Conditions of the Early Settlers
IT is well sometimes to look backward to
the days and the doings of our fathers who left their home in the
old land beyond the wide ocean, that they might make for themselves
and their loved ones new homes in this new world of forests, wild
beasts and untamed Indians. We, of this age and in this Canada of
ours, may well be proud of the heritage they have left us with its
priceless privileges. By noting what we owe to our forbears we may
be stimulated to higher endeavor to leave the heritage thus fallen
into our hands, with so much added enrichment, that our children may
in turn hold their fathers in grateful remembrance for what they
have done for their betterment.
Few English people
were found in Nova Scotia outside of Halifax before 1760, and the
chief concern of those here was to guard themselves against the
Indian scalping knife and the French forces sent from Quebec to
recover possession of the country. Subsequent to this date the
earlier English colonists, chiefly from New England, succeeded to
the lands near Annapolis, Canard, Wolfville, Grand Pre, Windsor,
Truro, Masstown and Amherst, from which the Acadians had been
removed in 1755. New settlers who came in later, including Loyalists
from the United States—mostly farmers and disbanded soldiers—went
back into the interior of the country where the more fertile lands
were found, these new settlements in many cases being separated from
the older ones by forest-covered lands less suited to agriculture.
Through the forests the only roads were rough bridle paths. The
smaller streams were crossed by fording, the larger ones the horses
swam across, while their riders, having dismounted, crossed them in
a rude sort of boat made of a big log dug out in trough fashion.
These pioneer
settlers went in groups of five or six families, chose adjoining
lots and built their houses about a quarter of a mile apart. Thus,
in some measure, they provided for themselves the social advantages
of larger communities. It was a truly simple life, that of our
forefathers in their forest home. While the house-building was going
on the home was in a domicile hastily thrown together after the
fashion of the Indian wigwam. The more permanent dwelling was but a
log cabin of small dimensions, comprising two rooms with an attic
under the roof. The chimney, made of stones held together by clay
mortar, was in one corner, or sometimes outside the house against
one end. Timber was plentiful—including pines and hemlocks large
enough to be made into boards three feet wide. As yet, however,
there were no saw-mills, so that the houses and other buildings were
made of logs rudely dressed with an axe, the roof being covered with
home-made shingles, or with the bark of a hemlock tree.
A maple grove was
reserved near by for its maple sugar and other saccharine products
which it yielded every spring. The manufacture of the sap into the
finished product cost much labor, but it was in the season when
little farm work could be done and, not to speak of direct reward,
the "good time" it afforded was rich compensation for the toil. The
beech, too, was a favorite on account of its beech-nuts which, in
the autumn, when the frost-smitten leaves were falling, it sent down
in profusion. These home-grown nuts were then as highly prized by
the children as are walnuts and other imported nuts in our day. The
pigs, also, were fond of beechnuts and they were sent in droves into
the forests for several weeks to be fattened on nuts which they
gathered for themselves from among the dry leaves. It was
inexpensive food, but it did not make pork of the best quality. Wild
animals, such as the moose, caribou, bear, fox, wild-cat and
raccoon, were numerous. It was no uncommon thing for bears and foxes
to visit the farm-yard and kill the farmer's cattle, sheep and
poultry.
When the home was
made ready the new settler brought hither his youthful wife. It was
no auto-car or wheeled vehicle of any kind that was used for the
journey. Now, and for some years later, they travelled on
horse-back, both on the same animal, over the narrow bridle path.
Later in their life history the same conveyance furnished additional
accommodation for the growing family—at least for two more, one on
the horse's neck in front of the father, and the other behind in the
mother's arms.
Our fathers had a
fashion of getting amusement out of toil. It was customary in doing
certain kinds of work for the men of the neighborhood to club
together and, turn about, help each other. "Frolics" or "bees", such
gatherings were called—"piling frolics" for rolling together and
burning the big logs in clearing away the forests, "husking frolics"
for stripping the husks from the Indian corn, and "raising frolics"
for erecting the frames of buildings. Here it may be noted that
beams, posts and other timbers used in buildings in the early times
were much larger than those of the present day. Then, too, the
timbers in the whole side of the building were put together and
pinned firmly while lying in a horizontal position. At the "raising
frolic" the whole side of the frame was erected in one piece, a
process that required the combined strength of several men. In our
day each piece is set up and put in place separately. It should be
added that, whether as stimulus to physical energy or for good
cheer, a jug of Jamaica rum was always considered an essential
element of raising and piling frolics.
