THE STRUGGLE WITH THE FOREST
Unless the site for
the homestead was conveniently near a spring or other never-failing supply of
fresh water, one of the settler's first requirements was a well. The location
for this was, as a rule, determined by a divining-rod of witch-hazel in the
hands of an expert. Confidence in this method of ascertaining the presence of
water has not yet died out (the writer witnessed the payment of five dollars
last summer for a service of this kind). When the well was dug and stoned up,
heavy poles were laid over it to protect it. A pole, terminating in a crotch
several feet above the ground, was planted ten or twelve feet from the well -
the height depending upon the depth of the well. In this crotch rested
another pole, called a "sweep", from the small end of which,
suspended over the centre of the well, hung the bucket. The sweep was so
balanced that its heavy end would lift the bucket of water from the well with
very little effort upon the part of the operator.
During the first
season, barns and stables were not required, as the settler had neither stock
nor crop of grain. When he did need barns and stables, they were built of
logs in the same manner as the house.
A small clearing
about the house was made the first year, and in this was planted some turnip
seed. This patch was carefully guarded and yielded a small crop of roots
which were stored away for winter use in a root-cellar built for the purpose.
The root-cellar was a small, rough enclosure of
logs, built in a bank or the side of a hill and covered over with earth.
Little further
progress could be made in the new home until more land was cleared, stock
introduced, and farming operations begun in earnest. The clearing was
accomplished only after many years, as the land was densely wooded, and even
with the aid of the cross-cut saw and the oxen it was slow work getting ready
for the plow. The farmers worked early and late battling with the forest,
single-handed and in "bees", cutting and burning the valuable
timber, which to-day would yield a fortune; then, the only return from this
timber was the potash made from the ashes. The stumps were most unyielding,
particularly those of the pine; and all kinds of contrivances were devised to
uproot them. Sometimes they were burned out, but this was a slow process, and
a large portion of the soil about them would be injured by the fire. Blasting
powder was used and many patterns of stump machines were employed, but the
most satisfactory method was to sever the roots that could be easily reached,
hitch a logging-chain to one side, bring it up over the top and let the oxen
tip over the stump by sheer brute force. The pine stumps made excellent fuel
for the fire-places and were also used for fences.
The word "potash" is
indicative of the process of its manufacture and the chief article from which
it was made. It was in great demand as a bleaching agent and was extensively
used in the making of soap. Shiploads of it were annually exported from
Canada. Nearly every farmer had a leach, a large V-shaped vat, which he
filled with ashes. Over these he poured a quantity of water, which filtered
through the ashes, dissolved, took up in solution the alkaline salts, and
trickled out of the bottom in the form of lye. A certain amount of this
liquid was required for the manufacture of soft soap for the farmer's own
use. This was made by adding some animal fat to the lye and boiling it down
for several hours. The ordinary fire-place provided all the ashes needed for
this purpose. The large quantity made from burning the timber in clearing up
the land was carried one stage farther for convenience in handling. The lye
was boiled down in a huge kettle capable of holding fifty gallons or more,
and, when it reached the proper consistency, it was transferred to a large
iron pot, known as a cooler, where it congealed into a solid, and in that
form received the name of potash. When the country store-keeper became firmly
established he received it in exchange for his merchandise, and not
infrequently purchased the ashes and manufactured it himself upon a large
scale. Some of the farmers hauled their ashes in with their oxen; but the
merchant also kept one or more teams thus employed, when not engaged in
drawing his goods to and from the nearest shipping point. Up and down the
concessions the creaking ash-wagons went, gathering in all that was left of
the once proud forest that had been cleared away to make room for the plow.
Convenient to the store was an ash-yard, with half a dozen leaches in
operation, and the fires were kept roaring under the kettles. Here the wagons
unloaded the ashes upon a platform suspended from one end of an evenly
balanced beam, while iron weights of fifty-six pounds each, or some other
fractional part of the long ton, were placed upon a smaller platform
suspended form the other end of the beam. This was
the customary method of weighing bulky substances that could not be
conveniently weighed by the steelyards.
When the first crop
of grain was obtained, it was harvested with the crude implements of the day
and conveyed to the threshing floor. As a rule this consisted of a bare piece
of ground, sometimes covered with boards or flat stones, but more frequently
the bare earth had no covering. Here the grain was pounded out with a flail,
and Nature supplied the fanning-mill; the mixed grain and chaff were tossed
into the air during a stiff breeze, and the chaff was blown away.
To convert the
wheat into flour was a more difficult matter. The government had provided a
few little hand-mills, but they were not adapted to the purpose; so that the
settler took a lesson from the Indian, burned a large hole in the top of an
oak stump and pounded the wheat to a powder with a pestle or a cannon ball
suspended from the end of a sweep. It was not many years before government
mills were erected at different points, where there was a sufficient supply
of water-power. The localities thus served suffered little inconvenience, as
compared with less favoured districts.
