Life in the Clearings Versus the Bush (23 page)

Night has fallen rapidly upon us since we left Picton in the distance. A darker shade is upon the woods, the hills, the waters, and by the time we approach Fredericksburg it will be dark. This too is a very pretty place on the north side of the bay; beautiful orchards and meadows skirt the water, and fine basswood and willow-trees grow beside, or bend over the waves. The green smooth meadows, out of which the black stumps rotted long ago, show noble groups of hiccory and butter-nut, and sleek fat cows are reposing beneath them, or standing mid-leg in the small creek that wanders through them to pour its fairy tribute into the broad bay.

We must leave the deck and retreat into the ladies’ cabin, for the air from the water grows chilly, and the sense of seeing can no longer be gratified by remaining where we are. But if you open your eyes to see, and your ears to hear, all the strange sayings and doings of the odd people you meet in a steamboat, you will never lack amusement.

The last time I went down to Kingston, there was a little girl in the cabin who rejoiced in the possession of a very large American doll, made so nearly to resemble an infant, that at a distance it was easy to mistake it for one. To render the
deception more striking, you could make it cry like a child by pressing your hand upon its body. A thin, long-faced farmer’s wife came on board, at the wharf we have just quitted, and it was amusing to watch her alternately gazing at the little girl and her doll.

“Is that your baby, Cisy?”

“No; it’s my doll.”

“Mi! what a strange doll! Isn’t that something
oncommon?
I took it for a real child. Look at its bare feet and hands, and bald head. Well, I don’t think it’s ‘zactly right to make a piece of wood look so like a human critter.”

The child good-naturedly put the doll into the woman’s hands, who, happening to take it rather roughly, the wooden baby gave a loud squall; the woman’s face expressed the utmost horror, and she dropped it on the floor as if it had been a hot coal.

“Gracious, goodness me, the thing’s alive!”

The little girl laughed heartily, and, taking up the discarded doll, explained to the woman the simple method employed to produce the sound.

“Well, it do sound quite
nataral,”
said her astonished companion. “What will they find out next? It beats the railroad and the telegraph holler.”

“Ah, but I saw a big doll that could speak when I was with mamma in New York,” said the child, with glistening eyes.

“A doll that could speak? You don’t say. Oh, do tell!”

While the young lady described the automaton doll, it was amusing to watch the expressions of surprise, wonder, and curiosity, that flitted over the woman’s long cadaverous face. She would have made a good study for a painter.

A young relative of mine went down in the steamboat, to be present at the Provincial Agricultural Show that was
held that year in the town of Buckville, on the St. Lawrence. It was the latter end of September; the weather was wet and stormy, and the boat loaded to the water’s edge with cattle and passengers. The promenade decks were filled up with pigs, sheep and oxen. Cows were looking sleepily in at the open doors of the ladies’ cabin, and bulls were fastened on the upper deck. Such a motley group of bipeds and quadrupeds were never before huddled into such a narrow space; and, amidst all this din and confusion, a Scotch piper was playing lustily on the bagpipes, greatly to the edification, I’ve no doubt, of himself and the crowd of animal life around him.

The night came on very dark and stormy, and many of the women suffered as much from the pitching of the boat as if they had been at sea. The ladies’ cabin was crowded to overflowing; every sofa, bed, and chair was occupied; and my young friend, who did not feel any inconvenience from the storm, was greatly entertained by the dialogues carried on across the cabin by the women, who were reposing in their berths, and lamenting over the rough weather and their own sufferings in consequence. They were mostly the wives of farmers and respectable mechanics, and the language they used was neither very choice nor grammatical.

“I say, Mrs. C—, how be you?”

“I feel bad, any how,” with a smothered groan.

“Have you been sick?”

“Not yet; but feel as if I was going to.”

“How’s your head coming on, Mrs. N—?”

“It’s just splitting, I thank you.”

“Oh, how awful the boat do pitch!” cries a third.

“If she should sink, I’m afeard we shall all go to the bottom.”

“And think of all the poor sheep and cattle!”

“Well, of course, they’d have to go too.”

“Oh, mi! I’ll get up, and be ready for a start, in case of the worst,” cried a young girl.

“Mrs. C—, do give me something good out of your basket, to keep up my spirits.”

“Well, I will. Come over here, and you and I will have some talk. My basket’s at the foot of my berth. You’ll find in it a small bottle of brandy and some curls.”

So up got several of the sick ladies, and kept up their spirits by eating cakes, chewing gum, and drinking cold brandy punch.

“Did Mrs. H—lose much in the fire last night?” said one.

“Oh, dear, yes; she lost all her clothes, and three large jars of preserves she made about a week ago, and
sarce in accordance!
”
^*

There was an honest Yorkshire farmer and his wife on board, and when the morning at length broke through pouring rain and driving mist, and the port to which they were bound loomed through the haze, the women were very anxious to know if their husbands, who slept in the gentlemen’s cabin, were awake.”

“They arn’t stirring yet,” said Mrs. G—,” for I hear Isaac (meaning her husband)
breezing
below” – a most expressive term for very hard snoring.