The "paring frolic"
was an evening pastime for young men and maidens. The first part of
the evening was devoted to paring apples and stringing the pieces
into which they were divided. On the following day, and for several
weeks thereafter, the strings might be seen hanging in graceful
festoons from the kitchen ceiling. Later in the evening the scene
was changed. By way of interlude, pumpkin pies, doughnuts, pound
cake and home made cider were passed round. Thereafter followed the
"tripping of the light fantastic" to the tune of "Hunt the squirrel"
discoursed on nature's choicest instrument, the human voice.
Everything was
home-made, outdoors and in, as the conditions of the early settler
required. Necessity made him a jack-of-all-trades. For two good
reasons, he was unable to buy many necessary things—there were none
to be bought and he had no means of paying for them. And so he built
his own house, barn and pig-pen; he made his farming
implements—carts, sleds, harrows, yokes, rakes, baskets, barrels,
milk dishes, cheese presses, brooms and many other things needed for
indoors and out.
Within the house the
industries were equally varied and comprehensive. The home was by
turns a cheese factory, a soap factory, a candle factory, a carding
mill, a spinning jenny, a weaving mill, and factories of other
sorts. The clothes of the family were made in these domestic
factories from start to finish. Every farm had its flock of sheep.
In the spring these animals were rounded up, driven to some pond or
deep brook and washed. Then followed the shearing. The wool was
sorted "picked" or pulled apart, carded—in early times by hand—spun,
woven and made into garments of all kinds and for all occasions. In
like manner the manufacture of linen was carried on from the sowing
of the flax seed through all the intermediate stages to the
bleaching, from which there came the snow-white sheets,
table-cloths, napkins and towels.
Of all these
processes in the making of linen, the spinning on the little treadle
wheel, propelled by the busy foot while the dexterous fingers drew
out from a bunch of flax on the distaff the thread which was eagerly
devoured by the whirring spindle. This same little wheel, so useful
in its day and, with its incessant hum, so vividly suggestive of
Miles Standish and his disastrous courtship of Priscilla, carried on
by his proxy John Alden, had its day of toil and service. Then for
long years in company with many other dust-covered castaways it
stood in the attic, silent and neglected, awaiting another turn of
the wheel of fortune to bring a more appreciative age. And now
grandmother's little wheel, cleaned, polished and become a thing of
beauty, is honored as a parlor ornament. In another part of the
attic—we may call it the pharmacy—were stored the home-grown
medicines. Doctors were many miles away, having their homes in more
densely peopled places; and there were no telephones to summon them,
nor auto cars to hasten them to the bed-side of the suffering. It
might thus be many hours before their help could be obtained. It was
prudent, therfore, to have first aid remedies at hand for
emergencies, and Providence had beneficently stored them abundantly
in forest and in field, in door-yard and by road-side. Herbs, they
were called by those who gave thought to the maladies incident to
the human body; often, however, they were rooted out with hostile
intent by the farmer, forgetful of their healing virtues, and cast
aside as weeds. Having been gathered in the evening before the dew
came on them, dried, enclosed in paper bags and labelled, were
peppermint, spearmint, pennyroyal, balm, wormwood, camomile,
burdock, life-of-man, celandine, tansy, mayweed, yarrow, marigold,
each having its special properties and heal-all—having the
reputation of a panacea—and many others too numerous to mention.
It may be noted that
there were certain persons in almost every community—of the female
sex they generally were—whose knowledge of the medicinal properties
of herbs enabled them to prepare remedies suited to the healing of
every disease. Like the druggists of the present day, they had their
mortars and pestles for making various concoctions from the roots,
leaves, bark, and blossoms of field and forest plants. Of such a
good Samaritan we read in the report of a noted family reunion held
a few years ago in one of our southern counties. What became of the
mortar we are not told. The pestle, however, still to the fore, is
religiously kept as a relic in memory of her who, following in the
footsteps of the Master, once went about doing good to all who
needed her ministry.