Ten, fifteen or
twenty years wrought a great change in the wilderness home. Small clearings
were everywhere to be seen. Barns had been built, the houses had been
enlarged, and the melodious tinkling of bells betrayed the presence of
cattle. Sheep and swine were also found on every farm, but they had to be
guarded to protect them from marauding bears and wolves. Of horses there were
but few. Awkward as the ox may appear, he was more than a match for the horse
in finding a sure footing among the stumps, logs, and fallen timbers.
Breaking in "Buck and Bright" to come under the yoke and to respond
to the "gee", "haw", and the snap of the whip was a
tedious undertaking, but was successfully accomplished.
The general store
made its appearance, but the pioneer had learned to be independent and still
supplied most of his own wants. He raised his own flax, and when it was ripe
he pulled it by hand, tied it into small sheaves so that it would dry
quickly, and shocked it up. When it was cured, it was taken to the barn and
threshed out with a flail. The straw was then spread out on the ground and
left for two or three weeks, until it had rotted sufficiently to permit the
stalks to be broken without severing the outer rind, which supplied the
shreds. The object was to get it in such a condition that this outer part
could be freed from the inner. It was first put through a crackle, which was
a bench four feet long, composed of three or four boards standing on their
edges and just far enough apart, that three or four similar boards, framed
together and operated from a hinge like a pair of nut-crackers, would, when
closed down, drop into the several spaces between he
lower boards. The straw was passed over the lower boards at right angles, and
the operator raised and lowered the upper frame, bringing it down on the
flax, breaking the stalks, and loosening the outer shreds from the inner
pulp. To remove the pulp the stalks were then drawn over a heckle, which was
a board with scores of long nails protruding through. This combed the coarser
pulp away, when the same process was repeated over a finer heckle, which left
the shreds ready to be spun into thread on a spinning wheel similar to , but
smaller than that used in spinning wool. The thread was then bleached, dyed,
wound into balls, and passed on to the weaver. The farmer also raised his own
sheep, sheared them, and washed and carded the wool.
Every maiden served
her apprenticeship at the spinning wheel, and her education was not complete
until she had learned how to spin the yarn, pass it over the swift, and
prepare it for the loom, which had become a part of the equipment of nearly
every house. The linen, flannel, and fullcloth for
the entire family were made upon the premises. Service was more sought after
than style, particularly in the "everyday clothes"; and, if the
mother or maiden aunt could not cut and make a suit, the first itinerant
tailor who happened along was installed as a member of the household for a
fortnight and fitted out the whole family for the next year.
The boots and shoes
were also homemade, or at least made at home. Somewhere about every farm was
to be found a tanning-trough, in which a cowhide would be immersed for three
weeks in a weak solution of lye to remove the hair and any particles of flesh
still adhering to the skin. It was then transferred to a tub containing a
solution of oak bark and left for several months, after which it was softened
by kneading and rubbing, and was then ready to be made up. The making of the
boots required considerable skill. A man can wear and obtain good service
from an ill-made suit of clothes, but a poor-fitting pair of boots is an
abomination likely to get the wearer into all sorts of trouble. Corns and
bunions are not of modern origin, but have afflicted the human race ever
since boots were first worn. A kit of shoemaker's tools, composed of a last,
hammer, awls, and needles, was to be found in every house; and some member of
the family was usually expert in adding a half-sole or applying a patch; few,
however, attempted to make the boots. The travelling shoemaker went about
from house to house and performed this service. A few years later every
neighbourhood had its tannery, and every village its one or more shoemakers.
The tanner took his toll for each hide; and the shoemaker, for a bag of
potatoes, a roll of butter, or a side of pork, would turn out a pair of
boots, which would long outwear the factory-made article of to-day.
The skins of the
bear, fox and raccoon furnished fur caps for the winter; and the rye straw
supplied the material for straw hats for summer. In nearly every house some one would be found capable of producing the finished
articles from these raw materials. The milliner, as such, would have had a
hard time in earning a living a hundred years ago, as head-gear at that time
was worn to protect the head.
The life of the
early settlers was not all work and drudgery. They had their hours of
recreation, and what is best of all, they had the happy faculty, in many
matters, of making play out of work. This was accomplished by means of
"bees". There were logging bees, raising bees, stumping bees, and
husking bees for the men, while the women had their quilting bees and paring
bees. The whole neighbourhood would be invited to these gatherings. It may be
that upon the whole they did not accomplish more than could have been done
single-handed, except at the raisings, which required many hands to lift the
large timbers into place; but work was not the only object in view. Man is a
gregarious animal and loves to mingle with his fellow men. The occasions for
public meetings of any kind during the first few years were very rare. There
were no fairs, concerts, lectures, or other public entertainments, not even a
church, school, or political meeting, so, in their wisdom, the early settlers
devised these gatherings for work - and work they did, but, Oh! the joy of
it! All the latest news gathered from every quarter was discussed, notes were
compared on the progress made in the clearings, the wags and clowns furbished
up their latest jokes, and all enjoyed themselves in disposing of the good
things brought forth from the corner cupboard.
