Princes in the Wilderness

By Patricia Watson

After defeating Napoleon in 1815, Britain’s population exploded. The Industrial Revolution had mechanized industry and agriculture. In the small village of Settrington, Yorkshire, Thomas Dale a young thirteen year old farmer, his brothers John, George, and their sister Hannah and her husband William saw little future in their homeland. In 1819 hoping to own their own land and freely follow their Methodist faith, they left Britain, braved the Atlantic crossing, the St. Lawrence River’s rapids, and a treacherous storm on Lake Ontario, to reach York, a military town of twelve hundred inhabitants. Here, an Ojibwa introduced them to a Quaker farmer from Newmarket who took them by ox cart up a barely passable trail called Yonge Street. Staying a year with Quakers, until the surveying was completed, they applied for land grants. Assisted by their Ojibwa friend, White Deer, the Quakers and a blacksmith from Holland Landing, named Samuel Lount, they began clearing the forest. It was not long before they had to choose between loyalty to Britain or to Samuel and their American born neighbours. On a cold day in early December 1837, Thomas barely escaped with his life trying to help Samuel. Their story defines the formation of our Canadian identity and a government responsible to the common man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia Watson
• Release date: Sep 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781987985450

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Princes

In The

Wilderness

Patricia Watson

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Settrington 1817

Chapter 2

Hannah’s Wedding

Chapter 3

Final Goodbyes

Chapter 4

Trip to Hull

Chapter 5

The Workhouse

Chapter 6

All Aboard

Chapter 7

Storm at Sea

Chapter 8

Land’s Ahead

Chapter 9

The River Pilot

Chapter 10

Quebec City

Chapter 11

To Montreal

Chapter 12

The Rapids

Chapter 13

Thousand Islands

Chapter 14

York 1819

Chapter 15

The Yonge Street Trail

Chapter 16

Quakers of North Yonge

Chapter 17

The Landing

Chapter 18

The Beginning

Chapter 19

Cabin in the Wilderness

Chapter 20

The Neighbours

Chapter 21

First Wedding in Canada

Chapter 22

Preacher and Politics

Chapter 23

John and Eleanor

Chapter 24

Thomas’ Bride

Chapter 25

Mackenzie Rides North

Chapter 26

Call to Arms

Chapter 27

The Escape

epilogue

References

Dedicated To Thomas Frederick Dale

my father

&

To Dr. Thomas Harry Dale

my brother

Chapter 1

Settrington 1817

Nell died. Thomas knew that she was old and getting a little slower in her gait, but never in his youthful imagination had he considered it dangerous to take her out at noon to plough. The ground was a little drier and the plough did pull a little in the soil, but Nell had always leaned in to the traces with ease.

The summer of 1817, unlike the spring, was promising to be dry. It had not rained since May in all northern England. The blessing of clay loam was that it held enough moisture to be workable even if no rain had fallen for a while. It still turned an even furrow, dark and rich brown.

Thomas was a born farmer. The smell of newly turned sod was inviting and comforting to him. It brought the promise of a rich crop of wheat, and God alone knew that a good crop was needed this year. The old work horse had become his friend. He had talked to her as she pulled the single-furrow plough. She had always known just where to turn with nary a shout.

There, there, girl, he would softly say, You can turn now, old girl. She would shake her harness in response to his familiar voice. Now she was gone. How was he to explain her death to Lady Sykes?

Lady Sykes was the heiress of Settrington House and owner of the manor as well as the vast Yorkshire property surrounding the village. She had entrusted Thomas with Nell. She had taken a liking to the industrious thirteen-year-old, having become acquainted with him when he came to pick up his sister Hannah at the parochial school attached to All Saints Church in the town. Hannah taught the youngsters from the village and the surrounding area all the way to Malton. Lady Sykes loved Thomas’ light-hearted banter and jovial approach to life. He was a handsome, broad-shouldered lad with a high, noble forehead, clear hazel-blue eyes that twinkled when he laughed and a full, strong roman nose.

