Roughing It In The Bush Read online

  Now, when not only reconciled to Canada, but loving it, and feeling a deep interest in its present welfare, and the fair prospect of its future greatness, I often look back and laugh at the feelings with which I then regarded this noble country.

  When things come to the worst, they generally mend. The males of our party no sooner arrived than they set about making things more comfortable. James, our servant, pulled up some of the decayed stumps, with which the small clearing that surrounded the shanty was thickly covered, and made a fire, and Hannah roused herself from the stupor of despair, and seized the corn-broom from the top of the loaded wagon, and began to sweep the house, raising such an intolerable cloud of dust that I was glad to throw my cloak over my head, and run out of doors, to avoid suffocation. Then commenced the awful bustle of unloading the two heavily-loaded wagons. The small space within the house was soon entirely blocked up with trunks and packages of all descriptions. There was scarcely room to move, without stumbling over some article of household stuff.

  The rain poured in at the open door, beat in at the shattered window, and dropped upon our heads from the holes in the roof. The wind blew keenly through a thousand apertures in the log walls; and nothing could exceed the uncomfortableness of our situation. For a long time the box which contained a hammer and nails was not to be found. At length Hannah discovered it, tied up with some bedding which she was opening out in order to dry. I fortunately spied the door lying among some old boards at the back of the house, and Moodie immediately commenced fitting it to its place. This, once accomplished, was a great addition to our comfort. We then nailed a piece of white cloth entirely over the broken window, which, without diminishing the light, kept out the rain. James constructed a ladder out of the old bits of boards, and Tom Wilson assisted him in stowing the luggage away in the loft.

  But what has the picture of misery and discomfort to do with borrowing? Patience, my dear, good friends; I will tell you all about it by-and-by.

  While we were all busily employed—even the poor baby, who was lying upon a pillow in the old cradle, trying the strength of her lungs, and not a little irritated that no one was at leisure to regard her laudable endeavours to make herself heard—the door was suddenly pushed open, and the apparition of a woman squeezed itself into the crowded room. I left off arranging the furniture of a bed, that had been just put up in a corner, to meet my unexpected, and at that moment, not very welcome guest. Her whole appearance was so extraordinary that I felt quite at a loss how to address her.

  Imagine a girl of seventeen or eighteen years of age, with sharp, knowing-looking features, a forward, impudent carriage, and a pert, flippant voice, standing upon one of the trunks, and surveying all our proceedings in the most impertinent manner. The creature was dressed in a ragged, dirty purple stuff gown, cut very low in the neck, with an old red cotton handkerchief tied over her head; her uncombed, tangled locks falling over her thin, inquisitive face, in a state of perfect nature. Her legs and feet were bare, and, in her coarse, dirty red hands, she swung to and fro an empty glass decanter.

  “What can she want?” I asked myself. “What a strange creature!”

  And there she stood, staring at me in the most unceremonious manner, her keen black eyes glancing obliquely to every corner of the room, which she examined with critical exactness.

  Before I could speak to her, she commenced the conversation by drawling through her nose,

  “Well, I guess you are fixing here.”

  I thought she had come to offer her services; and I told her that I did not want a girl, for I had brought one out with me.

  “How!” responded the creature, “I hope you don’t take me for a help. I’d have you to know that I’m as good a lady as yourself. No; I just stepped over to see what was going on. I seed the teams pass our’n about noon, and I says to father, ‘Them strangers are cum; I’ll go and look arter them.’ ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘do—and take the decanter along. May be they’ll want one to put their whiskey in.’ ‘I’m goin’ to,’ says I; so I cum across with it, an’ here it is. But, mind—don’t break it—’tis the only one we have to hum; and father says ’tis so mean to drink out of green glass.”

  My surprise increased every minute. It seemed such an act of disinterested generosity thus to anticipate wants we had never thought of. I was regularly taken in.

