Roblins, John P--, who represented the county of Prince Edward, and David, who sat for Lennox and Addington, were natives of the township. The Hagermans, Christopher and D--, were also fourth town boys, with whom my mother went to school. The old homestead, a low straggling old tenement, stood on the bay sh.o.r.e a few yards west of the road that leads to the wharf. I remember it well. It was destroyed by fire years ago. The father of Sir John A. Macdonald kept a store a short distance to the east of the Quaker meeting-house on Hay Bay, on the third concession. It was a small clap-boarded building, painted red, and was standing a few years ago. I remember being at a nomination in the village of Bath, on which occasion there were several speakers from Kingston, among them John A. Macdonald, then a young lawyer just feeling his way into political life. He made a speech, and began something in this way: "Yeomen of the county of Lennox and Addington, I remember well when I ran about in this district a barefooted boy," &c. He had the faculty then, which he has ever since preserved, of getting hold of the affections of the people. This bonhommie has had much to do with his popularity and success. I recollect well how l.u.s.tily he was cheered by the staunch old farmers on the occasion referred to. A few years later a contest came off in the county of Prince Edward, where I then resided. In those days political contests were quite as keen as now; but the alterations in the law which governs these matters has been greatly changed and improved. The elections were so arranged that people owning property in various counties could exercise their franchise. The old law, which required voters to come to a certain place in the district to record their vote, had been repealed; and now each voter had to go to the township in which he owned property, to vote. Foreign voters were more numerous then than now, and were looked after very sharply. On this occasion there was a sharp battle ahead, and arrangements were made to meet property owners at all points. There were a number from Kingston on our side, and it fell to me to meet them at the Stone Mills Ferry, and bring them to Picton. The ice had only recently taken in the bay, and was not quite safe, even for foot pa.s.sengers. There were six or seven, and among them John A. Macdonald, Henry Smith, afterwards Sir Henry, and others. In crossing, Smith got in, but was pulled out by his companions, in no very nice plight for a long drive. The sleighing was good, and we dashed away. In the evening I brought them back, and before they set off across the bay on their return, John A. mounted the long, high stoop or platform in front of Teddy McGuire's, and gave us an harangue in imitation of --, a well-known Quaker preacher, who had a marvellous method of intoning his discourses. It was a remarkable sing-song, which I, or any one else who ever heard it, could never forget. Well John A., who knew him well, had caught it, and his imitation was so perfect that I am inclined to think the old man, if he had been a listener, would have been puzzled to tell t'other from which. We had a hearty laugh, and then separated.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIR JOHN A. MACDONALD'S EARLY HOME.]

I have often heard my mother tell of a trip she made down to the Bay of Quinte, when she was a young girl. She had been on a visit to her brother Jonas Canniff (recently deceased in this city at the age of ninety-two), who had settled on the river Moira, two miles north of the town of Belleville, then a wilderness. There were no steamboats then, and the modes of conveyance both by land and water were slow and tedious. She was sent home by her brother, who engaged two friendly Indians to take her in a bark canoe. The distance to be travelled was over twenty miles, and the morning they started the water in the bay was exceedingly rough. She was placed in the centre of the canoe, on the bottom, while her Indian voyageurs took their place in either end, resting on their knees. They started, and the frail boat danced over the waves like a sh.e.l.l. The stoical yet watchful Indians were alive only to the necessities of their position, and with measured stroke they shot their light bark over the boisterous water. Being a timid girl, and unaccustomed to the water, especially under such circ.u.mstances, she was much frightened and never expected to reach her home. There was considerable danger, no doubt, and her fears were not allayed by one of the Indians telling her if she stirred he would break her head with the paddle. The threat may not have been unwise. Their safety depended on perfect control of the boat, and in their light sh.e.l.l a very slight movement might prove disastrous. Her situation was rendered more unpleasant by the splashing of the water, which wet her to the skin. This she had to put up with for hours, while the Indians bravely and skilfully breasted the sea, and at last set her safely on the beach in front of her father's house. When they came to the sh.o.r.e one of the Indians sprang lightly into the water, caught her in his arms and placed her on dry land. This trip was literally burned in her memory, and though she frequently mentioned it, she did so with a shudder, and an expression of thankfulness for her preservation.