How could he tell her that he may have overworked her horse? She had been so kind to lend her to him so that he could plough old man Monkman’s strip. The old yeoman farmer had rented the land, as had Thomas’ family, from Lady Sykes, but rheumatism in his hips had prevented him from following the horse and plow. He was more than glad to pay Thomas a shilling each to till his strip. He knew that Thomas was thrifty and would not squander the money. He also knew that he was helping the lad to save for his journey to Canada, where he might have land of his own one day. He felt sorry for the Dale family; they were hard-working, God-fearing people who had come upon hard times. Lawrence Dale—who had tragically lost his wife, Grace, some time ago—had seven children to feed and clothe.

The cost of food had increased so rapidly after the war with France in 1815 that the common man could hardly afford the basics. Wheat had increased in price and, thus, bread was scarce. The year of 1816 had been the year of no summer. Yorkshire newspapers were filled with dire predictions of food shortages. A very large volcano had erupted on a Pacific island, and the resulting large cloud of ash had blotted out the sun. In parts of North America, snow had fallen in June. Meanwhile, in England, the sun did not shine clearly enough for the crops to grow. Even when the feeble wheat crop was harvested, it came in too moist and rotted before it could be ground to flour. The population explosion made matters even more dire. Hard-stricken families like the Dales had to send even their youngsters to forage for whatever monies or food could be procured. Jobs were scarce, and the small plot farmers were being pushed aside for larger land holdings that could be run more economically and with fewer labourers. The new reaper could cut and bind an acre in one-fifth the time of a traditional labourer. The new weaving machine could efficiently produce cloth that had once required many individual cottage workers. There was just no work.

In Thomas’ mind, the dead horse was not just an unfortunate incident, it was a disaster. How could he repay Lady Sykes? Never in a dozen summers could he make enough to buy a horse. How could he so let down his family, who desperately depended on his youthful strength to bring home money and food? He had to act quickly, for the animal’s death would soon be discovered by his benefactor, Mr. Monkman.

He thought of running away. He could find his way over the wolds. He knew all the game trails and could follow them to the main highway that led to the coast. He could work in Whitby on a ship and perhaps save enough to get himself and his family to Canada. A thousand thoughts flooded his mind as he ran at full sprint over the bridge. The arched stone structure was the only way over the flowing beck that trickled and gurgled through Settrington. The creek was clear, cold and had a fine gravel bottom that was home to some good sized trout. There, hidden from view, his back leaning on the bridge and seated on a swill of sedge grass, was old Mr. Monkman himself.

Halloo, he shouted, ‘Tis a fine day, Thomas, isn’t it?

Catching his breath, Thomas replied, Fine, sir. Have you caught any fish?

The old man smiled and said, What kind of greeting is that? I am almost kin now, you know. It won’t be long until that sister of yours marries William.

Yes, I know, Thomas replied, November will come quickly, and she is busy making up her hope chest and planning the wedding.

There was such warmth in the old man’s eyes that Thomas decided to confide in him right there. Mr. Monkman—I mean, Uncle Will—I feel very much afraid and almost sick to my stomach. You know that I was ploughing your west strip of fallow so it would be ready to seed the fall wheat? Oh, Uncle Will! The horse died! She is lying back there in the furrow. I can’t move her, Uncle, she’s too heavy. Oh, Uncle, my father will beat me! Lady Sykes will not allow me back on her land. She may refuse to lease us land anymore. Hannah may not be able to work with her at the church. We have no other work. Thomas kneeled down on the sedge beside the old man, holding his hands over his face, sobbing and shaking. What shall I do, Uncle Will?

The old man turned, took the lad’s hands, looked in to those hazel-blue eyes and asked him directly, Thomas, did you beat or whip her?

Oh, no! Sir, she is like a friend! I only had to speak softly to her, and she would obey my every command. I loved her.

Did you water her well before you harnessed her, Thomas?

I took her from the manor barn, Uncle, and as we crossed the beck she drank a fair amount. I pulled her head up after a while because father always told me it was not good to give too much cold water to a horse on a hot day. We had been ploughing for only an hour, Uncle, and she just dropped dead. Thomas covered his face with his hands again and shook with violent sobs.

Will thought for a moment and then asked where his nephew—who was also named William Monkman—might be. He knew that the younger William was a very gregarious and fair man. He was well respected in the village. Even though he was a fervent Methodist, Lady Sykes thought highly of him. If anyone could get young Thomas out of this predicament, it was William.