  “My good girl,” I began, “this is really very kind—but—”

  “Now, don’t go to call me ‘gal’—and pass off your English airs on us. We are genuine Yankees, and think ourselves as good—yes, a great deal better than you. I am a young lady.”

  “Indeed!” said I, striving to repress my astonishment. “I am a stranger in the country, and my acquaintance with Canadian ladies and gentlemen is very small. I did not mean to offend you by using the term girl; I was going to assure you that we had no need of the decanter. We have bottles of our own—and we don’t drink whiskey.”

  “How! Not drink whiskey? Why, you don’t say! How ignorant you must be! May be they have no whiskey in the old country?”

  “Yes, we have; but it is not like the Canadian whiskey. But, pray take the decanter home again—I am afraid that it will get broken in this confusion.”

  “No, no; father told me to leave it—and there it is;” and she planted it resolutely down on the trunk. “You will find a use for it till you have unpacked your own.”

  Seeing that she was determined to leave the bottle, I said no more about it, but asked her to tell me where the well was to be found.

  “The well!” she repeated after me, with a sneer. “Who thinks of digging wells when they can get plenty of water from the creek? There is a fine water privilege not a stone’s-throw from the door,” and jumping off the box, she disappeared as abruptly as she had entered. We all looked at each other; Tom Wilson was highly amused, and laughed until he held his sides.

  “What tempted her to bring this empty bottle here?” said Moodie. “It is all an excuse; the visit, Tom, was meant for you.”

  “You’ll know more about it in a few days,” said James, looking up from his work. “That bottle is not brought here for nought.”

  I could not unravel the mystery, and thought no more about it, until it was again brought to my recollection by the damsel herself.

  Our united efforts had effected a complete transformation in our uncouth dwelling. Sleeping-berths had been partitioned off for the men; shelves had been put up for the accommodation of books and crockery, a carpet covered the floor, and the chairs and tables we had brought from —— gave an air of comfort to the place, which, on the first view of it, I deemed impossible. My husband, Mr. Wilson, and James, had walked over to inspect the farm, and I was sitting at the table at work, the baby creeping upon the floor, and Hannah preparing dinner. The sun shone warm and bright, and the open door admitted a current of fresh air, which tempered the heat of the fire.

  “Well, I guess you look smart,” said the Yankee damsel, presenting herself once more before me. “You old country folks are so stiff, you must have every thing nice, or you fret. But, then, you can easily do it; you have stacks of money; and you can fix everything right off with money.”

  “Pray take a seat,” and I offered her a chair, “and be kind enough to tell me your name. I suppose you must live in the neighbourhood, although I cannot perceive any dwelling near us.

  “My name! So you want to know my name. I aren’t ashamed of my name; ’tis Emily S——. I am eldest daughter to the gentleman who owns this house.”

  “What must the father be,” thought I, “if he resembles the young lady, his daughter?”

  Imagine a young lady, dressed in ragged petticoats, through whose yawning rents peeped forth, from time to time, her bare red knees, with uncombed elf-locks, and a face and hands that looked as if they had been unwashed for a month—who did not know A from B, and despised those who did. While these reflections, combined with a thousand ludicrous images, were flitting through my mind, my strange visitor suddenly ex
claimed, “Have you done with that ’ere decanter I brought across yesterday?”

  “Oh, yes! I have no occasion for it.” I rose, took it from the shelf, and placed it in her hand.

  “I guess you won’t return it empty; that would be mean, father says. He wants it filled with whiskey.”

  The mystery was solved, the riddle made clear. I could contain my gravity no longer, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, in which I was joined by Hannah. Our young lady was mortally offended; she tossed the decanter from hand to hand, and glared at us with her tiger-like eyes.

  “You think yourselves smart! Why do you laugh in that way?”

  “Excuse me—but you have such an odd way of borrowing that I cannot help it. This bottle, it seems, was brought over for your own convenience, not for mine. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have no whiskey.”

  “I guess spirits will do as well; I know there is some in that keg, for I smells it.”

  “It contains rum for the workmen.”