Perhaps some
special mention should be made of the logging bee, since it stands out as the
only one of these jolly gatherings that was regarded as a necessary evil,
particularly by the female members of the family. Perhaps the grimy
appearance of the visitors had something to do with the esteem in which they
were held at such times. The logging bee followed the burning of the fallow,
which consumed the underbrush, the tops and branches of the trees, and left
the charred trunks to be disposed of. In handling these, the workers soon
became as black as negroes; and the nature of the work seemed to demand an
extraordinary consumption of whiskey. Anyway, the liquor was consumed; the
men frequently became disorderly, and concluded the bee with one or more
drunken fights. It was this feature of the logging bees that made them
unpopular with the women.
The afternoon tea
now serves its purpose very well, but modern society has yet to discover the
equal of the quilting bee as a clearing-house for gossip. To the credit of
the fair sex, we should add that they rarely made use of intoxicants; but the
old grannies did enjoy a few puffs from a blackened clay pipe after their
meals. Both men and women were more or less addicted to the use of snuff.
Whiskey was
plentiful in the good old days, but the drinking of it was not looked upon
with such horror, nor attended with such disastrous consequences as in our
day. This difference was probably due both to the drink and the drinker. Some
people will not admit that any whiskey is bad, while others deny that any can
be good; but the whiskey of a hundred years ago does not appear to have had
as fierce a serpent in it as the highly-advertised brands of the present day.
It possessed one virtue, and that was its cheapness. When a quart could be
purchased for sixpence, a man could hardly be charged with rash extravagance
in buying enough whiskey to produce the desired effect. It was considered
quite the proper thing to drink upon almost any occasion, and upon the
slightest provocation and, if a member of a company received an overdose and
glided under the table, it created no more sensation than if he had fallen
asleep. As the population increased, taverns were set up at nearly every
crossing of the roads. Some of these, especially the recognized
stopping-places of the stage coaches, were quite imposing hostelries; and as
the guests gathered about the huge fire-place on a winter's evening and
smoked their pipes, drank their toddy, and exchanged their tales of adventure
and travel, the scene was one that has no counterpart in our day. It was a
form of sociability and entertainment that departed with the passing of the
stage coach.
In this age of
railroads and motor cars we have no conception of the discomforts of travel
eighty or a hundred or more years ago. The Loyalists clung for many years to
the bateaux, the flat-bottomed boats, which conveyed them over the last stage
of their journey to their new homes. These boats were very popular upon the
Bay of Quinte. In going west they were carried across the Carrying Place at
the head of the bay by a man named Asa Weller, who kept a low wagon and a
yoke of oxen ready at hand to transport the travellers from the bay to the
lake and back again upon the return trip. It is needless to add that Weller's
Bay was named after this enterprising teamster.
In 1816 the first
stage line in Upper Canada was inaugurated between Kingston and Bath by
Samuel Purdy, of Bath, and in the following year he opened a line from
Kingston to York. The roads were wretched, and the fare was eighteen dollars.
Fourteen years later William Weller, a son of Asa, whose business of
transporting the bateaux from one body of water to the other had brought him
in contact with the travelling public and acquainted him with their needs,
established a bi-weekly service between the Carrying Place and York, in
connection with the steamer Sir James Kempt, which carried the
passengers on to Prescott. The fare from York to Prescott was £2 10s. ($10). The stage left York at four o'clock in the
morning, arriving at the Carrying Place the same evening.
The very term,
stage-coach, suggests to our minds a spanking four-in-hand, in brass-mounted
harness, attached to a gayly-decorated conveyance.
We picture them dashing through a village under the crack of the coachman's
whip. Away they go, rattling over the bridge, down the turnpike, and with a
shrill blast of the guard's horn, they haul up at the wayside inn, where a
fat and smiling landlord escorts the passengers in to a hot dinner. Such were
not the stage-coaches of our forefathers; they were simply lumber wagons
without springs and covered with canvas like the prairie schooners, or plain
wooden enclosures with seats suspended by leather straps. Just think of being
cooped up in such an affair from sunrise to sunset - the clumsy
"coach" jolting over the rough roads, dodging stumps, rocks, and
fallen trees, plunging down a steep embankment, fording rivers and streams
and sinking now and then to the axles in mud!
During the summer
months the mosquitoes and black flies added to the misery of the travellers.
Even so, in this, as in all things, the pioneers looked not so much on the
dark side of life as on the bright. The distance had to be covered; every
jolt and bump brought them one step nearer their destination. The tales of
the fellow travellers were entertaining and helped to shorten the way.
Perhaps one was a legislator just returning from a meeting of the House,
perhaps a merchant on his way to Montreal to make his year's purchase of
goods, or a young adventurer from the old country spying out an opportunity
to better himself in the New World. The forest had its charms, although the
insects at times were abominable. As the coach passed through a clearing the
yeoman, with a swing of his hat, would wish the travellers God-speed. The
monotony was broken, time and again, by a glimpse of a bay or lake; and the
road, in places followed the beach, where the waves broke under the horses'
feet. Awaiting them at the journey's end were that rest and peace which the
home alone can afford, that bright welcome of the fireside built with their
own hands, and the smiles of the loved ones who had shared all their trials
and victories.
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