Of the political character of Sir George Arthur I knew
nothing. I addressed him as a man and a Christian, and I
acknowledge, with the deepest and most heartfelt gratitude,
the generous kindness of his conduct towards us.
Before the day dawned, my letter was ready for the post. The first
secret I ever had from my husband was the writing of that letter;
and, proud and sensitive as he was, and averse to asking the least
favour of the great, I was dreadfully afraid that the act I had
just done would be displeasing to him; still, I felt resolutely
determined to send it. After giving the children their breakfast,
I walked down and read it to my brother-in-law, who was not only
much pleased with its contents, but took it down himself to the
post-office.
Shortly after, I received a letter from my husband, informing me
that the regiment had been reduced, and that he should be home in
time to get in the harvest. Most anxiously I awaited a reply to my
application to the Governor; but no reply came.
The first week in August our dear Moodie came home, and brought
with him, to our no small joy, J. E - -, who had just returned from
Ireland. E - - had been disappointed about the money, which was
subject to litigation; and, tired of waiting at home until the
tedious process of the law should terminate, he had come back to
the woods, and, before night, was reinstated in his old quarters.
His presence made Jenny all alive; she dared him at once to a trial
of skill with her in the wheat-field, which E - - prudently declined.
He did not expect to stay longer in Canada than the fall, but,
whilst he did stay, he was to consider our house his home.
That harvest was the happiest we ever spent in the bush. We had
enough of the common necessaries of life. A spirit of peace and
harmony pervaded our little dwelling, for the most affectionate
attachment existed among its members. We were not troubled with
servants, for the good old Jenny we regarded as an humble friend,
and were freed, by that circumstance, from many of the cares and
vexations of a bush life. Our evening excursions on the lake were
doubly enjoyed after the labours of the day, and night brought us
calm and healthful repose.
The political struggles that convulsed the country were scarcely
echoed in the depths of those old primeval forests, though the
expulsion of Mackenzie from Navy Island, and the burning of the
Caroline by Captain Drew, had been discussed on the farthest borders
of civilisation. With a tribute to the gallant conduct of that brave
officer, I will close this chapter: -
THE BURNING OF THE CAROLINE
A sound is on the midnight deep -
The voice of waters vast;
And onward, with resistless sweep,
The torrent rushes past,
In frantic chase, wave after wave,
The crowding surges press, and rave
Their mingled might to cast
Adown Niagara's giant steep;
The fretted billows foaming leap
With wild tumultuous roar;
The clashing din ascends on high,
In deaf'ning thunders to the sky,
And shakes the rocky shore.
Hark! what strange sounds arise -
'Tis not stern Nature's voice -
In mingled chorus to the skies!
The waters in their depths rejoice.
Hark! on the midnight air
A frantic cry uprose;
The yell of fierce despair,
The shout of mortal foes;
And mark yon sudden glare,
Whose red, portentous gleam
Flashes on rock and stream
With strange, unearthly light;
What passing meteor's beam
Lays bare the brow of night?
From yonder murky shore
What demon vessel glides,
Stemming the unstemm'd tides,
Where maddening breakers roar
In hostile surges round her path,
Or hiss, recoiling from her prow,
That reeling, staggers to their wrath;
While distant shores return the glow
That brightens from her burning frame,
And all above - around - below -
Is wrapt in ruddy flame?
Sail on! - sail on! - No mortal hand
Directs that vessel's blazing course;
The vengeance of an injured land
Impels her with resistless force
'Midst breaking wave and fiery gleam,
O'er-canopied with clouds of smoke;
Midway she stems the raging stream,
And feels the rapids' thundering stroke;
Now buried deep, now whirl'd on high,
She struggles with her awful doom, -
With frantic speed now hurries by
To find a watery tomb.
Lo, poised upon the topmost surge,
She shudders o'er the dark abyss;
The foaming waters round her hiss
And hoarse waves ring her funeral dirge;
The chafing billows round her close;
But ere her burning planks are riven,
Shoots up one ruddy spout of fire, -
Her last farewell to earth and heaven.
Down, down to endless night she goes!
So may the traitor's hope expire,
So perish all our country's foes!
Destruction's blazing star
Has vanish'd from our sight;
The thunderbolt of war
Is quench'd in endless night;
Nor sight, nor sound of fear
Startles the listening ear;
Naught but the torrent's roar,
The dull, deep, heavy sound,
From out the dark profound,
Echoes from shore to shore.
Where late the cry of blood
Rang on the midnight air,
The mournful lapsing of the flood,
The wild winds in the lonely wood,
Claim sole dominion there.
To thee, high-hearted Drew!
And thy victorious band
Of heroes tried and true
A nation's thanks are due.
Defender of an injured land!
Well hast thou taught the dastard foe
That British honour never yields
To democratic influence, low,
The glory of a thousand fields.