The same Isaac, when he came up to the ladies’ cabin to take his wife on shore, complained, in his broad Yorkshire dialect, that he had been kept awake all night by a jovial gentleman who had been his fellow-traveller in the cabin.

“We had terrible noisy chap in t’cabin. They called him Mr. D—, and said he ‘twas t’mayor of Belleville; but I thought
they were a-fooning. He wouldn’t sleep himself, nor let t’others sleep. He gat piper, an’ put him top o’ table, and kept him playing all t’night.”

One would think that friend Isaac had been haunted by the vision of the piper in his dreams; for, certes, the jovial buzzing of the pipes had not been able to drown the deep drone of his own nasal organ.

A gentleman who was travelling in company with Sir A—told me an anecdote of him, and how he treated an impertinent fellow on board one of the lake boats, that greatly amused me.

The state cabins in these large steamers open into the great saloon; and as they are often occupied by married people, each berth contains two beds, one placed above the other. Now it often happens, when the boat is greatly crowded, that two passengers of the same sex are forced to occupy the same sleeping room. This was Sir A—’s case, and he was obliged, though very reluctantly, to share his sleeping apartment with a well-dressed American, but evidently a man of low standing, from the familiarity of his manners and the bad grammar he used.

In the morning, it was necessary for one gentleman to rise before the other, as the space in front of their berths was too narrow to allow of more than one performing his ablutions at a time.

Our Yankee made a fair start, and had nearly completed his toilet, when he suddenly spied a tooth-brush and a box of tooth-powder in the dressing-case his companion had left open on the washstand. Upon these he pounced, and having made a liberal use of them, flung them back into the case, and sat down upon the only chair the room contained, in order to gratify his curiosity by watching how his sleeping partner went through the same process.

Sir A—, greatly annoyed by the fellow’s assurance, got out of bed; and placing the washhand basin on the floor, put his feet into the water, and commenced scrubbing his toe-nails with the desecrated tooth-brush. Jonathan watched his movements for a few seconds in silent horror; at length, unable to contain himself, he exclaimed.

“Well, stranger! that’s the dirtiest use I ever see a toothbrush put to, any how.”

“I saw it put to a dirtier, just now,” said Sir A—, very coolly. “I always use that brush for cleaning my toes.”

The Yankee turned very green, and fled to the deck, but his nausea was not sea-sickness.

The village of Nappanee, on the north side of the Bay, is situated on a very pretty river that bears the same name, – Nappanee, in the Mohawk language, signifying flour. The village is a mile back from the Bay, and is not much seen from the water. There are a great many mills here, both grist and saw mills, from which circumstance it most likely derives its name.

Amherst Island, which is some miles in extent, stands between Ontario and the Bay of Quinte, its upper and lower extremity forming the two straits that are called the Upper and Lower Gap. – and the least breeze, which is not perceptible in the other portions of the bay, is felt here. Passing through these gaps on a stormy day creates as great a nausea as a short chopping sea on the Atlantic, and I have seen both men and women retreat to their berths to avoid disagreeable consequences. Amherst Island is several miles in extent, and there are many good farms in high cultivation upon it, while its proximity on all sides to the water affords excellent sport to the angler and gunner, as wild ducks abound in this vicinity.

Just after you pass the island and enter the lower gap, there are three very small islands in a direct line with each
other, that are known as the three brothers. A hermit has taken up his abode on the centre one, and built a very Robinson Crusoe looking hut near the water, composed of round logs and large stones cemented together with clay. He gets his living by fishing and fowling, and you see his well-worn, weather-beaten boat, drawn up in a little cove near his odd dwelling. I was very curious to obtain some particulars of the private history of this eccentric individual, but beyond what I have just related, my informants could tell me nothing, or why he had chosen this solitary abode in such an exposed situation, and so far apart from all the comforts of social life.

The town of Bath is the last place of any note on this portion of the Bay, until you arrive at Kingston.

S
o much has been written about the city of Kingston, so lately the seat of government, and so remarkable for its fortifications, and the importance it ever must be to the colony as a military depot and place of defence, that it is not my intention to enter into a minute description of it here. I was greatly pleased, as I think every stranger must be, with its general aspect, particularly as seen from the water, in which respect it has a great advantage over Toronto. The number of vessels lying at the different wharfs, and the constant arrival of noble steamers both from the United States and the Upper and Lower Province, give it a very business-like appearance. Yet, upon landing, you are struck with the want of stir and bustle in the principal thoroughfares, when contrasted with the size and magnitude of the streets.

The removal of the seat of government has checked the growth of Kingston for a while; but you feel, while examining its commanding position, that it must always be the key of the Upper Province, the great rallying point in case of war or danger. The market house is a very fine building, and the wants of the city could be supplied within its area, were it three times the size that it is at present. The market is decidedly one of the chief attractions of the place.

The streets are wide and well paved, and there are a great many fine trees in and about Kingston, which give to it the appearance of a European town. The houses are chiefly of brick and stone along the public thoroughfares, and there are many neat private dwellings inclosed in trim well-kept gardens. The road leading to the Provincial Penitentiary runs parallel with the water, and forms a delightful drive.