It may be fancied
that some people, ill-taught in the ways of the olden time, will be
saying—"Tell us about the making of brooms out of ash and birch
trees. Were they like our corn brooms?" Not very much. But they did
the sweeping just as well, though, on account of narrower reach,
they took longer time to do the job. Ash made the better broom,
though it cost more labor in the making of it. The stick chosen was
straight, free from knots, about three inches in diameter and about
five feet in length. The bark was removed from about ten inches of
the larger end. Here a ring of bark an inch and a half wide was
left, and above this ring the bark was removed to the end of the
stick. We now make a pencil line around the stick eleven and a half
inches above the ring of bark and run a saw around this line evenly
to the depth of about three-fourths of an inch, leaving the heart
wood an inch and a half in diameter intact. We may now make a rough
handle for our broom by dressing off the wood above the pencil line
and to the depth of the cutting by the saw.
We are now ready to
make the brush which will consist of two parts—an outer and an inner
brush, making the inner brush first from the ten inches below the
ring of bark. The sap wood is now pealed. up, each year's growth
being separated from that of the preceding year and turned back over
the ring of bark. Birch wood may be easily stripped up, but the
grains of ash adhere so closely that they require to be carefully
pounded to loosen them up. This may be done by one person holding
the end of the stick on a block and turning it slowly around, while
another pounds it with the head of an axe. The pounding will need to
be followed up separately for each year's growth. The process is
thus continued to the heart wood which is then sawed off. The strips
or ribbons are then divided into narrow threads and turned down
forming the inner part of the brush. The part above the ring of bark
is then treated in the same manner and turned down forming the outer
part of the brush. The whole brush is now firmly bound by twine
around its upper part next to the handle. Finally the handle is
dressed to the proper size and made smooth. The broom is finished.
In no way, perhaps,
is a people's progress in home comforts more clearly indicated than
in its means of lighting the house in the evening. Nature's simple
provision, often adopted in the early days, was the resinous pine
knot. It was often split into several pieces and some sort of stand
was used to hold the lighted section in erect position. Contemporary
with it was the feeble rush light, consisting of the spongy pith of
the leafless tapering rush which we see so common growing in tufts
in wet land. The pith, with a strip of rind on one side left to hold
it together, was dipped in hot grease, forming a sort of candle,
giving a good light, but short lived. Different kinds of stands were
used for its support, similar to the candle-stick. In early times,
before carpets became common, rushes were strewn on the floors of
houses as a covering which was sometimes allowed to remain so long
as to be filthy as well as a lodging place for disease germs. A new
layer of rushes was thus an important part of house cleaning.
From the pine knot
and the rush-light to the electric light is a long stride, and there
were various intermediate steps between them. A strip of cotton
cloth saturated with grease was one of the rudest appliances. In
some parts of the country a lamp fed by whale oil or some sort of
fish oil was in common use. The tallow candle, made chiefly of beef
fat with a wick of soft cotton yarn—rarely of tow—held a long time
almost undisputed and brilliant reign as an illuminant. The time
came, however, with "the widening of man's thoughts," when the
tallow candle was compelled to share its empire with ambitious
rivals,—coal gas and kerosene—now holding a wide field in the
lighting of our homes. And yet the tallow candle with its attendant,
the snuffers, is by no means extinguished; and it still holds
honourable recognition as the standard in estimating the brilliancy
of illuminators of higher power. In many a home, too, where the
candle has been superseded by "modern improvements," the brass
candlesticks, clean and bright, adorn the parlor mantel as memorials
of "ye olden time." For the information of those by whom the making
of this old time light is considered a lost art, some details of the
process may be given.
It may be stated that
tallow candles, at least in the olden days, were divided into three
classes or ranks according to the service for which they were
intended. First were the "moulds" made by pouring melted tallow into
a tin mould — larger and smoother than the other kinds—a tony light
for company occasions; those of the second class were the
cotton-wick dips, made for ordinary use; the third and lowest class
were the tow-wicks, dipped last, when the tallow was nearly used up.
They gave a very uncertain sort of light and sputtered and spat like
an angry cat. They were often called "sluts," probably on account of
the menial service they were made for, being intended for work in
the cellar for which little light was needed.
The material required
for making the "dips" comprised good clean tallow, a ball or two of
soft cotton yarn for the wicks, several dozens of stiff, smooth rods
about twenty inches long and three-eighths of an inch in diameter,
two poles eight or ten feet long with benches about two feet high to
rest on—kitchen chairs often served the purpose—and a large iron pot
or kettle about half full of hot water. The wicking was cut into
pieces about twenty inches in length, six or seven wicks were strung
on each rod, so that the middle-of the wick would rest on the rod
and the parts hang down on each side. The two parts were then
twisted together, six or seven wicks being thus strung on each rod
about an inch and a half apart. When a rod was filled and the wicks
were straightened out by pulling them down with the thumb and
finger, it was placed across the poles. The pot containing the water
and melted tallow was placed beside the suspended rods. It scarcely
needs to be stated that tallow, having less specific gravity than
water, must rest on the top of the water. It may be observed, too,
that the pot must be kept filled to the top,—otherwise the upper
part of the candle would not profit by the dipping. For this purpose
a supply of hot water and melted tallow must be kept on hand.
