Life in the Clearings Versus the Bush (17 page)

I assured him that I was as ignorant as himself of the cause of the disturbance. Here the singing master again sung out –

“Landlord! landlord! there’s a
man
under the
bed
. Cum! somebody cum!”

We immediately entered his room, and were joined by two of my friends from W—. Seeing our party strengthened to four, our courage rose amazingly, and we talked loudly of making mincemeat of the intruder, kicking him down stairs, and torturing him in every way we could devise. We found the singing master sitting bolt upright in his bed, his smallclothes gathered up under his arm ready for a start; his face as pale as a sheet, his teeth chattering, and his whole appearance indicative of the most abject fear. We certainly did hear very mysterious sounds issuing from beneath the bed, which caused the boldest of us to draw back.

“He is right,” said Roberts; “there is some one under the bed.”

“What a set of confounded cowards you are!” cried the landlord; “can’t you lift the valence and see what it is?”

He made no effort himself to ascertain the cause of the alarm. Roberts, who, after all, was the boldest man of the party, seized the tongs from the landlord, and, kneeling cautiously
down, slowly raised the drapery that surrounded the bed. “Hold the light here, landlord.” He did so, but at arm’s length. Roberts peeped timidly into the dark void beyond, dropped the valance, and looked up with a comical, quizzing expression, and began to laugh.

“What is it?” we all cried in a breath.

“Landlord! landlord!” he cried, imitating the voice of the singing master, “cum quick! Somebody cum! There’s a dog under the bed! He will bite me! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I shall die of hydrophobia. I shall be smothered in a feather-bed! ”

“A dog!” said the landlord.

“A dog!” cried we all.

“Aye, a black dog.”

“You don’t say! “ cried the singing master, springing from his bed. “Where is he? I’m able for
him
any how.” And seizing a corn broom that stood in a corner of the room, he began to poke at the poor animal, and belabour him in the most unmerciful manner.

The dog, who belonged to a drover who penned his cattle in the inn-yard for the night, wishing to find a comfortable domicile, had taken a private survey of the premises when the people were out of the way, and made his quarters under Mr. Browne’s bed. When that worthy commenced snoring, the dog, to signify his approbation at finding himself in the company of some one, amused himself by hosting his tail up and down; now striking the sacking of the bed, and now tapping audibly against the floor. These mysterious salutations became, at length, so frequent and vehement that they awoke the sleeper, who, not daring to ascertain the cause of the alarm, aroused the whole house with his clamours.

Mr. Browne finding himself unable to thrash the poor brute out of his retreat, and having become all of a sudden
very brave, crawled under the bed and dragged the dog out by his hind legs.

“You see I’m enough for him; give me the poker, and I’ll beat out his brains.”

“You’ll do no such thing, sir,” said the landlord, turning the animal down the stairs. “The dog belongs to a quiet decent fellow, and a good customer, and he shall meet with no ill usage here. “Your mountain, Mr. Browne, has brought forth a mouse.”

“A dog sir,” quoth the singing master, not in the least abashed by the reproof. “If the brute had cut up such a dido under your bed, you would have been as ‘turnal sceared as I was.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Browne,” said I, “you took it for the ghost of the old mare?.”

“Ghost or no ghost,” returned the landlord, “he has given us a great deal of trouble, and nearly frightened himself into fits.”

“The fear was not all on my side,” said the indignant vocalist; “and I look upon you as the cause of the whole trouble.”

“As how?”

“If the dog had not cum to your house, he never would have found his way under my bed. When I pay for my night’s lodging, I don’t expect to have to share it with a strange dog – no how.”

So saying he retreated, grumbling, back to his bed, and we gladly followed his example.

I rose early in the morning to accompany my friends to W—. At the door of the hotel I was accosted by Mr. Browne –

“Why, you arn’t goin’ to start without bidding me good-bye? Besides, you have not paid me for my assistance at the con-sort.”

I literally started with surprise at this unexpected demand. “Do you expect a professional price for your services?”

“Well, I guess the con-sort would have been nothing without my help; but I won’t be hard upon you, as you are a young beginner, and not likely to make your fortune in that line any how. There’s that pail of butter; if you don’t mean to take it along, I’ll take that; we wants butter to hum. Is it a bargain?”

“Oh, yes; if you are satisfied, I am well pleased.” (I could have added, to get rid of you at any price.) “You will find it on the table in the hall.”

“Not exactly; I took it hum this morning – I thought how it would end. Good-bye to you, Mr. H—. If ever you come this way again, I shall be happy to lend you my assistance.”

I never visited that part of the countryside since, but I have no doubt that Mr. Browne is busy in his vocation, and flattering himself that he is one of the first vocalists in the Union. I think he should change his residence, and settle down for life in
New Harmony
.

W
e have rounded Ox Point, and Belleville is no longer in sight. The steamboat has struck into mid channel, and the bold shores of the Prince Edward District are before us. Calmly we glide on, and islands and headlands seem to recede from us as we advance; and now they are far in the distance, half seen through the warm purple haze that rests so dreamily upon woods and waters. Heaven is above us, and another heaven – more soft, and not less beautiful – lies mirrored beneath; and within that heaven are traced exquisite forms of earth – trees, and flowers, and verdant slopes, and bold hills, and barren rugged rocks. The scene is one of surpassing loveliness, and we open our hearts to receive its sweet influences, while our eyes rest upon it with intense delight, and the inner voice of the soul
whispers God is here! Dost thou not catch the reflection of his glory in this superb picture of Nature’s own painting, while the harmony that surrounds his throne is faintly echoed by the warm balmy wind that stirs the lofty branches of the woods, and the waves that swell and break in gentle undulation against these rocky isles?