  “Better still. I calculate when you’ve been here a few months, you’ll be too knowing to give rum to your helps. But old country folks are all fools, and that’s the reason they get so easily sucked in, and be so soon wound-up. Cum, fill the bottle, and don’t be stingy. In this country we all live by borrowing. If you want anything, why just send and borrow from us.”

  Thinking that this might be the custom of the country, I hastened to fill the decanter, hoping that I might get a little new milk for the poor weanling child in return; but when I asked my liberal visitor if she kept cows, and would lend me a little new milk for the baby, she burst out into high disdain. “Milk! Lend milk? I guess milk in the fall is worth a York shilling a quart. I cannot sell you a drop under.”

  This was a wicked piece of extortion, as the same article in the towns, where, of course, it was in greater request, only brought threepence the quart.

  “If you’ll pay me for it, I’ll bring you some to-morrow. But mind—cash down.”

  “And when do you mean to return the rum?” I said, with some asperity.

  “When father goes to the creek.” This was the name given by my neighbours to the village of P——, distant about four miles.

  Day after day I was tormented by this importunate creature; she borrowed of me tea, sugar, candles, starch, blueing, irons, pots, bowls—in short, every article in common domestic use—while it was with the utmost difficulty we could get them returned. Articles of food, such as tea and sugar, or of convenience, like candles, starch, and soap, she never dreamed of being required at her hands. This method of living upon their neighbours is a most convenient one to unprincipled people, as it does not involve the penalty of stealing; and they can keep the goods without the unpleasant necessity of returning them, or feeling the moral obligation of being grateful for their use.

  Living eight miles from——, I found these constant encroachments a heavy burden on our poor purse; and being ignorant of the country, and residing in such a lonely, out-of-the-way place, surrounded by these savages, I was really afraid of denying their requests.

  The very day our new plough came home, the father of this bright damsel, who went by the familiar and unenviable title of Old Satan, came over to borrow it (though we afterwards found out that he had a good one of his own). The land had never been broken up, and was full of rocks and stumps, and he was anxious to save his own from injury; the consequence was that the borrowed implement came home unfit for use, just at the very time that we wanted to plough for fall wheat. The same happened to a spade and trowel, bought in order to plaster the house. Satan asked the loan of them for one hour for the same purpose, and we never saw them again.

  The daughter came one morning, as usual, on one of these swindling expeditions, and demanded of me the loan of some fine slack. Not knowing what she meant by fine slack, and weary of her importunities, I said I had none. She went away in a rage. Shortly after she came again for some pepper. I was at work, and my work-box was open upon the table, well stored with threads and spools of all descriptions. Miss Satan cast her hawk’s eye into it, and burst out in her usual rude manner,

  “I guess you told me a tarnation big lie the other day.”

  Unaccustomed to such language, I rose from my seat, and pointing to the door, told her to walk out, as I did not choose to be insulted in my own house.

  “Your house! I’m sure it’s father’s,” returned the incorrigible wretch. “You told me that you had no fine slack, and you have stacks of it.”

  “What is fine slack?” said I, very pettishly.

  “The stuff that’s wound upon these ’ere pieces of wood,” pouncing as she spoke upon one of my most serviceable spools.

  “I cannot give you that; I want it myself.”

  “I didn’t ask you to give it. I only wants to borrow it till father goes to the creek.”

  “I wish he would make haste, then, as I want a number of things which you have borrowed of me and which I cannot longer do without.”

  She gave me a knowing look, and carried off my spool in triumph.

  I happened to mention the manner in which I was constantly annoyed by these people, to a worthy English farmer who resided near us; and he fell a-laughing, and told me that I did not know the Canadian Yankees as well as he did, or I should not be troubled with them long.

  “The best way,” says he, “to get rid of them, is to ask them sharply what they want; and if they give you no satisfactory answer, order them to leave the house; but I believe I can put you in a better way still. Buy some small article of them, and pay them a trifle over the price, and tell them to bring the change. I will lay my life upon it that it will be long before they trouble you again.”

