Peeps at Many Lands: Canada 4

Peeps at Many Lands: Canada 4

"The first snowfall in Canada is an intoxicant. Boys go snow mad.

Montreal has a temporary insanity. The houses are prepared for the

visit of King North Wind, and the Canadians are the only people in the

world who know how to keep warm outdoors as well as indoors. The

streets are gay with life and laughter, and everybody seems determined

to make the most of the great carnival. Business goes to the dogs.

There is a mighty march of tourists and townspeople crunching over the

crisp snow, and a constant jingle of sleigh-bells. If you go to any of

the toboggan slides you will witness a sight that thrills the onlooker

as well as the tobogganist. The natural hills were formerly the only

resort, but someone introduced the Russian idea of erecting a high

wooden structure, up one side of which you drag your toboggan, and down

the other side of which you fly like a rocket. These artificial slides

are the more popular, as they are easier of ascent, and can be made so

as to avoid _cahots_, or bumps. The hills are lit by torches stuck in

the snow on each side of the track, and huge bonfires are kept burning,

around which gather picturesque groups. Perhaps of all sports of the

carnival this is the most generally enjoyed by visitors. Some of the

slides are very steep, and look dangerous, and the sensation of rushing

down the hill on the thin strip of basswood is one never to be

forgotten."

 

"How did you like it?" asked a Canadian girl of an American visitor,

whom she had steered down the steepest slide.

 

"Oh, I wouldn't have missed it for a hundred dollars!"

 

"You'll try it again, won't you?"

 

"Not for a thousand dollars."

 

Perhaps to some whose breath seems to be whisked from their bodies this

is the first reflection, but the fondness grows by practice.

 

Another famous winter sport is the national Scottish pastime of

curling, and even when transplanted to the colder climate of Canada,

the power which this sport possesses of firing sedate temperaments, and

heating them to the ebullition-point of enthusiasm, suffers not one

whit of diminution. Your Canadian devotee of the "roaring game" of

"stane" and "tee" waxes every bit as excited over it as his Scottish

associate.

 

A French habitant having witnessed a game at Quebec for the first time

in his life, thus described it: "I saw to-day a gang of Scotchmen

throwing on the ice large iron balls shaped like bombshells, after

which they yelled, 'Soop! soop!' laughing like fools; and I really

think they were fools."

 

Nor is the summer without its delight. All who can, make the Red

Indian their model, and turn back to the aboriginal life. Summer homes

or camps in the forest are built on the islands which dot the many

inland lakes, and the long days are spent in canoeing, sailing,

bathing, and fishing, while at night bonfires are built on the shores,

all gather round, and to the twang of the banjo or guitar old college

choruses are sung or stories are told. Moonlight in Muskoka is a

fairyland memory to those who have known it, and to these lakes alone

resort 20,000 summer visitors from Canada or their neighbours from the

South.

 

Others choose canoeing trips, after the manner of the old "Coureurs de

bois." With Indian guides, weeks are spent in following the chains of

rivers and lakes, linked by portages (carrying-spaces), where all turn

to and "tote" canoe and stores across. At night, after a supper of

fish just pulled out of the lake and cooked on the camp-fire, the sleep

in a tent on a bed of spruce boughs is a glorious treat to the city man

or maid.

 

In the cities games of all sorts are played. Everywhere baseball, the

national game of the United States, is to be seen, and lacrosse, the

national game of Canada, adopted from the Indians, is a great

favourite; cricket, tennis, polo, golf, and bowls, all known games, are

played with the greatest fervour. In track athletics and in aquatic

sports, Canadians have been seen to good advantage in many English

contests.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

FIFTY BELOW ZERO

 

So long as there is no wind the cold in Canada is, on the whole, not

disagreeable. The air is, as a rule, so dry and still that the cold is

exhilarating rather than painful. Even when the thermometer drops as

low as 50° or 55° below zero--that is to say, when there is as much as

80° to 90° of frost in all--a man will be able to take his coat off and

keep himself warm at an active occupation such as wood-cutting. Very

often, in fact, you only know that it is freezing as hard as it

actually is by hearing the crisp crunch, crunch of the snow under your

own feet, or under the hoofs of your horses. When properly dressed,

with moccasins and thick woollen stockings on your feet and legs, thick

warm underclothing, and a heavy "mackinaw," or frieze jacket, worn over

a jersey, mitts--_i.e._, gloves without fingers--and a tuque, or a fur

cap pulled well down over your ears, you can generally defy the cold,

and so long as you are active you will not feel it anything like so

much as you would expect.