Everything made ready
the dipping began. Beginning at one end the dipper lifted the rods
one after another consecutively and plunged them into the pot, took
them out quickly, straightened out the wick where necessary and
replaced them on the poles. Thus the process went on through the
whole row, and was repeated until the candles had grown to the full
size. It will be understood that the growth was effected on the same
principle as is that of the icicle suspended from the eaves of a
building, only in the case of the icicle there is no wick to begin
on and it grows vertically as well as horizontally, and is smallest
at the lower end.
It is difficult to
fully estimate the convenience and economic value of the friction
match now universally used in making a new fire. The common way
three-fourths of a century ago, when some of us were boys, was in
the first place to follow the custom of the vestal virgins of
ancient Rome in their precaution for the maintenance of the sacred
fire. In his boyhood days the present writer observed the care with
which his father kept the fire alive over night. A partially burned
stick—a hemlock knot suited best—its face glowing with fire, was
covered with a deep layer of ashes for the exclusion of air, thus
arresting combustion. In the morning, when the covering was removed,
there remained a fine bed of coals for starting the fire. The last
spark, however, may have fled! Then what to do? First, the small boy
was sent to the nearest neighbor's "to borrow fire." Seizing the
brand between two sticks he hastened on his homeward way. The faster
he ran the more fruitless appeared the outcome of his errand.
Sometimes, indeed, fanned by the opposing current of air, the
inflammable tongs lost their grip, and the remains of the brand fell
to the ground. It was seldom, however, that these laudable efforts
were thus luckless, and never did he give up without resort to new
expedient for overcoming the difficulty. The old flint lock musket,
now hanging on the kitchen wall, which perhaps had seen service in
the hands of a Loyalist in the American Revolution and had since
proved its worth in the pursuit of a bear which had done mischief in
the farmer's barnyard or sheep pasture, came to the rescue. The
spark generated by the sharp blow of the hammer on the flint, fell
on the powder, passed on to the tinder, and the morning fire was
soon ablaze.
Other expedients were
used for obtaining fire, most of them of a chemical nature. We were
often told that it could be done by briskly rubbing two pieces of
wood together. The Indians had done it from time immemorial, it was
said. But no responsible person claimed to have done it, or to have
seen it done. The chemical match—a splinter of wood tipped with a
mixture of chlorate of potash and sugar—when dipped in sulphuric
acid was an effective, though rarely adopted, expedient.
In the early years of
Queen Victoria's reign friction matches were sold as a curiosity in
the streets of London. It is said that before this match had been
perfected, Sir Humphrey Davy, one of the foremost chemists of the
day, in writing to a friend, spoke of the newly originated match and
wondered if it would ever come into common use!
It was a strenuous as
well as a simple life that our pioneer ancestors passed through in
clearing away the forests and securing for us the rich heritage they
have left us. Being compelled to endure hardship and to rely on
their own resources, they were developed into the robust, many-sided
and resourceful men and women that they became—never non-plussed,
never lacking in expedients. In this there was wonderful
compensation for many deficiencies. What they lacked in elegance and
in culture, they gained in broadness and grit. The limitations
attendant on specialization they escaped.
And here we must not
forget that many of the early 'settlers in this country of ours were
of the flower of the British people—among the choicest in manly
vigor, in mental ability, independent thinking and moral culture.
Above all they had the will to dare and to do.
Nor have the
descendants of these manysided men and women lost the initiativeness,
the versatility and other virtues of their sires. The grit and the
fibre are still there, flowing on as a precious inheritance to
succeeding generations. Hence it was that in the late war in South
Africa Canadian volunteers, though in war not to the manner born,
were noted for their resourcefulness, ready application of mother
wit in pressing emergency and possessed of unfaltering bravery that
led to victory. The testimony, too, of our day, borne by the Great
World War, has demonstrated that Canadians are true to their
ancestors, to themselves, to their country, to their King and to
righteousness! |