The old man wound his fishing line around the cane pole and walked with Thomas over the bridge and back to the row of cottages in the heart of the village. He accompanied Thomas to his cottage on the end of the row and knocked on the huge, bolted oak door. Hannah answered. On seeing his sister, tears welled in Thomas’ eyes, and he ran past her and climbed to the loft where he slept.

Whatever is wrong Uncle Will? she asked. Is someone hurt? Is it William?"

No Hannah, replied the old man, William is not with us. Do you know where he went today?

He has gone to Malton to bring the wool from Father’s sheep to the market. I am expecting him soon. Are you sure he is not hurt, Uncle?

I haven’t heard from any of the villagers that anything has happened to him, Uncle Will replied, However, I have been down by the beck fishing since early this morning.

What has really happened then?

Nell died.

How could that happen? she asked. Hannah listened to the explanation intently and then excused herself to the old man and quietly climbed to the loft where Thomas lay on his straw mattress. She laid her hand gently on his back as he cried. Since their mother had died, Hannah had taken over her role in the Dale household. Their older sister Mary had married John Bean in February and had left the family home to make a new one with John. Grace was only fourteen, and Rachel only ten. Her brothers George and John were away in Malton, taking any job they could find to make money for their fare to Canada. When they came home in the evenings, they worked their father’s six acres north of the village. They did not have much time for young Thomas. So it fell to Hannah to watch over him. William Monkman, Hannah’s fiancé, was as close to Thomas as were his brothers and father. Being twelve years older than Thomas, he was a father figure to the lad. William was more outgoing than Lawrence, who at fifty-one was slowing down considerably in his farming activities. Lawrence also lacked the bold, energetic spirit that William possessed and which Thomas admired most in the man.

Don’t worry, Thomas, Hannah said softly, William will be back tonight, and we will talk. Tomorrow, we will get old Nell and give her a proper burial. She will not be meat for the Squire’s hounds nor bones for the rag man if I can help it. Don’t you worry—God will show us the way to answer Lady Sykes. She is not a hard-hearted woman. Hannah crept quietly back down the ladder and made tea for Uncle Will. Then the two waited for William’s return.

Uncle Will was sitting on a sheepskin on the window sill when Grace and Rachel came bounding though the door an hour later. Their petticoats were soiled from helping the Widow Winters weed her garden. They were almost out of breath in their haste to find out about Old Nell. The whole village had found out by now, and everyone wanted the details of the misfortune. Grace and Rachel were asking about Thomas’ whereabouts when Hannah silenced them.

Girls, just sit down, and I will pour you some tea as well, she said in a hushed tone.

Hannah told them the full story but forbade them to tell a single soul until the matter was settled with Lady Sykes. After changing their petticoats, they coaxed Thomas to join them and chat about their day. Grace knew enough to keep silent and to cheer her brother, but Rachel, being just ten, was not so subtle. She blurted out, Was the horse hurt, Thomas?

I don’t want to talk about her Rachel, he said, Wait until William comes home.

Uncle Will changed the subject by talking about the big trout that he had almost caught. Hannah had gone to the commons and milked their three cows. There was a good amount of cream this time, and it was bright yellow. The cows must have been feasting on buttercups by the stream. The butter she churned was the same rich colour, and it sold well in the village. She was proud to tell the family that they had accumulated half the money needed for their journey to a new home in the Canadian wilderness.

However, the girls did not ask the widow for any payment in return for their help in her garden. They helped out of respect for the old woman, who had been their mother’s good friend.

Thomas began to feel better, especially when Hannah told him how much money they had saved.

At four o’clock Lawrence returned from Woodhouse Grange, where he had been herding and shearing sheep. He looked weary. Hannah went to the old sideboard by the wash stand and found a biscuit to give her father with his tea. He sank down gratefully into his favourite rocker and listened to the whole story about the horse. No one had questioned him about it in the village, but most of the farmers were not home and the women folk did not wish to disturb him. Thomas, who was his youngest son, told him the whole story first-hand. Lawrence assured the lad that he would go with William to visit Lady Sykes that very night to make whatever recompense was necessary. He had scarcely finished speaking when William burst through the door.

The young Lancashire man was at least five inches taller and of larger frame than the Dale brothers, and he strode with assurance to Hannah. He pecked her on the cheek, then brushed back her long, blonde hair and kissed her other cheek.