 

But when the wind blows it is altogether different, and the cold finds

its way in all round you, even through the thickest clothing. Indeed,

when the temperature is very low, and it begins to snow hard, it is

dangerous to be out of doors. The violent snowstorms which sometimes

come on at such times are known as "blizzards," and they are greatly

dreaded. The air grows black, the snow turns into frozen particles of

ice, with sharp cutting edges, and the wind drives them with the speed

of shotcorns discharged from a gun. It is impossible to hold up your

head against them; they would very soon cut your cheeks into ribbons.

How terrible a thing a blizzard is in the north-west of Canada will be

shown by the following story, which is quite true:

 

In a certain part of the prairie a blizzard began to blow. The farmer

who was living there knew from the "feel" of the atmosphere and the

colour of the sky what was coming, and he hastened to prepare for it.

He put down a large supply of hay before each of his horses and each of

his cows, and made all weatherproof and safe in and about the stable,

for a blizzard often lasts two or three days or longer. Then he

carried into the house as much firewood as he could before the storm

burst, and when at last it did come he was prepared for it. For two

days and two nights it blew a fierce ice hurricane, and during all that

time the storm never slackened or abated for one single instant. But

at the end of that time the farmer thought the blizzard was not so

fierce as it had been; so, taking his cap off the nail on the wall, he

tied it under his chin, and, pulling on his big boots, prepared to go

out to the stable to see how his horses and cows were getting on, and

whether they had eaten up all their hay. Just as he had his hand on

the latch of the door his little girl came suddenly into the kitchen,

and, stretching out her arms, cried: "Daddy, me go. Me want to go.

Daddy, take Lucy!"

 

The farmer hesitated. But it was only ten yards or so across to the

stable, and the little one had been shut in so long, a change would do

her good. He glanced at his wife to see if she agreed. "Fetch mammy's

shawl, then," answered Lucy's father. Little Lucy ran gleefully to

fetch the shawl, and both her father and mother wrapped her carefully

up in it, so that when the farmer picked her up in his arms to carry

her out she looked more like a bundle of dark red clothing than like a

living little girl.

 

The farmer was right; the blizzard was nothing like so fierce, and he

easily found his way across to the stable. He fed his horses and his

cows, and satisfied himself that they were all safe and comfortable

again, and opened the stable-door to go back to the house. But--the

house had disappeared; he was unable to see the smallest sign of it.

The blizzard had come back again whilst he was in the stable, and it

was now raging fiercer than ever.

 

[Illustration: A SETTLER'S FARM YARD]

 

However, he knew there was no help for it; get back to the house he

must, otherwise his wife would be consumed with the keenest anxiety on

his and Lucy's account, and she might perhaps be tempted to come out in

search of him. Gathering the shawl, therefore, closer about his little

Lucy, and pressing her tightly to him, he bent his head and plunged out

into the furious hurricane of driving ice. After running for some

seconds, he stopped to catch his breath, and judging he was near the

kitchen-door, he stretched out his hand, feeling for the latch, or

fastener. He could not find it. He swept his arm all round him as far

as he was able to reach. No door anywhere. Then he knew that he had

missed it. In the blinding, cutting snowstorm he had done what so

often happens at such times and in such circumstances: he had failed to

steer a straight course, and had gone beside the house.

 

Which way to turn? The farmer was in great perplexity. He did not

know on which side of the house he was; in fact, he did not know where

he was at all. He was just as likely to strike out into the open

prairie and go away from home as he was to run against his own

house-corner. However, he realized the danger of standing still: he

might perish of cold, be frozen to death where he stood. Accordingly,

throwing off the chill anxiety which was beginning to creep round his

heart, he struck out again at a crouching half-run in the direction in

which he fancied the house stood. Again he had to stop to recover his

breath. He had not yet found the house. He was as far--or was he

farther?--from safety as ever he was. A third time he tried, and a

fourth, and still without success. He was beginning to despair of ever

reaching his own door again, when a faint sound caught his ear. It

was--yes, it must be--his dog barking indoors. Yet what a long way off

it seemed! On the other hand, the farmer knew it could not really be a

very great distance away, because it was barely five minutes since he

had left the stable, and from the way in which he had run he was

confident he could not have travelled very far, even supposing he had

kept in one straight line all the time. The cold was intense; the very

marrow in his bones seemed to shrivel under the icy blast. Clutching

his precious burden tighter in his arms, he once more tried to find his

own house-door. To his unspeakable joy the dog still continued to bark

at intervals, and the farmer followed the direction of the sound.

After the lapse of a minute or so, his feet struck against some hard

object lying on the ground, which he recognized as a certain post that

had fallen down, and in an instant he knew where he was. Then it was a

matter of but a few seconds for him to fumble and feel his way along by