CHAPTER V
One of the Settlers
"Now we get right in to business," said Sam, two days after the shiphad brought them to Quebec, and he and Joe had gradually recoveredtheir usual appearance. For, till then, they were hardly presentable,both having had every hair singed from their heads, while Sam, who worea moustache, as a rule, merely retained a few straggling ends of thatappendage. As for Joe, his hands were so blistered, that even now hewas able to do little for himself.
"But you've got something inside there in your pocket that'll makeamends," grinned Sam, as they sat in the parlour of the little hotel towhich Sam had taken his wife, and whither Joe, Jim, and Claude hadaccompanied them. "You've got notes in that 'ere pocket that'll makeyou ready and eager to get burned again. There! Ain't I speaking thetruth? I'm fair jubilant."
A cockney from his birth upward, Sam had not, even now, lost touch withthe Old Country and its manner of speech, though into his conversationthere was now habitually pressed many a Canadian slang expression, manyan Americanism which to people of the Old World is so peculiarlyfascinating. He pulled a huge leather wallet from his own hip pocket,a capacious affair that accommodated quite a mass of material, and wasfellow to one on the far side harbouring a revolver. Not that Sam wasof a pugnacious frame of mind; on the contrary, he was just one of thenumerous citizens of Canada whose daily thoughts were centred in"making good". Indeed, as is the case with all in the Dominion, withfew exceptions, Sam was out, as he frankly admitted, to make a pile, tobuild up a fortune.
"And I'll tell you for why," he had once said to our hero. "It ain'tonly because dollars look nice and can buy nice things. It ain't onlybecause I'd like to be rich, to put by a heap and feel and know that meand the missus needn't want when the rainy day comes along, and we'retook by illness or old age. Don't you go and believe it. There'speople will tell you that Canadians think and dream of nothing butdollars, and jest only for the sake of the dollars. Don't you go andbelieve it. They're jest like me; they've been, many a one of 'em,down on their beam ends in the Old Country--couldn't get work, for onecause or another. Then they've emigrated, fought their way through,nearly gone to the wall maybe, and then made good. It's making goodthat fascinates us, young feller. Making good! Jest that and mostlyonly that. I'd be a proud man if I could put by a pile; for, don't yersee, it shows as I've succeeded. That's what I and many another areafter. We've been failures, perhaps. We want to show the world thatwe're good for something. Dollars spells success--that's why we'reafter them all the time."
But Sam was not pugnacious, as we have observed. He dragged his hugeleather case from one hip pocket and his revolver from the other,laying both on the table.
"I always carry a shooter," he said to Joe, "and so'll you after a bit.The usual run of fellow you come across is a decent, hard-working man.But this here country's full of 'bad men', as we call 'em.Ne'er-do-weels, remittance men, as some are known, loafers, andthieves. A chap as shows he's got sommat to defend himself with has agood chance of sendin' 'em off; so I carry a shooter. But we wastalking of the stuff you'd got in your pocket, same as me. That makesup for burned hands."
Very deliberately he began to count out the values of the flimsy,blue-backed money notes rolled in his wallet, while Joe dived into aninner pocket and did likewise. He drew out quite a respectable bundleand counted the amounts also.
"Two hundred and fifty dollars," said Sam solemnly. "Reward for workdone aboard the burning ship."
"Seven hundred and fifty dollars," murmured Joe, blushing when hethought of the amount.
"Jest so--reward for pluck and fer gumption," declared Sam. "My,wasn't you bashful up in the office when we was called in! You was forrefusing almost. Said as you'd done nothing. That ain't the way ofCanadians, lad. You did do good work; it was you who organized thevolunteers and led 'em. That's a deal. It ain't nothing! It helped awhole heap, and therefore a reward was earned. That's the way inCanada--but let's get to business. What'll you do?"
"Act on advice you've already given," said Joe, pocketing his money."My idea is to learn farming out here, and some day to take up aquarter section of land. But I'm going to learn the work first. Icouldn't so much as milk a cow at this moment."
