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Our curiosity as to
how our boat was to get up the rapid was soon satisfied. Along both
sides of the boat ran a stout plank, to which were securely fastened
a row of cleats, about two feet apart. The crew gathered at the bow,
each man holding a long pole with an iron point. On the order being
given by the conductor, who held the helm, two men stepped out and
took their place on the planks, one on each side, and dropped the
iron points of their poles into the river, until they struck bottom.
Then, pressing the end they held against their shoulders, pushed
with all their might. As the boat yielded to their thrust, they
stepped backward down their planks, making room for another man in
front, until there were four on each side of the boat, pushing with
their utmost strength. As the men who first got on the planks
reached the end, they jumped aside and made their way to the bow to
begin anew the same operation, of dropping their poles into the
water, tucking the head of them into the hollow of their shoulders,
and, leaning forward, push as they did before, receding step by
step, the cleats giving the needed purchase to their feet. The
current was swifter than any midstream, yet the boat was pushed
slowly up until we reached the entrance to a, canal, smaller than
that at Lachine, for it was only feet deep and so narrow that the
crew jumped it when they wished to cross. It served the purpose;
however, of enabling the boat to pass the worst part of the rapid,
where it foamed in great billows.
Quitting the canal
the swift current was again met and the setting poles again put into
use. Our lads were eager to try their hands, but a few minutes was
enough, their shoulders being too soft for the work. Those of the
crew were calloused almost like bone, but even to them it was hard
work, for the sweat rolled down their faces, as they struggled along
the planks bent double. On reaching the next rapid, Treffle asked
all who could to get out and walk along the bank, as the boat was
drawing too much water. Robbie wanted to go with us, but grannie
clung to him. ‘Should the boatie cowp, who-would save him gin I was
na at hand?’ she asked. To help the crew, we pulled at a towline
until she got to another small canal. As we went on, we had the
excitement of watching boats pass us on their way to Montreal,
shooting the rapids. They were heavily loaded, mostly with bags of
flour, yet ran down the foaming waters safely.
To us boys, was
more exciting the passage of rafts, for they splashed the water into
spray. Having overcome that rapid, we all got on board, and the crew
had an easier time in pushing along until we got in sight of a
church perched above a cluster of cottages. The mistress asked
Treffle how they made the passage before the small canals were cut
where the rapids were most dangerous. He explained, that at the
first rapid all the freight was unloaded and conveyed in carts to
the landing-place on lake St Francis, while the empty boats were
poled and towed close alongside the edge of the bank, avoiding the
boiling water. In those days the boats were lighter and sailed in
companies, and their crews united to take them up one by one.
The village, the
Cedars, was to be the resting-place of the boatmen until next day,
and scattering among the houses, where a few of them had their
families, they left the boat to the passengers. Treffle led the way
to houses where provisions could be bought and at prices so low that
the women wondered. Saying nothing so good to make men strong, he
bought for the mistress a big piece of boiled pork, which, sliced
thin, we enjoyed either with bread or our ship-biscuit. We watched
the baking of bread. It was fired in queer little white plastered
ovens set in front of each house, looking somewhat like beehives
placed on top of strong tables. The ovens are filled with wood,
which is set on fire, and when the oven is hot enough the wood is
raked out, the loaves shoved in, and the door shut. We youngsters
gathered round one on seeing the woman was about to open it. When
she drew out the first loaf, with a fine crust and an appetizing
smell, we could not help giving a cheer, it was so wonderful to us.
We went back to the boat with a lot of food, to which was added
fish, bought from a man as he landed from his canoe, which we fried.
That evening we had the best meal since we left home, and at night
had plenty of room to sleep, for the air being hob a number of us
slept beneath the trees.
We safely got past
the fourth and last of the rapids, floating out of a little canal
into a large lake. The wind was still in the west, so we had to keep
tacking, and it was afternoon when we passed Cornwall and steered
for the south side of the St Lawrence. Allan was pointing out to
Grannie what was British and what was American; she remarked, on
comparing the houses on the two banks, ‘That gin Canadians wad build
houses of wood, they ocht to hae the decency to paint them ’ On
nearing the landing-place at the foot of the rapids, Allan pointed
to a group of people and told her they were Yankees. She shook her
head, she did not believe him, they were too like our ain folk to be
Yankees. The Soo is the longest rapid of the St Lawrence measuring
nine miles, but is not nearly so wild as those we had passed, having
fewer waves and intervals of smooth water. There was no canal to
help in getting to the head of it, and it was beyond the strength of
our crew to push the boat up with setting-poles. There was a towpath
along the U. S. bank on which stood three yoke of oxen. A stout
cable was hooked to their whiffle-tree and they started. On getting
fairly into the strength of the current the crew dropped their poles
into the water, and it was all men and oxen, strained to the utmost,
could do at times to stem the sweep of the mighty tide. It was slow
work but we won to smoother water and the boat tied up for the
night.