Why are you all so glum? This is a great day. I got almost double the price for the wool! Here it is, Hannah. You can stash it in that secret hiding place of yours.

Lawrence rose stiffly from the rocker, grasped William’s shoulder and said, Son, we have to talk. Thomas is in some trouble with Old Nell. Come here, Thomas, and tell William just how it happened.

William listened intently as Thomas once again told the story of the old horse’s death. The boy ended his explanation by suggesting that he run away to avoid disgracing the family. William walked over to Thomas, who by now was staring at the floor dejectedly, and declared, No Dale ever runs away from trouble. We will make this a matter of prayer, and we will all face Lady Sykes together. No one will have to run—we will just tell the truth. It is wise to take care of this immediately so that the village does not react harshly. We will go right now, but let us pray for guidance and wisdom first. Being used to leading prayers at the Methodist meetings, William asked God to guide and protect them.

The manor was two furlongs south of the village on a knoll near the beck. Horse chestnut trees lined both sides of the laneway. Behind the manor was a well-wooded park with a network of trails for hunting. The manor was a two-story Georgian house of white stone. Its windows were latticed French glazed glass, and four large white pillars supported the front entrance.

William, Lawrence, John, George and Thomas arrived at the servants’ doorway at four in the afternoon. The butler stated that Lady Sykes was out with the hounds but was expected shortly. She arrived a quarter of an hour later with ten hounds trotting ahead of her chestnut mare. The horse was the finest in all the county—she held her head in a stately manner with her neck arched and walked with a refined, steady gait. Thomas had seen her every time he had taken Old Nell and had admired her form and grace. This time, however, he couldn’t even raise his eyes to admire the animal. The groomsman took the mare to her stall as Lady Sykes greeted the men.

William explained the reason for their visit, and Lawrence asked her to please allow them to repay in service the cost of replacing the horse. She pondered the offer and then invited them to the large servants’ quarters beside the kitchen. Having offered them a seat, which they all refused, she took a chair herself.

Stripping off her riding gloves and laying them on the table, she turned to Thomas and said, I am sorry about Nell as well. She was a good horse, and I know you always cared for her as if she were your own. I failed to tell you something, Thomas. Old Nell stepped on a copper spike three weeks ago, and we did not find it until four days ago. The veterinarian removed it but warned us that the poison from the copper could take her. He said she might go quickly from blood poisoning. I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. We shall just have to bury her close to where she fell, for her meat will not be safe for my hounds.

Thomas could not believe her reply. He had been certain that she would charge them more than they could repay. He was taken aback by her apology and groaned a sigh of relief.

At this point William broke out in laughter. Apologizing to Lady Sykes, he said, Thomas was prepared to run away and be a sailor, and now we shall just have to take him home and make him a good farmer.

Accepting some warm biscuits that the baker had just ladled from the oven, the four men turned down the lane for home. They arrived just as the sun was setting. Supper was laid on the large plank that served as a table.

Hannah rejoiced at the news. It took little time for the seven hungry mouths to devour the boiled salt pork, potatoes, greens and slices of hearty, homemade bread with jam. For Thomas it seemed that the longest day of his life had finally come to an end.

Chapter 2

Hannah’s Wedding

The summer of 1817 continued dry. The oats and barley ripened early and although the straw was shorter, the heads were full and promised a good yield. George and John came home to help. At twenty-four and twenty-five, they had reached their full manhood strength. John, with his stockier build, swung the scythe with large, graceful arcs. He could cut three quarters of an acre in an hour. George, following him, could cradle into bundles almost as fast. Thomas’ job was to tie the bundles into sheaves and stook them in fours with the fifth sheaf over the stook to protect it from rain. This took a lot longer but was not as heavy a job as his brothers had.

Rachel and Grace made sure the men had plenty of water from the village well. At noon Hannah brought a hearty lunch of sausage and cheese piled in copious amounts on oval buns in a panier. Nestled in the same panier was a large Brown Betty pot of tea. The men ate hungrily and then lay back for a brief rest on the deep grass next to their allotment. This afforded them a little time to talk to the other farmers about their crops and the price of grain at market.

The price had almost doubled after the war with France, but so had the goods they could purchase. They had heard there were dire shortages in most of Europe. It was well known that many in France were starving. Here in Settrington, they at least had a crop to pay their rent and a little left over for themselves.