That rugged point to the left contains a fine quarry of limestone, which supplies excellent building materials. The stones are brought by the means of a scow, a very broad flat-bottomed boat, to Belleville, where they are sawn into square blocks, and dressed for doors sills and facings of houses. A little further on, the Salmon river discharges its waters into the bay, and on its shores the village of Shannonville has risen, as if by magic, within a very few years. Three schooners are just now anchored at its mouth, receiving cargoes of sawn lumber to carryover to Asmego. The timber is supplied from the large mill, the din of whose machinery can be heard distinctly at this distance. Lumber forms, at present, the chief article of export from this place. Upwards of one million of sawn lumber was shipped from this embryo town during the past year.

Shannonville owes its present flourishing prospects to the energy and enterprise of a few individuals, who saw at a glance its capabilities, and purchased for a few hundred pounds the site of a town which is now worth as many thousands.
The steamboats do not touch at Shannonville, in their trips to and from Kingston. The mouth of the river is too narrow to admit a larger vessel than a schooner, but as the place increases, wharfs will be built at its entrance into the bay.

On the road leading from Belleville to this place, which is in the direct route to Kingston, there is a large tract of plain land which is still uncultivated. The soil is sandy, and the trees are low and far apart, a natural growth of short grass and flowering shrubs giving it very much the appearance of a park. Clumps of butternut, and hiccory trees, form picturesque groups; and herds of cattle, belonging to the settlers in the vicinity, roam at large over these plains that sweep down to the water’s edge. This is a very favourite resort of summer parties, as you can drive light carriages in all directions over this elevated platform. It used formerly to be a chosen spot for camp-meetings, and all the piously disposed came hither to listen to the preachers, and
“get religion.”

I never witnessed one of these meetings, but an old lady gave me a very graphic description of one of them that was held on this spot some thirty years ago. There were no churches in Belleville then, and the travelling Methodist ministers used to pitch their tents on these plains, and preach night and day to all goers and comers. A pulpit, formed of rough slabs of wood, was erected in a conveniently open space among the trees, and they took it by turns to read, exhort, and pray, to the dwellers in the wilderness. At night they kindled large fires, which served both for light and warmth, and enabled the pilgrims to this sylvan shrine to cook their food, and attend to the wants of their little ones. Large booths, made of the boughs of trees, sheltered the worshippers from the heat of the sun during the day, or from the occasional showers produced by some passing thunder cloud at night.

“Our bush farm,” said my friend, “happened to be near the spot, and I went with a young girl, a friend and neighbour, partly out of curiosity and partly out of fun, to hear the preaching. It was the middle of July, but the weather was unusually wet for that time of year, and every tent and booth was crowded with men, women, and children, all huddled together to keep out of the rain. Most of these tents exhibited some extraordinary scene of fanaticism and religious enthusiasm; the noise and confusion were deafening. Men were preaching at the very top of their voice; women were shrieking and groaning, beating their breasts and tearing their hair, while others were uttering the most frantic outcries, which they called
ejaculatory prayers
. One thought possessed me all the time, that the whole assembly were mad, and that they imagined God to be deaf, and that he could not hear them without their making this shocking noise. It would appear to you like the grossest blasphemy were I to repeat to you some of their exclamations; but one or two were so absurdly ridiculous, that I cannot help giving them as I heard them.

“One young woman, after lying foaming and writhing upon the ground, like a creature possessed, sprang up several feet into the air, exclaiming, ‘I have got it! I have got it! I have got it!’ To which others responded –’Keep it! keep it! keep it!’ I asked a bystander what she meant. He replied, ‘she has got religion. It is the Spirit that is speaking in her.’ I felt too much shocked to laugh out, yet could scarcely retain my gravity.

“Passing by one of the tents, I saw a very fat woman lying upon a bench on her face, uttering the most dismal groans, while two well-fed, sleek-looking ministers, in rusty black coats and very dirty-looking white chokers, were drumming upon her fat back with their fists, exclaiming –’Here’s glory! here’s glory, my friends! Satan is departing out
of this woman. Hallelujah!’ This spectacle was too shocking to provoke a smile.

“There was a young lady dressed in a very nice silk gown. Silk was a very scarce and expensive article in those days. The poor girl got dreadfully excited, and was about to fling herself down upon the wet grass, to show the depth of her humility and contrition, when she suddenly remembered the precious silk dress, and taking a shawl of less value from her shoulders, carefully spread it over the wet ground.

“Ah, my dear friend,” continued the old lady, “one had a deal to learn at that camp-meeting. A number of those people knew no more what they were about than persons in a dream. They worked themselves up to a pitch of frenzy, because they saw others carried away by the same spirit; and they seemed to try which could make the most noise, and throw themselves into the most unnatural positions. Few of them carried the religious zeal they manifested in such a strange way at that meeting, into their own homes. Before the party broke up it was forgotten, and they were laughing and chatting about their worldly affairs. The young lads were sparking the girls, and the girls laughing and flirting with them. I remarked to an old farmer, who was reckoned a very pious man, ‘that such conduct, in persons who had just been in a state of despair about their sins, was very inconsistent, to say the least of it;’ and he replied, with a sanctimonious smile –’It is only the Lord’s lambs, playing with each other.’”