It was hot when we
entered lake St Francis, it was sultry now. Alongside us was a
Durham boat like ours, but longer. It was packed worse than our own,
men, women, and children huddled as close as captives on a slaveship,
and like ourselves worn out with fatigue and facing the thunderstorm
that we heard coming without covering of any kind. The quiet
determination to endure much in the belief that we were coming to a
country where we would better our condition sustained all in doing
our best to make light of our trials. To a young woman, who was
trying to get a fretful baby to sleep, the mistress sent me with a
tin of milk and we had some talk. I asked if she was not sorry she
had left the Old Land. ‘No, no,’ she replied, ‘we had no prospect
there; here, with hard work we have the prospect of comfort and of
depending on nobody for work or help.’ She kissed her babe and
speaking to him said, ‘Yes, Willie, you will never know in this
country what your mother came through.’ It was this hope that
sustained us all.
There was only a
small house in sight and the near bush was scrub, so we did not ask
to go on shore and had to wait patiently, for the heat and
mosquitoes kept us awake. The storm did not last long, but wetted
all to the skin who could not creep under the decked parts of the
boat. It brought great relief in freshening the air. The boatmen
were astir before daylight, hoisting the sails, for the wind had
turned to the north, as it often does after a thunderstorm. There
were places, where the current ran so fast that setting-poles had to
be used, but we got on well, and, by-and-by, sighted two
towns—Ogdensburg and Prescott, the one bright and tidy, the other
with a weather-beaten uninviting look. We rejoiced to see a small
steamboat at the Prescott wharf. It was waiting for the stage from
Montreal. A bargain was made to take our party to Kingston. On the
boat we had met at the Soo coming in, she had too many emigrants for
the steamer to take on board, but her captain agreed to tow her. The
offer was made to let any of the women change boats, but none
accepted. Like ourselves, they were travelling in families and
feared to be parted. We were real sorry in bidding good-by to the
crew of the Durham boat, for they had been kind and made companions
of the children.
As one wee tot came
up to her special favorite, she pursed her lips to be kissed; the
Canadian took the pipe out of his mouth and gave the queerest cry of
delight I ever heard. We could not speak to each other, but in the
language of grimace and expression of countenance the French
Canadian excels. The Montreal stage at last appeared, drawn by four
horses, and on its passengers getting settled in the cabin, the
steamer began her voyage. She was not like the steamboats of later
days, which are houses built on hulls. She was just a good-sized
barge with an engine and two paddle-wheels, which sent her along at
a slow rate, all the more slowly on account of her towing the Durham
boat. Our party crowded her fore deck and our baggage, piled on the
freight she had when we got on, was higher than her paddle-boxes. We
stopped three times to take on wood during the passage, reaching
Kingston next morning, where we were to get a steamer for Toronto,
but had to wait for her arrival.
She was a larger
boat but of the same pattern as the one we left, having her cabins
below deck. There were over a hundred emigrants, and we so crowded
the steerage that we were packed as close as in the Durham boats.
The prospect of being so near our journey’s end made us endure
discomfort cheerfully I remember how the great size of lake Ontario
impressed us all, having an horizon like that of the Atlantic. We
had wondered at the width of the St Lawrence and at where all the
water came from to dash down its rapids, but this great lake
surprised us more, with its sea-gulls and big white painted ships
bowling along. Mr Auld remarked the county of Ayr would be but an
island in it, and Mr Brodie that you might stick Glasgow in a corner
and never know it was there were it not for the reek. Many were the
surmises as to how the master had got on, if he had got land, if he
would meet us, and what our next move would be. The mistress shared
in none of their anxiety. She was calm in her confidence of her
husband’s ability and energy. She was convinced he had secured land
and that he would be waiting on the wharf when the steamer sailed
into Toronto. They were what every married couple ought to be—of one
mind and one heart.
Our first sight of
Toronto pleased us all, and we had a long view of it, sailing round
the island before reaching the entrance to the harbor. Our eyes were
strained as we came near the wharf in the hope of picking out master
among the people who crowded it. All of a sudden Robbie shouted
Father, and a man waved his hand, whom, as the boat drew closer in
we all recognized. The sailors were still hauling the steamer into
her berth, when Mr Brodie shouted ‘Have you got land?’ Yes was the
reply. ‘Thank God!’ ejaculated Mr Brodie, and we all said the same
in our hearts; the relief we felt only emigrants, after a weary
journey, to a strange country can know. Pressing round the master,
with Ruth in his arms and Robbie pulling at his coat tails, he said
he had got land, not far from Toronto, and had secured carts to move
us that day to take possession. First of all, he said, we will have
dinner.
Here I stopped. It
was my youngest daughter who insisted on my telling How I Came to
Canada, and I had consented on condition she would write down what I
said, for I am a poor penman and no speller. Recalling what had
happened in my early life, and I did so generally as I lay in bed in
my wakeful hours, I dictated to Mary as she found leisure. On
reading over what she had written I had only one fault to find with
her work—she had not taken down the Scotch as I had spoken it. She
had put my words, so she said, into proper English. She protested
against my halting in my narrative with the arrival at Toronto, and
insisted I go on and tell of our life in the backwoods. I cannot
resist her pretty way of pleading with me when she wants anything,
for she is so like my sainted mother that I often start at the
resemblance. To me, in her young face and figure my mother lives
again. The agreement was to tell How I Came to Canada. To that I now
add, How we Got On in its Backwoods. |