Hannah had been careful to ration out the grain and root vegetables until the new crop could be harvested. The family had potatoes, carrots and turnips stashed in a root cellar eight feet below ground at the side of the cottage garden. They were thankful for God’s provision, but longed for the day when they could have their own larger properties in Canada. There they could each have a hundred acres for only six shillings per acre. Hannah had read that some farmers had three times that amount and beautiful orchards of apples, plums and pears. It was in hope of this reward that all three young men worked from dawn to dusk with little rest. They needed the extra money to pay their fare across the Atlantic and then to travel to Canada West, over a thousand miles inland.

The summer passed quickly. First the barley and oats came to harvest, then the spring wheat and finally a small crop of hay in mid-September. Hannah found the summer lonely, for William was busy back in Lancashire on his own allotment. He only came to visit on Sundays for supper and to attend the Methodist meetings.

William Monkman, and later Hannah and her brothers and sisters, had joined the Methodist movement at Uncle Will’s home in the village. Lady Sykes had made it quite clear that any farmer renting land from her must attend All Saints Church every Sunday. The Dales attended as required but favoured the small group at Uncle Will’s home. They had to meet in secret lest they be found out and be unable to farm. Every Sunday at All Saints Church, the parish vicar preached a very long sermon in ecclesiastic high English, which no one understood. The choir sang in Latin; the scripture was read in Latin. Only Hannah and Thomas could read English proficiently. John and George could read only a little, for they did not have much time to learn—they busied themselves instead with providing for the family.

One summer in late 1810, a Methodist circuit-riding preacher from Helmsley had come into town for a revival meeting. He preached standing on the back of a hay wagon, warning the farmers of their need to get right with God. He made it very clear that there was a hell to be avoided and a heaven to be won. He brought a small squeeze box and sang with fervency the new songs that Charles Wesley had written. They were lively tunes, some of which were sung to the melodies of favourite songs of the day. The preacher had been taught the new method of Bible study by Wesley, who had also trained him to preach. This was ridiculed as almost heretical by the established church, but many of the village folks had gladly accepted the new teaching. Finally they could understand the message and sing lively tunes of praise and worship.

The greatest adherent to the newfound way was William Monkman. As he studied the Word in his own language, he became a fervent follower of the Wesleyan way. He, too, was taught by the circuit rider and became the leader of the small group in Uncle Will’s house. This group had to meet under pretense, and they could not sing too loudly for fear of arousing suspicion. For William Monkman, Hannah, George, John and Thomas, one reason to go to the New World—perhaps even the main reason—was to be able to freely follow their faith.

William had a deep baritone voice. His favourite hymn by Charles Wesley was O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing:

O for a thousand tongues to sing

My dear Redeemer’s praise,

The glories of my God and King,

The triumphs of His Grace!

Then with great zeal he would sing the following:

The mournful broken hearts rejoice,

The humble poor believe.

Regardless the difficulty of any task William faced, he, in humility, still believed and could rejoice.

For Hannah, mid-September was the beginning of the school year at the church. The parish church dated from the twelfth century. It was a stone edifice fronted by a Gothic tower with crenulated brickwork, topped with an iron cross. It looked like a miniature castle keep. Its western door was built in the Norman style, made of wide oak boards strapped with decorative ironwork and closing with a wooden lift latch raised using a leather strap. It was through this door that Hannah led her small troop of youngsters at eight o’clock every weekday morning. They walked reverently past the font and alter, which was backed by a full-length stained glass window, past the oaken lectern, atop which lay an engraved sixteenth century Bible, and to the pews at the rear. Lady Sykes was the benefactress of the school. She wanted the working-class children to be able to read and write. Without these skills there was no hope of rising above the hard labour that was part of their everyday life. It was here that Hannah had been schooled, then John, George and finally Thomas. Hannah, after ten years, wrote her exams to allow her to teach. John and George attended only periodically, but Thomas had studied for eight years and could read and write proficiently. He was able to study because he was not needed on the land, being too young to do heavy labour. He grew to love reading agricultural articles and politics in the papers William brought from town. He dreamt of being a large land owner and going into politics. Then, he was certain, he could help the farmers in their plight. His father, Lawrence, could neither read nor write. Often in the evening when all of the chores were done, Thomas would read the local farming news and discuss politics with him. Lawrence was