  I was impatient to test the efficacy of his scheme. That very afternoon Miss Satan brought me a plate of butter for sale. The price was three and ninepence; twice the sum, by-the-by, that it was worth.

  “I have no change,” giving her a dollar; “but you can bring it me to-morrow.”

  Oh, blessed experiment! for the value of one quarter dollar I got rid of this dishonest girl for ever; rather than pay me, she never entered the house again.

  About a month after this, I was busy making an apple-pie in the kitchen. A cadaverous-looking woman, very long-faced and witch-like, popped her ill-looking visage into the door, and drawled through her nose,

  “Do you want to buy a rooster?”

  Now, the sucking-pigs with which we had been regaled every day for three weeks at the tavern, were called roasters; and not understanding the familiar phrases of the country, I thought she had a sucking-pig to sell.

  “Is it a good one?”

  “I guess ’tis.”

  “What do you ask for it?”

  “Two Yorkers.”

  “That is very cheap, if it is any weight. I don’t like them under ten or twelve pounds.”

  “Ten or twelve pounds! Why, woman, what do you mean? Would you expect a rooster to be bigger nor a turkey?”

  We stared at each other. There was evidently some misconception on my part.

  “Bring the roaster up; and if I like it, I will buy it, though I must confess that I am not very fond of roast pig.”

  “Do you call this a pig?” said my she-merchant, drawing a fine game-cock from under her cloak.

  I laughed heartily at my mistake, as I paid her down the money for the bonny bird. This little matter settled, I thought she would take her departure; but that roaster proved the dearest fowl to me that ever was bought.

  “Do you keep backy and snuff here?” says she, sidling close up to me.

  “We make no use of those articles.”

  “How! Not use backy and snuff? That’s oncommon.”

  She paused, then added in a mysterious, confidential tone,

  “I want to ask you how your tea-caddy stands?”

  “It stands in the cupboard,” said I, wondering what all this might mean.

  “I know that; but have you any tea to spare?”

  I
now began to suspect what sort of a customer the stranger was.

  “Oh, you want to borrow some? I have none to spare.”

  “You don’t say so. Well, now, that’s stingy. I never asked anything of you before. I am poor, and you are rich; besides, I’m troubled so with the headache, and nothing does me any good but a cup of strong tea.”

  “The money I have just given you will buy a quarter of a pound of the best.”

  “I guess that isn’t mine. The fowl belonged to my neighbour. She’s sick; and I promised to sell it for her to buy some physic. Money!” she added, in a coaxing tone, “Where should I get money? Lord bless you! people in this country have no money; and those who come out with piles of it, soon lose it. But Emily S——told me that you are nation rich, and draw your money from the old country. So I guess you can well afford to lend a neighbour a spoonful of tea.”

  “Neighbour! Where do you live, and what is your name?”

  “My name is Betty Fye—old Betty Fye; I live in the log shanty over the creek, at the back of your’n. The farm belongs to my eldest son. I’m a widow with twelve sons; and ’tis—hard to scratch along.”

  “Do you swear?”

  “Swear! What harm? It eases one’s mind when one’s vexed. Everybody swears in this country. My boys all swear like Sam Hill; and I used to swear mighty big oaths till about a month ago, when the Methody parson told me that if I did not leave it off I should go to a tarnation bad place; so I dropped some of the worst of them.”

  “You would do wisely to drop the rest; women never swear in my country.”

  “Well, you don’t say! I always heer’d they were very ignorant. Will you lend me the tea?”

  The woman was such an original that I gave her what she wanted. As she was going off, she took up one of the apples I was peeling.

  “I guess you have a fine orchard?”

  “They say the best in the district.”

  “We have no orchard to hum, and I guess you’ll want sarce.”

  “Sarce! What is sarce?”

  “Not know what sarce is? You are clever! Sarce is apples cut up and dried, to make into pies in the winter. Now do you comprehend?”