"Jest so," observed Sam dryly. "That's sense, that is. There'sprosperity in this country, as I've told you often enough, but only forthe workers. There's millions of acres, too, and no fear that if youwait you'll find none left for you. But where men fail is if they comeout ignorant like you and pitch upon a quarter section when they ain'tgot the knowledge to choose their country. Their difficulties wouldoften enough kill a man with farming knowledge; but, bless you! withouteven that knowledge, often enough with precious little money, they goesunder almost afore they've had time to look round. So I say it's soundadvice to you to say, 'Learn the farming work first'. Then take upyour quarter section; for you'll be eighteen by then. Now, NewOntario's booming. Me and the missus will make there and prospect fora little. A single man can take a hundred acres in New Ontario fornothing. So can a married man; while, ef he's got a child undersixteen years of age, he can have two hundred fer the asking. Any morethat's wanted costs two shillings and a halfpenny an acre. Cheap,ain't it? Wall, now, we comes again to you. You learn farming thissummer. In the winter, get along into the towns and take most any job;next summer come right along to us. We'll have fixed a location bythen, and you can take up a holding close handy. We'll get Claude andJim in too, with one or two others, and we'll run co-operative farms.That is, instead of each man having a bunch of hosses, we'll keepenough for all, and help plough each other's holdings. We'll buy seedin bulk and get it cheaper fer that reason. And we'll sell our stuffin the same market, making one doing of the transport--so you comealong next summer."
"I will," agreed Joe. "I've thought it over a lot, and will do as youadvise; meanwhile, I shall bank most of the money."
"And mighty wise of you; only, see here," said Sam, his face wrinkling."There's money to be made often enough by a wise fellow if only he hasa little capital. With the sixty pounds you brought along, and thehundred and fifty you've been given, you've a tidy nest egg. Now youbank most of it, keeping twenty pounds for emergencies. One of thesedays, along where you're working, you'll drop on a site where therailway's approaching, and where there's likely to be a town. Townsspring up in new countries like mushrooms. Acres bare now, and worthperhaps two shillings, are worth twenty and thirty and more pounds inEnglish money within a few years if they gets covered by a town. So,likely enough, you may drop on sich a place. Then draw the moneyyou've banked, buy your land, and sit down to wait. Only, don't putall the money into one holding. Spread it about, young fellow. Don'tput all the eggs into one basket."
There was little doubt that Sam was perfectly right, indeed, theexperience of huge numbers in the Dominion goes to prove that. Townsdo spring into being almost with the rapidity of mushrooms. A tinysettlement composed of wooden huts, called "shacks", and perhaps a logchurch, may, in the matter of three or four years, develop into a town,and, later on, even into a city. Those with knowledge and experience,and possessed of far-seeing eyes, may, by a fortunate purchase in theearly days reap a big reward, and many a one has done so.
"So that's fixed," said Sam. "And now fer orders. We leaves hereto-morrow fer Sudbury--that's beyond Ottawa. There me and the missusgets off the train. We'll buy a "rig", as a cart and horse are known,and we'll make off to the north-west looking fer a holding. You'dbetter come along with us to Montreal, where you can switch off ferToronto, and look out in that direction fer a farm job, or you can comeright along to or beyond Sudbury. Round Toronto you get Old Ontario,the country that's been known and settled this many a year. They'remostly fruit and dairy farmers about Toronto. North-west Ontario, NewOntario as it's called, is a different country. People kinder missedit till lately. It wasn't known that it was jest as good as manyanother, and no colder. But it's booming now, and there's where
you'llfind heaps of men jest wheat-growing. You could, of course, go rightalong to Manitoba, getting off at Winnipeg or somewheres close. Butit's wheat-growing land there also; so ef you're going to join up withus later on you might jest as well stay somewheres near in Ontario."
