The weather continued remarkably mild. The first great snow, which for
years had ordinarily fallen between the 10th and 15th of November, still
kept off. November passed on, and as all our firewood had to be chopped
by old Jenny during the lameness of my husband, I was truly grateful
to God for the continued mildness of the weather. On the 4th of
December--that great day of the outbreak--Moodie was determined to take
advantage of the open state of the lake to carry a large grist up to
Y----'s mill. I urged upon him the danger of a man attempting to manage
a canoe in rapid water, who was unable to stand without crutches; but
Moodie saw that the children would need bread, and he was anxious to
make the experiment.
Finding that I could not induce him to give up the journey, I determined
to go with him. Old Wittals, who happened to come down that morning,
assisted in placing the bags of wheat in the little vessel, and helped
to place Moodie at the stern. With a sad, foreboding spirit I assisted
to push off from the shore. The air was raw and cold, but our sail was
not without its pleasure. The lake was very full from the heavy rains,
and the canoe bounded over the waters with a free, springy motion. A
slight frost had hung every little bush and spray along the shores
with sparkling crystals. The red pigeon-berries, shining through their
coating of ice, looked like cornelian beads set in silver, and strung
from bush to bush. We found the rapids at the entrance of Bessikakoon
Lake very hard to stem, and were so often carried back by the force of
the water that, cold as the air was, the great exertion which Moodie had
to make use of to obtain the desired object, brought the perspiration
out in big drops upon his forehead. His long confinement to the house
and low diet had rendered him very weak.
The old miller received us in the most hearty and hospitable manner;
and complimented me upon my courage in venturing upon the water in such
cold, rough weather. Norah was married, but the kind Betty provided us
an excellent dinner, while we waited for the grist to be ground.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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