Of the old people who were living in my boyhood there are few more thoroughly fixed in my memory, with the exception, perhaps, of my grandfathers Canniff and Haight, than Willet and Jane Casey. There were few women better known, or more universally respected, than Aunt Jane. This was the t.i.tle accorded to her by common consent, and though at that time she had pa.s.sed the allotted term of three-score years and ten, she was an active woman-a matron among a thousand, a friend of everybody, and everybody's friend. Her house was noted far and wide for its hospitality, and none dispensed it more cordially than Aunt Jane. In those days the people pa.s.sing to and fro did not hesitate to avail themselves of the comforts this old home afforded. In fact, it was a general stopping place, where both man and beast were refreshed with most cheerful liberality.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AUNT JANE, AGE 92]

Jane Niles, her maiden name, was born at b.u.t.ternuts, Otsego County, in the central part of New York State, 1763; so that at the commencement of the American Revolution she was about eleven years old. She was married in 1782. The following year, 1783, the year in which peace was proclaimed, her husband, Willet Casey, left for Upper Canada, and located in the fourth town on the sh.o.r.e of the Bay of Quinte. After erecting a log house and a blacksmith shop, he returned for his wife. He was taken seriously ill, and nearly a year pa.s.sed before he was able to set out again for the new home in the wilds of Upper Canada (which was reached early in the year 1785), where, after a long and prosperous life, he ended his days.

Aunt Jane was a tall and well proportioned woman, of commanding presence and cheerful disposition; a woman of more than ordinary intelligence, and a good conversationalist. She had been a close observer of pa.s.sing events, and possessed a wonderfully retentive memory. It was an epoch in one's life to hear her recount the recollections of her early days. These ran through the whole period of the American War, and many scenes which are now historical, that she had witnessed, or was cognizant of, were given with a vividness that not only delighted the listener but fixed them in his memory. Then, the story of the coming to Canada, with her first babe six months old, and the struggles and hardships in the bush, which in the days of which I speak she delighted to linger over, was a great treat to listen to. There were few of the first families she did not know, and whose history was not familiar to her, and in most cases she could give the names and ages of the children. The picture given of her in this volume is a copy from a daguerrotype taken when she was ninety-two years old. For several years before her demise she did not use spectacles, and could read ordinary print with ease, or do fine needlework. She retained her faculties to the last, and died at the age of ninety-six.

She had eleven children, five of whom died young. Her eldest daughter, Martha, known as Patty Dorland, attained the age of ninety-two. Then followed Samuel, Elizabeth, Thomas, Mary and Jane. These, with the exception of Thomas and Mary Ingersoll, my wife's mother, died many years ago. Thomas Casey died at Brighton, in January of this year, aged eighty-seven, and Mary Ingersoll on the first of June, aged eighty-five, the last of the family.

Willet Casey was an energetic man. He acc.u.mulated a large property, and in my boyhood there were not many days in the week that the old man could not be seen driving along the road in his one-horse waggon in some direction. He was one of the first representatives for the Midland District, when Newark was the capital of the Province. His son Samuel, a number of years subsequently, represented the district, and later, his grandson, Dr. Willet Dorland, represented the County of Prince Edward.

NOTE: At the time my book was going through the press, I was under the impression that the fish known in this country as a Sucker was the same as the Mullet, but had no intention that the latter name should find its way into the text in place of Sucker. See page 41. According to Richardson, one of the best authorities we have, the Sucker is of the Carp family, the scientific name of which is Cyprinus Hudsonius, or Sucking Carp.

On page 127, "and, as their lives had theretofore," read heretofore.