Joe put on his cap and went out for a sharp walk. He clambered up thesteep, old-fashioned streets of Quebec, still preserving their oldFrench houses, to the Plains of Abraham, once the scene of a fierceengagement between English and French, when the gallant Wolfe wonCanada for our Empire from the equally gallant Montcalm. He looked outfrom the heights across the flowing St. Lawrence River to the Isled'Orleans, where Wolfe's batteries once thundered against the forts ofQuebec, and past which the fierce Irroquois Indians, in days long sincegone by, paddled their war canoes and kept the French colonists fromcrossing. And all the while he debated his future movements, for withthe practical mind that his father had helped to train in him, Joewanted to see his way clear. He had his future to make; a false stepnow might delay that success at which he aimed, at which, according tothe worthy Sam, all newcomers and old colonists of the Dominion aim.Let those who would sneer at the seemingly grasping methods of many inCanada not forget what Sam had to say. Dollars do not spell happiness;they spell success. The immigrant who has few, if any to speak of, onarrival, and who fails to make wealth, is a failure, and failure causesa man to become despondent and to lose self-esteem. But gain, richesto one who was poor, who broke from old paths, left home and friendsand all to start a new life, dollars in his case spell success, successthat raises his head and his own self-esteem.
"I'll go along to Sudbury," Joe told himself. "Then I'll look out fora farm, and I'll bank all the money save fifty dollars. That's it; payfor my transport, and then bank all but fifty dollars, keeping father'sletter with me."
The following morning found our hero aboard the train bound forSudbury. They occupied places in a long car with two rows of seats,one on either side. At the far end of the car there was a miniaturekitchen, where a fire was burning in a stove. Others who had crossedfrom England were with them, and the party soon settled down to theirjourney. Mrs. Fennick, with experience gained by earlier travel, hadprovisioned a basket, and with the help of Joe's kit, containing kettleand teapot, the little party were never at a want for good things toeat and drink. At night the seats, which were arranged in pairs facingone another were pulled out, making a respectable couch for one person,while the negro attendant lowered other bunks hinged to the side wallsof the enormous car high overhead.
Late the following day the train pulled up at Sudbury, and they gotdown. Then Joe, Claude, and Jim waited till the Fennicks had bought arig and had set out on their journey, when they, too, shouldered theirbundles and strode off along the track, out of the town and into theopen country. An hour or more later his two companions had accepted anengagement with a farmer whom they met driving along the track. Joebade farewell to his two chums and strode onward.
"I'll make away more into the open," he told himself. "I'll get awayfrom the settlements, so as to see what the life is really like, andwhether the loneliness is so irksome as some make out."
Trudging along contentedly, he had covered some miles by noon, and thensat down to devour his luncheon. All that day he tramped, and thefollowing one also, spending the night in the open; for it wasbeautiful weather, and frosts had long since departed from the land.Here and there he came upon settlements, and many a time was employmentoffered him, for the busy season with farmers was at hand, and labouralways scarce. Sometimes he passed isolated farms, and on the thirdnight put up in the shack of a settler who had little cause to complainof his progress.
"Came out as a youngster," he told Joe. "Took jobs here and there forfour years, and then applied for a quarter section. It happened to befree from trees, though there was many an old rotting stump in theground. I ploughed a quarter of the acreage the first year and secureda fine crop. Next year I did better, and broke up still more ground.If things go along nicely I shall do well, while already the section isworth some hundreds of dollars. Am I lonely? Don't you think it!I've too much doing in summertime and sufficient in winter. The chapsas is lonely are those who've lived in towns all their lives, and areused to people buzzing about them, and to trains and trams. They wantto go to a theatre or a picture entertainment most every night, andhaving none about find things lonesome. I don't. If I want company Iget the rig and drive off to a neighbour, or use the sleigh if thesnow's too deep. Then there's a moose hunt at times, while alwaysthere's work to be done--tending the cattle, feeding the pigs andpoultry, sawing logs, and suchlike. In summer there's picnics with theneighbours--shooting and fishing too at times. No, I ain't lonely."
Joe left his hospitable roof and pressed on towards the north-west,with his back to the railway. And a little later he came upon a smallsettlement, with farms immediately adjacent. Here he had no difficultyin obtaining work as a farm hand, the payment to be ten dollars a monthand his board and keep.
"Know anything?" asked his employer, a man of some forty years of age,a colonial born, to whom Joe soon took a liking.
"Know anything about farming?" repeated Peter Strike, the man inquestion.
"Nothing," was Joe's answer, with an accompanying shake of the head.
"Never farmed, eh?"
