Tom Wilson sailed the 1st of May,
and had a speedy passage, and was, as we heard from his friends,
comfortably settled in the bush, had bought a farm, and meant to
commence operations in the fall. All this was good news, and as he
was settled near my brother's location, we congratulated ourselves
that our eccentric friend had found a home in the wilderness at
last, and that we should soon see him again.
On the 9th of September, the steam-boat William IV. landed us at
the then small but rising town of - -, on Lake Ontario. The night
was dark and rainy; the boat was crowded with emigrants; and when
we arrived at the inn, we learnt that there was no room for us - not
a bed to be had; nor was it likely, owing to the number of
strangers that had arrived for several weeks, that we could obtain
one by searching farther. Moodie requested the use of a sofa for me
during the night; but even that produced a demur from the landlord.
Whilst I awaited the result in a passage, crowded with strange
faces, a pair of eyes glanced upon me through the throng. Was it
possible? - could it be Tom Wilson? Did any other human being
possess such eyes, or use them in such an eccentric manner?
In another second he had pushed his way to my side, whispering
in my ear, "We met, 'twas in a crowd."
"Tom Wilson, is that you?"
"Do you doubt it? I flatter myself that there is no likeness
of such a handsome fellow to be found in the world. It is I,
I swear! - although very little of me is left to swear by. The
best part of me I have left to fatten the mosquitoes and black
flies in that infernal bush. But where is Moodie?"
"There he is - trying to induce Mr. S - -, for love or money, to let
me have a bed for the night."
"You shall have mine," said Tom. "I can sleep upon the floor of the
parlour in a blanket, Indian fashion. It's a bargain - I'll go and
settle it with the Yankee directly; he's the best fellow in the
world! In the meanwhile here is a little parlour, which is a
joint-stock affair between some of us young hopefuls for the time
being. Step in here, and I will go for Moodie; I long to tell him
what I think of this confounded country. But you will find it out
all in good time;" and, rubbing his hands together with a most
lively and mischievous expression, he shouldered his way through
trunks, and boxes, and anxious faces, to communicate to my husband
the arrangement he had so kindly made for us.
"Accept this gentleman's offer, sir, till to-morrow," said Mr.
S - -, "I can then make more comfortable arrangements for your
family; but we are crowded - crowded to excess. My wife and
daughters are obliged to sleep in a little chamber over the stable,
to give our guests more room. Hard that, I guess, for decent people
to locate over the horses."
These matters settled, Moodie returned with Tom Wilson to the
little parlour, in which I had already made myself at home.
"Well, now, is it not funny that I should be the first to welcome
you to Canada?" said Tom.
"But what are you doing here, my dear fellow?"
"Shaking every day with the ague. But I could laugh in spite of my
teeth to hear them make such a confounded rattling; you would think
they were all quarrelling which should first get out of my mouth.
This shaking mania forms one of the chief attractions of this new
country."
"I fear," said I, remarking how thin and pale he had become, "that
this climate cannot agree with you."
"Nor I with the climate. Well, we shall soon be quits, for, to let
you into a secret, I am now on my way to England."
"Impossible!"
"It is true."
"And the farm - what have you done with it?"
"Sold it."
"And your outfit?"
"Sold that too."
"To whom?"
"To one who will take better care of both than I did. Ah! such a
country! - such people! - such rogues! It beats Australia hollow; you
know your customers there - but here you have to find them out. Such
a take-in! - God forgive them! I never could take care of money;
and, one way or other, they have cheated me out of all mine. I have
scarcely enough left to pay my passage home. But, to provide
against the worst, I have bought a young bear, a splendid fellow,
to make my peace with my uncle. You must see him; he is close by in
the stable."
"To-morrow we will pay a visit to Bruin; but tonight do tell us
something about yourself, and your residence in the bush."
"You will know enough about the bush by-and-by. I am a bad
historian," he continued, stretching out his legs and yawning
horribly, "a worse biographer. I never can find words to relate
facts. But I will try what I can do; mind, don't laugh at my
blunders."
We promised to be serious - no easy matter while looking at and
listening to Tom Wilson, and he gave us, at detached intervals, the
following account of himself: -
"My troubles began at sea. We had a fair voyage, and all that; but
my poor dog, my beautiful Duchess! - that beauty in the beast - died.
I wanted to read the funeral service over her, but the captain
interfered - the brute! - and threatened to throw me into the sea
along with the dead bitch, as the unmannerly ruffian persisted in
calling my canine friend.