"Never; couldn't milk a cow."
"Yer don't say so," grinned the farmer. "Now you'll do, you will,fine."
Joe was at a loss to understand. It seemed somewhat curious to him tohear that a hand engaged on a farm would do well when it was known thathe was utterly ignorant. He explained the difficulty.
"Of course you don't understand," said Peter, guffawing loudly; forJoe's open speaking delighted him. "Of course you don't, 'cos back inEngland a man would be expected to know everything. But I'll tell youhow it is with us. You're English; wall, now, in past years Englishmengot such a name with us colonials that we wouldn't employ him if wecould help it. Eh? You'd like to know why? That's easy. YourEnglishman would reach here dressed in knickers, perhaps--a regularswell. Us colonials with our old clothing would be fair game for him.Then he'd know everything. He'd be wanting to do things as he'd done'em back in his own country, and not as we've learned they has to bedone here. He'd want to teach his master, and grumble--my word,nothing pleased him! Now that's all getting altered. We findimmigrants readier to learn, and you're one of 'em. Mind you, there'sfaults with others besides the Englishman who knows everything.There's faults with us. There's a sight of colonials who think theyknow more than they do, and when they get having advice from a manfresh out to the country--why, they get testy. It makes 'em angry.They ain't too fair to the newcomer. But guess that's getting altered,as I've said. Anyway, you don't know anything, ain't that it?"
"Nothing," laughed Joe; for the open-hearted Peter amused him.
"Then you come along in and see the missus and the children.Afterwards there's a job for you."
Joe was introduced to Peter's family circle, consisting of his wife andfour small children. He found the shack to contain three rooms, asomewhat liberal allowance.
"Most of 'em has but one or two," explained Peter. "A man who has tobe his own house builder can't afford too much time for fixing rooms.However, I made two, the kitchen here and the bedroom. Later on Ibuilt a lean-to, making an extra room. That'll be for you. Now we'llfeed. Like beans and bacon?"
"Anything," said Joe heartily. "I've had a long tramp and am hungry.This fine air gives one an appetite."
"It's jest the healthiest place you could strike anywhere," criedPeter, his face glowing. "We've been here this four years. I boughtthe section from a man who had broken most of it and then got tired.You see, we've prairie all round, save for the settlement close handy.They say that the railway'll soon be along here. Anyway, there's nomuskegs (swamps) hereabouts, and therefore no mosquitoes to speak of."
"He don't know what's a muskeg," laughed Mrs. Strike. "Tell him."
r /> "It's a swamp, that's all," came the answer, "and there's miles of themin Canada. Often enough they're covered with low bush and with forestsof rotting trees that ain't worth nothing as timber. But here we'veopen prairie, with plenty of wood, and huge forests at a littledistance; so it's healthy. Now, you come along out and fix this job,"he said, when Joe had finished the meal and had swallowed a cup of tea."I'm so busy I haven't had time to see to a number of things, speciallysince my man was taken ill and left. There's the pigsty, for instance;it wants cleaning out. You jest get in at it."
Joe had long since donned his colonial outfit. He wore a slouch hat,with which no one could find a fault save for its obvious newness. Anold pair of trousers covered his legs, and thick, nailed boots were onhis feet. His jacket he had carried over his arm, and it was nowreposing with his baggage, while a thick brown shirt and a somewhatdiscoloured red handkerchief completed his apparel. He followed Peterto an outhouse, and found at the back a range of wooden pigsties whichmight, with truth, be said to be in an extremely unsavoury condition.There was a fork and a spade near at hand, together with an old tinbucket.
"Right," he said briskly, turning up the ends of his trousers; "I'llmake a job of it. I should say that a chap who had no knowledge offarming could do this as well as any other. I'll come along when I'vefinished."
Peter stood watching his new hand for some few moments, and then strodeoff out of sight. Joe turned his sleeves up, climbed into the sty, andset to work with a will.
"Not an overnice job," he told himself, "but then it's part of farmingwork. If I turn up my nose at this sort of thing and think myself toogood for it--why, that would be a nice sort of beginning! Someone hasto clean the sties on a farm. I'm the labourer, and so it's my job."
His jovial whistle could be heard in the shack as he worked, andbrought Mrs. Strike to the door with an infant in her arms.
"Why, it's the new hand," she told her husband. "He's whistling, as ifhe liked the job you'd given him. Now I think that was a little hard.You can see as Joe's a better sort of lad. He's had an education, andI wouldn't wonder if he was something in the Old Country. And you puthim right off to clean out the sty."
She regarded her lord and master with some severity; but the latteronly grinned. Peter had a most taking face; in fact, his features wereseldom severe, and more often than not wore a smile. He was a tall,burly man, with broad shoulders and long limbs. Possessed of fair hairand of a peaked beard, he was quite a handsome fellow, thoughwonderfully neglected as to his raiment. Indeed, contrasting Joe andPeter, one would have said offhand that the latter was the labourer andJoe the owner of the property.
But that is just the curious part of things outside the settlements inCanada. The more patched a man's garments, the more probable it isthat he is successful. A colonist is not there judged by his fellowsbecause of his clothing. He is judged by results--results of hislabours on the soil or his astuteness in business. Compare this withEngland, where fine clothes make fine birds, where appearance is of somuch importance, and do not let us sneer at either people. Custom hasbrought either condition about, and no doubt with good reason.
As for Peter, he was grinning widely as his wife turned somewhatsharply upon him.
"You've given him right off the nastiest job, and he quite green," shesaid.
"And I've done so with a reason," laughed Peter. "There's men I havehired before who had obviously seen something better back where theycame from. They would have kicked at doing that sty. They would haveforgotten that their old life was nothing to me, and that they wereseeking their living in this country. Their old pride would be toomuch for 'em, and I would have to suffer. Now a chap who comes outhere has to drop pride. If he's ignorant, he oughtn't to be abovestarting right at the bottom. I like hearing that lad whistling; heain't too proud to earn an honest living, even if the job is what itis."
"Hallo!" he called, coming over to Joe some half-hour later and lookinginto the sty. "How're you doing?"
"Fine," said our hero, borrowing an expression somewhat common in theDominion. "Almost finished."
"Then you've been mighty slippy," admitted Peter, his eyes opening whenhe saw that our hero had indeed almost finished the task. "This lad'lldo for me," Peter said to himself. "He works, he does. He's the kindof fellow who likes to get ahead, whether he's working for another orfor himself. My, if he ain't washing the place down now!"
Evidently his new hand was cleanly also, and that was pleasing. Peterbegan to think that in gaining Joe's services he had made quite abargain.
"That'll fix it right, lad," he sang out. "You've made a fine job ofit. Jest you hop out now, and put the fork and spade back where youfound 'em. It's yer first lesson in farming and in other things."
Joe looked up smiling. "Eh?" he said.
"Yes," went on Peter, "Mrs. Strike's been pitching into me for givingyou such a job first off; but I wanted to see for meself whether you'dkick, or whether you meant to get on whatever came along. Reckonyou'll do--now come along in and feed the hosses."
When a month had passed, Joe found another ten dollars added to thefifty he had kept by him; also he had settled down wonderfully with theStrikes, and was already getting along with his farm work.
"He's a treasure is that lad," admitted Mrs. Strike warmly, when sheand her husband were alone one evening. "It don't matter what it isthat's wanted, he'll do it. If it's one of the children to mind, he'llsmile and wink at the bairn. If it's water for the shack, he'swilling. And if it's a log for the stove, he jest takes the saw andgoes off whistling. That lad'll get along in the world."
"He's fine," agreed Peter. "He's the sort we want out from the OldCountry."
Whether he was or not, Joe had taken kindly to the new life, without ashadow of doubt. His attentive mind was constantly absorbing detailsfrom the garrulous Peter or from his neighbours, and the end of thatmonth's service on the farm had taught him quite a smattering of theprofession he was to follow. As for being lonely, that he certainlywas not; he was almost too busy even to have time for thinking of sucha matter. Then, too, there were neighbours, while each shack actuallypossessed a telephone. However, if there were monotony in the life hewas living, it was not long before an exciting incident occurred thatwould have aroused anyone even more lethargic than our hero.